With that, he followed Christian out into the already dwindling daylight, their boots thudding against the wooden floor.
A rush of cold air swept inside, chilling Ophelia to the bone as the door swung shut behind them. She shivered, irritation flaring as she wrapped her hands around the warm bowl of chowder. “He has a new policy just allowing folks to jump on his plane? I don’t think so.” She’d already contacted the FBI in Honolulu, since Wyatt and Sylvie had hopped on a plane. They’d be taken into custody upon landing.
Brock shrugged, though tension rippled across his broad shoulders. “The guy almost froze to death. Heading somewhere warm for a little while makes sense to me.” He took another spoonful of soup as if the matter was settled.
He could be such a pain. She stared at him, wondering if he cared how much his calm demeanor riled her up. “I don’t think your brothers like me.” She dug back into the chowder, trying to clear her mind. She needed to catch Ace while he was drunk—it wasn’t exactly by the book, but it might get the job done. Maybe he’d confess, or at least give her a lead. He’d been sleeping with Tammy, after all. Maybe she’d discovered he killed Hank. Would he then kill her?
“They like you.”
Ophelia looked at Brock, her gaze steady. “I think your brother Damian has narcissistic qualities.”
Brock’s lips quirked as he finished his beer. “Most good leaders do.” His phone buzzed, and he tugged it free of his back pocket, his features tightening as he glanced at the screen. He sighed and stood, muscles rippling beneath his flannel as he moved. “Another damn cat in a tree. We need to elect a sheriff.” He dropped cash next to his bowl, more than enough to cover his meal and tip. “I’m sorry to ditch you.”
Sure, he was. She forced a smile. “No worries. I want to work from here for a while today.” She planned to create a detailed murder board on her laptop, connecting everyone involved in the two cases—three, if she considered the dead man in the EVE jacket whose body had mysteriously vanished. “Have a nice day, Brock.”
He hesitated, a rare softness flickering across his features. “We also need to talk.”
Her heart thudded once. “What about?”
His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, he looked like everything strong, wild, and untouchable in the world. Not literally untouchable, but definitely figuratively. “Us.”
He didn’t mince words, didn’t play games.
“I know,” she murmured, even though she had no idea what she’d say when that conversation finally happened. Just being near him sent her mind spinning when she needed to focus on her job.
Brock tugged his coat off the chair and shrugged into it. “Later, then.”
He moved past her, the heat of his body brushing close as he left. She didn’t turn to watch him go—but it took everything she had.
Finally, she could take a deep breath. Something about the Osprey brothers stole all the available oxygen in a room. It wasn’t just their size, either—it was the intensity they carried, like they’d been born ready for battle. Shoving her now-empty bowl to the side, she pulled out her laptop and went to work, letting the hum of the bar around her fade into the background. The murder board she created on-screen filled up quickly with faces, dates, and speculative connections that tangled together like a web. There wasn’t enough to arrest Ace. She needed answers, and fast.
“Can I get you another soda?” Amka asked.
“Sure.” Ophelia looked up.
Amka shifted her feet. “Also, I’ve decided not to attend the interview with you later this afternoon.”
Surprise filtered through Ophelia. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes.” Amka met her gaze directly. “Apparently I’m under no obligation to do so. So either arrest me or forget about it.”
Interesting. “Did you kill Tammy because she and your fiancé were having an affair?”
“Of course not.” Amka rolled her eyes. “Seriously.” The woman seemed truthful.
On to the next investigation, then. “Monica Luna told me she saw you opening the tavern late the morning she and Brock found Hank’s body.” Ophelia watched Amka carefully, not seeing a bit of surprise. So Amka knew about the one night stand…and morning.
Amka looked around the tavern and then leaned in, lowering her voice. “Sometimes I open late. It happens. Please don’t tell anybody about Monica and Brock. They partied here the night before and left together, and I’m sure both regret it. Monica loves David. She’s my friend and I don’t want her hurt.”
That made sense. And Ophelia truly believed one of the Osprey brothers had mercy killed Hank, so Amka wasn’t a suspect there. “All right.” She’d gotten the questions answered she wanted. “Please reconsider coming in for a formal and recorded interview.”
“Nope.” Amka turned and returned to work.
Dinnertime came, and Ophelia ordered a burger, savoring the smoky char of the meat as she kept working. The fire crackled nearby, and she resisted the urge to stretch out like a lazy cat basking in the warmth. Too many connections and secrets existed in a small town. Gossip twisted into half-truths, and old grudges lived side by side with whispered warnings.Someone here knew what had happened to Tammy Randsom—and Hank Osprey. She just had to find a source willing to talk.
By seven, the bar started to really hop. Locals crowded in, laughter mingling with the occasional clink of beer mugs and the thump of boots on the hardwood floor. She packed up her belongings, sliding her laptop into its protective case. Spending the day by the fire had been productive—and oddly comforting—but now it was time to go.
She made her way to the counter to pay a rushing-around Amka. The bartender flashed a quick smile as she rang up the order. “Everything okay?”
