Thin Ice

by Irene Hannon

  She stared at him in horror. “I can’t believe Ginny or I could have an enemy that vindictive and malicious and have no clue about his identity.”

  Lance stood and picked up his jacket. He didn’t want to freak Christy out, but she needed to face facts. “I think you better start believing it, especially if you’re right and everyone on the lists you give me comes out clean. The fire and kidnapping wasn’t a random act of violence. Since money isn’t a motive, we have to assume this is personal. That means we’re looking for someone whose life intersected with yours or your sister’s in a very negative way at some point.”

  “So how do we find him?”

  “We dig deeper.” He slid his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and picked up the evidence envelopes. “Before you send me those lists tonight, think hard about anyone you or Ginny crossed paths with who might have even the slightest reason to harbor a grudge. Stretch it if you have to. This person isn’t thinking normally, so a trivial incident to you could be a trigger for a troubled mind.”

  Her knuckles whitened as she looked up at him, her eyes too big for her face, her skin devoid of color. “Okay. But I still don’t think I’ll come up with much.”

  “Anything is better than what we have now.” He lifted the envelopes. “I’ll send these in for processing tomorrow morning and call you after I get the results of the autopsy. Now I’ll let you eat your dinner.” He motioned toward the fast-food bag.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t deal with that kind of food tonight. The best I’ll be able to manage is soup. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Take this.” She grabbed the bag and held it out.

  “I can’t take your dinner.”

  “It will end up in the trash if you don’t—and I hate to waste food. Please. It should be edible if you nuke it.”

  He hesitated. “You’ll eat some soup if I agree?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Not the definitive assurance he wanted; Christy was on the thin side already. But his stomach was rumbling. Plus, accepting her offer would save him a trip through a drive-through.

  Someday soon, he was going to have to stock his kitchen and prepare a real meal.

  He took the bag. “Thanks.”

  “It’s the least I can do after all your off-hours work on this case.” She followed him to the door.

  He pulled it open but paused on the threshold. “I want you to be careful until this is resolved.”

  The little color left in her complexion seeped out. “You think this guy might come after me?”

  “Anyone who’d do what he’s already done isn’t predictable. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  A shiver passed through her. “I’ll watch my back.”

  He was tempted to offer to do that for her . . . but the FBI investigated, it didn’t provide security for ordinary citizens. Even vulnerable ones.

  And Christy was vulnerable. The woman standing inches away might be strong and resilient and able to take care of herself under normal circumstances, but this situation was far from normal. As was the person who had the sisters in his sights.

  A chill snaked down his spine, and he crimped his fingers around the top of the bag. “If you get suspicious of anything, don’t hesitate to call me—day or night.”

  “I will.” She shivered again as a gust of frigid air invaded the house.

  Get out of here, McGregor. The woman’s freezing in this open doorway, and your business is done.

  But she seemed so forlorn . . . so alone . . . so worried.

  So in need of a hug.

  Not a smart idea, buddy.

  Ignoring that warning, he reached out and pulled her close.

  “Just keeping up the pretense.” He spoke the words into her soft hair, breathing in her sweet scent.

  For a moment, her body stiffened—but an instant later she relaxed into the embrace.

  In the end, he was the one who pulled away. Reluctantly.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and gave him a tentative smile. “Thanks for that. I needed a hug tonight . . . even if it was just for show.”

  It was more than that.

  But he kept that to himself. He’d pushed it too much already. “Get inside where it’s warm. And set the lock.”

  “Okay. Good night.” With that, she stepped back and closed the door.

  He continued down her walk to the street, juggling the envelopes and the food bag. The burger wasn’t going to last past the next block, no matter how unappetizing it might be cold. He was starving.

  Yet as he slid behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and took one last look at the welcome light spilling from Christy’s condo, food wasn’t the only sustenance he craved.

  Her dinner might fill his empty stomach, but it wasn’t going to satisfy the unexpected hunger in his heart.

  It was the same guy Christy had shared lunch with at Panera last Saturday, in the middle of the snowstorm.

  Who was he?

  Nathan lowered the binoculars and sank down behind the wheel of his car as the tall dude drove away from her condo. He was new in her life . . . but how new? Had they met before or after the first letter?

  Hard to say. It wasn’t as if he’d been following her all that much before then. Just on significant days. After the letter, though—that was supposed to change. Watching her had been high on his agenda.

  Too bad that plan had fallen apart.

  Nathan twisted the key in the ignition with more force than necessary. Of all times for Dennis to fall on the ice and break his ankle. Having to fill in for the guy several nights a week on the evening shift was a bummer. He might be able to track Christy’s travel remotely, but knowing who she saw once she got there required eyes on the street.

  And his eyes were now stuck at work on a lot of nights until long after she went to bed.

  Checking his side view mirror, he pulled away from the curb. He could call in sick—but doing anything out of pattern would be a mistake. It might raise suspicions—and jinx the promotion that was within touching distance. All he could do was follow her when his schedule permitted.

