On Thin Ice

by Susan Andersen

  Until Karen snatched it up, swung around on her knees, and pointed it straight at her.

  Panting for breath, swaying in place, Sasha eyed the other woman with a growing feeling of alarm. To see a woman normally so rigidly controlled disintegrate right in front of one’s eyes was a terrifying sight.

  Karen’s neat hair was a wild tangle around her face, her normally sanctimonious demeanor sunk without a trace. Breath sawing audibly, chest heaving, her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a feral grimace as she glared at Sasha with feverish eyes. In an abrupt move, she whipped her hair back from her forehead with the forearm of her gun hand, but then immediately reaimed the firearm at Sasha, steadying the wrist bearing its weight with her free hand. “You,” she gasped between breaths, “are about to meet Jesus.”

  “But not here, Karen,” Lon’s voice crooned soothingly and Sasha jerked in shock. She had forgotten all about him but now he was right behind her.

  “Yes,” Karen contradicted him. “Right here, right now.”

  “No, Karen, think,” Lonnie urged. “They’ll trace it right back to you.”

  “Not if you give me an alibi,” Karen argued coolly and her eyes left Sasha briefly to give him a challenging look. “And you will give me an alibi won’t you, Lonnie?”

  “Yes, of course, but I still want you to think about this—”

  “I’m through thinking,” Karen snapped and Sasha watched her finger tightening on the trigger with a fatalistic lack of surprise.

  Hard hands suddenly clamped down on her shoulders and she was swung dizzily around and released, flung toward the seating area. “Run!” Lon shouted simultaneously with the deafening report of a gunshot. She stood frozen in place, and after muttering something that sounded like, “I’ll be damned, the blanks worked,” he spared her a brief glance. “Goddammit, run I said!”

  She ran. Behind her lay a mad cacophony of high-pitched shrieks, the thunderous report of gunshot after gunshot, and most incongruous of all, Lon’s laughter in the aftermath of each shot. Ahead lay a solution that might save them both. She blessed all those mornings spent in all those arenas across the western portion of America as she located what she sought. Hands grasping the long silver handle, she threw first one switch then another.

  Several things happened at once. The ice arena was plunged into total darkness. The gun blasted off one more shot but instead of hearing Lon’s crazy laughter, which she didn’t understand at all but which she’d already come to expect, there was a grunt and then silence. And she heard an exterior door down the corridor open and Mick’s voice roar out her name. Heart in her throat, she ran in the direction of his voice.

  Mick heard someone stumbling down the concrete hallway, saw the shadowy outline of a woman, and assumed the stance, figuring if it were Sasha she’d be screaming her head off in response to his frantic call. “Halt, or I’ll shoot,” he warned.

  “Micky?” Her voice was a whisper and Mick swore, lowering the gun. She ran straight into his chest and his arms wrapped about her.

  “Jesus Christ, baby, you don’t run at someone in the dark like that. I nearly shot you.” He tipped his chin into his neck trying to see her in the gloom. “Are you okay? She didn’t hurt you did she? Where the hell is she anyhow?”

  “Oh God, oh God, Mick, I think she shot Lon. He shoved me away and told me to run but they’re back there in the arena. You’ve got to help him. I turned off the lights because he told me once she’s terrified of the dark, but you’ve got to get him out of there; she’s so crazy.” Her teeth began to chatter.

  “Okay.” Mick stepped back and pressed a card into her hand. “You go find a phone and call 911, and then this number. Ask for an ambulance from the first and give my name and your location to the second. Then you stay in the office until I tell you otherwise, okay?”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “No. Do as I tell—”

  “I want to go with you!” Hysteria edged her voice and he hugged her to him again, wondering just when he’d lost command of the old authority he had always taken so much for granted.

  “Okay, okay,” he soothed. “But you’ll stay behind me and do exactly what I say, when I say it, without question, you hear me? That means if I tell you to drop to the floor, you don’t ask ‘how come,’ you drop, got it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Shit. He was knee deep in mule-stubborn civilians; he’d be lucky if they all weren’t killed. But grasping her delicate wrist, he pulled her along behind him as they made their way back to the arena entrance.

  Darkness within the rink was absolute and they became aware of an odd keening sound as they approached the entrance. Mick stopped, let go of Sasha’s wrist, and brought up his gun. “Stay here,” he whispered and stared hard at her until he saw her nod. Leaving her where arena met backstage, he eased up the stygian tunnel that divided the spectator seating.

  He heard the ragged whistling sound of someone hyperventilating and a voice, modulated at an unnaturally high pitch, pleading, “Turn on the light, Daddy; I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Just don’t leave me in the dark again—please, Daddy? Turn on the light,” she screamed. Then the ragged, whistling attempt to breathe again, and she repeated herself word for word, starting off with a whimpered plea, culminating in screaming demands. Three times she reiterated her plea while Mick selected his position.

  “Karen Corselli!” he called out and she screeched. There was a scramble in the dark, then the high-pitched, asthmatic hee of a woman trying to draw in enough breath.

  “Turn on the lights,” she whimpered. “Please? Turn on the lights?”

  “Throw down your gun, Karen.”

