Ace just lifted an eyebrow. He apparently hadn’t accepted Ivy’s bandage. The cut on his forehead was still open, blood trickling down his face. “So?”
Kyle laughed and dropped his hand. “That’s how it is, huh?” He jerked his head at May. “It’s a mistake you will most undoubtedly regret. Trust me.” He pivoted and strolled casually out the door, the bell jangling softly behind him.
Ace looked down at her. “What was that about?”
She pasted her most professional expression into place. “Nothing. Let’s get you a bandage, Ace.” After she finished work for the day, she’d go home and make sure her guns and knives were still placed strategically around her small home.
Chapter Three
Ace walked into Sam’s Tavern, his head still aching as he made his way to the bar. The place breathed with low nighttime energy and would continue to do so while darkness left them alone. Summer in a small Alaskan town meant the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon, leaving it light outside. The air carried the mingled scents of beer, fried food, and old wood, layered over decades of stories soaked into the walls. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, more symbolic than useful.
From behind the bar, Amka Amaruq looked up, her dark eyes mellow, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. She hitched one hip against the counter, already assessing him. “How’s the head?”
“Ah, it’s fine. Didn’t even need stitches.” In fact, he’d already helped an elderly neighbor get her cat out of a tree, chopped wood for Mr. Lanskey, and delivered the mail to Mrs. Grassline because she was out with a bad cold. It had been a busy few hours since May had patched him up, refusing to discuss her problems with him.
Amka shook her head slowly. “Ace…”
He held up a hand. “Don’t want to hear it.”
She sighed, the sound threaded with long familiarity. They’d been friends forever, and she was currently engaged to Ace’s brother, which somehow gave her more license to lecture. “I’m not serving you alcohol. You could have a concussion.”
“Just one beer.”
She blew out air. “Beer, not hard alcohol?”
“Just beer.”
“Fine.” She pulled a longneck from the cooler and flipped off the cap. Foam hissed softly at the lip before settling. “We need to talk about expenses for our LLC.”
He accepted the bottle. “I approve. Whatever you want.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re partners, and you need to at least?—”
“Nope.” He said it easily, more than happy to let her take the lead. The cold bottle pressed against his palm, condensation slick against his skin. The first swallow burned just enough to remind him he was still human. The two of them had formed an LLC together, bought the building next door, and started adding onto it for apartments. Knife’s Edge was growing, whether anyone liked it or not. Might as well make some money off it. “Honestly, if we have the funds, I trust you.” He really wasn’t interested.
“Okay, but if I get all pink appliances for the apartments?”
“I think that’d be adorable.” He took another deep swallow and looked around the familiar bar, noting many unfamiliar faces. Laughter drifted from a corner table. Someone fed quarters into the jukebox, and a group was becoming rowdy by the far pool table. “Looks like the tourists are giving you some decent income.”
She followed his gaze. “They really are.” She grabbed a rag and wiped down the area near the sink. “I love tourist season. Sometimes it pays for my whole year. You know, you could make a lot more money from tourist season too. All you have to do?—”
He held up a hand.
Her eyes softened. “Seriously, Ace. You know that expression about falling off a horse? You’ve got to get back on it.”
Ace took another long swallow. “I didn’t fall off a horse. I crashed a plane.” It wasn’t exactly a plane, but he couldn’t tell her more than that. He’d been a pilot in the Navy, and he’d gone down. He hadn’t been back in the air since. Even now, the thought tightened something ugly and electric behind his ribs.
“I just think you’d feel better if you were back in the blue skies,” she murmured.
He snorted. “How often do we have blue skies around here?”
She chuckled. “Not often. But we’ve got a couple good months, including right now. It’s the perfect time to take tourists out to remote fishing areas. Plus, then hunting season’s coming up.” Her pretty eyes glowed. “I’d be willing to entertain a partnership.”
Faint amusement wandered through Ace. “Amka, you’re adorable.”
She frowned. Her petite features scrunched up, and her nose wrinkled in obvious annoyance. The bar’s soft amber lights caught along the curve of her cheek, highlighting an expression Ace knew too well. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Sorry,” he said automatically. He clocked the new pool table she’d acquired just last week, then at the older dartboards. The corkboards were scarred from years of bad aim and good nights. His gaze drifted past a pair of laughing tourists, past a couple of locals hunched over drinks, and then landed on his brother by the fireplace. Damian sat with that loose, coiled posture that never really meant relaxed. “When did Damian come into town?” Ace asked.
