Thin Ice (27 page)

“Once you read Mevlida's letter, you'll know I had no choice. She was very worried about that skater.”

So was he.

“Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes.” He dropped the phone back into the cradle and swiveled toward Mark.

The other man narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you're about to pull me into night duty?”

“It's your choice—but I think we have a serious lead.” Lance filled him in on the conversation, then pulled his cell off his belt. “I'm going to call my brother and find out if this Mevlida crossed paths with County homicide—or ended up with
the ME. I'm also going to call Christy, see if this guy's name rings any bells. Plus, I need some intel run on Neven Terzic. If you want to get home to Emily and that new baby, though, I understand. I can tag someone else for this.”

Mark folded his arms. “It does happen to be my night for baby duty—but the situation could heat up fast if this guy ends up being a serious suspect.”

“True.” Lance stood and put his coat on. Unless he'd totally misjudged the former HRT operator and SWAT team leader, Mark wasn't about to pass up any potential action—or case payoff.

“I'm in.” The other man stood too. “I'll make it up to Emily. Maybe treat her to a facial next weekend. She likes those but never goes on her own. Claims they're too self-indulgent, believe it or not. Want me to run the intel while you pay your source a visit?”

“That's what I had in mind. Keep me in the loop.”

“You got it.”

While Mark disappeared down the hall, Lance pressed Christy's speed-dial number. Hopefully she'd recognize the name Jasna had given him—and remember some incident that would help them get a handle on why he might have targeted her.

But even if she didn't, his gut told him this guy could be their man. That he might have fixated on her for reasons clear only to him.

The best news? If he was the culprit, Christy would be safe as soon as they found him.

Because once Neven Terzic was under serious suspicion, he'd also be under serious investigation—and surveillance.

And with the FBI hovering over his shoulder, there was no way he'd be able to carry out whatever he had planned for a certain Olympic skater.

“Excellent, Natalie. I think that was the best layback spin you've ever done.” Christy glided to a stop next to her Tuesday night student in the center of the ice.

The thirteen-year-old grinned up at her. “My hips felt right for once. They were really underneath me, and I hung back and exhaled once I was in position, like you said.”

“I could tell. The spin was freer and easier. Your free leg position was also spot on—and you kept your shoulders level. You've been practicing.”

“And watching those videos you gave me.”

“Good girl. Why don't you try it once more? Then we'll move on to the footwork sequence we've been building. I want to add some twizzles tonight.”

As Natalie pushed off to set up for the spin, Christy's phone began to vibrate against her hip.

Keeping an eye on her student, she quashed her guilt and eased the cell discreetly out of her pocket. Yes, she was breaking one of her hard and fast rules. And no, taking calls during lessons wasn't fair to her students. But she had a lot going on in her life right now, and what if this was Lance? He might have news.

You're
rationalizing, Christy. You're checking because you hope it's
him and want to hear his voice.

Busted.

With a sigh of capitulation, she glanced at the screen.

It
was
him.

Spirits lifting, she put the phone to her ear, and they exchanged greetings.

But his next comment made her heart stumble.

“We've had a credible lead. I need to ask you a few questions.”

Natalie finished the spin and looked her way. Christy lifted a finger to signal that she needed a minute. “I'm with a student. Can this wait?”

“Not long. Where are you in the lesson?”

“I've got another thirty-five minutes. Let me give her a few things to work on while we talk.” She pressed the mute button and skated over to Natalie. “Nice job on the spin.”

The girl gave her a puzzled look. “I fell out of it.”

Great.

Natalie was so not getting her money's worth tonight. She'd have to give her some extra time in the next session.

“Sorry. My mind wandered for a minute. Why don't you practice your footwork sequence while I take this call? I'll get back to you as fast as I can.”

“Sure.” The girl shrugged and skated off.

Christy glided over to the edge of the rink and stepped onto the mat, phone pressed to her ear. “I've got a few minutes now.”

“I can save the specifics for later, but my main question is whether you know a Neven Terzic.”

The name echoed in her memory, pulling up a fuzzy image of a skinny, dark-eyed boy.

“Yes, I think so. I believe he was the boy who came to our high school the last semester I was there before I went to Colorado.” She spoke slowly, pulling the details from the recesses of her memory. “He was from some Slavic country, near as I can recall, and spoke very little English. Why?”

