Because of how she looked at him when he did—like he was some damn hero. He’d stopped being a hero years ago—if he had been one even then. But the way she studied him with softness and vulnerability in her eyes made him want to be one again. Plus, the woman needed some serious cover, and he could provide that. “You need to be careful until we find the shooter.”
Flossy smacked him on the arm. “She’s fine. Nobody will know she’s with me. It’s not like she’s a regular at the quilting parties.”
Well, that was true.
Then Flossy turned to Olly and sweetened the deal. “Loretta Randsom will be there. Don’t you want to talk to her about Tammy Randsom’s disappearance?”
Ophelia went on full alert. “I really do. Definitely.”
Brock knew when he was outnumbered. “All right. I’ll take you both to Delores’s house and then pick you up. What time will you be finished?” He reached for Flossy’s jacket on the nearest hook.
“Right after supper.” The elderly woman shrugged into the coat and then looked at him, her chin firming. “You’re being awfully bossy, Sheriff. What exactly happened between you two last night? I know you stayed at your cabin.” She buttoned up, looking from him to Ophelia and then back. She plucked a huge bag off the floor. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” Brock opened the door and ushered both women outside, scanning the neighborhood for threats. He caught sight of Christian on the other side of the street and made a sign that they needed to talk.
Christian strode around the building and across the road, jumping into the back of the truck with his canine companion.
Ophelia helped Flossy into the front seat and then took the back seat next to Christian, reaching out to rub the wolf-dog’s ears as he sat on Christian’s lap.
Life was getting weird.
“We’re dropping the ladies off at Delores’s.” Brock sat and started the engine.
Christian nodded, already taking point out the window.
Whoever had shot at them had done so under the cover of darkness, and it was doubtful they would try it during daylight when Brock could track them.
Ophelia’s phone buzzed, and she lifted it from her pocket to look at the screen. “I have to take this.” Then she pushed a button and pressed the phone to her ear. “Spilazi.”
Curiosity had Brock watching her expression in the rearview mirror while also keeping an eye on the snowy road.
She looked out the window. “No, sir. Yes, I filed the first report yesterday afternoon before heading to the Randsoms, but a shooter engaged me and I didn’t make it to interview them. No, we don’t know. Yes, at the bottom of the river.” Her shoulders slumped. She must be talking about the gun she’d lost.
He tried to smile at her through the mirror, but her gaze remained outside.
She straightened in her seat. “No, sir. I’ve interviewed all four of them. So far, there isn’t a likely suspect.”
Christian tensed but didn’t look at her. Hank’s case truly mattered to her boss.
Brock fully turned back to the road.
She continued. “I’m well aware of that, sir.” Then, she fell quiet for several moments. “I’ll send those so you have them first thing in the morning. Yes. I understand. I’m still waiting for work history on Tamara Randsom, and would you please have somebody conduct a search for any payments made to her and to Hank Osprey by EVE? Also, I need a deep dive on odd killings in this area, all of Alaska really, where the victim had their eyes gouged out.”
Brock barely bit back a sigh. For goodness’ sakes.
“Thank you.” She slipped the phone back into her pocket.
Brock eyed her in the mirror again and had the oddest desire to enfold her in a hug. She looked fragile in the back seat next to the panting wolf-dog. Determined and somewhat pissed but still vulnerable. Why did this woman affect him like this? He switched his line of sight and caught Christian’s knowing gaze in the mirror.
There had been a hint of desperation in her movements but not in her tone. Why exactly had Ophelia been sent to themiddle of nowhere? Obviously, he needed to push her for more information about herself.
He drove out of town and along the river road, his mind working until they reached the subdivision. He passed Mrs. McGillicuddy’s house and drove around a curve, stopping at a lime-green one-story home with a few rigs in the driveway. “We’re here.”
Ophelia carriedFlossy’s stuffed-full bag inside a pretty dining room with a soft-looking quilt spread across the table. A white smocked tree sat in one corner with various Christmas decorations, including several elves on a shelf, adding a festive vibe to the home. Four women looked up at her, and she recognized two of them. “Hi, Doc. Hi Monica.”
“Hi, Olly.” The doctor sat at the far end, stitching what looked like a wild wolf. “You already met Monica at the tavern. This is Delores Jerky and Loretta Randsom. Ladies, meet FBI Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi.”
Ophelia’s hands felt damp. She lacked the girly skills to knit. “Hi.”
