Read Thin Ice for Free Online Page B

improve.” She swiveled toward the viewing area, spotted the girl’s mother, and lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “I’ll watch till you join your mom. See you next week.”
    As the girl skated to the side and stepped off the ice, Christy began circling the rink, keeping an eye on the viewing window. Sixty seconds later, Lauren appeared beside her mother. She gave them a final wave, checked her cell for any messages, then reset it to audible.
    With the public session winding down, only a handful of people remained on the ice. Given the forecast, she ought to go home too—but the comfort of these predictable, familiar surroundings calmed her. Why not stay for a few more minutes?
    Decision made, she picked up speed. Switched to back crossovers. Did a layback spin. Began to set up for a double salchow jump.
    At a sudden chirp, though, she came to an abrupt stop in a spray of frosty crystals, pulled off one glove, and dug out her phone.
    Lance.
    â€œGood morning.” She glided over to the edge of the rink and stepped off onto the rubber mat. “I hope you got some sleep last night.”
    â€œYes. But first I discussed your case with my boss. I think it would be helpful if we got together again. Will today work?”
    She moved toward the locker area. “Yes. Where and when?”
    â€œLet’s do the Panera in Kirkwood, near your condo, in forty-five minutes. That way, you won’t have far to drive in the snow. And bring the brushes we need for DNA comparison, plus the contact information for your sister’s dentist.”
    â€œIt’s all ready to go.”
    â€œGreat. See you soon.”
    Pocketing her phone, she sat to remove her skates. Strange how just listening to Lance McGregor’s steady, confident voice quieted the butterflies in her stomach—and reassured her that calling the FBI had been smart.
    But if the kidnapper found out she’d ignored his instructions?
    The butterflies took off again.
    Doing her best to corral them, she tugged off her skates. Wiggled her toes. Rotated her ankles. The thick leather might protect and support, but it was also confining and restrictive.
    Kind of like fear.
    Except there were two types of fear—the kind that immobilized and victimized and the kind that empowered and spurred into action.
    She’d chosen the latter.
    Soft cloth in hand, she wiped the moisture off her blades and slid the skates into their carrying case.
    Maybe following instructions, leaving the kidnapper in control, would keep her sister safe.
    Maybe.
    But from everything she’d ever heard about crimes like this, kidnapping victims were often killed whether the family followed instructions or not.
    She zipped the case closed and stood. Far better to put her trust in Lance McGregor and the FBI than in a person who torched houses and substituted dead bodies for living ones.
    Besides, they had a lot more experience dealing with criminal minds—especially sick ones.
    And this person was sick.

    Christy was ten minutes early.
    But he’d beaten her by fifteen.
    As she pulled into the almost deserted lot, Lance watched from his corner seat beside the plate glass window. The heavy snow was obviously keeping most St. Louisans at home, and that suited him fine. If anyone was following her, they’d be easy to spot.
    She parked near the door and slid from the car, her snug leggings flattering her lithe form. Resisting the temptation to watch her as she walked toward the entrance, he surveyed the lot instead.
    No cars followed her in.
    In his peripheral vision, he saw her enter . . . pause . . . scan the back corners. Once she spotted him near the front, he rose, keeping an eye on the lot.
    Only after she joined him, leaned close to whisper “In case anyone is watching,” and gave him a hug did he shift his attention to her—and return the embrace.
    â€œDid you have any problems with the snow?” He tipped his head