  As for this new guy in her life . . . the timing was fishy. Had she gone to the cops, despite his warning?

  Doubtful.

  The dude didn’t look like a cop. He wore regular clothes, for one thing. For another, the two of them acted real cozy. That fancy gift bag he’d carried out of Panera on Saturday had been a present. And he’d held her arm as they crossed the snowy parking lot like he didn’t want to let go.

  Plus, the way they’d looked at each other a few minutes ago . . . Yeah, the two of them were involved. He’d seemed about ready to kiss her, and she hadn’t been in any hurry to break off that hug.

  The guy was a boyfriend, not a cop.

  Nathan braked as a stoplight turned from yellow to red, tapping a staccato beat on the wheel. A boyfriend could be a problem. Even if she hadn’t told him about the note, he might get in the way. He was hanging around her too much.

  One more challenge to deal with.

  But he’d manage. He’d pulled off his grand plan masterfully so far. This was the home stretch—and the finish line was in sight. Another couple of weeks, he’d have the payoff he’d been looking forward to ever since Christy crossed his path last year.

  He turned the corner and drove toward his apartment, staying within the speed limit, using his turn signal, abiding by the law. He knew how to follow rules.

  But he liked making them better.

  People who made the rules ran the show. Did what they wanted. Took what they wanted. Lived how they wanted.

  Killed who they wanted.

  He squeezed the wheel, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

  Power was everything. It gave you control. Kept you safe. Made you a big shot. A somebody.

  He could have been a somebody. Would have been a somebody, if things had been different.

  If everyone hadn’t abandoned him.

  They
were all to blame for his menial life and menial job—especially the person who’d brought light into his world when he’d most needed it. At the moment he’d been tottering on the brink, Christy Reed had walked into his life, holding the key to his future.

  It had seemed like a miracle.

  He snorted. Some miracle. More like a curse. Because in the end, she, too, had deserted him, leaving him to face his demons alone. To make the wrong choices and start down a path that had led to a point of no return.

  She was paying the price now for her abandonment, though—better late than never.

  The light changed to green and he eased forward again, staying a safe distance back as the car in front of him slid on a hidden patch of ice and fishtailed out of control. Only after the gray-haired guy reined in the vehicle did Nathan accelerate.

  He shook his head. People who weren’t capable of handling bad weather should stay off the roads.

  Of course, some people were forced to deal with treacherous conditions.

  Like Christy.

  Thanks to him.

  The corners of his mouth lifted. Toying with her had been so, so satisfying. Watching her suffer had been better than downing a few beers—and the high lingered a lot longer.

  But those games were about to end. In less than two weeks, his master plan would be completed.

  And then Christy wouldn’t have to wonder about Ginny anymore.

  Because he would take her by the hand and reunite her with the sister she’d loved and mourned.

  5

  I have news on the kidnapping.” Lance stopped in the doorway of Steve’s office. “Is now a good time?”

  Steve slid the file he’d been reading into a folder and motioned him in. “No time’s good for a kidnapping. Solving a kidnapping—different story. What do you have?”

  “The ME said the dental records were conclusive. No need to bring in an odontologist.” He sat in one of the two chairs across from the man’s desk. “It’s not Ginny Reed. I just called her sister with the news.” He’d have preferred to deliver it in person, but he’d promised to notify her as soon as their suspicions were confirmed.

  Steve rocked back, fingers linked over abs that would be the envy of men half his age. The man must do some serious working out to be that fit on the cusp of fifty. “This one’s on the bizarre side.”

  “It’s not like anything I studied at the Academy, that’s for sure.”

  “Or encountered in Delta Force, I’ll wager.”

  “No. That was a whole different ball game—and a whole different enemy. However, a fanatic is a fanatic.”

  “You think that’s what we’re dealing with here?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder. Based on everything I’ve learned from the victim’s sister, it doesn’t appear . . .”

  Steve lifted a hand and glanced toward the door. “Mark!”

  His colleague backed up and stuck his head in the office.

  “You have a few minutes?” Steve waved him into the empty chair on the other side of his desk.

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” Mark detoured into the office and took the chair.

  “Lance was briefing me on the case he’s been working, which is now officially a kidnapping. He’s going to need some extra hands on this. I’d like you to be available.” Steve motioned toward him. “Give Mark a topline, then answer the question I asked before I interrupted you to pull him in.”

  He complied, ending as Steve had directed. “Based on interviews with the victim’s sister, ransom isn’t a likely motive. There’s no significant money to be had. So I think we could be dealing with a fanatic who has some serious mental issues.”

  “Given the extreme lengths this person has gone to, a vendetta or revenge seem strong possibilities for motive—except for the sister’s claim that neither of them have any enemies.” Steve steepled his fingers.

  “But people can have enemies without ever knowing about it.” Mark exchanged a look with their boss that Lance couldn’t interpret.

  “That’s why I called you in on this.” Steve tipped his head toward Lance. “You want to tell him about your first big case here?”

