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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

B rock walked out into the snowy dawn to see his truck already next to his metal shop with Christian and Ace changing the last tire. He strode toward them, his body satiated but his mind…not so much. “You two are out early.” His breath left puffs in the freezing air.

Christian stood, his dual-colored eyes serious. “Tika was cold. I let him inside. He should be by the fire, which I stoked.”

Brock nodded, not having noticed either. All right. Maybe his mind had completely unraveled.

Ace held a tire iron in his hand, his eyes clear for a change. “Your woman is a screamer.”

Brock coughed, and his ears rang. “You were outside?”

Christian nodded. “I checked on Ace last night and found him brooding on his back deck, so we decided to try and track the shooter. Then we returned here, figured out you had company, and thought we should cover the perimeter.”

Ace grinned. “Yeah. You didn’t exactly seem focused on watching for threats.”

That was the damn truth. The only thing, the only person in his world last night had been Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi. “Thanks.” He warmed, full-on, almost back to being with his brothers like they’d been before Hank died. He needed them, and they needed him. Maintaining distance between them wouldn’t cut it any longer.

Except he’d just slept with the agent leading the investigation into Hank’s death.

He shook his head.

“No shit,” Ace agreed, snow falling onto his dark hair. “You keeping her?”

After last night, Brock wasn’t sure he could let her go. But they had the case between them. “I don’t know.” He walked around the side of the truck to view the bullet holes. He flushed with anger, centering himself in the moment. “I am going to find the person who shot at her.” And rip off his head.

Christian nodded, probably at the unsaid part. “The storm covered all tracks, which we expected. Also, no shell casings, which is impressive that whoever shot at you had time and could find them all in the snow before taking off. I don’t think we’re dealing with a moron, although he hasn’t hit his target yet.”

Brock didn’t like the yet. “Did you find anything at the bottom of the hill?”

“No,” Ace said quietly. “We can ask in town if anybody saw a car or truck come through, but you know that parking area leads to a back road headed north. The guy could’ve gone anywhere around the river.”

“Or to several subdivisions,” Christian added.

Brock sighed. “Okay. She can’t stay at the B&B because it’ll put Flossy in danger. She’ll have to stay here.”

Christian’s lip twitched, and he almost smiled. So close. “I assume there’s a place for her to rent somewhere around here. She’s a Fed, Brock. She can take care of herself.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Brock countered instantly.

Ace sighed. “He is so keeping her.”

Christian’s gaze narrowed. “How? How can you possibly think of keeping an FBI agent? After…everything.”

Brock wiped snow off his face. “Stop talking about her like she’s a wayward puppy. I like her.” He kicked a chunk of ice out of his way. “She needs protection right now, whether or not she’s trained. Nobody is trained for Alaska like us.”

Ace stepped closer to him, his eyes burning. “I know she’s not a puppy, just as I know you’ve never been able to turn away from any woman or stray who needs covering. Just ask yourself if that’s what’s going on here. Is your hero-savior complex causing you to like her? She’s a fucking Fed, Brock.”

“Hero-savior complex?” Brock snorted, his temper igniting instantly. “Seriously? You turning into a shrink, brother? Is that why you don’t look hungover for the first time in too long, or is it because Christian dragged your ass away from the bottle?”

Ace moved for him, obviously looking for a fight.

Brock was more than happy to give him one. He tensed his legs for the hit.

Christian instantly put his body between them. Fuck, he moved fast. “Knock it off. We don’t have time to fight each other. Somebody is shooting at your Fed, there’s a missing dead guy from EVE without his eyes, and I can’t get ahold of Damian. Get your heads out of your asses.”

Ace stepped back first. “That’s a lot of words for you, C.”

“No shit,” Christian muttered, edging a safe distance away.

Brock stilled. “You can’t reach Damian?”

“No,” Christian muttered. “We always check in once a month, and I haven’t heard anything for six weeks.”

“He’s probably on a mission,” Ace said, not sounding sure. He scrubbed his hand through his shaggy hair, scattering snow and ice. “I hate it when he goes dark. If he needs backup, we won’t know it.” Stepping away, he shook more snow off his thick jacket. “Speaking of backup, what’s your plan with the agent?”