“He may be our man. Is there any reason he might have a grudge against you?”

“No. I hardly knew him.” She dug deeper, unearthing memories that hadn't seen the light in seventeen years. “I do remember feeling sorry for him. A lot of the kids made fun of him because he wore odd clothes and his hair was shaggy. Plus, he couldn't communicate very well. He needed help to assimilate
to American culture, and neither the school nor the students did much to make him feel welcome. I got the impression the foster family he'd just gone to live with wasn't all that caring, either.”

“How about you? Did you have any altercations with him?”

“No. Just the opposite. I tried to include him in a few events and sat with him at lunch on occasion. I can't imagine he'd have any reason to wish me ill. If anything, I would have expected him to be grateful.” She watched a tiny skater topple and pull his friend down with him as a dull ache began to throb in her temples. “Why do you think it's him? I mean, I haven't seen him in ages. And why would he wait all these years to seek revenge if he did have some reason to hate me?”

“I don't have the answers to those questions—but getting them is my top priority. I'm on my way to follow up with the woman who called in the lead. Once I have more information, I'll be back in touch. Are you going straight home after you finish there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Have the guard walk you to your car.”

“That was my plan.”

“Stick with it. I'll be in touch later. Now I'll let you get back to your lesson.”

As the line went dead, Christy pushed the end button and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

Neven Terzic.

She shook her head.

Why would that lost young man have targeted her in such a vicious way?

Natalie waved at her from center ice, reminding her she still had another half hour of lesson ahead, and Christy moved back toward the rink. She'd try her best to give the girl her full attention, but she had a feeling this session was going to be a total loss. How could she concentrate after Lance's bombshell that
a person she hadn't seen in almost two decades, a person she'd gone out of her way to be kind to, might be gunning for her?

It didn't make sense.

Then again, since the night her parents went off the edge of a cliff, she'd felt as if she was living in the twilight zone. Her life had been one bizarre event after another.

All orchestrated by Neven Terzic?

And if so, why?

As she joined Natalie at center ice and continued the lesson on autopilot, no answers came to mind.

But if this lead did turn out to be legit, Lance might be on the verge of getting some. Closure could be at hand.

For the first time in weeks, the knot in her stomach eased.

Maybe this nightmare was about to end.

L
ance pulled up to the curb, set the brake, and blew out a frustrated breath.

Of all nights for his brother to be off the grid.

What was he doing that was so important he couldn't return an urgent call or text?

Reining in his aggravation, Lance slid from the car. He'd give Mac ten more minutes to respond to his abbreviated voice mail and more detailed follow-up text. If he didn't hear from him, he'd ask Mark to contact County.

But Mac would get him answers faster.

As he approached the door to Jasna's flat, a child's muffled wail greeted him.

Sounded like he wasn't the only one who was frustrated tonight.

He leaned forward and pressed the bell.

After twenty seconds ticked by with no response, he pressed it again.

Half a minute later, the door swung open. A harried-looking woman stood on the other side, the howling toddler in her arms. The kid's ear-piercing wails stopped long enough for the tyke
to give him a fast once-over, then resumed with renewed gusto as he grabbed fistfuls of the woman's hair and began tugging.

“Ben . . . no! Stop! That hurts Mommy.” She tried without success to lean away from her squirming son. “Agent McGregor?”

“Yes.” He extended his credentials.

She gave them no more than a cursory glance. “Come in. This one has an ear infection”—she inclined her head toward the toddler—“and he's very cranky. Make yourself comfortable in the living room while I try to calm him down.” She closed the door behind him and vanished into the recesses of the house.

As Lance took a seat in the sole chair not covered with toys, a solemn little girl peeked at him from around the door where her mother had disappeared.

He smiled. “Hi there.”

No change of expression. No smile. No shy dip of the chin.

The child just continued to stare at him, statue-like.

So much for his attempt to make friends. A smile was the only trick in his bag for kids.

But he had a feeling Christy would have won the little girl over in a heartbeat. An innate warmth and caring flowed out of her like—

“Lana! I started the video. Come back and watch it with Ben.”

