Page 12 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

“ W hat’s going on here?” Christian asked as he stepped into the room, the rear door of what he thought was Puck’s Bar closing behind him with a dull thud.

Tika had taken off from his place earlier that day, and he didn’t expect to see the wolf for a few days.

The animal seemed to be stretching his legs and boundaries a bit.

Dutch snorted. “Ah, the AWT has rented this back room for as long as I can remember.”

Puck’s was a street over and south of Sam’s Tavern and served as the only other bar in town.

Owned by one of the Puck family through the years, it was as old as Sam’s and had been a fixture in town since before anyone bothered keeping records.

A rough mash of logs and river stone, it served cheap, burning liquor and not much else.

No food, no snacks, and definitely no wine.

It was the kind of place built for drinking and fighting. Sometimes both, often in that order.

But this room—this back room—had been updated. Someone had paneled it in light oak that still smelled faintly of fresh-cut wood and industrial varnish. A small stove sat tucked in the corner, right now silent but with logs already piled perfectly inside.

The rectangular space held a long, heavy table made from a carefully cut and polished slab of cedar.

Three folding chairs, none of them matching, were pushed up to one side like someone had lost interest mid-arrangement.

The tile floor was cracked and worn smooth in spots.

There were no windows. Two massive corkboards blanketed the far wall covered in pinholes and ragged tape ghosts, with a monstrous map of Alaska spreading across the entire adjacent wall.

“I’ve never been in here.” Christian pulled out one of the chairs to sit.

“Yeah, most people haven’t,” Dutch said. “We only use it if we have cases in the area. And every once in a while, if I have to crash somewhere and can’t find a bed.” He glanced down at the tile. “Believe me, I always try to find a bed.”

The cracked floor looked less inviting than a pine needle covered trail for sleeping. “Why don’t you just use the sheriff’s office?”

“Because Alaska doesn’t really have sheriffs.” Dutch coughed into his hand, his shoulders shuddering. “Just because we let Knife’s Edge have its idiosyncrasies doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t follow the law. Plus, I like my own space.”

The air smelled faintly of old cleaner and warm dust. As a space, Christian didn’t figure it was too bad. He’d lived in worse.

Movement sounded outside and the door opened.

“Hi.” Ophelia crossed inside, today dressed in dark jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket.

Even after months in Knife’s Edge, she still looked like a city girl.

She held out a hand. “I’m Agent Spilazi.

My boss called yours, and they told me to meet you here. ”

Ah, Dutch wasn’t going to like this. Christian moved to intercede and then caught the look in Dutch’s eyes.

The gnarled trooper stood taller and smoothed back his wild gray hair before taking her hand in both of his. “I, ah, I should’ve called you myself, and I apologize for that.”

Christian snapped his mouth shut. Had Dutch just said he was sorry? What was happening?

Ophelia smiled, looking like a movie star. “That’s all right. I’m so happy to meet you. Brock says such fine things about you.”

Pink wound beneath Dutch’s weathered cheeks. “Ah, now, that’s nice.”

Was he fucking blushing? Christian just watched, unable to do anything else.

Dutch drew Ophelia over to one of the chairs. “This is the best we have right now, but I’ll find better ones, I promise.” He brushed off the seat with his bare hand.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Ophelia sat. “Thank you for working with me on this. One of the bodies was found on federal land.”

“Of course. I’m so happy to have your help.” Dutch reached into his jacket, pulled out three folded papers, and pinned them to the corkboard with silver thumbtacks. Each page showed a location. Two had photos. The kind that didn’t need captions.

Christian stood, walked closer, and looked them over.

He pointed at the third page. “This is where the body Brock and Ophelia found disappeared.” They’d found the middle-aged man, wearing an EVE sweatshirt, with his eyes gouged out, but had to find shelter from a storm. When they returned, the body was gone.

Ophelia crossed her long legs. “Yeah, that looks like the place. We were freezing, so my memory isn’t great. I can’t believe the body disappeared.”

“We’ll figure it out. We have the two other victims to study as well.” Dutch tapped the first picture. “The first victim was a woman, around forty. Dressed in black, she was found on her back with her eyes removed.”

Christian frowned. “When?”

“Six months ago.” Dutch motioned to the next photo. “The next vic was a male in his seventies or early eighties. Same thing. Eyes missing.”

Ophelia studied the photos. “How did they die?”

“They were stabbed. Each sustained multiple wounds, but it was hard to tell exactly how many.”

Christian stepped back. “What about the eyes? Gouged out how?”

Dutch sighed. “Some kind of tool. We haven’t identified it. Lab hasn’t either.”

Christian dragged his hands down his face. “So you have both bodies. These at least didn’t disappear.”

Dutch nodded. “Yes. They were autopsied up in Anchorage, and the cause of both deaths was from stabbings. The eye removal happened after.”