Brock shook his head. “She wants to interview the Randsoms today, and somehow she got an appointment at EVE for this morning.”

Christian’s eyebrows lifted. “EVE? No shit? She’s got some pull.”

“So you’re going to be the sheriff?” Ace asked.

Brock’s ears heated. “No. You know I’m not.” He didn’t need to go into the why—in fact, he didn’t want to. Not yet. Not now. He cleared his throat. “Wyatt said he saw you close to the EVE victim, Christian. Were you there?”

Christian frowned. “No. I’ve seen him out fishing before, and he’s seen me out hunting, but not this past week. My guess is that he’s just mixed up after freezing his ass off out there for a night.”

“All right.” Brock had no reason not to believe his brother.

Ace braced his shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s time we talked about?—?”

“Brock?” Ophelia opened the front door and stopped short at seeing the three men. She wore one of his T-shirts with her long legs and adorable feet bare. The woman was the sexiest thing in existence. Her face turned a lovely pink. “Oh. Um. Good morning.” Then she shut the door and disappeared.

Ace barked out a laugh.

Christian nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah, I get it.”

“No shit,” Ace agreed.

Brock sighed.

After a breakfast of waffles with blueberry syrup, Ophelia called the hospital while Brock showered, and the doctor relayed that Wyatt refused to speak with her. So, she booted up her laptop and rapidly typed an affidavit to obtain a warrant to hold Wyatt Yankovich as a material witness in the EVE murder victim case. Signing it electronically, she fired it off to the Assistant U.S. Attorney in Fairbanks, who would make the motion to a judge. Hopefully today.

Rolling her neck, she tried to ignore the headache holding Wyatt would cause. The town wouldn’t like it, but since he refused to speak with her, she had no choice.

Standing, she wandered over to an old collage of pictures in a faded wooden frame on the wall near the door. Pictures of Brock playing football, Christian on a motorcycle, and Ace wrestling with Damian took up squares. As did a couple of Hank working on an engine and fishing. Frowning, she leaned in and squinted at a ball cap on his head. The symbol appeared familiar.

“You ready?” Brock strode into the living area, his hair wet and his hard body in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Is that the EVE symbol?” she whispered.

Brock paused and looked over her shoulder. “Maybe? I don’t know. The picture is old and faded.”

She turned and looked up at his chiseled face. “Did Hank work for EVE?”

“No.” Brock’s gaze warmed. “You’re always working, aren’t you?”

“Brock,” she murmured.

He removed her jacket from a hook to hold out for her to shrug into. “Hank worked with diesel engines in the service, and EVE runs on those, so I think he contracted with the facility a couple of times through the years when they had an emergency. Nothing major. He didn’t really work there.”

Yet…now Ophelia had a connection between Hank and EVE, a possible one with Tamara Randsom with her environmental grant, and the disappearing victim in the snow. Could EVE be involved with all three? Anticipation lit through her. “Let’s get going.”

“Sure thing.” He reached for his truck keys.

She followed him out to his powerful looking truck and engaged the seat warmers immediately. They drove in silence for almost an hour around the river and through a canyon with hard edges of snow up both sides. “How likely is an avalanche?” She decided to finally breach the peaceful quiet between them.

“We’re okay for at least one more snowstorm. Then all bets are off.” His sunglasses hid his expression as the sun finally blazed across the stark white world outside. “The EVE facility likes to stay remote, so they don’t do anything to clear the roads, and the town doesn’t have the resources.”

She settled her hands on her clean and dry jeans, having washed them earlier that morning. The shirt was Brock’s, and she’d tied the white button-up at her waist over her tank top, going for casual. It wasn’t her usual uniform to interview suspects, but at the moment, she didn’t have much choice. “If you’re not the sheriff, why are you escorting me?”

“I’m not the sheriff, and you keep getting shot at,” he rumbled, his hands more than capable on the wheel.

