Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Damian dragged a hand down his face. “Both of you guys shut up.”
Amka arrived with a bottle of her best Scotch and poured more into his glass. The tavern’s warm lighting turned the liquid to gold.
“Thanks.” Damian reached for it.
Christian looked up at her, his gaze warm. “Hey. You got any clam chowder left from today?”
Amka gave his ear a tug. “’Course I saved you some. I always do.”
Christian looked pleased. Then he tugged her onto his lap. “You’re the best.”
Whoa, it was weird seeing Christian happy.
Amka giggled and slapped his chest. Geez. When had Ace ever heard her actually giggle? Sure, she often laughed, or even chuckled. But giggle? It was nice to see them both happy.
Damian swirled his drink once, watching them. “Find anything while you were out searching for psycho killers, Christian?”
Christian’s expression darkened. “I was scouting the last body dump area. Didn’t see a damn thing.”
“That’s not good.” Damian’s expression shifted, the humor draining away. “Maybe whoever killed those people left. Maybe they’re done.”
“They ain’t done,” Christian said. His voice had gone flat and certain.
Ace went still, bottle hovering near his mouth. For almost a year, bodies had been found in remote areas of Alaska with their eyes torn out. The locals were inventing monsters in the mountain myths, but somebody out there was using Alaska as a killing playground. Christian was kind of working off the books to help hunt down the killer. For now.
“Shit,” Ace muttered. “When do you leave, anyway?”
Christian exhaled. “In just over a week.” The words came with a low, irritated growl.
Amka kissed his chin, sliding off his lap. “It’s only a few months, Christian. It’ll be worth it.”
“I know,” he said. “I still can’t believe I’ve got to go to training.”
Ace nodded. “You’re built to be an Alaska Wildlife Trooper.”
Christian’s mismatched eyes slid to him. “You know what would make it easier?”
Ace already felt the punch coming.
“If my brother still flew a plane. Then I could come home on weekends.”
“Other people fly planes,” Ace said.
“Yeah,” Christian replied. “But I trust you.”
The statement felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “Any idea of my getting back in a plane makes me want to puke.”
“I’ll get your chowder,” Amka said softly. She pressed a kiss to Christian’s forehead before turning away.
Christian swatted at her butt.
She jumped aside, laughing. “You better be quicker than that when you’re a Wildlife Trooper.”
Christian grinned.
Ace stared at him. Seeing his quiet, stone-faced brother smiling like that was downright unsettling. “I’m glad you two found each other.”
“Ditto,” Damian said.
Ace shifted his attention back to him. “You find your wife yet?”
Damian’s amusement vanished. “No. Stella was an operative, and if she wants to stay hidden, nobody will find her.”
Ace studied his brother. Damian was one of the best. Always had been. He and Stella had married during an op and apparently never divorced. Then she’d drifted through town pretending to be an influencer during the spring fishing derby, but Damian hadn’t crossed paths with her.
“She’ll be back.” Damian’s gaze drifted toward the tavern door, distant and certain. “She didn’t come to town just for fun.”
Yeah, good luck to her. Damian wasn’t a guy who messed around, and he didn’t look happy. He tipped back his scotch.
Ace watched him over steepled fingers. “What’d you find out for me?”
Damian exhaled through his nose and cut a look at Christian. “Senator Kyle Mercer’s in town.”
Ace leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “That we already know.”
Christian rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Why are we concerned with a senator?”
“Apparently,” Damian continued, “our former pilot here wanted a deeper look into the man campaigning to save our environment while upping our taxes.”
Ace’s jaw flexed. “I’m not a pilot anymore.”
Damian ignored that completely. “Mercer is a U.S. senator running for reelection, and he’s making a lot of noise about salmon, the ozone layer, EVE, and saving some tree beetle. It’s his new platform.”
Ace gestured with his empty bottle. “And?”
“As to why he’s in Knife’s Edge?” Damian shrugged. “No clue. Probably the usual political theater. Photo ops. Handshakes. Maybe a few staged fishing shots.”
Ace frowned. “Is he even from Alaska?”
Damian looked toward the window. “No. Mercer grew up in New York City, saw a political opening up here years ago, got residency, then ran. He comes from money and spent a lot of his own on that first campaign. Looks like he’s doing the same thing this time.”
“Did you find anything in Mercer’s past?” Ace asked.
Damian tilted his head. “I’m still digging, but I did find a domestic violence report from his college days.”
Ace went still. “Where’d he go?”
“Harvard.”
Ace huffed softly. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “What’d the report say?”
“I ordered the complete report but haven’t received it yet. The case never went to trial. From what I could glean, he wasn’t charged. Looks like the victim declined to press charges, and the DA didn’t pursue it.”