Page 20 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

T he tequila burned down Amka’s throat, sharp and fast, and she set the empty shot glass on the counter with a dull thud.

May snorted, shaking her head. “Seriously. As your doctor, I have to advise against shooting booze.”

Amka slid her a look. “As my friend?”

“You drink, girl.” May cupped her hands around her cheerful red mug.

The liquor had burned nice. After three hours of answering the same ten questions from the suspicious troopers and insurance agent, Amka still had a headache carved into the side of her skull.

Her ribs ached, deep and low, the bruises stiffening every time she moved.

Now she was at the bar with her doctor, drinking tequila like it might fix something.

The tavern sat mostly empty, lit low, in a quiet night.

One table in the back still had coasters on it, damp with ringed ghosts.

The jukebox twinkled but held its silence.

A couple stools stood crooked near the end of the bar, nobody claiming them.

The air carried the mix of lemon cleaner, old wood, and bourbon—the open-bottle kind, not the high-shelf stuff.

Ace had slumped into the leather chair by the fireplace hours ago. Bottle of bourbon gone. He’d drained the whole thing and hadn’t moved since. His chin was tipped down, eyes closed, arms limp at his sides like the fight had gone clean out of him. So much for him being a bodyguard tonight.

Amka kept one eye on him. “You think he’s breathing?”

May looked over, her brow pulling. “His chest is still moving. He passed out again.”

“That was a full bottle,” Amka said, quieter this time.

“Yeah, it was.” May's forehead wrinkled and something passed through her eyes, but she turned back to her mug of coffee and drank deep.

Daisy rinsed a couple glasses at the sink, somehow tapping out a song with her foot at the same time. “It’s a pity. That’s one fine looking man, but his liver is taking a beating.”

Amka leaned toward her, one hand pressed to the edge of the bar for balance. “Do you mind watching the place for about an hour? Then close on up?”

Daisy didn’t look up. “Not at all. Where you going?”

“I have a raging headache,” Amka said, still watching Ace. But she also had a plan. Possibly a stupid one.

May straightened up, slow. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

Well, Amka couldn’t drive. Not like this. Besides, she had an idea. “I can't drive, and I'd love a ride home.” That hadn't been her first shot of the night. “You good, Daisy?”

“Absolutely,” Daisy said, jerking her head toward the fireplace. “Let’s not wake him.”

Ace hadn’t moved. His legs were sprawled out now, boot toe pointed at nothing. A low snore rattled from somewhere in his throat, just enough to prove he was alive.

Amka watched him for a beat longer. She really was starting to get an idea, and she didn’t want him knowing a thing about it.

May shook her head. “He shouldn’t have had all those drinks.”

“He likes to pass out in the bar,” Daisy grumbled. “Make sure you charge him.”

“No worries,” Amka said. “It’s definitely on his tab.”

Daisy dried her hands on a threadbare towel.

Amka reached for her coat and slid it on, her shoulders still stiff from either the fire or from ducking down after getting shot at. Who knew? She and May eased toward the door, pushing it open just wide enough to slip out without letting in the chilly air.

“I’m parked down the street.” May scanned the dark stretch of road. “Should we be looking for snipers?”

Amka spotted Trooper Jeb down the way. “No. The troopers have been patrolling all day and night. We’re safe.”

The world outside remained dead quiet since the rain had stopped. Gravel, snowmelt, the soft groan of wind sliding off the mountains lent a lonely air to the night. One streetlight flickered near the end of the road, casting a long shadow across May’s dark blue truck.

Amka bolted to it, pulling the passenger door open and jumping inside.

May followed at a jog, slipped in, and shut her door with a quiet thud. “Why do I have the feeling that I'm not just taking you home?”

Because the doctor was smart…and a good friend. Amka pulled the seatbelt across her chest. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?” May started the truck. The engine caught on the second try, coughing once before settling into a steady idle. They pulled out onto the road with nothing but the small town and dark trees behind them.

“Let’s go by Jarod’s house,” Amka said. “He’s still in Anchorage. Maybe we can find his laptop.”

May glanced over. “You think?”

