Page 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

B rock rocked back on his heels and quickly recovered, eyeing his brother. “Damian.” He grasped Ophelia’s arm and strode forward, his mind reeling. “What are you doing here?”

Damian held out a hand. “Special Agent Spilazi? It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand, her gaze going from Brock to Damian and back, her tone hesitant. “You, too.”

He gestured them toward a bank of three elevators. “Let’s go up to my office.”

Brock’s hands heated, but he walked toward the nearest silver-fronted elevator and held his questions until he got his brother alone. What the hell could Damian be doing at EVE? Brock already felt off balance from his too-intense night with Ophelia, and her strawberry scent was driving him crazy again. It had taken all his self-control not to pull over to the side of the road and kiss her on the way.

He’d only had one night with her, one taste, and he needed more with a craving that should cause him concern.

The doors glided open, and the silent ride up bristled with tension. Damian led the way through a small waiting area and down a long hallway with thick carpet to an office in the back corner. He nodded at a woman at the desk outside and opened his door. “Come on in.”

Brock followed Ophelia into a room with concrete walls, mainly steel and glass furnishings, and a wide window facing Knife’s Edge Mountain and the peaks beyond. The office contained no wood except for the desk’s top—a thick wooden slab held up by sharp-cut concrete columns. The room looked industrial, luxurious, and stark.

Damian gestured them away from the desk to a corner with a black leather sofa and two chairs. “Please, have a seat.” He took one of the chairs.

Brock dropped onto the sofa and kept himself between his brother and Ophelia, the sense of being unbalanced pissing him off.

The woman from outside poked her head in. She had to be in her early sixties with salt-and-pepper hair, blue eyes behind glasses, and a no-nonsense look. Her impeccable black suit gave her a refined appearance. “Would you like coffee, tea, water, or any sort of soft drink?”

“It’s cold out,” Damian said. “Please bring coffee, Elisa.”

“Of course.” The woman silently disappeared.

Brock cocked his head, trying to keep his temper from blowing. Nope. Too late. “What the holy fuck are you doing here, Damian?”

Damian sighed. “I’m just getting settled. I planned to call you, but everything happened so fast. I was honorably discharged, offered this job, and had to get up and running within a week. It’s been crazy.”

Was that it? Somehow, Brock doubted it. Damian didn’t want to talk about what’d happened with Hank any more than he did. Brock looked around the office, noting the absence of a desk plaque. Okay. So, Damian had just arrived. “What exactly is your job here?”

Damian’s suit looked like it cost more than Brock’s truck. “I’m the head of security.”

Well, now. Curiosity prickled through Brock. “So, you can get into any department?” Oh, the tales they’d invented about this place while growing up.

Damian grinned, obviously remembering the best gory stories. “Most of them. There are a couple of labs with proprietary machinery. It’s my job to keep them protected and not infiltrated. Even by me.” His tone remained level and his smile in place. Anyone who didn’t know him could easily believe he had no issue with the situation.

Brock knew him, and Damian was not pleased. “Interesting.”

Elisa strode efficiently inside with a silver tray bearing a coffee carafe, mugs, and condiments. She placed it on the table. “Would you like me to pour?”

Brock watched her and pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

Damian stopped smiling. “No, but thank you.”

The woman walked out without a word.

Brock snorted. “She doesn’t like you.”

Damian took the carafe and poured three mugs, handing two over. “No kidding.” He didn’t sound too bothered by the fact. “The last head of security was fired, and I think they dated each other for a long time. Well, not fired. Forced into retirement. They wanted somebody more on the cutting edge of security, and the guy couldn’t figure out his cell phone.”

“Unlike you,” Ophelia murmured, blowing on her coffee. “You’re cutting-edge?”

Damian gifted her with his most charming smile. “Rumor has it.”

Brock took a deep drink, letting the hot liquid burn his throat. “Why haven’t you contacted Christian? He’s worried.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “If C was worried, he would’ve already hunted me down. You know that.”

