Page 15 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A mka refilled Christian’s coffee. Her hand trembled with the pot, and she didn’t try to steady it. The pour came fast, too much, coffee sloshing up the sides of the mug. She set the pot down hard in the center of the table. The glass clacked loud enough to quiet the rain for half a second.

“You need to sit down.” He kicked out the empty chair beside him with his boot.

The wooden legs scraped across the floor, uneven and loud.

Amka nodded, her brain feeling fuzzy, and lowered herself into the seat.

Her coat was soaked through. Her hair stuck to her cheek in strands she didn’t bother to move.

The table was crowded with Christian on her right and May on her left, elbows pulled in tight. Wyland sat across from her, posture stiff, the usual slump gone. His hands were flat on the table, next to the mug he hadn’t lifted once.

Amka glanced at the now covered up tavern window. The sniper had hit both her building and her vehicle.

Brock leaned against the bar behind them, arms crossed, notebook in one hand. He’d stopped writing a while ago. His eyes remained fixed on the group, watching without blinking. He looked competent and rather pissed.

Ophelia perched on a stool next to him, sipping from a mug of black coffee. Her left leg swung slightly, toes not touching the floor. Her gaze moved between Amka and Brock.

Rain hammered the roof. No rhythm. Just assault.

Christian turned his head, zeroing in on Amka. “Where is Dutch? I thought he was staying the night in your back room.”

Amka’s fingers curled around her mug, trying to pull something from the heat.

It didn’t help. “Ace was in earlier.” She didn’t want to get his brothers mad at him, but she wasn’t up to lying right now.

“He drank too much, got into it with a couple of tourists, and then drank some more. I cut him off early, but he has no problem rounding the bar and pouring his own.” She’d been too busy to stop him.

“Dutch drove him home and said he’d just stay there. ”

Christian exhaled. “Damn it, Brock. We need to do something about him.”

“I know.” Brock didn't move from the bar. “Let’s deal with one problem at a time. Everyone is okay, and you’ve given me the series of events until the shooting stopped. C, it’s your turn to talk. What did you find?”

“I tracked him to Blue’s fishing hole. He had a vehicle and could be anywhere by now. The landing area in front of the fishing hole’s a wreck with tire tracks everywhere. All flooded out.”

Brock pushed off from the bar and took a slow step toward the table.

“So we have a fire in the storage building owned by Amka and Wyland, and now we have a shooter who aimed at the four of you, including Amka and Wyland. Let’s start with Amka.

Considering you were in the building when it blew, you were probably the target. ”

None of this made a bit of sense. Amka stared down at the coffee. She didn’t flinch and had absolutely no idea what to say.

Christian leaned in a little, bringing the scent of wild rain with him. “Amka.” He used that low voice that somehow smashed right through her.

She raised her head. “I have no idea who’d want to hurt me.”

“You sure?”

She just couldn’t figure it out. “I’m positive.”

“You can’t think of any reason someone’d come after you?” Brock asked.

“None.” Her voice cracked a little on the word, and she dropped her hands into her lap.

Ophelia’s blue gaze remained sharp. “What about Jarod?” She placed her mug on the bar, keeping her eyes locked on Amka. Her hair stuck to her face in damp waves, but she didn’t brush it away.

Amka admired that. Ophelia Spilazi was a woman comfortable in her own skin. “Jarod is in Anchorage, and there’s no reason he’d try to hurt me. Not one.” That was the truth.

Christian’s jaw clenched.

Brock blinked. Once. Then again. “You’re still engaged?”

Amka shifted in her chair, and her stomach rolled. The coffee didn’t help. Nothing would. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Ophelia reached for her mug again, somehow seeming to watch everyone at once.

“I heard you had a bit of a scuffle earlier today,” Brock said. “That you pushed Jarod.”

There it was. Everyone in Knife’s Edge knew everything. There were no secrets in the small town, and no doubt news of that simple argument had already reached the mountain folks.

May reached under the table and found Amka’s hand. Gave it a firm squeeze.

Amka didn’t look at her. She wasn’t going to tell them the truth.

Not about Jarod. Not about the fight. If they knew, they’d try to help.

Try to fix it. Someone would talk, someone would overstep, and Flossy would end up in cuffs.

Amka could see it happening already. “Of course we’re still engaged,” she said.

“We just had a minor argument. That happens to people in a relationship.”

The word tasted bitter in her mouth. Relationship . She nearly choked on it. The idea of being in anything with Jarod made her want to vomit.

Christian turned to May. His voice dropped. “Is there anyone who’d want you dead, Doc?”

Amka glanced sideways.

May had gone pale in the glow from the fire Christian had built in the stone hearth. “No.”

Christian’s gaze narrowed. What did he see?

Amka looked straight at May now. “May?”

May shook her head, too fast. “Nobody wants me dead. Nobody would shoot at me.”

Brock cocked his head. “You know, Doc? We’ve had doctors rotate through this town like crazy for years, doing their time for their scholarships and then getting the hell out.

Not you. You’re an excellent doctor, and you signed a three-year contract.

I wasn’t here, but I’m wondering if anybody asked you why. ”

May’s chin firmed. “The signing bonus was helpful, and I actually like it here, Sheriff. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

Brock had the same look in his eyes as his brother.

Amka tried to concentrate. Was May hiding something?

May turned to Wyland. “What about you, Wy? I mean, it was your storage building and you were right out there in the bullets. Does anybody want you dead?”