  “Turnonthelights turnonthelights turnonthelights!”

  “Throw down your gun!”

  Another struggle for breath, then, “I lost it. Please, won’t you turn on the—”

  “Sasha!” he hollered. “Turn the lights back on.”

  There was a pause, during which he had to listen to Karen’s repetitious litany for illumination. Finally, amidst a distant metallic clangor the overhead lights sprang to life. Mick squinted against the sudden glare, then cautiously picked his way over the ice to the woman crouched mid-rink with her arms crossed over her bent head.

  The gun was several feet away and he detoured to slide a pen through the trigger guard, picking it up without touching it and working it into his own holster. Then sliding his belt from its loops, he approached Karen.

  “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?” she mumbled. “The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

  He hunkered down and grasped her wrists in his hands, pulling them down and behind her back where he secured them with his belt. “Sasha!” he yelled and noticed that Karen didn’t so much as flinch. She continued to stare down at the ice and talk to herself. “You can make those calls now.” He looked back over at Karen.

  “ . . . mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell,” she murmured. “Though a host shall encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war should rise against me in this I will be confident. . .”

  Clearly she was in no frame of mind to have her rights read to her at the moment, so he left her and went in search of Lon. Finding him crumpled in the middle of the tunnel where Mick had entered the arena, he thought it was a wonder he hadn’t tripped over him on his way in.

  Lon was facedown on the floor and there was blood on his back and pooled beneath his chest and face. Mick squatted down and placed a hand on the fallen man’s shoulder, gently palpating until he located the entrance wound. Lon groaned.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re still among the living,” Mick said. “Can you move your feet?” There was a moment of inactivity, then first Lon’s left foot then his right foot shifted fractionally.

  “Good. And your hands?”

  The same pattern was followed.

  “Okay, good. I know you’re not supposed to move a vic
tim until a professional can look you over, but I’m more concerned about your blood loss than the chance of paralysis, which I feel is pretty slim. If you agree, I’m going to turn you over now so we can see the extent of what we’re dealing with.”

  Lon grunted and Mick took it as assent. He rolled him carefully onto his back. Lon sucked air through his clenched teeth. “Ah, Jesus, that hurts!” he said weakly.

  The sound of running feet echoed down the corridor and Sasha skidded to a halt next to them. “The aid car and the DEA should be here any minute. And there’s somebody outside pounding at the main door.” She sucked her breath in at the sight of all the blood on Lon’s shoulder, neck, and face and squatted down for a closer look. “My God. How many times did she hit you anyway?”

  “Just once,” Mick answered for him and then said, “Sasha, get me something to make a compress with, will you? Then you’d better go let Connie in. She must be freezing her butt off out there in the parking lot.”

  Sasha had already risen to her feet and turned away, but she stopped, staring back at him over her shoulder. “Connie’s in the parking lot?”

  “Yeah. I imagine that’s her you heard at the door.” She gave him a look and he said, “It’s a long story, darlin’; I’ll tell it to you another time.” Or maybe not, he thought, suddenly remembering the promise he’d made to get out of her life once the danger to it was eliminated. He became all business. “Get me something to stop this bleeding.”

  She got her bag off the seat where she’d left it and brought it back to the tunnel. Squatting down, she pawed through the contents and came up with a pair of leggings. Mick folded the legs into small squares and pressed the makeshift compresses against both entrance and exit wounds on Lon’s upper chest. He applied direct pressure while Sasha stuffed her “Skate the Dream” sweatshirt beneath Lon’s head.

  Then she rose to her feet. “I’ll go get Connie,” she said.

  Mick looked up at her. She had run to him, had flung herself into his arms. This was probably his one chance to win her back.

  If he didn’t mind breaking his word to her yet one more time.

  “Good idea,” he said with apparent indifference. “I imagine you’ll want to stay with her tonight. Now that you’re no longer in danger.” Sasha stiffened and turned to stare down at him, her expression as blank as his own. “If I don’t see you,” he continued, then hesitated, because how did he complete that sentence. If I don’t see you, what? Have a good life? Be happy? Damn you, release me from my word! “I’m sorry, Sasha,” is what came out. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  She just stared at him, then finally blinked, turned on her heel and walked away.

  He grit his teeth, staring after her as he continued to apply pressure to the bleeding wound on Lon’s chest. When he finally looked down again, it was to find Morrison regarding him through narrowed eyes. “You sorry-ass dumb shit,” Lon said when he saw he had Mick’s attention.

  “May be. But I gave her my word.”

  The arena was filled with people. Paramedics took over Lon’s care and men in dark suits demanded Mick’s attention. They stood in their slippery soled shoes, cautiously balanced on the ice in a huddle around Karen Corselli. Sasha watched from the sidelines as long as she could stand it. Finally, she made her way out to the group in the middle of the rink. She cleared her throat to gain Mick’s attention.

  “You’ve got to get her off the ice,” she said when he looked down at her.

  “Young woman,” a middle-aged man began with officious impatience, “I’ll have to ask you to leave. You don’t belong here.” He reached out with the clear intention of grasping her arm to hustle her away, but Mick stepped between them.

  “Shut up,” he bluntly advised him and turned his attention back to Sasha.