The youngster backed away and disappeared as music kicked in from the rear of the flat.

Doing his best to set aside thoughts of Christy, he rechecked his messages while he waited for Jasna.

Yes!

A text had come in from Mac, clipped and to the point.

Checking. Stand by.

At least he'd have an answer to his question about Mevlida soon.

Jasna returned, an envelope and sheet of paper in her hand. She handed him both and tossed aside a doll to open up a spot on the couch. “Sorry for the noise and mess. It's been one of those days.”

“No problem. Give me a minute while I read this.”

Dear Jasna,

I do not wish to complicate your life, but I
have no one else to turn to. I hope you
will find a way to give this information to people
who can stop my grandson from whatever he is planning
to do. I beg you to try, because I am
very much afraid tragedy will follow if you don't.

I have talked with you about Neven—but I have
not told you everything. It pains me to admit this,
but here is the truth—he was always a different
boy, even before we left our homeland. Often uncaring, sometimes
cruel. And the atrocities that happened in our country, the
brutality he witnessed that no boy should ever see, I
fear they killed whatever small measure of kindness might have
been in his heart. I have come to believe they
also twisted his mind. He does not see the world
the way other people do.

When you found him for
me two years ago, I was hopeful he and I
could make a new start. He was kind in the
beginning . . . but that changed quickly, and he has made my
life very difficult ever since.

I thought it was only
me he wished to punish, for letting the state take
him after his father died—but now I worry that
others have also angered him. Especially an ice-skater named
Christy Reed.

Lance read the description of what the woman had found in her grandson's room. The signed picture of Christy with the
knife thrust into it. The old group photo that included her and Terzic. The remains of a tortured mouse.

Guns.

Add in Mevlida's account of his reaction to the newspaper article after Ginny's body had surfaced, as well as her description of his personality, and it was obvious they were dealing with a very disturbed mind.

This guy had all the earmarks of a psychopath.

In other words, he was a perfect candidate to be Christy's tormentor.

And based on the woman's closing lines, Jasna's worry about Mevlida wasn't misplaced.

By the time you get this, I will be with
my beloved husband. It is not the end I intended,
but it is for the best. Neven's anger is
too difficult to bear. I have wondered every day these
past few months if I will live to see the
next morning. Now there is no uncertainty. I know the
end is coming.

My dear Jasna, I thank you again
for all your kindnesses during my illness. Please forgive me
for this burden I have placed on you. But I
beg you, do not let my attempt to help that
young woman be in vain.

When Lance looked up, Jasna leaned forward, her features taut. “You see why I had to call you.”

“Yes.” He indicated the return address on the envelope. “Why did she send the letter there?”

“That's where I worked when we met. They forwarded it. As you can see from the postmark, she mailed it Thursday. Five days ago. I hope it's not too late—for Mevlida or that skater.”

“I talked to the skater less than an hour ago. She's fine. I also have a call in to the County police about Mevlida, and a col
league is tracking down her grandson's address as we speak.” He pulled out a notebook. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Not much. We only exchanged a few words twice—the first time he came to see Mevlida, and the day he picked her up.”

“Give me your impression.”

She picked up the doll beside her and held it tight against her chest. “To be honest, he scared me a little. He smiled and was solicitous toward Mevlida, but his eyes . . .” She shivered. “They seemed cold and callous. His smile never reached them. That's one of the reasons I gave Mevlida my card. I had a feeling living with him might not turn out as rosy as she hoped.”

“You said he and his grandmother were estranged. Do you know why?”

“Yes. I was the only one at the facility who spoke Bosnian, and Mevlida knew very little English, so we often talked. She didn't give me a lot of background, but she did share a few details. She and her son and grandson sought refuge in America about the same time my family did—after the Srebrenica genocide. Do you know about that?”

Lance scrolled through his memory, pulling up what he could remember about the two-decade-old tragedy. “Bits and pieces. Thousands of Bosnians were massacred, as I recall.”

“Yes. I was very young and don't remember much, but my parents and grandparents still speak of it with horror . . . on the rare occasion they speak of it at all. Thousands of people were killed—including women, children, and elderly—in hundreds of villages. Soldiers would pick people out of the crowd and execute them or take them away. Women were violated in public. Homes were ransacked and set on fire. Men of military age were executed and buried in mass graves. My uncle was among them.” Her breath hitched, and she swallowed. “Mevlida lost her husband, daughter-in-law, and her other grandson during that terrible time.”

