Page 44 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A mka stepped out of the restroom and paused, adjusting to the cooler air in the hallway.

The hospital lights were too bright, but her headache had dulled to something manageable.

It had settled into a soft throb behind her temples.

Man, she hated needles. Why did she have to have another tetanus shot, anyway?

She rolled her shoulders, and the soreness in her body made itself known.

A deep, even ache stretched across her thighs and down her back, earned the good way.

Something had changed with Christian that morning on the ridge. With them both. She didn’t want to let him go. At the thought, she paused. She’d probably been in love with him for months. Her chest heated.

If he thought he was getting away from her, he’d lost his mind.

She walked slowly at first, letting her body settle.

Thank goodness she’d been able to get some of her own clothing.

Her home had still smelled like chemicals, but they’d at least cleaned up.

She hoped Jarod hadn’t been killed there, and Christian said he didn’t see any evidence that he had.

She had grabbed fresh clothes and an overnight kit.

Now, as she made her way down the quiet hallway, she thought about Lorrie Warner.

The woman had been knocked down during the chaos at the tavern.

Amka had barely gotten a look at her before Christian had pulled her away from the fire, but someone had said Lorrie had taken a mug to the head.

One of Amka’s mugs that decorated the place had fallen from a shelf.

That detail wouldn’t let go. Lorrie’s husband was dead, and Amka had no idea whether the woman had even had a chance to grieve properly.

May had mentioned that Lorrie had stayed overnight.

The least Amka could do was look in on her. She turned left at the end of the hall and stopped outside Room 3. The door was slightly ajar. The light inside was dim. She hesitated and then quietly walked in, not wanting to awaken the young widow if she’d found sleep.

What Amka saw didn’t fit.

Lorrie was sitting up in the hospital bed. Her blonde hair was down, loose across the pillow. The blanket was pulled to her waist. Her expression was soft, even peaceful. Steve was leaning over her. His hand cupped her face. He was kissing her.

Not on the cheek. Not her forehead.

Mouth to mouth. Close. Long. Intimate.

Amka didn’t move. What the heck? Was Steve taking advantage of the poor woman? She was about to intercede when Lorrie lifted her hand and touched his chest. There was nothing hesitant about it. No confusion, no distress. She looked at him the way a woman looks at a man she wants.

What was happening? This didn’t make any sense.

Steve leaned back and chuckled, his blond hair catching the light from the bathroom. “I can’t believe it worked. This was insane, and we did it. Fucking Eli. Damn, he was hard to kill.”

Amka gasped.

Steve turned at the sound, eyes catching hers.

The smile dropped from his face in a blink.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he said, too calm.

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked hard, pulling her fully into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

He shoved her onto the bed, where she fell, her mouth opening to scream.

“Stop,” he hissed, yanking a gun out of his jacket pocket to point at her. A matte-black pistol.

Amka pushed herself off the bed, her gaze shifting between them. “What did you do?” She looked at Lorrie, whose eyes had gone wide. “Lorrie?”

Lorrie plucked a loose string on the white blanket covering her.

“Eli was mean. A total jerk. Steve and I have been in love for years, and he thought, well, we should be together.” Tears filled her eyes.

“They’re business partners, and Steve is so much better at it than Eli is.

He should run the construction company. We should do it together. ”

Amka tried to make sense of the entire situation. “You’re an influencer.” She would not look at the gun. Instead, she tried to make eye contact with Steve. “You have tons of followers.”

He smirked. “Yeah, I’ve done that for fun for a while. When I saw the contest, I came up with the plan.”

The plan to brutally murder Lorrie’s husband? Amka slowly shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Lorrie preened. “See? Steve is super smart. He went to all of those small towns and did the interviews and everything. He might even win the fifty grand. Can you believe it? He talked Eli into meeting him up here for a boys’ week.”

Steve snorted. “I figured this hick town in the middle of nowhere would be a good place to take care of the problem.” He shrugged. “I thought I had him that first night, nearly nailed him through the window of the tavern.”

Amka gaped. So he’d aimed inside the tavern and not at her on the street? “You were the sniper?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s chest filled. “I’m a pretty good shot.”

This made no sense. “So you weren’t shooting at me?”

“No. Why would I shoot at you?” Steve frowned.

Amka couldn’t breathe. He was a crappy shot, then. Didn’t come close to taking out the guys inside the tavern, even with the window open. “Why did you cut my brake line and plant those explosions?”

He looked at her blankly.

Lorrie coughed. “That wasn’t Steve. He’s a good guy, Amka. He didn’t try to hurt you.”

A good guy? Amka’s stomach lurched. If she screamed, Christian would come running, but Steve would just shoot him.

Or her. Or both of them. What should she do?

She gulped, trying to keep him talking. Christian would come looking for her soon and hopefully hear them.

“So you killed your friend out in the forest and gouged out his eyes?”

Steve winced. “Yeah. It was totally gross, to be honest. But once I was here, I heard about those other deaths, and I figured why not? Everyone would think he was just another victim.” His face fell. “But now you know everything, and I’m sorry, that can’t happen.”

Amka looked at Lorrie. “Why didn’t you just get a divorce?”

Lorrie looked down at her hands. “Eli had money. It was his before we got married, so it’d be his if we got divorced. Our community property isn’t much. So now his money is ours. We plan to do really good stuff with it. I promise.”

“Don’t give me that innocent act,” Amka spat. “You’re a stone-cold bitch, Lorrie. A killer.”

The woman paled.

“Actually, I’m the killer,” Steve hissed.

