Thin Ice

by Irene Hannon

  Lance watched Christy leap, rotate—and fall hard on the unforgiving surface. She crumpled into a heap and skidded across the ice, coming to rest near the center of the pond.

  And she didn’t get up.

  As she lay there still as death, every muscle in his body tensed.

  Mark’s vise-like fingers tightened on his arm. “Don’t move!” The hissed words were soft but terse.

  Fisting his hands, Lance wrestled his instinctive spring-into-action response into submission. His colleague was right. Neven was out there somewhere. If they exposed their position now and the man panicked, the situation could go south very fast.

  “This might draw him out.” Mark loosened his grip, inspected the perimeter of the lake with his NVGs, then spoke into the mike. “Everyone hold. Keep a sharp eye out for our target.”

  Lance lifted the night-vision binoculars again. The tremor in his fingers was a new experience on a mission . . . but he’d never been trying to save the life of a woman he was falling in love with, either.

  As he zoomed in on her motionless form, he sucked in a breath. Despite the green NV hue, he had no problem spotting the growing, dark pool on the ice beside her temple.

  “She’s bleeding!”

  “I saw that.” Mark’s voice remained calm. “There’s a paramedic team waiting at the barn by now.”

  A lot of good that did them. Christy needed medical help here. Now.

  He forced his lungs to keep working and scrutinized her face. It appeared the blood on the ice was coming from a gash on her temple. She must have hit her head hard or she wouldn’t be . . .

  He blinked.

  Looked again.

  Had her eyelash flickered?

  He skimmed the rest of her body. One hand was curled into a fist—and she appeared to be breathing fast. Not typical symptoms of unconsciousness. The blood was real, but . . . could she have fallen on purpose?

  His brain began firing. “Mark, I think the fall might be a trick to lure Terzic onto the ice.” He recapped what he’d noticed. “Getting him onto her territory would help level the playing field, give her a fighting chance.”

  The other agent studied Christy. “You think she’d actually try a stunt like that?”

  “Without question. You don’t get to be an Olympic athlete without taking calculated risks—and fighting to win.”

  Silence while Mark mulled that over.

  “I guess it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Let’s see if it works.”

  As Mark filled in the rest of the team and gave another set of instructions, Lance continued to watch Christy. If this was an act, she was doing a stellar job. Despite the cold that must be seeping through her leggings and inadequate jacket, she wasn’t moving a muscle. Her willpower and discipline had to be off the chart.

  Either that, or she was really hurt.

  Whichever it was, though, her fall was going to force Terzic to react. This drama was about to end.

  One way or the other.

  An accident wasn’t part of his plan.

  From his perch in the deer blind, Terzic glared down at Christy. She’d warned him the surface was too rough for skating, and the several hard falls she’d taken in the past half hour were proof of that. Still, watching her get bruised and battered had been a plus from his perspective.

  But it would have been nice to have another thirty minutes of fun before he ended the show.

  That didn’t appear to be in the cards, however. Not with that blood on her forehead. And if she was dizzy once she came to, getting her back to the car through the woods was going to be a bear. It would also take longer than he’d planned.

  He needed to wrap this up.

  Shifting carefully in the confined space, he scanned the area around the perimeter of the pond. All was quiet.

  Nevertheless, he hesitated.

  Was it possible those breaking twigs that had sent him scurrying for the cover of the deer blind had been caused by humans rather than a roving deer or raccoon? Or was he overreacting?

  Surely it had to be the latter. No one suspected he had Christy—or knew where he was on this cold night.

  Yet something didn’t feel right.

  Better to test the waters before he ventured into the open.

  He felt around until his fingers closed over a half-empty box of ammunition on the floor. Tucking himself close to the rear wall, he lobbed it through an opening, putting as much muscle behind the throw as possible.

  A few seconds later, it crashed into the undergrowth in the distance.

  Then he waited.

  And watched.

  “Our guys on the west side are checking it out. It could be a deer.”

  As Mark relayed the gist of his radio transmission, Lance tried to rein in his impatience. “Too coincidental with Christy’s fall.”

  “I’m inclined to agree. But let’s wait for a report. If it was a deer, our target will be spooked too. He’ll be on edge and jittery.”

  That made two of them.

  Two eternal minutes later, Mark pressed a finger to his ear. “Copy. Kurt and Brett, get where you need to be.” He swiveled around. “No sign of an animal, but while our guys were investigating the noise, they think they saw a movement in the deer blind.”

  Knowing Terzic’s position was good; the position itself wasn’t.

  “That spot gives him a direct line of sight to Christy. He finds out we’re here, he could pull the trigger—and blind shots by us might not take care of him fast enough to stop a fatal bullet from finding her.” Lance motioned toward the north side of the pond. “Those chairs and generator are outside the circle of light. If we could turn off the generator, that would give us a window to get her out of harm’s way.”

  “You’re assuming he doesn’t have NVGs.”

  “Yeah, I am. But if he does have them, I doubt he was wearing them for the show.”

  “The show’s over.”