Lance didn't want to appear indifferent to the old trauma Jasna had described from her homeland, but he needed her help to prevent another tragedy from happening here. Now. “Why were she and Neven estranged?”

“Both she and her son began to drink once they arrived here. To forget the horror, she told me. After her son was hit—and killed—by a bus, she began to drink more. Eventually Neven's neglect was reported to the authorities, and they put him in a foster home. I got the impression it was a very bad experience, and he blamed her for it. He ended up running away, and the two of them didn't reconnect until an attorney I know tracked him down after she fell and broke her hip. At that point, she was destitute and living in a homeless shelter. After we were able to get some public assistance for her, Neven took her in.”

Along with her checks.

Jasna's implication was clear.

Another wail came from the kitchen, and she vaulted to her feet. “I'll be right back.”

“No problem. I need a minute to think through everything you've told me.”

While she retreated to the kitchen, Lance weighed the letter in his hand, his mind racing.

You didn't have to be a psychologist to realize Neven Terzic had serious mental issues. Exacerbated by his traumatic experiences in Bosnia, perhaps, but based on Mevlida's letter, it sounded as if he'd already been troubled. Considering his long estrangement from her, he was also a man who held grudges. Plus, he'd made the older woman's life miserable once he'd taken her in—as punishment for past transgressions, no doubt.

What transgression had Christy committed that—in Terzic's mind—deserved the kind of punishment he'd meted out?

His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it out, moving to the tiny foyer as he spoke to Mac. “It's about time.”

A beat of silence. “Hello to you too.”

He ignored the mild annoyance in his brother's tone. “I don't have time for niceties tonight.” Soft jazz music played in the background, accompanied by the tinkle of glasses and a soft buzz of conversation. “Where are you?”

“Not that it's relevant, but I'm having a long-delayed night out with my fiancée. Your messages came in while we were making a toast and discussing our wedding plans.”

“Oh.” No wonder his brother sounded peeved. “Sorry to interrupt, but my case heated up.”

“So I gathered. I made a couple of calls after I got your text. Since we're dispensing with niceties, I'll cut to the chase. Mevlida Terzic is dead.”

The bottom dropped out of Lance's stomach. “When? What happened?”

“Her grandson found her body hanging in her room on Thursday evening.”

The same day she'd written the letter to Jasna.

And Terzic hadn't been implicated. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been tailing
anyone
last night.

“Suicide?”

“That was the conclusion—but you should talk to Mitch.”

It took a second for Lance to place the name. “The SEAL buddy who got you the gig at County?”

“Yeah. He did the investigation and has some interesting insights. He started to brief me, but I figured it would be better if you spoke to him directly.”

“And left you free to spend your evening with Lisa instead of talking shop.”

“That too.”

Hard to fault Mac's priorities.

“You have his number handy?” He dug out his pen again and jotted down the digits as Mac recited them.

“He's expecting your call.” Mac's next words were muffled. Something about oysters. He must really be splurging tonight. “You need anything else?”

“Yeah. A solution to this case.”

“Can't help you there—but it sounds like you're making serious headway.”

“I hope so. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and give my apologies to Lisa.”

“Will do. Good luck.”

He'd take all the luck fate was willing to hand out. But in light of this guy's ability to elude the law, he'd need a whole lot more than that to nail him.

As he slipped the phone back onto his belt, he heard Jasna return behind him. Passing on the news that her suspicions had been warranted wasn't going to be easy—and he couldn't stick around to hold her hand . . . figuratively speaking. He needed to call Mitch for details on Mevlida's death and see what Mark had dug up on Terzic.

Because this guy was a ticking bomb.

And every instinct he'd developed during his Delta days told him they were running out of time.

Fast.

Christy swung into her driveway, pulled around to the rear of the condo . . . and mashed down the brake.

Of all nights for a tree limb to fall and block the garage door.

She huffed out a breath and gave the adjacent maple tree the evil eye. It had been dropping branches for months—as she'd told the condo association on several occasions.