Thin Ice (Men of Valor Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Irene Hannon

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214 pages

English

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Description

After losing her parents in a car accident and her sister to a house fire, Christy Reed has been mired in grief. Life is finally starting to feel normal again when an envelope arrives in the mail--addressed in her sister's handwriting. And the note inside claims she is still alive.FBI Special Agent Lance McGregor, a former Delta Force operator, is assigned to reopen the case, but he's coming up with more questions than answers. If Ginny Reed is still alive--who is the woman buried in her grave? Where is Ginny? And is Christy a pawn in a twisted cat-and-mouse game--or the target of a sinister plot? As he digs deeper, one thing becomes clear: whoever is behind the bizarre ruse has a deadly agenda.Bestselling author and two-time Christy Award finalist Irene Hannon warms readers' hearts as they root for a romance between Lance and Christy, but she pulls out all the stops as this high-stakes thriller chills to the bone in a race to the finish.

Sujets

Romance

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	29 décembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493401697
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2016 by Irene Hannon
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2015
Ebook corrections 10.07.2016, 01.11.2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-0169-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Praise for Irene Hannon’s Novels
Buried Secrets
“Hannon launches the new Men of Valor series, drawing readers in with an ideal blend of romance and intrigue. As Lisa and Mac fall for each other but insist on putting work first, readers will avidly pick up each clue, eager to see Hannon’s irresistible characters close the case and make room for love.”
— Booklist
“Hannon has perfected her skills in the adventure/suspense genre. She’s a reader favorite, and her characters prove why it’s almost impossible to put her books down.”
— CBA Retailers + Resources
“If you are looking for a fast-paced, exciting read, this is a story for you. Well-written with swoon-worthy romantic scenes, it’s surely a book to take to the beach or curl up with a cup of tea.”
— Christian Manifesto
Private Justice Series
“A riveting storyline. One of those addictive books that, once started, compels you to shut out the world till you reach the very last page.”
— New York Journal of Books on Vanished
“The queen of inspirational romantic suspense hits a home run.”
— Library Journal on Trapped
“This next book in the incredible Private Justice series is yet another in the line of terrific reads by this author. With likeable characters and a plot rich with suspense, this lady’s books are definitely worth reading.”
— Suspense Magazine on Deceived
Dedication
To Dr. Avis Meyer, with fond memories of my days at the U News.
Thank you for pointing me toward journalism. It led me to a road less traveled . . . And that has made all the difference.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Praise for Irene Hannon’s Novels
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Epilogue
An Excerpt from Book 3 in the Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Irene Hannon
Back Ads
Back Cover
Prologue
W hat was that odd shimmer in the night sky?
Christy Reed crested the hill on the undulating rural road and peered at the eerie dome of light above the trees in the distance. On a chilly, clear November evening, the heavens should be pitch black save for the stars strewn across the inky firmament, not tainted by unnatural illumination.
The road dived again, the woods snuffing out her view of the mysterious glow. But the twinge of unease that had compelled her to head to her sister’s tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow intensified.
Pressing on the accelerator, she swooped through the dip in the road and shot up again.
At the peak of the next hill, her twinge of apprehension morphed to panic.
Flames were strafing the night sky—in the vicinity of her sister’s house.
Please, God, no! Not again! We can’t take any more trauma!
Smashing the gas pedal to the floor, she plunged down the hill.
Only then did she notice the police cruiser at the bottom, angled sideways, blocking access to the narrow road that led to the Missouri farmhouse her sister called home.
She flinched as the harsh, flashing lights strobed across her retinas. They screamed emergency. Disaster. Tragedy.
All the things that had changed her world forever six months ago.
Fingers clenched around the wheel, she sped toward the vehicle, screeching to a stop beside it.
As a uniformed officer emerged from the shadows and circled around to her side of the car, she fumbled for the auto window opener. Lowered the insulating sheet of glass. Inhaled the smoke-fouled air that leached into the car.
The coil of fear in the pit of her stomach tightened.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I need to get down that road.” Her last word hitched.
“Do you live that way?”
“No. My s-sister does.”
Twin furrows dented the man’s brow. “What’s her name?”
“Ginny R-Reed.”
“Hold on a minute.” He pulled his radio off his belt and melted back into the shadows.
