Ophelia nodded, sliding over a generous tip. “Thanks, Amka.”
“No problem. Stay warm out there.” Amka apparently didn’t hold on to grudges.
The moment Ophelia stepped outside, the icy air rammed right through her jacket like a physical blow. She ducked her head and tucked her chin into her scarf, carefully navigating the slick sidewalk. The streetlights cast long, silver streaks across the snow-covered street, providing just enough glow to combat the winter darkness.
When she reached her Jeep, she stopped dead. What the heck? She leaned down, the frigid air burning her lungs as she inspected her tires. Both on the driver’s side had been slashed to shreds. Heart pounding, she stepped around the front of the vehicle to check the passenger side. Same story. All four tires—destroyed.
Her head dropped, and a wave of frustration settled in her chest. Now what? The freezing cold didn’t invite her to walk all the way to Flossy’s cabin, especially with the wind cutting through her clothes like knives. And it wasn’t like they had Triple A in Knife’s Edge. The local garage wouldn’t open untiltomorrow morning, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask Flossy to bundle up and head out into the night for a rescue.
She mulled over her options, her breath clouding the air in front of her. Only one choice made sense. She wanted Brock. Man, she was tired of being alone. Soon she’d have to arrest one of his brothers, and no matter what he said, that would end them. Could she spend one more night with him? Just to hold on to for the future? She pulled out her phone and made a call, hoping they both had service right now.
“Osprey,” Brock’s deep voice answered on the first ring.
Relief flooded through her, warming her more than the fire had. “Hi. It’s Ophelia. I need help.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As he drove into town and pulled up next to Sam’s Tavern, fury slid through Brock’s body faster than one of Amka’s specially-made glacier shots with homemade moonshine. He opened his door to jump out of his truck, leaving the engine running. “What the hell are you doing just standing in the dark?” It took him a second, but he caught sight of his spare weapon in Ophelia’s hand. “At least you show some sense.” Although the surrounding buildings were shrouded in darkness, and even a subpar sniper on a rooftop could’ve easily caught her unawares.
She snorted. “Do you have a melee of snipers here in Knife’s Edge?”
He’d said that out loud? Crouching, he took in the slashed tires. Sharp blade, strong strokes. Somebody was coming for her, and he had to figure out who before they actually struck. His anger spiraled even hotter. “We’ll have the garage tow you tomorrow.” He stood, noting the snow in her dark hair. Man, she had a lot of hair. His hands clenched with the need to tunnel through the thick strands and hold her in place. Any place. “Get in the truck.”
She didn’t need a kinder invitation because she dodged into the street and jumped into his passenger seat, shoving the gun into her pocket and holding her gloved hands out to the heater. Her laptop bag hit the winter mat with a soft thunk.
He sat and shut his door, the smell of strawberries instantly assailing him. Not the soft scent of those in the grocery store. No. The full-on, sweet, and succulent smell of wild fruit. The sensation added to the already boiling temper at the top of his spine. The pressure threatened to explode and spiral outward, ready to decimate anyone in his path.
“You’re in a mood,” she observed mildly.
He kept perfect control as he pressed on the gas pedal. A mood? Yeah. He was in a fucking mood. The entire world frustrated the hell out of him. Ace kept drinking himself into oblivion, Damian appeared embroiled in something possibly dangerous at EVE, and Christian had already lost his patience with everybody. In addition, Brock didn’t know who’d killed Hank, and burying his head in the snow no longer worked because the woman he was falling hard for would discover the truth. He had to get there first.
Worse yet, the woman wouldn’t let him provide cover. He needed to shield her from the shitstorm coming. Yeah, she worked as a trained FBI agent, which impressed him. Even so, she didn’t know the wilderness, and she sure as shit didn’t know Knife’s Edge. Dangers lurked everywhere, even for somebody who knew how to handle a gun. “You coming to my place?”
“Yes.”
Something in him eased. Finally.
Her phone rang, and she jumped, glancing at the face. “That’s odd. It’s late in DC.” She answered. “Hello, sir.” Her entire body stiffened. “No, but—” Seconds ticked by as she listened. “Who called you? I don’t understand. What in the world is going on?”
Brock’s gut turned over.Consider it taken care of, then. Casual words from Damian that hadn’t meant much in the moment.
Ophelia pulled the phone away from her ear and just stared at it. It seemed, the caller had disconnected. “I can’t believe it.”
His eyebrows shot up. Anger vibrated from her, hitting him hard. “What?”
She swiveled, her sapphire eyes glittering in the darkness. “I have three days to wrap up the investigation into Hank’s death, and then I’m apparently on leave. Possibly permanently.”
Brock kept his hands loose on the wheel. Just what kind of power did Damian have in DC, anyway? “Why?”
“No reason. Just that the FBI has decided to turn the Knife’s Edge cases over to the locals—to the sheriff, whomever that might end up being. What did you do?” She swept out her hands. “That’s impossible. My boss had a friendship with Hank way back when, which is the main reason I’m here. So, somebodyabovehim yanked me off.”
Brock frowned. “Even so, why is he going to put you on leave?”
She pushed her wild hair away from her face in quick and angry motions. “I fell into a bit of trouble from dating a coworker who sucked, and this was my last chance for redemption.” She eyed him. “Tell me you didn’t make this happen.”
“I didn’t. No pull in DC, baby.” Not exactly true. He wasn’t even sure Damian had done so, but he’d find out. He felt for her as he drove and parked outside his cabin bypassing the shop, cutting the engine. “I’ll help you solve Tammy’s disappearance. Maybe that’ll get your job back.” Although her switching to a different job would help him out tremendously.
He believed in duty and honor. He’d fought and nearly died for his country and all the good freedom represented. But aboveall, he believed in family. At any cost. “Have you ever thought about a different line of work?”
