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)
“Now May,” he said patiently. “I know all about you murdering a man this past spring, and I seriously doubt the crime was truly investigated. I could change that fact quickly.”
Bile splashed in her stomach. “It was self-defense,” she said, which was true. She’d been attacked and had fought back, accidentally killing her attacker. While she’d been arrested initially, the assistant district attorney had decided it was self-defense and hadn’t charged her. So it was over.
That had also sent her back into counseling, via Zoom with an expert in Anchorage, and she was doing much better now. The nightmares had finally gone away. “Do your worst, Kyle.”
He sighed. “Fine. Have dinner with me tonight. We can talk all about it.”
Not in a million eons. “No.”
“You’ll change your mind.” He turned and headed toward the door, opening it and walking out into the hallway.
Her hands shook. She stayed where she was, took several deep breaths, and forced her shoulders to steel. Then she followed him out.
When she walked into the waiting room, she wasn’t surprised to see Kyle and Ace standing and pretty much facing off. The contrast between them was almost absurd. Kyle looked polished and composed, while Ace appeared solid, bleeding, and entirely unimpressed.
“We didn’t get introduced. I’m Kyle Mercer.” Kyle held out his left hand.
Ace just lifted an eyebrow. He apparently hadn’t accepted Ivy’s bandage. The cut on his forehead was still open, blood trickling down his face. “So?”
Kyle laughed and dropped his hand. “That’s how it is, huh?” He jerked his head at May. “It’s a mistake you will most undoubtedly regret. Trust me.” He pivoted and strolled casually out the door, the bell jangling softly behind him.
Ace looked down at her. “What was that about?”
She pasted her most professional expression into place. “Nothing. Let’s get you a bandage, Ace.” After she finished work for the day, she’d go home and make sure her guns and knives were still placed strategically around her small home.
Chapter Three
Ace walked into Sam’s Tavern, his head still aching as he made his way to the bar. The place breathed with low nighttime energy and would continue to do so while darkness left them alone. Summer in a small Alaskan town meant the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon, leaving it light outside. The air carried the mingled scents of beer, fried food, and old wood, layered over decades of stories soaked into the walls. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, more symbolic than useful.
From behind the bar, Amka Amaruq looked up, her dark eyes mellow, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. She hitched one hip against the counter, already assessing him. “How’s the head?”
“Ah, it’s fine. Didn’t even need stitches.” In fact, he’d already helped an elderly neighbor get her cat out of a tree, chopped wood for Mr. Lanskey, and delivered the mail to Mrs. Grassline because she was out with a bad cold. It had been a busy few hours since May had patched him up, refusing to discuss her problems with him.
Amka shook her head slowly. “Ace…”
He held up a hand. “Don’t want to hear it.”
She sighed, the sound threaded with long familiarity. They’d been friends forever, and she was currently engaged to Ace’s brother, which somehow gave her more license to lecture. “I’m not serving you alcohol. You could have a concussion.”
“Just one beer.”
She blew out air. “Beer, not hard alcohol?”
“Just beer.”
“Fine.” She pulled a longneck from the cooler and flipped off the cap. Foam hissed softly at the lip before settling. “We need to talk about expenses for our LLC.”
He accepted the bottle. “I approve. Whatever you want.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re partners, and you need to at least—”
“Nope.” He said it easily, more than happy to let her take the lead. The cold bottle pressed against his palm, condensation slick against his skin. The first swallow burned just enough to remind him he was still human. The two of them had formed an LLC together, bought the building next door, and started adding onto it for apartments. Knife’s Edge was growing, whether anyone liked it or not. Might as well make some money off it. “Honestly, if we have the funds, I trust you.” He really wasn’t interested.
“Okay, but if I get all pink appliances for the apartments?”
“I think that’d be adorable.” He took another deep swallow and looked around the familiar bar, noting many unfamiliar faces. Laughter drifted from a corner table. Someone fed quarters into the jukebox, and a group was becoming rowdy by the far pool table. “Looks like the tourists are giving you some decent income.”
She followed his gaze. “They really are.” She grabbed a rag and wiped down the area near the sink. “I love tourist season. Sometimes it pays for my whole year. You know, you could make a lot more money from tourist season too. All you have to do—”