“You bet your ass I do,” she said, more than prepared to take him down.
He rubbed his jaw. “Huh. I’m Navy. You’re FBI. Probably great training.”
Now he sounded…interested? Seriously? “FBI beats Navy every day.” All right. That probably wasn’t true, and she hadn’t exactly excelled in hand-to-hand, although she knew decent moves.
His lip quirked. “Not a chance, city girl. You trained in a nice gym with yoga mats. I trained in sand and blood. I’m eight inches taller and about a hundred pounds—at least—heavier than you.”
“So you’ll land harder,” she countered. How could she be having this ridiculous conversation in the middle of a blizzard? “Are you freaking crazy?”
“Could be.” He cocked his head to the side, his gaze warming. “How about we thumb wrestle for it?”
All right. He was touched in the head. Why were the sexy ones always nuts? “There is no way I’m taking my hand out of this glove.” The wind whistled a harsh tune, slapping ice against her chin.
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said since you got here.” He blinked snow out of his eyes. “How about this? It’s been a while since I had to use manners, and I’m way too rusty. I’m sorry I swore at you, and I have the key to the sheriff’s office. I’ll open the building if you let me drive you there.”
As an apology, it worked. He’d given her an out and sounded somewhat sorry, so she ran to the still-open door and jumped inside the glorious warmth, sighing with pleasure and not caring one whit that she dropped snow all over his seat as she shut the door.
He slipped onto the driver’s seat and quickly flipped a U-turn, sliding across the ice.
“Tell me you’re sober,” she mumbled.
“Close enough,” he said, settling back.
Heat blasted from the dash, and she sighed, her skin still stinging. “Why don’t you like me?” The words shocked her as they came out of her mouth.
A flick of his wrist had the windshield wipers going faster. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t want you here in town.”
She blinked. Once and then again. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, the sound long-suffering. “Listen. We’re about to get snowed in for months, and most folks go a little nuts the first time. You’re a government agent. You’re going to make a lot of enemies quickly, I’m responsible for you, and you’re just too damn pretty to have to deal with every day.”
Her mouth opened and then closed. There was so much to unpack in that sentence that she didn’t know where to start. “Um. All right.” He found her pretty? Her chest warmed. Wait a minute. “You are not responsible for me.”
“Sure, I am. I brought you here. The choice belonged to me.” He ducked to better see the white world outside.
Talk about some kind of backwoods rule. “You were the only one sober enough to fly yesterday—the only one for miles. You had to come and get me.” She stretched her legs out, pushing her feet closer to the blissful heat.
He lifted a shoulder, and snow fell onto the seat. “Yeah, but I could’ve taken you to Anchorage and kicked you out there. I made the choice to fly you here, and that makes you my problem in everyone else’s eyes.”
Problem? “I’m not anybody’s problem,” she muttered. This was insane. “Also, why would my solving a couple of cases tick people off? You’d think everyone would want these disappearances or homicides solved.”
He shook his thick hair. “People live here because they like the solitude. They want to be left alone, and you’re about to turn over a bunch of rocks that should remain in place.”
Caution ticked down her spine. Was he warning her off? Again? Hadn’t they dealt with that the night before? “Let’s talk about Hank some more. Tell me about him.”
Brock stiffened. “Nope.”
She turned to study him. While she was nowhere near a behavioral analyst, she’d dealt with enough suspects to trust her instincts. “He raised you, right?” She waited until Brock nodded. “Tell me something about him. Anything.”
“He didn’t like the federal government.”
She huffed. “The documents from the Knife’s Edge investigation are flimsy, which concerned my boss, FBI Assistant Director Bill Burrington. Your guardian saved my boss’s life during a combat situation decades ago, so Hank’s death can’t be a mystery. That’s why I’m here. Supposedly, your Sheriff Blazerton has records and case files regarding severalcrimes for me to investigate, and I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
Brock didn’t twitch. “Your info is outdated.”
She finally released her grip on the door. “What do you mean?”
“Sheriff Blazerton died in May. I heard he had a heart attack in the middle of church services. He was a good old boy, and we’ve missed him. Almost made it to ninety years old, which is impressive around here. Very.”