  “Look . . .” Lance did the quick mental fact-sort he’d perfected in Delta Force. “Why bother with NVGs if you’re going to light up the pond? They restrict peripheral vision, and unless you’re used to wearing them, they’re annoying. If he illuminated that”—he gestured to the pond—“I’m betting he used a flashlight on their walk through the woods.”

  “There’s a lot hinging on that bet.”

  As if he didn’t know that.

  “Do you have any other ideas about how to flush him out? Christy’s bleeding, and if she doesn’t already have hypothermia, she’ll get it fast lying on that ice. If Terzic hasn’t come out on his own by now, do you really think he’s going to? He must be spooked already, and if that was a deer in the brush rather than an attempt on his part to draw us out, he’s going to be more cautious than ever. Since we can assume he plans to kill Christy anyway, he can wait for hours to see if we make a move. She can’t.”

  His logic was hard to refute—but Mark had nailed it. If he’d called this wrong, if Terzic had NVGs, this could backfire.

  Big time.

  But doing nothing wouldn’t be an option much longer, given Christy’s perilous position.

  “I’m assuming you want to use the window of darkness before Terzic snaps on his flashlight—or whatever light source he has—to grab Christy.”

  “Yes. Once I have her, we can take cover behind those cedar trees.” He motioned toward the small cluster of dense evergreens at the edge of the pond.

  “After you cross the slippery ice.”

  “I played hockey. I’ve been around ice.” Years ago . . . but he left that unsaid.

  “On skates.”

  Lance gave the SWAT team leader a steady look. “I can do this, Mark. I was involved in dozens of high-stakes rescues in The Unit. I know how to evaluate risk and develop a strategy to minimize it.”

  Three long seconds crawled by.

  “Okay. Given the circumstances, it’s not a bad option, and I think it could work—assuming our target isn’t wearing NVGs. I’ll get the guys set. How m
uch time do you need to get into position?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “We’ll cover you as best we can if Terzic gets trigger happy once the lights go out. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  But as he slipped away and began to descend toward the pond, Lance knew they’d need a whole lot more than luck to pull off this operation without bloodshed.

  No one was here except him and Christy. She hadn’t stirred—nor had anyone else since he’d thrown the box of bullets into the woods.

  He just had a case of nerves.

  Neven fingered his pistol and exhaled. Being a little jittery was understandable in the final stage of a brilliant plan that had accomplished exactly what he’d intended without creating so much as a blip on the radar of law enforcement. It was a perfect example of his organization and planning skills—and a perfect example of why he should have been so much more than a maintenance man. He was management material.

  Too bad he couldn’t put this whole operation on a résumé. It would certainly be impressive.

  Smirking at the thought of listing such an item under the heading of accomplishments, he edged toward the ladder and took one last look at Christy from his elevated perch. Still motionless. Too bad. He wouldn’t mind watching her stagger to her feet and wobble through another few spins and jumps.

  On the plus side, though, the temperature was dropping fast—and an early end to the show would allow him to get to the best part of the evening sooner.

  The part where he ended the life of the woman who’d ruined his.

  Adrenaline surging, he started to lower his legs to the ladder.

  Suddenly, the night went pitch black.

  What the . . . ?

  He scrambled back into the blind, wedged himself in a corner, and peered through a crack. The generator had plenty of fuel. There should have been more than . . .

  A movement on the ice caught his eye, and he homed in on it. A shadow on the surface was scooting toward the trees on the side of the pond.

  Christy!

  She was trying to get away!

  Neven’s mouth hardened as a surge of anger swept over him. No way.

  He lifted his gun, steadied his arm, and took aim.

  28

  Christy was fighting him.

  Hard.

  She punched. She kicked. She scratched.

  His cheek began to smart as her fingernails raked across it.

  Yes!

  Her fall had been a fake, just as he’d suspected. She wasn’t hurt.

  “Christy—it’s Lance.” He grappled with her flailing arms, easily restraining her as he slid them both toward the cover of the cedar trees. The darkness would only give them an advantage until Terzic’s eyes adjusted or he flashed a light at them. They had a few seconds, at best. “Work with me.”

  She froze. Emitted a shuddering sob. Then she began pushing with her skate blades, propelling them even faster across the ice.

  Once at the edge, he swept her into his arms, rose to a crouch, and dove into the small cluster of cedar trees. After setting her on the ground, he pulled out his Glock. “Are you hurt?” He scanned the perimeter of the lake as he whispered the question, wanting to cradle her in his arms and check for himself but doing instead what duty required.

  “N-no.”

  “Stay quiet.”

  She was shaking—badly—as she huddled beside him, and though she didn’t say a word, the chattering of her teeth echoed in the silent woods. They needed to fix that.

  He dug for his wallet. If she clenched her teeth around . . .

  The chattering stopped.

  He flicked her a quick glance.

  She’d stuck her glove-encased finger between her teeth.

  What a trooper.

  Again resisting the impulse to touch her, he went back to scrutinizing the perimeter. That’s what a pro did.

  But once this was over and FBI Special Agent McGregor was off duty, Lance intended to wrap her in his arms and hold on tight.

  For a very long time.

  As Christy disappeared into the small cluster of cedar trees at the edge of the pond, Neven lowered his gun.

