Free Thin Ice by Irene Hannon Page A

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.
    â€œChristy.” 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.
    â€œI take it that’s your sister.”
    â€œYes. 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.
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œI have a couple from when I took her out to dinner for her birthday in early September.”
    â€œWhy don’t you email them to me? The lab might find them helpful for comparison purposes. The address is on my card.”
    â€œI’ll do that before I go to bed.” She twisted her fingers together on the counter. “Did you hear anything from the medical examiner?”
    â€œYes. 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.
    â€œWe’re going to do our best to find her as fast as we can.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œIt’s possible. But he also might have stashed her somewhere