“Yeah. Thought it’d knock you out, but I guess not. It’s better if you walk to the Jeep, anyway.” Monica grinned. “I still have the spare set of keys. You should’ve asked for them.”
This was insane. The woman couldn’t just kidnap Ophelia in the middle of the day from the sheriff’s office. She hitched down the stairs to the sidewalk and looked both ways. The snowy sidewalks remained vacant. “This is a mistake, Monica.”
“Right.” Monica stepped up and pressed the barrel into Ophelia’s rib cage. “I could shoot you right now, run, and nobody would even know it was me. Nobody’s out in this crazy storm.”
That appeared to be true. Ophelia let her body sag. Obviously she’d gotten closer than she realized with one of the cases. Which one? “Did you kill Tammy Randsom?” Had David maybe slept with Tammy? Was he one of the men she’d taken to the Tundra?
“Shut up. Let’s go.”
Damn it. Ophelia couldn’t see clearly. “How did you get here?”
“Parked down by the river and walked through the blizzard. Nobody will see my vehicle.” Monica shoved harder, and pain flashed through Ophelia’s abdomen. “Start moving or I’ll shoot you and then Amos.”
Ophelia tried to find help through the snow, but everyone remained inside and out of the snowy day. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she might not make it three feet. “Fine. Let’s just get inside the Jeep.” She started sliding across the ice.
Monica tried to grab her, loosening her hold on the gun.
Tension roared through Ophelia, and she turned, hitting down at the weapon.
The gun discharged, and the sound echoed in the silent day. A second later, agony burned hot and bright through Ophelia.She cried out, and then she went down. Cold flashed along her hands and then her face as she impacted the ice.
Then unconsciousness took all the pain away.
In his shop,Brock leaned over his snowmobile, tightening a bolt near the throttle assembly and adjusting the fuel line, his gloved hands precise despite the cold. He’d already replaced the spark plugs and tested the carburetor, making sure the machine could handle both the ice-packed trails and deep snowdrifts outside of town. The shop smelled faintly of grease, metal, and fresh pine from the fire burning in the corner. The wood crackled as the flames flickered and danced, casting a warm glow over the workbench cluttered with tools and parts.
The door creaked open, and cold air swept in as Christian stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. The wolf-pup padded behind him, its fluffy coat dusted with white. It sniffed the air, spotted the fireplace, and immediately headed for the warmth, curling up in front of the hearth with a contented sigh.
“Hey,” Christian said, brushing more snow from his shoulders and hair.
“Hi,” Brock replied, watching as his brother’s gaze followed the pup.
Christian’s lips twitched in something that almost resembled a smile before his usual serious expression returned. “I couldn’t get Damian to level with me yesterday. About what he’s doing at EVE.”
Brock’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Christian’s tone remained calm but resolute. “I don’t trust much in this life, but my instincts are usually spot on. Damian’s in trouble and doesn’t know it yet.”
A chill crawled down Brock’s spine, and it wasn’t from the cold. Christian’s instincts bordered on the supernatural, and Brock trusted them more than most things. “Did you find a way in to the facility?”
Christian shook his head. “No. But I will.”
Brock nodded slowly. “It might be better if you just talked to Damian again. Maybe just the two of you meet somewhere private—not in a public place like Sam’s Tavern.”
Christian’s eyes sparked with fire. “Since when do we all talk?”
Brock exhaled through his nose. “Good point. We’ve all been hurt, trying to be loyal, but we haven’t done ourselves much good. It’s time to put everything on the table.”
Christian’s expression tightened, but he nodded. “Did you help Hank to die?”
“No.” Brock’s throat constricted. “You thought I did it?”
Christian’s shoulders shifted in a half-shrug. “I figured that’s why you wouldn’t be sheriff. Or you knew who did it and wouldn’t take the job.” He brushed snow off his whiskers. “Damian?”
“No. I looked in his eyes and asked him. Wasn’t him.” Brock’s chest ached at the memory.
Christian’s jaw flexed. “Well, there’s only one of us drinking himself to death. I thought Ace threw himself into a bottle because of his last mission and the plane crash he won’t talk about. Guess I was wrong.”
Brock’s chin dropped to his chest, guilt pressing on him like a physical weight. “Guess we both were.”
