"What am I going to tell her parents?" he whispered as he clung to her.

"The truth," Lindsey said, her heart aching.

"The truth?" He pulled back to look into her eyes.

"That we're going to find whoever did this," she promised him. "That we're not going let him do this ever again, not to anyone else."

"Do I also tell them the truth about what I thought, what I felt when Izzy pushed Tracy out of the water?"

It had been awful. All of it.

Waiting, fearful for Izzy's safety, while he swam down into that freezing water, deeper and deeper. Watching that rope sliding between Jenk's fingers as he fed Izzy slack.

Lindsey had been certain that if Tracy were in there, she was dead. There was no hope of resuscitation. As soon as she'd seen that hole in the ice, she knew their mission had changed from one of rescue to recovery.

And when Izzy yanked twice on the rope-their predetermined signal to start hauling him up-Lindsey prayed not that they'd be able to revive her, but for a different sort of miracle. That Izzy would find only Tracy's jacket, wrapped around something that needed discarding. Someone's collection of Duran Duran records. A pillowcase filled with porn. A weapon used in a crime.

Instead, Izzy'd surfaced with a splash, with an enormous gasp for air, and with what was quite obviously a body-much smaller than he was, slighter. A woman. And she was definitely wearing Tracy's jacket.

Jenk leaped to help him.

Tracy's hood was up around her head as Jenk grabbed her beneath the arms. He didn't have time to do more than haul her onto the ice before turning back to help Lindsey with Izzy.

"Start CPR," Izzy was roaring, and God, it seemed so unlikely that anyone could save her, but Lindsey scrambled over to the awkwardly sprawled form, turning her onto her back and...

At first she thought it was some kind of mask, left over from Halloween. And then she knew that it wasn't.

"What are you waiting for?" Izzy shouted. He knocked her aside.

"Aw, Jesus," Jenk breathed as he, too, saw what was left of that face.

Izzy lost it. He either didn't see, or he couldn't. Maybe his brain had started to freeze. He was shaking from the cold, his own lips blue, as he pushed the body more completely onto her back, as he actually started trying to pound life back into her heart.

Jenk pulled him off her. He'd held Izzy back. "She's dead," he'd said over and over. "You can't help her, man. She's dead."

Somehow they'd gotten Izzy into the car, heat turned high. Then Tom and his team had arrived.

It was only now that they had the luxury of time to react to this nightmare.

And as Lindsey watched, emotion welled in Jenk's eyes. "When I saw her, when I saw she was dead, I thanked God it wasn't you. I thanked Christ, Lindsey, that you weren't playing the hostage last night," he whispered, and then, oh God, he kissed her.

His mouth was hard and hot, the heat they generated instantaneous, and all she wanted was to be close to him, closer. But just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. He pulled away. First to arm's length, and then farther, jumping to his feet to get away from her.

"Don't," he said, turning his back to her as he wiped his face. Clearly, he didn't want her to see him cry.

Don't? "You're the one who kissed me," she said.

"No, you kissed me. I should know when I'm being kissed." He turned toward her, but it soon became obvious that he was unable to stop his tears. "Shit."

"Mark..." She reached for him, but he yanked his arm away.

"Just leave me alone!"

Her temper flared. "What, it's okay if I cry, but not you? You're allowed to comfort me, but when I try to do the same-"

"Was that what that was? Comfort?" He savagely wiped his eyes with his hands. "I thought it was your tongue in my mouth, but okay."

"I know you're angry," Lindsey told him, her voice shaking. "With yourself, with the entire world. And with me. I get that-loud and clear. I even deserve it, but-"

"Lindsey!" Tom Paoletti was shouting for her.

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" she asked Jenk. "Because Tom needs me to go over to the pharmacy with him."

Her boss hadn't been impressed by the FBI agent in charge of the investigation. He'd made a few phone calls, and a replacement-a bigwig from DC-was on his way. But it would be hours before he arrived. Until then, Tom was convinced that Lindsey had more experience working homicide than anyone currently in the county. He'd asked her to pay a visit to the crime scene.

"I'm fine," Jenk said. "Just go. Be careful."

"FYI, Koehl and rest of the SEALs are back," Lindsey told him. "In case you don't know it-which is stupid because you know everything-Izzy's UA." She took her room key from her pocket and held it out to him. "I don't know what's up, what happened between him and Tracy, why he felt it was so important to get back here. All I know is that we're on the verge of a massive manhunt, and I can't imagine that he wouldn't want to be part of that. From what Tom told me, Izzy's facing some serious consequences. If he wants to stay off Koehl's radar so he can help catch this twisted bastard, he's welcome to use my room."

