Thin Ice

by Irene Hannon

“I still think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “No, I’m not. But I’m not trying to solicit sympathy. I just want you to know I don’t blame you for what happened. Taz’s ego was as big as yours. If your positions had been reversed, he might have made the same choice you did. He didn’t like to fail, either. I knew about the juiced egos when I signed on—and I also knew that without that swagger and self-confidence, you guys wouldn’t last a day on the kind of missions you were given. Those big egos were both a blessing and a curse. That night, they worked against you—but so did a lot of other factors.”

  Before he could respond, a child’s cry sounded from upstairs.

  Debbie was on her feet instantly. “Josh is teething, and it’s playing havoc with his sleep pattern. I need to peek in on him. Would you like to come up?”

  Lance stood at once. “Yes.”

  He followed her up the steps to a nursery illuminated only by the dim light spilling in from the hall. The toddler was sleeping quietly again, sucking on a finger, as Lance paused beside the crib. He had Debbie’s blond hair, but the mouth and chin were all Taz.

  Part of his buddy lived on in his son.

  Pressure built behind Lance’s eyes, and the room blurred.

  Debbie adjusted the blanket, smoothed the hair back from her son’s face, and bent to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then she led the way back downstairs.

  “He looks like Taz.” Lance stopped at the bottom of the steps.

  “Yeah.” She turned and smiled at him. “He does.”

  Lance did a sweep of the duplex. It was neat as any home with an eighteen-month-old could be, but the furnishings were basic. “So . . . are you doing okay? Do you need anything?”

  “We’re solid on the finance front, if that’s what you’re asking. And I’m learning how to be a single mom. I miss Taz every day—and I always will—but he’d expect me to carry on. So I went back to school to finish the course work for that teaching degree he was always pushing me to wrap up. Josh and I will be fine.” She folded her arms and swallowed. “It would be nice, though . . . when he’s older . . . if he could hear a few stories about his dad from someone who knew him. Stories I can’t tell.”

  “I’d be honored to do that.” Lance shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Look, I’m sorry I waited so long to visit you. I felt like I’d failed Taz and you and Josh. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d speak to me once I told you what happened. I’m grateful you didn’t throw me out.”

  Her expression grew pensive. “You know . . . in a way, it’s probably better you waited. At the beginning I wasn’t thinking clearly. I might have blamed you after hearing your story—because I needed someone else to blame. I couldn’t face my own culpability. But time has a way of restoring perspective. Taz was having some judgment issues, and it’s possible you were picking those up on some subliminal level. That could have been part of the reason you overrode him that night.”

  “But I was wrong. His instincts were sound.”

  “Did he push back after you decided to proceed?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe he was questioning his instincts too. Taz wasn’t shy about expressing his opinion—and pushing his point of view—as you well know. And second-guessing on a mission—or in life—isn’t productive. You guys dealt day in and day out with stuff that gave me nightmares. The stress was immense. I’m not going to throw the first stone by judging the choices you made in such a traumatic situation.”

  Almost the same sentiment Christy had expressed.

  Once more, his vision misted. Eighteen months of angst, all because he hadn’t had the courage to face Debbie with the truth and take the consequences. Yet in the end, she’d cut him more slack than he deserved.

  He might have left Delta Force, but his stubborn pride and ego obviously needed more work.

  If nothing else, tonight was a step in the right direction on that score.

  “Thank you for that.” He crossed the room to retrieve his carry-on.

  “Where are you living these days?”

  He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  Her eyebrows rose as she scanned the type. “FBI. Impressive. Are you here on business?”

  He considered telling her about Finn; decided against it. They’d covered enough heavy stuff for one night. “Family business. A long story I’ll tell you on a future visit. But I do have a different story to tell you before I leave.”

  She tipped her head. “I’m listening.”

  “Three weeks before the mission that went wrong, Taz and I were at the base, working out. He was trying to convince me to think about settling down—an ongoing campaign of his. I told him to give me one good reason why, and I’ll never forget what he said. ‘Because when you meet the right woman, it’s like putting on 3-D glasses at a movie. All of a sudden you realize how flat and one dimensional your life’s been. That’s what my life was like before I met Debbie.’” Lance hung on to his composure by a thread. “Taz wasn’t exactly a poetic guy, but that stuck with me. Even before he died, I’d planned to share it with you the next time we met.”

  Her eyes shimmered. “Thank you for telling me now.”

  He set his bag on the floor and held out his arms. She didn’t hesitate to move into them.

  “He was a good man, Debbie.” His words roughened, but he didn’t care—or try to hide his emotion. “I miss him every day too.”

  For a long moment they held each other, and when at last he released her and picked up his bag, she pulled a tissue out of her pocket. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “I’ll be making regular trips to DC for a while. Why don’t you and I and Josh have dinner the next time I’m in town?”

  “Dinner with an eighteen-month-old?” She gave him a watery smile. “You may regret that offer.”

  “I don’t think so.” He opened the door.