Truth. Christian could hunt and track anybody, even someone with cutting-edge security. “If you don’t return his call, he’s going to find you,” Brock warned. “When he’s done dogging Ace.”

Damian sat back, concern in his deep eyes. “I know about Ace’s plane wreck, but I didn’t realize he still suffered. How bad is it?”

Brock shrugged. If Ace wanted to talk about it with Damian, he would. “Call him and find out.”

Damian sighed. “Point taken.”

Ophelia took another drink, her pretty eyes missing nothing. “I’d like a tour of the facility.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.” Damian studied her and then looked back at his brother. “Even if the local sheriff is here with you.”

Damian had been in touch with somebody. Or maybe the gossip from town had reached EVE. “I’m not the sheriff,” Brock said evenly. “Won’t be, in fact. But Ophelia needed an escort, and here I am.”

One of Damian’s dark eyebrows rose. “The lovely FBI agent required an escort?” He looked back and forth between them and apparently saw something interesting. “Well, now. What a conundrum.”

Oh, Brock might actually hit him.

Ophelia watched the interplay between the brothers, trying to find the source of the tension. Conundrum? Definitely. “What exactly is this place, Damian?”

He waved a hand in the air. “This is a scientific research facility dedicated to studying the ionosphere—the layer of the Earth's atmosphere that's important for radio communications, GPS systems, and satellite operations.”

“That’s the line I’ve heard,” Ophelia murmured. “Is that true?”

“Of course. The work here focuses on understanding natural phenomena like space weather, solar flares, and how they affect our modern communication infrastructure.” Damian smiled, all charm. “Much of our research is done openly, with universities and scientists from around the world contributing to studies aimed at improving things like navigation and emergency communication systems. While we use powerful radio signals for research, these transmissions are directed toward the upper atmosphere and can't affect the Earth's surface or people directly. Our goal is scientific progress, not secrecy.”

Now that sounded like the company line, and she’d worry about it later. “Did you kill Hank, Damian?” she asked out of the blue.

Damian didn’t so much as jump. What was it with the Osprey brothers? They were unflappable. “No. I assume a hunter caught him by mistake,” he said smoothly. Way too smoothly. Brock’s rougher edges were easier to deal with, and not just because he kissed like a god.

Ophelia couldn’t help but sigh. How freaking frustrating. “The mysterious and so-sad hunter seems to be the party line.”

Damian took another drink. “It’s the truth.”

The man was a good liar, but drinking before speaking was a tell. “Did Ace kill Hank?” She purposefully kept her voice soft.

Damian met her gaze over his mug. “I fear somebody poaching, out hunting outside of the legal season, accidentally shot Hank and became too frightened to admit it, Agent. Since they were breaking the law. That’s my final statement on the matter.”

She swallowed. “You and your brothers are like a solid wall crumbling from the inside, you know that?”

Brock stiffened next to her.

Damian tilted his head. “Meaning?”

She went with her instincts, even though she didn’t have the facts. “Brock won’t accept the sheriff position, Ace is drinking himself to death, Christian is in a category of his own, living in the wild and stalking the shadows, and you took a job in your own backyard and didn’t bother to tell any of them. Something is wrong between you four, and the only thing that makes sense is that it’s about Hank’s death. You know who killed him.” She struggled to determine if Damian might be the killer. After meeting each of the brothers, she couldn’t get a handle on who might have harmed Hank.

“Hmm.” Damian looked at her again as if really seeing her. “She’s smart, Brock.” Was that approval in his tone?

Fire flashed through her, singeing the tips of her ears. “I’m also right in front of you, Mr. Osprey. I strongly suggest you speak directly to me.”

His lips twitched. “I apologize, Agent. It’s just rather rare that any of us approve of our brothers’ women, and I wished to give him a compliment.”

And piss her off. On purpose? She watched him carefully. Was he waiting for her to protest the archaic language? “While you might have made your last statement, I’m nowhere near done, nor have I been distracted from the matter in any way. I’m surprised I need to remind you that lying to a federal agent is a felony.”

Damian laughed out loud, the sound dark and rich. “I appreciate the reminder. You’re going to be fun to have around, Olly.”

