Page 40 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

T he tavern was too warm tonight. After being let out on bail, Amka had returned to work.

Where the heck else would she go? She found comfort in her bar.

So far, word had not gotten out that she’d been arrested or that Jarod had even been murdered.

It was crazy how many secrets could actually be kept in Knife’s Edge. She’d had no clue.

Right now, she would just be grateful she could spend more time in this tavern that she loved so much.

Christian had almost kidnapped her and taken her to EVE, but she’d protested, as had the troopers.

She was supposed to stay in Knife’s Edge.

So she’d come to work while Christian had headed out to interview the last few citizens about the eyeless victims. Dutch had offered to go, but he’d looked exhausted, so Christian had insisted he’d take care of it.

He really did protect his friends. Amka wiped a forearm across her brow and shoved the door to the kitchen closed with her hip.

Her legs ached. Not just from her stressful day, but from what Christian had done to her last night and this morning and maybe one more time after that.

That man had no off switch. She felt immensely grateful for that fact.

She moved behind the bar, her muscles slow to cooperate, and grabbed the lemon bucket to refill the slices. The bar crowd was light but strange tonight. The kind of strange that upped her anxiety.

On Amka duty, Dutch sat in the far corner with a view of both doors, filling out reports and mumbling to himself.

The door creaked open, bringing with it a gust of cold air and the doctor.

May had her blonde hair scraped back in a bun so tight it tugged her eyes wider.

Her scrubs were wrinkled and there was a smudge of something, not blood, but close, on the sleeve of her hoodie.

Her shoulders slumped, and her shoes scuffed softly as she made her way to the bar.

“I need a shot,” May muttered, voice rough. “Something that will make me forget what a shattered femur looks like. I had to send the Japley kid to Anchorage for surgery. She flipped over a four-wheeler.”

Without hesitation, Amka poured a double shot of rye and set it down without a word.

May took it in one go, hissed through her teeth, and blinked twice. “Okay. That helped.”

“You want food?” Amka asked.

“Later. Maybe. Depends on if my stomach forgives me.” May rubbed her temples. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Amka snorted. “Feel like it. A very attractive, heavily armed one.” She really wanted to act normal and share gossip with her friend. To pretend for a moment that she wasn’t out on bail for an actual murder charge. “As in a hot bodied loner with an attitude.”

May cracked a tired grin. “Seriously?” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “You and Christian? Finally?”

“You expected it to happen?” Amka whispered back.

May shrugged narrow shoulders. “It’s the way he watches you when he’s in here. Like he has a bead on you at every second. I was hoping you’d both turn around and see each other.” She wiped a hand down her face. “I’m a romantic, you know.”

Amka hadn’t known that. “Then I’ll give you all the details when we don’t have to whisper. For now, would you like another drink?” She could give the doctor a ride home in May’s truck and return it tomorrow.

“Yes. A double.” May leaned on the bar like she didn’t care if anyone saw her unraveling.

Amka fetched her a glass of water, a double shot of rye, and then busied herself wiping the same spot on the bar until her hand cramped.

So folks in town had noticed the tension between Christian and her.

She’d wondered. Now her mind wouldn’t stop spinning about him.

How he’d held her last night like she was something he’d never expected to find.

How he’d kissed her like he was starving.

How he’d whispered her name like it meant something. Real. Solid. Permanent.

And now?

If he’d finished looking for a killer taking eyeballs, he was now back out in the woods with Brock, chasing leads on Jarod’s murder and trying to stay three steps ahead of whatever was coming next—while the state troopers attempted to tie her to Jarod’s death.

She hated that her chest hurt when she thought about Christian.

She hadn’t signed up for this. Not the feelings. Not the what-ifs.

She tossed the rag in the sink and moved into the kitchen, noting how pristine it looked after Rudolph had shut it down for the night. The chef was a genius at not only food preparation but cleaning. He never missed a spot. So she paused at seeing a folded up piece of paper by the back door.

A note? She hurried and picked it up, wondering if it was Rudolph’s. If she should call and ask before opening it. Not that the old chef had any secrets. The paper was off-white. Heavier than standard. She unfolded it and read:

The town will hate you when the truth comes out. You’re a killer, and Flossy deserves to hang. Have $50k in a plain bag by Friday when I send more instructions. You and Jarod send the money, and I won’t tell a soul. You have plenty, and he has insurance money.

Her stomach lurched. The paper shook in her hand. Now somebody new was blackmailing her? As well as Jarod? It was shocking that the secret of his death still held.

She folded the note twice and walked back into the bar to shove it beneath the stack of invoices under the register, then placed a battered menu on top. No one saw. Her pulse galloped and she fought the urge to throw up.

“You good?” May asked.

Not even close. Amka almost reached for the note but paused at seeing the stress lines extending out from May’s eyes. “The broken bone was a rough one?”