“I don’t know, but I have to do something.”

May drove carefully. “This is probably a bad idea, but I'm totally on board with you. I have your back.”

“I know,” Amka murmured, then hiccupped. “I appreciate it.”

May’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, the dash lights giving her skin a blue glow. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” May kept driving, the headlights cutting through dark that didn’t seem to end.

They moved outside of town, away from the river and to the Willows, a string of run-down duplexes that looked like they were losing a long fight with the land.

Half of the roofs sagged. Some windows were boarded.

Gutters hung down in sad curls. One of the buildings had an actual tarp nailed across part of the siding.

Amka winced. “I hadn’t realized how bad it was out here.” Some of the tourists had no choice but to rent this far out. Knife’s Edge really did need a new motel.

“How long has Jarod lived out here?” May asked.

“I think since the motel burned down.”

They pulled up to one unit on the far edge of the lot. Grass grew wild along the curb, half-dead and patchy. A grocery cart lay tipped over near the front step. Amka got out. The quiet pressed in from all sides, thick and solid, but at least it wasn’t raining.

No porch light. No signs of life.

The front door was flaking paint and patched with cardboard near the bottom. Amka tried the knob. Locked.

“You don’t have a key?”

The knob felt jagged in Amka’s hand. “Why would I have a key?”

“Good point,” May said. “But you know, you are engaged.”

Amka looked around. “Do you see a rock or anything? Maybe he has a key hidden.”

They searched the front area. The lawn was more dirt than grass, with scorched patches near the walkway. Some cracked flowerpots sat empty. No key. Just trash and silence.

“Nothing,” May muttered. “Let’s go round back.”

Amka nodded.

They crept around the side, brushing past a collapsed fence. The backyard was worse with old cans, a broken bike frame, and something that might’ve once been a grill. They reached a sliding glass door to find it locked.

A window caught Amka’s eye that appeared half open with its screen missing.

She moved toward it. “In here.” Levering up on the sill, she pushed herself through, rolled, and hit the floor hard.

“Ouch.” Pain clicked through her from her still healing injuries.

The blinds clattered above her in protest. She reached up and yanked them back.

“You okay?” May whispered from outside, her eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Amka helped May inside. The room tilted a little, or maybe that was just too much tequila.

They stood in a bedroom. She looked at bare walls, a new mattress on a low frame, and piles of laundry tossed across the floor. One dresser stood in the corner, missing a drawer and listing to the side like it had arthritis.

“This place sucks,” May said, looking around. “It stinks too.”

“Okay. Let’s start searching.”

May grabbed her arm. “Wait. Let’s make sure no one’s here.”

Amka moved slowly into the main room. A threadbare sofa sat under a window crusted with grime.

Springs poked through one arm, the cushions collapsed in the center like it had been slept on more than sat in.

An old box TV sat crooked on a warped stand, screen dusty, the kind that needed a slap to work.

Beside it stood a bookshelf that was completely empty.

Nothing sat on it but a cracked mug and a plastic comb.

“I think most of his stuff must have burned down in the fire,” she said. “He hasn’t collected anything else. Maybe he really is squirreling his money away to do something with it.”

The kitchen wasn’t much more than a corner.

Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink, most chipped.

The counters were old laminate with the pattern worn off in patches.

One cupboard was missing doors entirely, revealing a mess of mismatched mugs and canned beans.

Two sad wooden chairs skirted an equally rundown table.

Amka wrinkled her nose from the mildew and old food smell.

No wonder Jarod wanted to move in with her.

“I think he should burn this place down.”

“Yeah, with him in it,” May said grimly.

Amka giggled and then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

May turned and looked at her. “I’m just realizing that I should’ve been the voice of reason, considering you drank all night.”

Amka patted her arm. “You just wanted to help. Let’s search this place.”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know. Let’s tear the sofa apart.”

They did. They yanked the cushions loose and found nothing underneath but lint, a broken pen, and a handful of popcorn kernels. May flipped the whole frame, and Amka peered inside with a flashlight app, but found nothing but dust, a chewed-up receipt, and one sock.

