“Okay.”She backed off without pressing.No smirk, no challenge, just a clean shift of energy.“Well, it’s probably a good thing since apparently she’s getting married in June.What do you know about Jarod Teller?”
Christian cocked his head to the side.He’d smile if he remembered how.“Are you interviewing me?”
Ophelia’s lips ticked up.“Maybe.I don’t think this is an FBI case, but who knows?The local law can always request FBI assistance.”
Christian snorted.“Yeah, but we’ve got a problem with the whole local law situation, don’t we?”
She winced.“Yes, but no one seems to care about it, including my boss in DC.”Her gaze drifted to the sign stretched across the street declaring that Knife’s Edge had the only sheriff in Alaska.“I’m surprised no one’s challenged that.”
Christian lifted a shoulder.“There’s never been a need.I thought maybe Brock would at one point, just to get out of the job.”
The town had come up with its own sheriff system decades ago, back when they were too far out for anyone to respond in time.It was unofficial, but nobody cared.State troopers still handled the major cases in most of Alaska.A few larger towns had their own police departments, but even they didn’t have sheriffs.Knife’s Edge clung to the title like it was part of the landscape.
Ophelia chuckled.“If Brock gets tired of the job, he might try to change it.”
That wasn’t going to happen.“People like tradition here,” Christian said.“Whether we’ve got the only sheriff or not, no one’s looking to change that.”
“I understand,” she said.“I’m not getting involved in any jurisdictional issues, but arson and attempted murder are serious crimes.”
“I’m aware.”Christian’s jaw tightened again.At this point, he was going to deserve the migraine he was giving himself.“As for Jarod Teller, he moved to Anchorage when he was around twenty and worked one of the fishing outfits for a few years.Then he bought the local motel.”
Ophelia scanned the area.“The one that burned down.”
“Two years ago,” Christian said.“An inspector from Anchorage confirmed that faulty wiring caused the fire.”
Ophelia didn’t speak right away, just watched him, her expression unreadable.Then she gave a slow nod.“Still…two fires in a small town.”
“They were two years apart,” he said.“So maybe it’s nothing.But I’ve thought about it too.”He nudged her with a shoulder, careful to keep from being too rough.“Why are you still an FBI agent?We could use an assistant sheriff around here.”
She snorted.“An assistant sheriff?I don’t think so.Right now I’m solid in my job.There are several missing persons in Alaska, as you know, plus a couple of cases I’m still working.”She wiped dew off her forehead.“Word came in earlier.The district attorney decided not to prosecute Flossy for Hank’s death.”
Relief slammed through Christian.He’d loved Hank, who’d been his guardian, and understood why Flossy helped him die in December after his cancer had progressed so horribly.When she’d confessed, so had most of the town, so there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute anybody.“That’s a relief.”
Ophelia frowned.“I know, but still.I don’t like going around the law.”
There wasn’t much of a choice, and the district attorney had the final say.Christian focused on Ophelia.“Are you happy here?”
“Yes.”She blinked as if caught a little off guard by her own answer.“Yes, because of Brock.Definitely.”Her eyes sparked, softening.“But I also like the town.I like the people.Plus, the pace of life doesn’t suck.”
“Good.”He didn’t want her deciding Knife’s Edge was too remote and packing it in.Brock had enough weight on his shoulders in the form of demons from their childhood and from the service.Seeing him content for once?That mattered.
“I’m not going to hurt your brother,” Ophelia said, dead-on reading him without needing an invitation.
Christian relaxed.That was all he needed.While he might never find peace, he intended for each of his brothers to do so.Whether they liked it or not.
Amka peeledoff rain gear inside the narrow vestibule of her quaint home, the fabric cold and slick in her hands.Water dripped onto the mat, the steady rhythm of it loud in the stillness.Her shoulder ached from hauling stock all day, and her fingers were numb.She wanted a shower.Maybe tea.A moment to breathe.
She stepped into the cabin and stopped cold.
Jarod was passed out on the sofa again.One arm dangled toward the floor, and his boot hung half-off, mud crusted along the sole.
At least he wasn’t in her bed this time.
She crossed the room and kicked his foot.Harder than she meant to.A shock of pain ricocheted up her leg.
“Ouch,” she hissed under her breath.
Jarod groaned, rolled onto his back, and looked at the ceiling.“Oh.Hey.You’re finally home.”He sat up, squinting.“Did they find out who sent that note to you?”