All right. So the monster walked on two feet. “A person did this. Not animals.”

Dutch coughed. “Sorry. I’m fighting something. The coroner won’t say that outright. He can’t rule out scavenging, but the marks don’t match anything usual.”

Christian glanced at the board. “Three bodies in a year. All missing eyes.”

“Four,” Dutch said. “If you count Tamara Randsom.”

Christian exhaled slowly. “She was killed by Melissa. I found the body, remember?” He had been sorry to find the mother dead in that warming hut. He turned to check on Ophelia. Melissa had shot her and nearly killed her.

“I’m fine,” Ophelia said, her jaw hardening. “Melissa swears she didn’t touch Tamara’s eyes.”

“But they were taken out.” Dutch pulled a fourth photo from his back pocket, flattened it against his leg, and tacked it to the board beside the others.

Christian looked at the picture of Tamara in that warming hut.

Melissa had been obsessed with Brock. She’d killed Tamara because she believed Tamara and Brock had spent the night together.

The reality was different. Tamara had been with Ace.

By the time Melissa learned the truth, it didn’t matter.

Tamara was already dead. Melissa still claimed she left the body in a warming hut, ensuring it would be found.

She also swore she hadn’t touched the eyes.

“Is there any way Melissa killed the other three victims?”

“No. I’ve already verified her alibi for all three, or I wouldn’t be here still looking,” Dutch said.

Fair enough. “So you think we have a serial killer?” Christian asked.

“We’ve got something,” Dutch said. “Unfortunately, this is all we’ve got. We searched the areas around both bodies. Found nothing. And the worst part is, they haven’t been identified to this day.”

Ophelia frowned. “These days you can identify just about anybody.”

Dutch tapped the board. “Not these two. There aren’t any matches in any system.”

Christian stepped back, arms crossed. “Where were they found?”

Dutch moved to the opposite wall, where a map of the territory was mounted.

He reached for the bottom of the board, grabbed purple pushpins, and pressed them into the board one at a time.

“The bodies were found all within a hundred miles of Knife’s Edge, which is the closest town to all of the scenes. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not.”

Christian studied the spread. “Are we sure this is one killer? Rumors in a place like this…they get carried on fumes. Somebody might know to kill and then take out the eyes to make it all look related.”

“That’s possible, except for two things.” Dutch turned back toward him. “The coroner in Anchorage still hasn’t identified the tool that took out the eyes, and we can’t ID three of the victims, counting the one we can’t find.”

Christian couldn’t put the pieces into a reasonable puzzle. “That’s weird.”

Dutch’s jaw tightened. “If it were scavengers, we’d usually know the signs. If it were a specific tool, same thing.”

“I agree.” Christian cleared his throat. “I’m more of a shoot-him or beat-him-up kind of guy. I stalk, track, or hunt and then take care of threats. I don’t know what to do in an investigation like this.”

Dutch pulled out one of the folding chairs and dropped his weight into it. The metal legs creaked but didn’t collapse. “I know, but think of it like hunting in a different way. I’ve got the reports and case files from these two, plus Tamara’s, coming in on the supply plane tomorrow.”

Made sense. There was at least one daily plane arriving now that spring had arrived, usually carrying supplies and now tourists. So much for Christian heading up into the mountains until tourist season ended.

“We’ll start here in Knife’s Edge.” Dutch tapped the table once. “We’ll ask around and see if anyone recognizes any of the victims. The town is the closest to all of the crime scenes, so hopefully somebody will know something to send us in the right direction.”

“I’m not great with talking to people,” Christian said.

Dutch snorted. “I’ve noticed.” He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed.

“Now that you’re on the payroll, we’ve got more than just dead bodies to worry about.

Be on the lookout for contraband flights.

With the skies open again, someone’s bound to get creative.

We also need to keep an eye on poachers. ”

“I’m on board with that,” Christian said. Tracking a person wasn’t all that different from tracking game. But interviews and evidence? None of that landed right. “The investigation stuff,” he added. “I’m better at ground work.”

“Don’t worry,” Ophelia said. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of that as well. Plus, come on. You like solving problems. Think of this as a mystery that needs to be solved.” She smiled at him. “We’re a task force of three. I like this.”

Christian liked being able to keep an eye on her.

She was trained and tough, but she held his brother’s heart in her hands.

Or whatever the expression was. If anything happened to her, Brock would be destroyed.

Christian’s thoughts drifted back to the bar and another mystery that wouldn’t leave him alone.

The way Amka had shoved Jarod had shocked him.

Not because Jarod wasn’t a jerk, but more like, Amka didn’t have a violent bone in her body.

But, it wasn’t his business. Still, the moment stuck in his head.

Something was off. He just didn’t know what yet. Apparently he needed to solve more than one mystery in town.