  Better not to shoot. Despite the silencer, it would give away his position. Besides, it didn’t matter that she’d managed to get off the ice. In her injured state, wearing skates, how far could she run? He could easily catch up to her.

  The real problem was the person who’d turned off the generator. Whoever that was could be watching for him to make a move. He couldn’t show himself until . . .

  “Mr. Terzic, FBI. We know you’re in the deer blind. Come down and raise your hands above your head. You’re surrounded by agents. Let’s talk about this so no one gets hurt.”

  FBI?!

  No!

  Impossible!

  No one knew about his plans. No one!

  “Mr. Terzic, come down now. Agent Bradley, are you in position?”

  “Yes.” A second voice, off to the right.

  A wave of panic, of suffocating helplessness, crashed over him, the same way it had the day his brother had been killed in the street and his mother had been dragged off by soldiers. Even if he’d been willing to risk his own neck, there hadn’t been anything he could have done to help them. The soldiers had been in control in that faraway place.

  But he was supposed to be in control here.

  Except his biggest bargaining chip had just disappeared into the undergrowth.

  He sucked in a harsh breath as the nauseating reality crashed over him.

  Giving himself up, however, was not an option. They’d put him behind bars like some animal. Other people would be in control. They’d tell him what to do every day for the rest of his life. He’d never again have power or . . .

  “This is your last chance, Mr. Terzic. Agent Perez, are you in position?”

  “Yes.”

  Another new voice, this one from behind him.

  He swung around. Stared at the blank wall at the back of the blind.

  Last chance? No way. He knew these woods. They didn’t. If he could elude them, he’d disappear, start over like he had the day Neven Terzic had died and Nathan Turner had been born. He was good at starting over. Good at taking control.

  And he could regain control of this situation.

  Jaw set, he grasped his pistol, scooted over to the ladder, and plunged into the underbrush at the base of the blind. The agents wouldn’t be this close. They didn’t know what kind of weapons he had, and they wouldn’t risk their lives by closing in too fast. They might have night vision equipment, but the woods were dense. It would be hard for them to get a decent shot at him. The odds were in his favor as long as he kept weaving around the trees and ducking and bobbing and . . .

  All at once, his foot plunged into a hole and he pitched forward, his gun flying into the darkness as he went down hard. The air whooshed out of his lungs.

  As he struggled to breathe, the rustle of dead leaves told him he wasn’t alone even before a steel-hard voice spoke.

  “It’s over, Terzic. Make one move, I won’t hesitate to pull this trigger.”

  The man’s cold, deadly tone told him the threat wasn’t idle.

  An instant later, bright lights were aimed into his eyes, blinding him.

  “Face down on the ground. Arms behind you, palms up. Now!”

  There were at least four agents on hand . . . and all of them would have weapons. Resisting would be suicide—and he wasn’t about to take the cowardly way out, like the old woman had.

  So for now he’d have to go along with them. But lots of people broke out of jail. He could be one of them. He knew how to bide his time and plan. This wasn’t the end—no matter what they thought. He was too smart for that.

  Slowly he complied with the order.

  A moment later his wrists were cuffed and he was pulled to his feet.

  Squinting in the light, he looked around. Several men in assault gear were watching him—including the one who was helpin
g Christy slide her arms into a jacket. As the guy bent and lifted her into his arms, he peered at the man’s face.

  It was the guy she’d been hanging around with these past few weeks.

  So the boyfriend was a cop after all. No, worse than a cop. An FBI agent.

  Anger began to churn in his gut. She’d defied him from the beginning. Ignored his directives and gone to the authorities after that first letter. She’d betrayed him just as she had all those years ago in high school.

  But still . . . he’d covered his tracks. They shouldn’t have been able to figure out he was the one behind the letters—or the fire at her sister’s house.

  “Let’s get out of here. You want to alert the paramedics?” The tall guy holding Christy spoke to another agent.

  “Already done. They’re waiting at the turnaround.”

  Someone urged him forward from behind. “Start walking.”

  “Wait!” Neven held his ground, trying to quash the new surge of panic that was short-circuiting his brain. “Who told you about . . . how did you know about this?”

  The agent holding Christy tossed the response over his shoulder as he walked away. “Your grandmother sent a letter.”

  What?

  The helpless, meek old woman had turned in her own flesh and blood?

  Her grandson?

  She might have abandoned him once before, but that hadn’t been intentional. This was worse. Much worse.

  This was a betrayal.

  More ruthless, even, than Christy’s.

  “Move.”

  Someone prodded him from behind again, and he stumbled forward, rage scouring his stomach as he silently cursed her.

  It was a good thing Mevlida Terzic was already dead.

  Because if she wasn’t, he’d kill her.

  Christy snuggled deeper into the blessed warmth. Shifted her position slightly to ease the tingle in her legs and the lingering ache in her stomach. Sighed, suspended somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

  Mmm.

  It was so safe and peaceful and perfect here. She could stay like this forever . . .

  “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  As the husky masculine voice spoke close to her ear, her eyelids flew open and she blinked, trying to orient herself.