Looking at said hands, a flush wandered through her entire body. Yeah, he definitely knew how to use those hands. And his mouth. And the rest of his body. Never in her life had a man taken over her body, and he’d done it effortlessly. Even now, hours later, she tingled. He’d marked her, in several places, leaving light nips or whisker burn. She wore him right now. The thought flipped her abdomen over. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you just give in and be the sheriff?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but other than that, he didn’t react.

She tapped her bottom lip, thinking it through. “You like helping people, and you’re a bit of a control freak with danger.” He’d make the perfect sheriff. “The only reason you’re not interested is…” Her mind ran through all the facts. “Oh.”

He turned the truck out of the canyon onto a road next to a wide field covered in a massive antenna array field. Thousands upon thousands of them glinted in the weak sun. “I’m just not interested in the job.”

“Wrong.” Oh, he was definitely interested. She turned to study him even closer. “You can’t take the vow and do the job because you know who killed Hank.” It was the only thing that made sense. While she didn’t know him nearly as well as she wanted to, Brock Osprey was all about honor, duty, and badassery. And she’d slept with him last night—although they hadn’t slept much. He wouldn’t be able to ignore his duty, and there no was doubt his loyalty stayed with his brothers. “Who killed him, Brock?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know.” He glanced at either side of them and seemed to tense. “There’s too much man-made crap around here.”

“If you don’t know, who do you suspect?” Her blood flowed faster as she caught a scent in the case.

He shook his head. “I suspect a hunter.” The man made a decent liar, but he’d been inside her the night before. They’d bonded, whether he liked it or not.

“I can tell you’re lying,” she murmured. “The only reason you won’t take the job is because you’d be torn between your duty and your family.” Unless the murderer was somebody from town, but he didn’t seem close to anybody except his brothers. “Which of your brothers killed Hank, and why?” Then another thought caught her. If Brock had found the body, he might’ve helped cover for one of them. “Are you an accessory after the fact?”

He swung his gaze to her. “Of course not.” He tipped up his glasses, revealing those green eyes. “Give me a break.”

Okay. That seemed like the truth. Relief wandered through her, considering she’d gotten naked with him the night before, and he now knew her body better than she did. Brock had been very thorough. She stared at the antenna field. “There have to be almost two hundred of those.”

“I guess. I do know the array field is spread over more than thirty acres.” He halted the truck near a wide gate with a guard house.

She leaned to peer around him as two men walked out, both dressed for warm weather, the second guy holding an assault rifle. All right. Serious firepower there.

“ID?” the first guy, a mammoth in a black jacket, asked. Military-issued dark glasses covered his eyes, and a hat covered his head, but he looked to be in his late twenties and held himself like he could fight.

She handed her badge to Brock, and he gave it to the guy, along with his license.

The man disappeared inside the building for a few minutes and then returned to give them their IDs and two badges already on neck lanyards. “Wear these before you approach the main door.”

She took hers and studied it. The black badge had EVE Visitor emblazoned across it in dark red letters, along with several visible chips and holographic stamps. Impressive for a place in the middle of nowhere that supposedly studied the ionosphere. She pulled the lanyard over her head and settled the badge below her chest. The chips must track them throughout the facility.

Brock tugged his over his head and then drove past the gate and down the long drive to the sprawling cement block and metal building comprised of three stories. Aboveground, anyway.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, lowering her voice for some reason.

“Nope.” He pulled the truck into a parking lot and stopped the engine. “The folks who work here live here and rarely come into town. We don’t cross paths much.”

She held out her badge. “You have to be curious about this. I mean, come on. They study the ionosphere ?”

He flashed a grin. “I really think they do, and growing up, there were so many scary stories about this place, we stayed away. Sometimes, the scientists pop into town, and they’re all pretty dorky. Not scary.” He opened his door and hustled around to open hers, assisting her down the long distance to the ground.

Her instincts hummed, and she walked with him across the plowed area to the front door, which he opened easily to reveal a large, industrial-looking waiting room. A man waited in front of a metal reception desk with two armed guards sitting behind it. He stood to about six-foot-three and had thick black hair and the darkest green eyes she’d ever seen. His suit looked expensive, his body hard, and his gaze extremely intelligent. There was something familiar about him.

He looked past her to Brock and then smiled. “Hello, brother.”