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)
“Jesus,” Brock muttered. “So, Amka’s fiancé, who was blackmailing her, was murdered the night she stayed with you. The two of you are each other’s alibis. Could this get any worse?”
Christian didn’t reply. There was nothing to say that would make it sound better. There was only the truth, and it was already heavy enough. The air sat dense between them, filled with heat and silence and the raw edge of too many truths laid bare. Christian let his arms drop to his sides, hands clenched into fists.
Brock eyed the sheriff’s office. “Trooper Johnson asked me if I thought Amka had demolished her storage building for the insurance money.”
Christian exhaled slowly, keeping his limbs loose. Then he breathed in for a seven count and out for an eleven. Calm. He would remain calm in every situation so he could act. If she was in trouble, he’d take care of it. Didn’t much care how.
The door opened and Jeb stood, his uniform already wrinkled but his eyes sharp. “Christian? We’d like to speak with you now.”
“We can eat outside if you want,” Ace said quietly in the tavern. A cup of coffee steamed on the table next to him, untouched.
Christian shook his head. “No, I’m okay.” After two hours trapped in a room with the troopers, he felt surprisingly relaxed. Probably because Amka was across the tavern, safe and working, where he could keep an eye on her.
Brock sat next to him, shoveling in his second bowl of chowder. “It is clam chowder day,” he mumbled.
“Isn’t it though?” Ace grinned.
Christian studied him. “You don’t look shaky today.”
“I’m not,” Ace said. He glanced down at the coffee like it held some kind of answer. “But I see why you don’t drink.”
That hit Christian harder than it should have. The honesty in it. The clarity. Was Ace finally leveling out? Finally pulling himself together?
“Was the questioning helpful at all?” Ace asked.
Christian lifted a shoulder. “No. They’re fishing and don’t have anything, so they don’t know where to look. They’re going to try to keep Jarod’s death quiet for now, and they might actually pull it off since they flew his body to Anchorage already.”
“In Knife’s Edge?” Brock snorted. “Ha.” He ripped open a bag of saltines and dumped them into the bowl, the wrappers crackling like gunfire in the quiet lull between lunch rushes.
“Maybe it’s possible,” Ace said. “We’re the only ones who know. We’re not going to talk. Neither are the troopers. And it’s not like Teller had a decent job in town. People might not notice he’s gone for a while.”
“Yeah,” Christian muttered, not wanting to hear the asshole’s name again. He still couldn’t get the image of Amka punching him in the stomach out of his head.
The door opened, and Christian looked up. Damian strode inside, the subtle energy in the room shifting as soon as he crossed the threshold. Today, he was dressed down in black slacks and a white button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He moved through the bar like he belonged there and pulled out a chair.
Christian nodded. “D.”
“C,” Damian said smoothly. He raised a single finger in Amka’s direction, and she winked at him before disappearing into the kitchen. Christian tensed. His fingers curled around the edge of the table as his shoulders locked down, but he didn’t move. Not until she came back out carrying a steaming bowl of chowder.
She walked straight over. “Here you go, Damian. What do you want to drink?”
“Just water,” he said.
Christian finally breathed again. She needed to stay within sight.
“Thanks,” Damian said.
Amka gave Damian a polite smile, then looked around the bar, her brow furrowing. “Has anybody seen Nixi? I thought she was working the floor.”
“Yeah, she was just here,” Brock said, lifting his chin. “Huh. Maybe she took a break.”
“Maybe,” Amka murmured. She looked pale, the kind of pale that didn’t come from bad lighting but from running too hard for too long. The woman had been through enough the last week to break most people.
Christian leaned in slightly. “You need to rest a bit yourself.”
She gave a half laugh and scanned the bar again, like if she kept looking, she’d find more minutes in the day. “I don’t have time.”
“Make time.” His tone was low but final. His brothers all looked at him, and he ignored their expressions and didn’t move, just kept his gaze on her. He could tell she wasn’t up to fighting him, at least not right now.
“Fine,” she said finally, voice clipped. She turned to walk back toward the register, but her posture had slumped, and her eyes had squinted as if she was fighting a headache.
“Christian, what is going on between you two?” Damian straightened. “I came to town because I heard Jarod Teller got his head blown in, but there’s obviously more to the story than I heard.”