Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Two years ago,” Christian said. “An inspector from Anchorage confirmed that faulty wiring caused the fire.”
Ophelia didn’t speak right away, just watched him, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a slow nod. “Still…two fires in a small town.”
“They were two years apart,” he said. “So maybe it’s nothing. But I’ve thought about it too.” He nudged her with a shoulder, careful to keep from being too rough. “Why are you still an FBI agent? We could use an assistant sheriff around here.”
She snorted. “An assistant sheriff? I don’t think so. Right now I’m solid in my job. There are several missing persons in Alaska, as you know, plus a couple of cases I’m still working.” She wiped dew off her forehead. “Word came in earlier. The district attorney decided not to prosecute Flossy for Hank’s death.”
Relief slammed through Christian. He’d loved Hank, who’d been his guardian, and understood why Flossy helped him die in December after his cancer had progressed so horribly. When she’d confessed, so had most of the town, so there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute anybody. “That’s a relief.”
Ophelia frowned. “I know, but still. I don’t like going around the law.”
There wasn’t much of a choice, and the district attorney had the final say. Christian focused on Ophelia. “Are you happy here?”
“Yes.” She blinked as if caught a little off guard by her own answer. “Yes, because of Brock. Definitely.” Her eyes sparked, softening. “But I also like the town. I like the people. Plus, the pace of life doesn’t suck.”
“Good.” He didn’t want her deciding Knife’s Edge was too remote and packing it in. Brock had enough weight on his shoulders in the form of demons from their childhood and from the service. Seeing him content for once? That mattered.
“I’m not going to hurt your brother,” Ophelia said, dead-on reading him without needing an invitation.
Christian relaxed. That was all he needed. While he might never find peace, he intended for each of his brothers to do so. Whether they liked it or not.
Amka peeled off rain gear inside the narrow vestibule of her quaint home, the fabric cold and slick in her hands. Water dripped onto the mat, the steady rhythm of it loud in the stillness. Her shoulder ached from hauling stock all day, and her fingers were numb. She wanted a shower. Maybe tea. A moment to breathe.
She stepped into the cabin and stopped cold.
Jarod was passed out on the sofa again. One arm dangled toward the floor, and his boot hung half-off, mud crusted along the sole.
At least he wasn’t in her bed this time.
She crossed the room and kicked his foot. Harder than she meant to. A shock of pain ricocheted up her leg.
“Ouch,” she hissed under her breath.
Jarod groaned, rolled onto his back, and looked at the ceiling. “Oh. Hey. You’re finally home.” He sat up, squinting. “Did they find out who sent that note to you?”
“As much as I appreciate your concern, they have not.” Her voice stayed even. “You don’t need to be here, Jarod. Go back to your place.”
He scrubbed his face with both hands, the bleariness fading just enough to show behind-the-eyes calculation. “No, I think I’m gonna move in. You know, since I’m your fiancé. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Cut the crap.” Her jaw locked. “You’re not moving in. We are never living together.”
He stood, sudden and unsteady, and she stepped back before she realized it. The room shrank around her. Sometimes she forgot how big he was until he pushed into her space.
“I am moving in,” he said. “My lease is up at the end of the month. So get used to it.”
“Absolutely not.” Her voice came out flat. He could continue living out at the Willows, a depressing landscape of run-down duplexes, and away from her tidy home. She kept her feet planted.
He looked at her, head tilted just slightly, like he was trying to decide how far he could push it. “Wrong.”
She wasn’t fighting about this. “We’ve been engaged because you said you needed it for respectability or whatever bullshit reason. I agreed to a temporary arrangement. I’ve said that since day one.”
Jarod smiled then, showing too many teeth. The smile he used at barbecues and fundraisers. The one that used to fool people. “Well, I decided we are getting married.”
“No.” Her tone sharpened. “I’ve gone along with this because I haven’t had a better option. That’s it.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he said, and the way he said it chilled her more than the weather ever could.
Her pulse thudded in her throat. “Enough is enough. You have to be respectable by now. I can’t do anything else for you.”
He leaned in and grabbed her arms with both hands. “You just don’t get it. Why I want this.”
Pain ripped through her so fast she gasped.