“You’re about to know that. If you scream, I’ll shoot you and everyone who even thinks of coming through that door.

” He gestured with the gun toward the window.

“Go to the window and open it. Quietly. No screaming. No sudden moves. We’re getting out of here, and you’re going first.”

She shook her head. “I’m giving you one warning. You do not want to do this. Christian will find you, and he’ll destroy you.”

Steve just stepped closer, gun steady. “You’re going out that window.”

She turned toward it. Her body was shaking. Not visibly, but she felt it. Deep in her legs, in her spine. If she let Steve get her outside, he’d kill her. No question. Her hand touched the sill.

Steve moved behind her, close. Too close.

She took a breath. There was only one way out of this. Then she turned, fast and low, and drove her shoulder into his gut.

He grunted, staggered back, the gun jerking upward as she grabbed for his wrist. She locked both hands on Steve’s arm, trying to wrestle the weapon free. He shoved her hard. They went down together, tangled, his knee hitting her side.

The gun scraped across the floor.

She went for it.

He grabbed her ankle.

She kicked, connected with something soft, and crawled for the gun, trying to scream but her voice went hoarse out of panic. Her breath burst out of her.

His hand caught her shirt and yanked her back. Her nails scraped the tile. She twisted, elbowing him hard in the ribs. He swore. They rolled, her back hitting the wall, his weight pressing down.

She reached up, found his face, and raked her nails down his cheek. He hissed and shoved her head to the side, fingers digging into her jaw. Her hand shot out, found the base of the IV stand. She gripped it and swung, tears clogging her eyes, panic heating her breath.

It connected.

He fell sideways, stunned for a second, just enough for her to scramble free. They both reached for the gun, hands connecting, scrambling.

The weapon fired.

The sound was deafening. She felt the pressure in her ears before the pain hit. The window cracked. Lorrie screamed.

Steve wrenched the gun free, backed up on his knees, and aimed it at Amka’s head.

Christian stared at his brother. “You’re not divorced?”

“No,” Damian said.

A gun discharged down the hallway.

Christian’s blood iced.

Then it surged.

“Amka,” he breathed. He ran, a panic taking over. One he didn’t recognize and hadn’t felt before. His boots slammed against the tile, and he hit the hallway corner hard, the sound of a woman screaming curling inside his ears. High. Panicked. Lorrie?

Going on instinct, he followed the sound and kicked open the door to the third and last room in the small hospital. He saw Steve first, kneeling, pointing a gun at Amka, breath heaving like he’d just run ten miles. Blood along his face. Eyes wild.

Then Amka.

She was on her back against the far wall. Her shirt was torn at the shoulder, her lip split, and her chest rose fast and shallow. But she was breathing, her eyes wide.

That was all Christian needed to see.

He hit Steve full force, shoulder down, fists already moving. The two of them crashed against the wall, the gun skidding across the floor. Christian drove a punch into Steve’s ribs, then another, higher, into the neck.

Steve tried to fight back. He got one hit in—glancing, sloppy. Christian didn’t care. He was inside his own head now, where it was quiet and efficient. Where every movement had a goal.

Take him down.

He slammed Steve to the ground and drove his knee into the man's chest, pinning him.

Damian flew in behind him and kicked the gun out of reach.

Steve screamed. Christian moved off the asshole.

“You good?” Damian asked, yanking Steve onto his feet. Something popped in Steve’s arm. The guy cried out, his face going stark white.

Christian didn’t answer. He was already edging toward Amka. “Hey,” he said, voice hoarse, controlled only by force of will. “Amka. You with me?”

She blinked slowly, lips parted. Blood had run from the corner of her mouth, down her chin. Her right hand trembled slightly where it gripped the floor. But her eyes were clear. Alert. “I’m okay,” she whispered.

“Bullshit,” he breathed, brushing her hair back from her face. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you,” she said, her voice rough.

He realized then that he was. His knuckles were split open from hitting Steve. Didn’t matter. He helped her sit up carefully, one arm bracing her back. She winced but stayed conscious.

Behind them, Lorrie started sobbing. Damian barked something Christian didn’t catch, and the woman stopped.

Amka shuddered. “Steve and Lorrie are lovers. They planned to kill her husband. Steve shot at Eli that night outside the tavern, and then Steve killed the poor guy in the forest and cut out his eyes to look like the other victims. But Steve didn’t set the explosives or cut my brake lines.”

What the hell? Christian grasped her arms, his brain trying to make sense of the situation. The sniper was Steve? And the asshole had been aiming for those tourists inside the tavern? Christian should’ve looked at all angles of this. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Amka sniffed. “He told me to go to the window, so I had to try for the gun. I couldn’t let him get me outside.”

“You were smart. And brave.” Christian pressed a kiss to her temple, though all he wanted to do was break Steve’s neck.

Damian shoved Steve against the wall as May came into view, her eyes wide. “I texted Brock. He’ll come down and arrest these assholes.”

Christian helped Amka out of the room. “You scared me,” he said.

“I scared myself,” she murmured. “But I wasn’t going out that window.”

He didn’t smile. Not yet. Not until she was checked out again. Not until he saw her in clean clothes and could hold her without shaking. “May? Would you take a look at her, please?”

“Of course.” May moved on ahead. “Come down to the examination room. Um, again.”

As they left the room, Christian glanced at Steve, who had crumpled against the wall. He was lucky he still breathed. Christian didn’t say a word—just stared him in the eye with a promise of death if Christian ever got the chance.

Steve looked away first.