They moved on. The dresser was mostly empty with just one drawer holding old T-shirts and a warped paperback wedged sideways. Amka leaned under the bed and brought out a bright lacy red bra.

May’s eyebrows rose. “I’m hoping that’s not yours.”

“No. Gross.” Amka threw it back under the old mattress.

Jarod could sleep with whomever he wanted.

She leaned down to see just more laundry, stiff with age.

A cardboard box in the closet held a few receipts, an expired condom, and a cheap flashlight without batteries. Nothing digital. Nothing useful.

Amka’s stomach dipped. “His laptop isn’t here.”

“Are you sure he has a video?”

“Yes,” Amka said. “I’m absolutely positive. When he blackmailed me, he showed it to me on his phone.”

May dusted off her hands. “He must’ve taken his laptop and obviously his phone with him.”

How could Amka protect Flossy? “Maybe he’s already given that to somebody. Or it’s all digital on his phone.”

May exhaled. “We need to get our hands on his devices.”

“How are we going to do that?” Amka groaned. This was her only chance to search his place.

May shrugged. “I don’t know, but we can come up with a plan.” She paused. “If he could get injured somehow, you could bring him into my office. While I’m looking at him, you could go through his phone. And his computer.”

Amka hiccupped again. “Injured? What am I going to do? Hit him with my car?”

May looked at her. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“I’m not sure my doctor’s supposed to be recommending a hit and run.”

“Well, I didn’t say you should kill him,” May muttered.

A sound clunked through the wall—metal on metal, maybe something dropped.

They both froze.

“Do you know who lives there?” May whispered.

“I have no clue,” Amka whispered. “I bet a couple of the tourists in town for the derby or for that influencer contest had to rent out here. Poor folks.”

May started moving back toward the bedroom. “We better get out of here.”

Amka followed and pushed herself through the window. She hit the ground hard, wet earth slick beneath her hands, pain firing through both knees. The cold soaked through her jeans instantly, and she bit down a curse. Mud smeared up her arms as she tried to scramble up, heart pounding.

May followed with less drama, landing soft on her feet like she did this sort of thing more often than she should.

“Can I ask what you two are doing?” The deep voice came right out of the darkness.

Amka yelped and backed straight into May. They both went down hard onto the wet ground.

Mud squelched up the back of Amka’s coat and seeped instantly into her jeans, cold and gritty. A flashlight beam sliced through the dark, landing full force in her face. She threw a hand up to block it, blinking fast. “Hey.”

“Sorry.” Dutch stepped in closer. His boots squashed into the mud with the sound of soaked paper. His brow was furrowed deep, flashlight still trained on them like he wasn’t sure if they were kids, burglars, or both. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Her fiancé lives here,” May blurted, already scrambling up. She grabbed Amka’s arm and hauled her up with her. Amka’s hands were shaking, legs soaked, hair stuck to her neck.

“Then why are you coming out the window?” Dutch asked, not moving.

Amka narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“I was looking around,” Dutch said calmly. “Like I normally do when we have folks rent one of these units. We’re having a drug problem, in case you hadn’t heard. For now, what’s going on here?”

“Drugs?” Amka asked, her breath still ragged, “with the folks next door?”

“Maybe,” Dutch said. “But again, why are you breaking and entering?”

May wiped a smudge of dirt off her cheek. “She’s not. Her fiancé lives here and she forgot her key.”

“Yeah,” Amka added weakly.

Dutch’s gaze narrowed.

The moon hung low, a pale, sharp-edged sliver cutting through the cloud cover. Crickets chirped along the tree line, the sound brittle and constant.

Dutch clicked the light off. “I get the feeling you’re not telling me the truth.”

Because she wasn’t.

“Come on,” May said quickly. She slid her arm through Amka’s. “We have to get going. Dutch, it was good seeing you.”

They turned fast and marched off, shoes squishing through the muck, breath fogging in the air between them.

“We’re not done with this,” he said quietly after them.

“Darn it,” May hissed. “Do you think he’ll tell Jarod?”

Amka stumbled and then regained her footing. “Oh God, I hope not.”

May glanced over. “You really might have to hit Jarod with your car.”