  Mark crossed an ankle over a knee. “In a nutshell, my wife was being targeted by a man she’d ticked off who thought he was doing God’s will. He made more than one attempt to take her out. For the record, she wasn’t my wife at the time.”

  The parallels on a personal level were closer than either of these two men knew.

  “How did you track him down?”

  “By taking a lot of disparate pieces of information and shuffling them around until they began to fit together. But it was a race to the finish. Literally. A few more minutes, Emily would have died.”

  Not the kind of close finish Lance wanted for this case.

  “The problem is, at this stage we don’t have many pieces to shuffle around. Quantico has the newest letter and photo, and we’ll run the DNA through the missing person database once we have it, but an ID on the body might not end up being that helpful. I’ve got a list of friends and acquaintances for the victim and her sister, but Christy—I mean, the sister— claims everyone will come out of a background check smelling like a rose.”

  “She could be wrong. Let’s get the checks done ASAP, see who’s worth interviewing. Fill Mark in on the ruse we developed to explain the reason for our questioning this long after the fact.” Steve leaned forward and pulled the file folder toward him.

  His colleague rose.

  The meeting must be over.

  Lance stood too but paused before following Mark to the door. “The sister’s obviously worried that if the kidnapper finds out we’re looking into this, even if he doesn’t think it was at her request, the victim could be in imminent danger.”

  Steve transferred his attention from the folder back to him. “That’s a valid concern. Do you have an alternate investigation technique?”

  “No. I’d just like to keep this as discreet and low-key as possible.”

  “That would be SOP in a case like this.”

  “Right.” Lance felt as if the word rookie was stamped across his forehead—in green, not rosy, letters. “I just wanted to make certain we were all on the same page.”

  “Tell the sister we’ve discussed this and everyone involved is aware of her concerns.” He opened the folder, but as Lance started to turn away, the squad supervisor added a final wry comment. “Now you have a legitimate excuse to call her again sooner rather than later, in case you were having trouble coming up with one on your own.”

  Great.

  Steve was living up to the reputation he’d earned in his street-agent days as an astute observer of human nature. According to Mark, the man’s acumen was almost legendary in the office.

  He could see why.

  Lance didn’t respond to his supervisor’s comment.

  Instead, he made a fast exit.

  Mark grinned as he emerged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Steve is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “No kidding. My buddies in Delta Force were sharp, but they wouldn’t get anything past that guy.”

  “Former HRT operators, either. You want to grab a conference room and divvy up the list of contacts?”

  “Yeah. Give me five. I want to refill my coffee. You need a top off?”

  “I’m still nursing the venti Americano with two extra shots of espresso I grabbed on my way in this morning.”

  “Late night?”

  “Long night. We have a three-month-old who hasn’t yet figured out that dark is for sleeping and daylight is for crying. Last night was my turn to entertain Little Mary Sunshine—every hour, on the hour.”

  “Ouch.”

  Mark smiled. “I don’t mind. She’s a sweetheart. Now go get your stuff or I’ll be pulling out my wallet to bore you with a bunch of pictures.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing one or two.” Lance eased away as he responded.

  “Yeah, right.” Mark chuckled. “Se
e you in five.”

  Lance continued to his cube, pulled up Christy’s email, and began printing out copies of her lists. Funny. He wouldn’t have pegged Mark as the softhearted family-man type. The SWAT team leader might be an FBI agent now, but the distinctive macho, special-forces aura lingered. The HRT guys were as tough as they came.

  You just never knew about people.

  He gathered up his copies. Odd that he’d never given much thought to the whole family gig himself. After all, the McGregors were a close bunch. Mom and Dad were the best, and despite the grief they gave each other, he couldn’t be closer to his two brothers. But settling down in suburbia with one woman? Not so much as a blip on his radar screen—and none of the women he’d dated had tempted him to put that notion there.

  Of course, he’d never dated anyone like Christy Reed.

  Copies in one hand, coffee in the other, he headed for the conference room.

  It was way too soon to be entertaining any white-picket-fence notions about the appealing figure skater. He had a case to solve. That had to be his first priority.

  But afterward . . .

  He smiled.

  With someone like Christy by his side, maybe suburbia wouldn’t be so bad.

  Mevlida Terzic shuffled down the hall, scooting the walker ahead of her inch by inch, taking care to avoid the frayed spots in the carpet that liked to snag the wheels. She couldn’t trip again. Neven didn’t like it when she got sick or hurt—and keeping him happy was important.

  But a seventy-eight-year-old body that had been through as much as hers didn’t always work right, no matter how hard she tried to stay healthy.

  After skirting the last worn patch, she pushed into the kitchen, picking up her pace as her stomach growled. Lunch had been a long time ago—and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich hadn’t kept her full for very long. Not like cevapi on a sliced lepinja. Oh, the wondrous beef sausages and flour-dusted bread of her homeland! Now there was a lunch.