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)
Did somebody want Amka dead?
Chapter 12
Amka refilled Christian’s coffee. Her hand trembled with the pot, and she didn’t try to steady it. The pour came fast, too much, coffee sloshing up the sides of the mug. She set the pot down hard in the center of the table. The glass clacked loud enough to quiet the rain for half a second.
“You need to sit down.” He kicked out the empty chair beside him with his boot. The wooden legs scraped across the floor, uneven and loud. Amka nodded, her brain feeling fuzzy, and lowered herself into the seat. Her coat was soaked through. Her hair stuck to her cheek in strands she didn’t bother to move.
The table was crowded with Christian on her right and May on her left, elbows pulled in tight. Wyland sat across from her, posture stiff, the usual slump gone. His hands were flat on the table, next to the mug he hadn’t lifted once.
Amka glanced at the now covered up tavern window. The sniper had hit both her building and her vehicle.
Brock leaned against the bar behind them, arms crossed, notebook in one hand. He’d stopped writing a while ago. His eyes remained fixed on the group, watching without blinking. He looked competent and rather pissed.
Ophelia perched on a stool next to him, sipping from a mug of black coffee. Her left leg swung slightly, toes not touching the floor. Her gaze moved between Amka and Brock.
Rain hammered the roof. No rhythm. Just assault.
Christian turned his head, zeroing in on Amka. “Where is Dutch? I thought he was staying the night in your back room.”
Amka’s fingers curled around her mug, trying to pull something from the heat. It didn’t help. “Ace was in earlier.” She didn’t want to get his brothers mad at him, but she wasn’t up to lying right now. “He drank too much, got into it with a couple of tourists, and then drank some more. I cut him off early, but he has no problem rounding the bar and pouring his own.” She’d been too busy to stop him. “Dutch drove him home and said he’d just stay there.”
Christian exhaled. “Damn it, Brock. We need to do something about him.”
“I know.” Brock didn't move from the bar. “Let’s deal with one problem at a time. Everyone is okay, and you’ve given me the series of events until the shooting stopped. C, it’s your turn to talk. What did you find?”
“I tracked him to Blue’s fishing hole. He had a vehicle and could be anywhere by now. The landing area in front of the fishing hole’s a wreck with tire tracks everywhere. All flooded out.”
Brock pushed off from the bar and took a slow step toward the table. “So we have a fire in the storage building owned by Amka and Wyland, and now we have a shooter who aimed at the four of you, including Amka and Wyland. Let’s start with Amka. Considering you were in the building when it blew, you were probably the target.”
None of this made a bit of sense. Amka stared down at the coffee. She didn’t flinch and had absolutely no idea what to say.
Christian leaned in a little, bringing the scent of wild rain with him. “Amka.” He used that low voice that somehow smashed right through her.
She raised her head. “I have no idea who’d want to hurt me.”
“You sure?”
She just couldn’t figure it out. “I’m positive.”
“You can’t think of any reason someone’d come after you?” Brock asked.
“None.” Her voice cracked a little on the word, and she dropped her hands into her lap.
Ophelia’s blue gaze remained sharp. “What about Jarod?” She placed her mug on the bar, keeping her eyes locked on Amka. Her hair stuck to her face in damp waves, but she didn’t brush it away.
Amka admired that. Ophelia Spilazi was a woman comfortable in her own skin. “Jarod is in Anchorage, and there’s no reason he’d try to hurt me. Not one.” That was the truth.
Christian’s jaw clenched.
Brock blinked. Once. Then again. “You’re still engaged?”
Amka shifted in her chair, and her stomach rolled. The coffee didn’t help. Nothing would. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
Ophelia reached for her mug again, somehow seeming to watch everyone at once.
“I heard you had a bit of a scuffle earlier today,” Brock said. “That you pushed Jarod.”
There it was. Everyone in Knife’s Edge knew everything. There were no secrets in the small town, and no doubt news of that simple argument had already reached the mountain folks.
May reached under the table and found Amka’s hand. Gave it a firm squeeze.
Amka didn’t look at her. She wasn’t going to tell them the truth. Not about Jarod. Not about the fight. If they knew, they’d try to help. Try to fix it. Someone would talk, someone would overstep, and Flossy would end up in cuffs. Amka could see it happening already. “Of course we’re still engaged,” she said. “We just had a minor argument. That happens to people in a relationship.”