Wyland snorted. “Huh? Just my kid. He wants to inherit everything and change it.” He paused, the joke hanging limp, and then exhaled. His shoulders settled. “I’m kidding. Of course Sheldon wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

“Are you sure?” Brock had the same easy tone, but the question landed hard. “I assume he’s your only living heir.”

Wyland frowned. “Seriously, Brock. Come on. Sheldon didn’t shoot at us from across the street.” He shook his head, jaw tightening.

If Amka remembered right, Sheldon was a good shot.

He’d grown up hunting, like the rest of the town.

They all could shoot, so that wasn’t exactly a strike against him.

“He did seem to be interested in the insurance claim for the storage building.” She winced.

“I’m sorry, Wyland. I’m sure Sheldon would never want to hurt you. ” She should’ve kept her mouth shut.

Wyland winked. “It’s been a long day and night, girly. Don’t worry about it.” He looked over his shoulder at Brock. “My guess is that it was somebody local, because the tourists don’t know about that fishing hole where Christian tracked the shooter.”

“Maybe,” Christian said. “With that stupid social media game going on, a lot of those influencers, whatever that is, have asked for tours around town. Surely the Blue’s fishing hole interested a couple of them.”

That was probably true. Had anybody told Christian about that video of him saving her? She wasn’t going to. For now, nobody had questioned him yet. “What about you?”

“Why would anybody shoot at me?” Christian asked, eyebrows raised.

“You’re kind of grumpy,” Amka muttered. The feeling hit her like a slap. She froze. “Oh man, I’m sorry. That came out of nowhere.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled. Not with a polite pull at the corners of his full mouth. It started in the eyes. His lips tipped upward, slow and uncertain, like the motion had to push through rust.

She stared, caught. When was the last time she’d seen Christian Osprey smile?

High school?

Even then, it had never fully formed. It didn’t now either. His mouth curved, but not all the way, as if he wasn’t quite sure how. Her heart ached. She’d love to teach him to smile again. What? No. That wasn’t going to happen.

She looked at his eyes. The left was green. The right, black. Both locked on her. Both alert. Focused.

Alive.

Outside, the wind shifted. The fire popped. Someone’s boot scraped across the floor.

It was impressive how he’d tracked the shooter all the way through town to that fishing hole.

Through the drilling rain. Through the suffocating dark.

Through probably bad memories. How many people in the world could actually do that?

Not many. Not under pressure. Not with that kind of clarity.

Amka wasn’t even sure how he had seen the tracks in that mess of mud and floodwater.

But he had. And he’d followed them like the storm wasn’t even there.

Brock cleared his throat.

Amka jolted. Had she been staring at Christian? Heat filled her face.

“Amka? I’m going to assume you were the target, but Wyland, you need to be careful as well,” Brock said.

Wyland ran a gnarled hand through his wet gray hair. “I’ll stay sober and armed, Sheriff.”

“Amka, I think you should come stay with Brock and me,” Ophelia added. “At least until Jarod gets home. We have plenty of room.”

“Thank you. I can take care of myself,” Amka said. She had two guns and knew how to shoot.

Ophelia looked like she wanted to argue, but her mouth pressed into a hard line. The coffee in her hand had stopped steaming.

May tugged gently on Amka’s sleeve. “Come stay with me.”

Amka looked at her friend. “What if someone’s trying to shoot me? The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

“Then we’ll shoot back,” May said. Her hair was up in a crooked ponytail now, still wet, drying in uneven curls around her ears. Her eyes were clear, stubborn.

“You’re a good friend. But no,” Amka said.

“I’ve got her,” Christian said. His voice rumbled low and steady.

A shiver passed through Amka. Not from the cold. Not from the rain. Something in his voice—the tone didn’t seek permission. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Too bad. You’ve got one,” Christian muttered.

He glanced at his brother. The firelight caught the side of Brock’s face, showing that strong Osprey bone structure.

“At first light, I’ll bring her over to your place, Brock,” Christian said.

“Ophelia can keep an eye on her while we check out what’s left of that truck trail, although I don’t have a lot of hope. ”

“I don’t need to be watched,” Amka said. Her spine locked straight as the words came out.

Christian swung his attention to her. “The fuck you don’t.”

Her mouth opened, stunned. She had never heard Christian Osprey swear. Or if he had, never at her.

His eyes glittered now. Not soft. Not gentle. Protective and sharp-edged. “I’ve given you the plan.”

Brock’s dark brows pulled low. “No offense, but I am the sheriff here.”

Christian shifted in his chair, still holding Amka’s gaze. “I might’ve forgotten to tell you. I just took a job with the Alaska Wildlife Troopers.”

Amka blinked. The words didn’t register right away. Christian didn’t say things like that. He didn’t make announcements. He sure the heck didn’t sign up for a career.

Brock stilled. His surprise broke through the usual blankness in his face. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” Christian said, lifting one shoulder. “Dutch is planning to retire and wants someone to take over the territory. I’m a civilian consultant for now. Training’s in July. I think I have to take a test next week, too.”

Brock clapped him on the back. The sound cracked across the table.

“That’s fantastic. You’re perfect for that job, Christian.

” He was still looking at his brother, like he was seeing him differently.

“You’re the kind of guy who just steps out of the woods and people don’t even know you were standing there.

Like the trees made space for you. Ghosts. Seriously—perfect.”

“Thanks.” Christian pushed away from the table, chair legs scraping hard. There wasn’t anything relaxed about the movement. The conversation had closed around him, and Amka felt it. Felt the space he left behind get colder by degrees.

Her coffee had gone cold in her hands.

“Let’s go, Amka,” Christian said. He wasn’t asking.