Vanessa Gray Bartal - Lacy Steele 07 - Icy Grip of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

immediately flipped
to the back, but there was no mention of the murder. Instead the folder read
like what it was: a sad journal of an orphan’s descent into crime. Lacy had looked at every page, sometimes skimming when her eyes
blurred from sleepiness.
    When she finally finished, it was
night and most of the staff had left for the day. Her request to see Michael
was denied. Dazed and defeated, she returned to the dumpy hotel where she now
sat staring into space, trying to process it all.
    She knew, of course, that Michael
had edited parts of his life. But she had no idea the extent to which he had
concealed things. He had told her he was Irish. Lie number one. He had told her that he traveled the country like a troubadour. Lie
number two. He had alluded to the fact that he had a shady past. That part
wasn’t so much a lie as a gross concealment of the truth. Michael’s criminal
history read like a handbill for a play about a juvenile Bugsy Malone. It was
clear from the notes she had read that he had orchestrated multiple crimes and
been too clever to get caught. Who was he, really? What had brought him to her
town? Was it, as he said, a chance for a fresh start? And what of Jenny? Who
had she been?
    Until now, the dead woman had been
hypothetical. Now she was real, and a misguided orphan, too. If Michael hadn’t
killed her, who had? And why? Lacy realized she had mentally included an “if”
and shuddered. Michael hadn’t killed anyone. She may have been misled on the
facts of his life, but she wasn’t misled about his ability to take another
person’s life. Was she?
    A heavy knock sounded at the door.
She jumped, staring around the room in confusion. Had she nodded off? She
didn’t think so, but her mind felt foggy, as if she had just been asleep. She
scrubbed her hands over her face to provide a bit of stimulation and went to
answer the door. Belatedly she realized she should have checked the peephole
before she answered, but it didn’t matter. The face on the other side was
familiar.
    “Jason!”
    He didn’t speak, and she realized
he couldn’t; his teeth were chattering too hard. She reached out and plucked
him inside. “Where is your coat? It’s like thirty below out there.”
    “F-f-forty,” he said, attempting to
chafe warmth into his arms with stiff, blue fingers.
    Lacy ushered him further into the
room, pushed him to a sitting position on the bed, and wrapped him in a
blanket. “Why aren’t you wearing your coat?”
    “I stuffed it in my suitcase, which
the airline assures me has been hopelessly lost.” He pulled her into his lap
and pressed his face to her neck. She resisted the urge to wriggle away from
his coldness.
    They sat in silence until warmth
began to creep back into his appendages, and then she spoke. “Why are you
here?”
    “Because apparently I love you
enough to brave the arctic tundra with no coat. What is wrong with this place?
It’s only October.”
    “It’s northern Minnesota,” she
reminded him.
    “I know they have harsh winters,
but it’s October .”
    “I’ll be sure and tell the next
weatherman I see,” she said. She was so delighted to have him there that she
felt almost giddy. Though she had been prepared to brave the ordeal on her own,
now that he was there, she was ecstatic that she didn’t have to. She kissed
him. “I hate it when we argue.”
    “I didn’t like how we left things,
either. But, babe, if we never argue, how will we ever make up? Do you know
that the quickest cure for hypothermia is body heat?”
    “I think you’re opportunistically
manipulating survival facts,” she said.
    “Let’s check and see,” he said. His
lips migrated back to her neck as another knock sounded on the door. “Did you
order room service?”
    “Does this look like the type of
establishment that has room service?” she asked. She eased off his lap. He
followed her to the door, sighing in impatience when she forgot to check the
peephole again.
    He glanced through