  “In that case, you’re on.” She peered past him, into the darkness. “Do you have a car?”

  “No. The cab’s meeting me at the restaurant down the street.”

  A gust of wind whistled around the corner of the duplex, ice crystals glittering in the air as they spun past the porch light. “It’s too cold to be walking.”

  “It’s not far.” He lifted a hand. “Take care, and I’ll be in touch.”

  She watched from the door until he paused at the sidewalk for a final wave, then disappeared inside as he set off down the street. She was right. It was too cold to be walking. The wind was bitter. Under other circumstances, he might regret having to make this trek.

  But the warmth in his heart, the new lightness in his soul, the sudden uptick in his spirits insulated him from the winter chill.

  Spring might be weeks away, but with Finn out of immediate danger, the situation with Debbie resolved, and a beautiful woman waiting in St. Louis—who’d done for his life what Taz had always said Debbie did for his—the seasons had already changed in his heart.

  The one cloud hovering on the horizon was the kidnapping case.

  However, if he and Mark were correct in their assessment, that was about to wrap up.

  And once he touched down in St. Louis tomorrow morning, he intended to do everything in his power to make certain it wrapped up in their favor—not the kidnapper’s.

  17

  Smothering a yawn, Lance exited the Jetway, pulled out his phone, and began scrolling through messages. Good. Only a few had come in during the flight from Washington, and none appeared to be urgent. They could all wait until he got to the office and fortified himself with some caffeine . . .

  His finger paused on an email from an unfamiliar name.

  Leanne Drury.

  He checked the subject line—and jolted to a stop.

  Missing Person ID.

  Another passenger bumped him from behind, and with a mumbled apology he moved out of the surging horde.

  In his short tenure with the Bureau, he’d affixed his name to only one missing
person report.

  The one he’d entered in the National Missing Person DNA Database and NamUs.

  The one for Ginny Reed.

  Even before he opened the email, he knew this wasn’t the kind of news he needed after a crack-of-dawn wake-up call, a bumpy two-hour plane ride back to St. Louis, and the sub-zero wind chill waiting for him once he stepped outside the terminal.

  Bracing himself, he double clicked on the subject line and homed in on the sender’s address.

  Memphis PD.

  The message was short and clipped.

  We have a DNA match on a body found in the Mississippi River on January 2. NamUs case #327465. Name Ginny Reed. Medical examiner’s report attached. Cause of death inconclusive due to advanced state of decomposition. Call if you need more info. Please advise disposition of remains.

  Stifling a word he rarely used, Lance exhaled.

  They’d been hoping for a new development in the Ginny Reed case—but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  He ducked into an empty gate area and dropped into a chair to mull over the news.

  Despite the kidnapper’s efforts to convince them Ginny was alive, she’d been dead long before he sent his first note.

  What kind of sick game was this guy playing? Why was he torturing Christy, reviving her hope weeks after she’d buried her sister, stringing her along?

  Could this whole thing be about Christy, after all, as he’d speculated early on?

  Mind racing, he clicked on the Shelby County ME’s report. The autopsy had been done at the Regional Forensic Center in Memphis, and a fast read confirmed the detective’s summation. The nude body had been in bad shape. Both feet and one hand were missing—not inconsistent with a body left to decay in water. The remains had been spotted by a fisherman, half submerged among a pile of debris and driftwood. No apparent cause of death could be determined.

  Yet Ginny Reed had been murdered, no question about it.

  Lance wiped a hand down his face, pulled himself to his feet, and started walking toward the bus that would take him to the long-term parking lot. He needed to get to the office. Talk this through with Mark and his boss. Decide on next steps.

  But first he had to deliver a devastating piece of news that would once again upend Christy’s world.

  Christy braked as the light turned yellow and glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Naturally she’d hit every light on a day she was running late. At this rate, there was no way she’d make it to her desk by eight thirty. But after staring at the ceiling for most of the night, then thrashing through the little slumber she’d managed to eke out as dawn lightened the sky, it wasn’t surprising she’d fallen into an oblivious stupor and slept through the alarm.

  Too bad she hadn’t indulged in some hot chocolate again last night. It had relaxed her enough Saturday to coax her into sleep.

  Or maybe her mellow state that night had been due more to her phone conversation with Lance at the rink.

  The light changed, and she accelerated. At least he’d be back today, and . . .

  From within her purse, her phone began to chirp.

  Keeping tabs on the traffic, she groped for it, skimming caller ID as she pulled it out.

  Huh.

  Had Lance somehow known she was thinking about him?

  No. That was silly. More like wishful thinking on her part.

  Smiling nonetheless, she put the phone to her ear and maneuvered around a woman who was trying to brush on mascara while she drove.

  “Good morning. Are you back?”

  “Yes. Are you at work?”

  “Not yet. I’m running late—but I should be there in ten minutes if the stoplights cooperate. Are you at the office?”

  “No. On the bus, heading for the long-term parking lot.” A subtle strain stiffened his words.

  She frowned. Had his brother taken a turn for the worse?

