Ophelia masked her surprise at having Brock help her out.
“Right,” Damian answered. “But we have world-renowned scientists, and like I said, proprietary machinery. So, we have to keep confidentiality at the forefront. It’s my job, Brock. Get a warrant, and I’ll hand over the records.”
“Will you?” Ophelia murmured, trying for any reaction from the man.
No reaction. Just one word. “Yes.”
So far, she had completely struck out with all of her cases. “I don’t suppose you knew Tamara Randsom?”
“Not really. We crossed paths occasionally, when I came home on leave, but I’ve been off on missions for years. I am sorryto hear of her disappearance and don’t have any information about that case.” Damian glanced at a military-style wristwatch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a conference call in a few minutes and have told you everything I know.”
“Did Tamara work here at EVE? Even in a contractual capacity?” she asked.
Brock turned to stare at her, and she kept her focus on Damian.
He didn’t blink. “Not to my knowledge.”
She gave him her most professional smile. She might be able to connect Hank, Tamara, and the recent victim by the river to this place. What the heck did that mean? “Tamara worked under grants as a U.S. Geological Survey Scientist. Surely she spent some time here at EVE? Would you mind terribly digging into personnel and independent contractor files for her history?”
“I’ll have Elise conduct a search and get back to you. Please leave your phone number with her before you leave.” He glanced at his watch again. “If there’s nothing else?—”
“Why do you think somebody shot at me?” She purposefully ignored the hint.
He blinked. Finally, some sort of reaction from the security specialist. “How should I know?”
“You worked in intelligence, and now you’re in security. Your background is impressive, and I haven’t gotten my hands on most of your military records. Yet.” She let the last word hang for several moments. “So, tell me. Why would someone try to shoot me not once but twice?”
Damian studied her, his gaze hooded. “I don’t think that’s the question.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. “What’s the question?”
He scrutinized her for several long moments. “The question is—why did they miss?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brock could barely wait to get his brother alone, which would happen soon. The drive to the Randsom home passed in silence, and it came as no surprise to find the homestead deserted for the day. The clear, sunny day invited time spent on a four-wheeler or snowmobile.
Ophelia noted the deserted place with her lips pursed and then had been quiet all the way back to town. After lunchtime, Brock walked behind her up Flossy’s front steps, and the older woman met them at the door.
“I heard you got shot at again last night,” Flossy said, looking up, her eyes wide.
Ophelia nodded. “I did.” She sounded more resigned than frightened. “Are there any places for rent in town? I should stay somewhere else.”
“Don’t be silly.” Flossy took her arm and pulled her inside. “We have good locks, and I own a shotgun. You know how to shoot, right?”
Ophelia smiled. “Yes, I know how to shoot. I don’t want to put you in danger, Flossy.”
Brock followed the women inside, where heat blasted him. He wanted Ophelia back in his bed. They’d started something, and he didn’t want it to end. What did she want?
“I can make you two a late lunch if you want,” Flossy offered, wrapping her gray cardigan tighter around her small waist. “The station was boring with both of you gone, and Amos is in a mood, so I came home for the afternoon.” She squinted up at Brock. “I hope that’s okay.”
He wasn’t the damn sheriff. “You can do anything you want, Flossy.” Why couldn’t he get through to everyone? Oh, yeah. Maybe because he kept acting like the sheriff just to protect a tall agent who smelled like strawberries. He battled between his need for her and his loyalty to his brothers, a dull ache settling in his gut. His appetite deserted him.
Flossy bounced back on her fur-lined boots. “Good. Olly, why don’t you take the afternoon off, too? There’s a quilting party this afternoon over at Delores’s house, and nobody will know you’re there, so you won’t get shot at. Let’s go have some girl fun.”
“No,” Brock said, keeping his wet boots on the mat.
Ophelia turned to face him, her eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. “Why do you keep trying to protect me?”
