Thin Ice (7 page)

Positioning one of the evidence envelopes underneath to catch anything that might fall out, he withdrew the paper and opened it.

The message was again typed and brief.

In case you're wondring if I really have her, here's proof. Poor thing—she looks scared, doesnt she? If you want to see her agin, don't call the cops. Wait for further orders.

Below the note was a laser-printed photo of a thirtyish woman, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. One eye was black, and there was a fresh cut on her chin. She was sitting on what appeared to be a dirt floor, hands bound in front of her with crude rope, back against a concrete wall. The image wasn't the best quality, but it was clear enough to make a definite ID.

Christy leaned in to see. Gasped. Groped for the edge of the counter.

Setting the document on the evidence envelope, he turned his attention to the pale woman beside him. “Why don't you sit for a minute?” Without waiting for a response, he pulled out one of the stools at the counter and urged her down.

She collapsed onto the seat as if the stiffening in her legs had dissolved, never taking her gaze off the letter on the counter. Shock rolled off her in waves.

Strong as she was, this had thrown her. Big time.

Without weighing the pros and cons, Lance reached for her hand. That tactic wasn't in any agent protocol rule book, but he wouldn't have been nearly as successful as a Delta Force operator if he'd always played by the rules.

“Christy.” He waited a moment, then tried again in a firmer tone, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Christy.”

With obvious effort, she dragged her attention away from the photo.

“I take it that's your sister.”

“Yes. I . . . I suppose I should have expected something like this, but . . .” She turned back to the note, her fingers tightening on his. “Seeing the photo makes it much more real. And she's . . .” Her voice choked. “She looks hurt and scared.”

Lance slid onto the stool beside her without relinquishing her hand. He didn't relish making his next request, but she knew her sister better than anyone. If there was a personal clue of some kind in this shot, she would be the one to spot it.

“I want you to take a very close look at this.” With his free hand, he slid the envelope with the sheet of paper on top toward her. “Tell me if anything in this picture seems out of character or suggests your sister was trying to send a message of some kind.”

A pulse was hammering in the hollow of her throat, and her respiration was shallow, but she leaned close and did as he asked, scrutinizing the image for a full minute.

In the end, she shook her head. “I don't see anything unusual. If there's a message, I'm missing it—but I doubt there is. She looks too terrified to be thinking rationally.”

He couldn't argue with that.

With one more squeeze, he released her hand and slid the note into one evidence sleeve, the envelope into another. Then he removed his gloves and tossed them in her trash can. “The quality of the image isn't great, but the lab can blow it up and do some analysis. They might find a relevant detail or two that will give us some useful information or clues about location. Do you have any recent photos of your sister?”

“I have a couple from when I took her out to dinner for her birthday in early September.”

“Why don't you email them to me? The lab might find them helpful for comparison purposes. The address is on my card.”

“I'll do that before I go to bed.” She twisted her fingers together on the counter. “Did you hear anything from the medical examiner?”

“Yes. I was planning to call you this evening.” He gave her the same information he'd passed on to his boss. “But based on this photo, I think we can safely assume the body doesn't belong to your sister. The ME should be able to verify that tomorrow.”

Her gaze strayed back to the evidence envelopes. “So ever since the fire, some crazy person has been holding Ginny captive. And hurting her.” She closed her eyes, a spasm of pain rippling over her features.

Not necessarily.

But Christy needed comforting, not unsettling speculation.

“We're going to do our best to find her as fast as we can.”

“I know—and I appreciate that.” She motioned toward the envelopes holding the latest missive from the kidnapper. “I'm sure you noticed the different postmark. Do you think this guy's hauling Ginny around with him?”

“It's possible. But he also might have stashed her somewhere and is traveling to different locations alone to do the mailing, hoping to keep us off-balance. Did you have a chance to put together a list of Ginny's acquaintances?”

“Yes. I was going to email it to you tonight. I'll send it along with the photos—but there's no one suspicious on the list.”

“We'll check them out, anyway. If nothing else, one of them might offer us a lead.”

“When will you start talking to them?”

“As soon as we run some background. I'd like you to put together a similar list for yourself.”

“You still think this could be about me rather than Ginny?”

“I'm not ruling anything out. This case isn't following any
typical pattern. Our guy disguises the kidnapping and lets you think Ginny's dead. He gives you a chance to mourn. Two months later—about the time a lot of people begin to come to grips with their grief and loss—he contacts you to say she's alive. Your world is thrown into turmoil again. He gives you instructions but makes no demands. Now he's stringing you along. This sounds like a very deliberate strategy to make life as difficult as possible for you.”

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.