  “You’ve got to get her off the ice, Mick. She’s already been sitting there for—what?—more than ten minutes. She can’t continue to sit directly on the ice like that without risking frostbite.”

  “My enemies speak evil of me,” Karen said. “When shall he die and his name perish?”

  “Come on, Corselli.” Mick reached down to haul her to her feet. The belt he’d used for restraints was replaced with regulation handcuffs and he guided Karen over to the stands. He turned back to Sasha, who along with the suits had trailed after them. “How’s Morrison?”

  Karen gave him a sharp look in which he glimpsed the first glimmer of rationality he’d seen out of her. “Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, in which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me,” she said fervently. Then her eyes clouded over again.

  He rolled his own eyes impatiently and then turned back to Sasha, lifting a hand to hover over the gash on her cheekbone. The very tips of his fingers gently brushed the flesh beginning to swell and bruise around it. “You go with Morrison to the hospital and have this looked at,” he instructed her crisply. Then his attention was claimed once again by the men in the dark suits.

  She watched him for several long moments, wondering if he would just disappear without a word sometime during this long night to return to his lonely, covert world of lying and spying.

  The thought of it hurt horribly somewhere deep inside. Yet she said nothing in an attempt to convince him otherwise. She crossed the arena, talked to the paramedics, and climbed into the ambulance behind Lon’s stretcher.

  Knowing his last excuse to have her stay with him had just been removed, Mick turned his head to watch as she followed the paramedics out of his sight. He continued to stare at the empty tunnel for several silent moments. Then, his face expressionless, he went back to doing his job.

  “Miss Miller?” Both Sasha and Connie stood at the doctor’s approach.

  “How is he?” Sasha asked anxiously.

  “He’s fine. Quite lucky, actually. The bullet missed his lung by about half an inch. Made a bit of a mess exiting, but it bypassed all the important arteries, and except for losing some blood he’s in remarkably good condition.” The doctor squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and yawned. “Sorry,” he said and then straightened. “He’d like to see you. I want him to rest, but he made such a production of it I felt it was better in the long run to let him have his way. He has to remain in the ER until they have a room ready for him in any case, but don’t let him wear himself out.”

  “I won’t.” Sasha squeezed Connie’s hand and then followed the doctor to the cubicle. Letting her in, he beckoned the nurse out and then closed the door behind them. Sasha crossed to Lonnie.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Higher ’n a kite.” He looked up at her. “They pumped me full of some power painkillers.” Bringing his hand out from beneath the blanket covering him, he fumbled for hers. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, Sasha. I really didn’t have any idea Karen was so out of control. I mean I knew she was kind of screwed up, but I never thought of her as dangerous.”

  “Nothing is ever all black or all white, is it, Lon?” She pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down on it, resting her elbows on the mattress and holding his hand in both of hers. “I wanted to hate her, you know. I really wanted to despise her for everything she’s done. But I can’t. Not since I heard her begging her daddy to turn on the lights.” She blew out a breath, her eyes seeing something far away. “I guess there’s no one alive who’s really just all good or all bad, is there? We’re all put together out of bits and pieces of our experiences.”

  Lon had a feeling it wasn’t Karen she was talking about now. “Saush, about Vinicor . . .”

  “I hear you’ve been putting the moves on Connie,” she interrupted him. “There’s a combination I never would have guessed.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty damn unlikely, all right. Like I’ve got anything to offer someone like her.”

  Sasha studied him soberly. “Lon, are you truly once and for all finished selling drugs?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this won’t change even if I s
omeday find somebody to love, or if you find something you just have to own right this minute?”

  “I’ve accepted that you can love both me and Vinicor at the same time, if in different ways—”

  “I’m not talking about Mick—”

  “—and if I find something I can’t live without, then I’ll do what everybody else does. I’ll make payments to a charge card for the rest of my natural life.”

  Sasha smiled slightly. “Then I really don’t see where you have less to offer Connie than any other man.”

  “Except that I’m an ex-con who might not have a job tomorrow.”

  “Karen wasn’t your responsibility.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. If nothing else, though, this shoulder is going to put me out of commission for a while. What’s to stop the powers that be from using it as an excuse to dump me? I’d do it in their position.”

  “Well, I won’t let them. Have a little faith. We’ve survived Kells Crossing. The Follies is a piece of cake compared to that.” She hesitated, then squeezed his hand. “Lonnie, I’m sorry I doubted you tonight. You saved my life.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “I damn near cost you your life.”

  “You’re my oldest friend, you know. Nothing will ever change that.”

  He perked up. “We can say anything to each other, right?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “Good. Then about Vinicor . . .”

  Sasha rose to her feet. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “The doctor wants you to get your rest.”

  He didn’t relinquish his grasp on her hand, although his strength was depleted to the point where she could remove it without much effort if she really made the attempt. His voice, however, was firm. “Sasha,” he said with authority. “Sit down.”

  TWENTY–TWO

  It was early morning by the time the DEA finished collecting evidence in Karen Corselli’s hotel room and Mick was finally free to seek some rest in his own. Letting himself in, he closed the door behind him and then leaned back against it, running a weary hand through his hair.