Christy closed her eyes and clung to the wheel, shudders coursing through her.
Please, Lord, let there be some simple reason Ginny wasn ’t answering her phones or returning calls all evening! A dead cell. An emergency at work. Anything that’s not connected to this fire.
“Ma’am?”
She jerked her eyelids open.
“There’s a fire at your sister’s house. I’ll move my vehicle so you can get through. One of the officers at the scene will meet you.”
Her knuckles whitened as she struggled to suck in air. “Is she okay?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, the leather of his belt squeaking as he rested one hand on his gun. “I don’t know. But they’re doing everything they can to contain the fire so they can get inside.”
“You mean she’s still in the house!” Hysteria goosed the pitch of her voice.
“They aren’t certain of that. Give me a minute.”
Before she could respond, he jogged toward his car—putting as much distance between him and her questions as possible.
Because he didn’t have the answers . . . or because he didn’t want to deliver more bad news?
Please, God, let it be the former!
The instant the cruiser moved aside, she yanked her wheel to the right and accelerated down the woods-rimmed road.
The glow grew brighter as she approached, and fingers of fire stabbed the night sky above parched leaves not yet willing to relinquish their tenuous hold on life.
Her lungs locked.
This was bad.
Really bad.
Though she tried to prepare for the worst, her first full look at Ginny’s small, two-story clapboard farmhouse across a field of shriveled cornstalks destroyed the fragile hold she had on her composure.
The whole structure was engulfed in flames.
No, no, no, no, no!
Another uniformed officer appeared in her headlights, waving her to the shoulder before she could turn in to her sister’s driveway.
Swerving to the right, she bumped onto the uneven ground, flung open her door, and scrambled from the car. Despite the crisp chill of the late fall evening, the air was hot.
Too hot.
“Ma’am?”
She tore her gaze away from the fire to focus on the officer. Flashes of light darted across the woman’s face, giving her a macabre appearance.
“Why don’t you wait over there?” She inclined her head toward an ambulance parked halfway up Ginny’s driveway, off to the side. The paramedics were standing idle and silent at the rear door, watching the blaze.
Waiting for a victim to treat.
Meaning no one had yet rescued Ginny.
Unless . . .
Was it possible she wasn’t here? Maybe she had been called in to work for an emergency.
Please!
Christy squinted toward the garage at the rear of the house . . . and her stomach bottomed out.
The door was open—and Ginny’s car was inside.
Her sister was here.
But where?
Lifting her head, she scrutinized Ginny’s second-floor bedroom. The window was cracked open, as usual. Even on the coldest nights, her sister liked fresh air. There was no movement from inside, but maybe . . .
She grabbed the woman’s arm and pointed. “That’s my sister’s bedroom! She might be in bed. Can’t you get a ladder up there and . . .”
“Clear the collapse zone. Now!”
At the sudden barked order, the firefighters who’d been struggling to quench the hungry flames dropped their hoses and scattered.
Seconds later, a shudder rippled through the house. The siding buckled. Then, spewing sparks high into the black sky, the second floor collapsed into the raging inferno below like an ancient Viking funeral pyre.
Christy stared in horror at the consuming flames, the world around her receding.
No!
This wasn’t happening.
It couldn’t be.
But the roar of the voracious blaze and the surge of scorching heat against her face mocked her denial, searing the ghastly truth across her mind.
No one could survive a fire like this.
Ginny was dead.
Despite the waves of heat rolling off the collapsed house, a numbing cold gripped her. Tremors convulsed her body. Blackness nipped at the edges of her consciousness.
And somewhere in the distance, screams ripped through the air.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Christy squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her hands against her ears, trying to block them out.
But she couldn’t.
Because they were her own.
1
Two Months Later
“You settling in okay?”
At the question, Lance McGregor swiveled in his desk chair. Mark Sanders stood on the threshold of the cubicle, holding two disposable cups of coffee. His new FBI colleague held one out.
“Thanks.” Lance leaned forward and took it. “Still adjusting to St. Louis in the winter. When does the January thaw hit?”
“Don’t hold your breath. I was referring to the job.”
Lance took a sip of his brew and gestured to the warren of cubicles in the center of the St. Louis FBI office. “This bullpen arrangement will take some getting used to. Ditto for the suit and tie.”
“You’ll get there.”
“I appreciate the encouragement—especially in light of the source.” When Mark responded only with a raised eyebrow, Lance tipped his chair back and grinned. “Since you’re a former member of the Bureau’s Hostage Rescue Team and the current leader of this office’s SWAT team, I suspect you’d prefer to be in field dress chasing bad guys too.”
“You’ve done some homework.”
“I like to know the players.”
“A skill that would have served you well as a D