  “Is everything all right with Finn?”

  “Yeah. Listen . . . I need to talk to you, but not at your office.”

  Bad vibes snaked through the line, and her stomach clenched. “What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s do this in person, okay?”

  He didn’t deny there was a problem.

  “Lance . . . tell me.” Her lungs locked, and her fingers tightened on the wheel.

  “I’ll swing into the parking lot at the rec center and call you from my car. I can be there in twenty minutes.” A swish and a clatter sounded in the background. The bus door opening?

  Another light changed from yellow to red in front of her, and she slammed on her brakes. “I have a meeting at nine thirty.”

  “This won’t take long. I’m getting in my car now.”

  “Fine.” It was clear he wasn’t going to tell her anything by phone. “I’ll wait for your call.”

  She finished the drive on autopilot, then huddled in her cubicle, phone close at hand. She tried to read a stack of parent evaluations for the family star-searching party they’d held a week ago in conjunction with the St. Louis Astronomical Society, but not a single word registered. All she could think about was Lance’s impromptu visit.

  Something had happened since they’d last talked, that much she knew—and it wasn’t good.

  Beyond that, she was at a loss.

  By the time her phone finally began to vibrate, the bagel she’d scarfed down as she dashed out the door of her condo had turned into a hard lump of dough in her stomach.

  She pressed the phone to her ear, heart banging against her rib cage. “You’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  Without bothering to grab her coat, she tore down the hall.

  “Whoa! Where’s the fire?” Sarah gripped her arms as she careened around a corner and almost mowed down her friend.

  “Lance is in the parking lot. I have to talk to him.” Her words came out in a breathless rush.

  Sarah’s grin faded. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know—but I’m about to find out.”

  She pulled free and took off again.

  “Hey . . . I’ll be here when you get back!”

  Christy waved over her shoulder in acknowledgment and pushed through the main door. She spotted Lance’s black Cruze at once and jogged toward it, dodging the large piles of snow that hadn’t yet melted since the last storm.

  The passenger door opened as she approached, and she slid into the warm interior. At her first glimpse of Lance’s grim demeanor, her pulse skittered.

  “I have some news.” He reached over and folded her hand in his, sympathy softening the strong planes of his face.

  And then she knew.

  The breath whooshed out of her lungs.

  “Ginny’s dead, isn’t she?” Her words came out dull. Shell-shocked.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes. Tight. All those weeks of mourning, followed by weeks of hope . . . only to end up exactly where she’d been before.

  God, why? Why would you do this to me?

  Hard as she listened, no answer came.

  “I’m so sorry.” Lance’s concerned voice, the comforting brush of his thumb over the back of her hand, barely registered.

  A tear spilled out, but she didn’t care. “Tell me.”

  She listened as he spoke, trying to take in the words, to make sense of the bizarre development, to accept the reality that this time, her sister was really dead. There would be no more false hope.

  When he finished, she gripped his hand tighter and searched his eyes, seeking answers she knew he didn’t have. “Why would someone do this?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re not dealing with a rational person, that’s more clear than ever. I’m going to have some of my colleagues weigh in on this as soon as I get back to the office.”

  “What about . . . Ginny?”

  “I assume you want the remains . . . her body . . . brought back here?”

  “Yes.”

 
; “I’ll let the Memphis PD know—and I can help coordinate the transfer.” He leaned closer and gently wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “No. I . . . there’s nothing for me to do there. And my car’s here. I’d rather . . . go through the motions of the day.” She drew in a shaky breath. Blinked to clear her vision. “Ever since we realized the kidnapper took that photo of Ginny right after the fire, a cloud of dread has been hanging over my head. Part of me was prepared for bad news . . . but I could never quite extinguish that tiny flicker of hope, you know?” Her voice choked, and she groped in her pocket for a tissue. “I just don’t get why someone would put me through all this.”

  “I’m back to thinking this guy was targeting you as well as your sister.”

  “But like I’ve said all along, we don’t have any enemies. Certainly no common enemies.”

  Lance’s features hardened. “There’s an enemy out there somewhere—and we’re going to find him.” He cranked up the heat, studying her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

  “Yes. But I do want you to get back to work so you can find this guy.” She groped for the handle of the door . . . but when she tried to tug her hand free, he held tight.

  “Do you know what I’d like to do right now?”

  She angled back toward him, and despite the swirl of confusion muddling her thinking, she had no problem deciphering the emotion in his eyes.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until the world steadied.

  Not possible, of course. Lance was too much of a pro to get that personal in the middle of a case. Especially in a public parking lot.

  But knowing that was what he wanted to do gave her more comfort than he’d ever know.

  “Yeah, I think I do. Hold that thought, okay?”

  “I intend to.” With a final squeeze of her fingers, he released her and shifted into drive. “I’ll drop you at the door. You’re not dressed for this weather.”

  True. Her black slacks and thin wool sweater weren’t made to withstand winter temperatures.

  The instant he stopped in front of the entrance, she pushed open her door. “Thank you for delivering the news in person.”