Great. Now everyone called her Olly. Wait a minute. Where had he heard that? What kind of pipeline into the town did he have? “You said you just arrived. Who have you been speaking with in town?”

He shrugged. “Nobody, but word gets around, even for those who have just arrived. I already heard that my brother is involved with an FBI agent.”

“We’re not dating,” she muttered. She wasn’t sure what they were doing, but it seemed more intense and less intimate than mere dating. Time to switch tactics, although that didn’t seem to work with these guys. “Will you identify the deceased EVE male we found the other day, and explain to me why his body disappeared?”

Damian drummed the fingers of his free hand on his perfectly creased slacks. “I have no knowledge about that poor sap, and he did not work for EVE.”

She kept track of his reactions as well as Brock’s. “The deceased wore an EVE jacket.”

Damian finished his coffee and placed his cup on the tray. “If you had a body or a picture, we might know more. All I can tell you is that we’re not missing personnel, and based on the description sent to me from the FBI assistant director requesting this meeting, the deceased isn’t a former employee. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“I’d like to look through your personnel files.” She put her cup on the tray as well.

Damian sat back, overwhelming the leather chair. “No. Sorry.” He sounded properly regretful and full of it.

“I can obtain a warrant.” She kept his gaze.

His cheek creased as if he wanted to smile again but held back. “No, you can’t. Even if the deceased body, the one that somehow disappeared, did wear a jacket embroidered with our logo, he could’ve gotten it anywhere. Many of our employees donate clothing every winter to the local care units.”

She kept control of her temper. “Why would his eyes have been gouged out?”

“Animals?” Damian murmured.

“Not enough time,” she countered. “There are rumors about such killings around here.”

Damian shook his head. “Those are tales told to keep kids out of the wilds in the winter, where the threats are the weather and animals. I don’t know why anybody would gouge out eyes, but I’m not a criminalist, Agent.”

“You were in intelligence?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded and looked at his brother’s empty mug. “More coffee?”

“No.” Brock placed his cup next to the others. “What’s the problem with us looking through the personnel records here? This is just a research facility, right?”

Ophelia masked her surprise at having Brock help her out.

“Right,” Damian answered. “But we have world-renowned scientists, and like I said, proprietary machinery. So, we have to keep confidentiality at the forefront. It’s my job, Brock. Get a warrant, and I’ll hand over the records.”

“Will you?” Ophelia murmured, trying for any reaction from the man.

No reaction. Just one word. “Yes.”

So far, she had completely struck out with all of her cases. “I don’t suppose you knew Tamara Randsom?”

“Not really. We crossed paths occasionally, when I came home on leave, but I’ve been off on missions for years. I am sorry to hear of her disappearance and don’t have any information about that case.” Damian glanced at a military-style wristwatch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a conference call in a few minutes and have told you everything I know.”

“Did Tamara work here at EVE? Even in a contractual capacity?” she asked.

Brock turned to stare at her, and she kept her focus on Damian.

He didn’t blink. “Not to my knowledge.”

She gave him her most professional smile. She might be able to connect Hank, Tamara, and the recent victim by the river to this place. What the heck did that mean? “Tamara worked under grants as a U.S. Geological Survey Scientist. Surely she spent some time here at EVE? Would you mind terribly digging into personnel and independent contractor files for her history?”

“I’ll have Elise conduct a search and get back to you. Please leave your phone number with her before you leave.” He glanced at his watch again. “If there’s nothing else?—”

“Why do you think somebody shot at me?” She purposefully ignored the hint.

He blinked. Finally, some sort of reaction from the security specialist. “How should I know?”

“You worked in intelligence, and now you’re in security. Your background is impressive, and I haven’t gotten my hands on most of your military records. Yet.” She let the last word hang for several moments. “So, tell me. Why would someone try to shoot me not once but twice?”

Damian studied her, his gaze hooded. “I don’t think that’s the question.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. “What’s the question?”

He scrutinized her for several long moments. “The question is—why did they miss?”