May looked down at her hands. “Yeah. I had a few rough ones today, but I can’t talk about the other ones. Margie Japley already posted on Instagram about her femur. I texted her a copy of the x-rays and she squealed, she was so happy.” May shook her head. “Kids.”

Amka wouldn’t burden her about her earlier arrest or the blackmail note right now.

May had apparently dealt with enough today.

“I’ve got you, May. You drink all you want tonight.

” She poured another and then turned back to the taps and double checked the pressure on one.

Her throat tightened. The walls of the tavern pressed in.

She thought she was done being scared. She thought with Jarod gone, the nightmare would slow down.

Apparently not.

May cleared her throat again. “You okay?”

Amka pasted on a smile. “Yeah. You?”

May raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Why don’t you sit down and dish on Christian? You look like you could use a break. It seems like you’re listing to one side.”

“This is my sexy limp,” Amka muttered, reaching for a tray. “I’ll gossip later.”

May snorted, and Amka walked over to an odd grouping by the pool table that included the widow, the insurance adjuster, and two influencers. The widow—Lorrie, that was her name—looked up and offered a faint smile.

Helene didn’t. The insurance adjuster looked two drinks past tolerable and not slowing down.

“I’d like another martini, which makes it easier to warn you that my report states that I’m suspicious either you or your fiancé started the fire in the storage building.

Mainly because Mr. Teller is avoiding talking to me about it.

I’m thinking that we should reopen the investigation into the motel fire. ” She hiccupped.

Jarod wouldn’t talk to anybody ever again. “Neither Jarod nor I set that fire,” Amka said.

Helene popped her last olive in her mouth and handed over her empty glass. “Any idea where he is?”

Amka tried to force a smile. “He’s still off-grid. He can disappear for weeks when he wants time with nature.”

Steve snorted, too loudly. “Oh, that’s real convenient. Maybe he did set those fires. He’s purposefully not answering your calls, Helene. It’s so obvious.”

“Knife’s Edge doesn’t exactly have cell towers every ten feet,” Amka said dryly.

Lorrie, her blonde hair up in a ponytail, cradled her glass like it held answers. “You’re not worried about him? I mean, there’s a killer in those woods.” Her voice cracked on the last.

Amka’s heart hurt for the young widow. “I’m sure Jarod is fine. He likes taking off and camping by himself.” His body was in Anchorage and not even close. “I don’t think he’s anywhere near town.”

A sigh escaped the widow before she could say more. She blinked again, then pointed vaguely at her wineglass. “Can I have more of this? It’s the only thing keeping me upright. I want to just go see my husband, even if he’s in a freezer, but the sheriff won’t let me.”

No doubt seeing the man without his eyes would be traumatic. Amka hesitated. “How would you like some food instead?” She wasn’t Rudolph, but she could throw together a sandwich for the woman.

“She’s fine,” Steve said, already reaching across her to nudge the wine closer. “We’ve got her. I’ll make sure she gets back to Flossy’s in one piece.”

“You’re on your third drink, too,” Amka said, eyeing him.

He smiled. “I function great on three drinks.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lorrie murmured, already halfway through the glass. “Really. Just…I don’t want to feel things tonight. Eli was a great man, and I miss him.”

Nixi finally looked up, resting her chin on her fist. “I’ll make sure she gets to Flossy’s safely.”

Amka hadn’t realized Flossy had an open room. More likely she’d somehow made room for the poor widow. “Thanks, Nixi.” She forced a smile. “I’ll bring another round and some pretzels for you all.”

Nixi nodded, her concerned gaze on Lorrie.

Steve leaned in. “Helene? We should do a collab. Something about insurance and the wilderness. What do you think?”

Amka turned toward the bar, the weight of too many secrets pressing between her shoulder blades. Jarod was dead. Helene was looking in all the wrong directions. The widow was unraveling. And somewhere out there, someone still thought they had fifty grand coming.

And her heart? Her heart was in the woods with a man who barely knew what to do with it.

She had to talk to somebody about the blackmail note, so naturally, she grabbed her phone and texted Christian: NEED TO TALK. TONIGHT. ALONE. IMPORTANT. No emojis. Just the truth.

The reply came fast. I’LL BE THERE BY MIDNIGHT. DON’T LEAVE THE BAR.

No “baby.” No “sweetheart.” Just orders.

Protective, infuriating orders that she both hated and kind of wanted.

He wouldn’t be so bossy if he didn’t care.

Of course, he was all rough and little diamond.

But his actions spoke loudly. He’d saved her a few times now, risking his own life each time.

That mattered. She dropped the phone and went back to slicing lemons, hand steady now.

Of course, her gaze kept sliding to the end of the bar.

Her thoughts to what he’d done to her on that burnished wood.

She’d blushed the entire time she’d bleached and cleaned it earlier.

And he was coming back at midnight.