Jenk took the key and put it into his pocket as he shook his head. He made a sound that might have been laughter on a different day. "You always make it hard for me to stay mad at you."

With a whine from the transmission, Tom started backing his SUV toward Lindsey.

"Will you wait for me at the motel?" she asked Jenk. "I'd like a chance to finish the conversation we started, because...I didn't kiss you."

He made that same almost laughter sound and closed his eyes. "It probably was my fault. I apologize. So it's not necessary to-"

"Yes, it is necessary," Lindsey said. "You were like, all, don't and get away from me. You didn't stop to ask if maybe, after saying something incredibly honest and...Terrifying." She met his eyes and nodded. "It was terrifying. For me. To hear that you feel that way, even after...everything. But you didn't stop to think that maybe after you said what you said, I was okay with you, you know. Kissing me."

She stood on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Right in front of Tom, who had just braked to a stop and started to roll down his window. He immediately rolled it back up.

"That was me kissing you," she told Jenk. "Just so there's no confusion."

Jenk laughed. His smile didn't stay for long, but it didn't have to. She could see his very heart and soul in his eyes. He nodded. "I'll see you at the motel," he said.

"Well," Tom said, as Lindsey climbed into the SUV.

"Please don't say anything," she warned her boss as she fastened her seat belt. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. None at all."

Tom put the car into gear. "Am I allowed to say thank you?"

"For what?" Lindsey tried not to be too obvious about turning to watch Jenk as they drove away. He was watching her, too. He lifted his hand in a wave.

"For reminding me," Tom told her, "that even in the face of sheer ugliness and evil, there's still a lot in life that's hopeful and good."

CHAPTER.

EIGHTEEN.

Izzy didn't give a shit.

Jenk had offered him Lindsey's room key, but he just shook his head. He walked right into the motel restaurant-still shivering from the freezing water. He just marched over to the senior chief.

Word of the recovery of Tracy's body-what was left of it-had obviously made it back here. The entire team was quiet, subdued. And the senior didn't ream him a new one upon first contact. "Sit down over there, Zanella." His voice was almost gentle as he gestured with his chin toward the tables by the window. "I'll be right with you."

No one came over to talk to Izzy-it was clear they didn't know what to say. Or maybe they thought he was an asshole, because really, that was what he was. Hell of a lot of good his taking unauthorized leave had done for Tracy, though.

Sophia was the only person who approached. She brought him a blanket, which she put around his shoulders, and a cup of hot chocolate. She even sat down across from him. "You really will warm up faster if you drink something hot."

So he took a sip. Not that he gave a shit whether or not he stopped shivering. It was just the path of least resistance with her sitting there watching him.

Her buddy Dave was watching him, too. Or rather, he was watching over Sophia. As usual, he was never too far from her. He stood at the next table, collating what looked like computer-generated maps, pretending not to listen in.

"Are you up to speed?" Sophia asked Izzy. "Tom's got a phone call scheduled, in about thirty minutes, with Jules Cassidy-the FBI agent from DC. He's going to put it on speakerphone."

A phone call. They were all sitting around waiting for a phone call from some geek in a suit. Like that was going to make any of this better.

"Cassidy's flight was canceled due to the weather," Sophia continued, "but he's still taking charge of the investigation. I don't know if you know him, but I do, and he's very good. Apparently he's got some information that he wants to share with all of us."

At which time...what? They'd all hold hands and sing empowerment songs? Unless Mr. Very Good had information that would lead them directly to the motherfucker who had killed Tracy, this was just a waste of time.

"Do you know about the phone call Tracy made to Lindsey?" Sophia asked him, nudging the mug of chocolate closer to him.

"Yeah," he told her as he took another sip. Tracy had ended up leaving a message on Lindsey's home answering machine. Apparently she had known she was in trouble and managed to give a brief description of her killer, as well as a partial license plate number. Maybe. She herself had admitted that it was dark and hard for her to read.

"Tess Bailey-our comspesh-has managed to map the routes of Tracy and her jacket. After leaving the cabin, she went in and out of zones that had signal. We now have a pretty clear picture of where she was for at least some of last night. But, unfortunately, not where her abductor is right now."

"Yeah, I heard that, too," Izzy said. They'd narrowed Tracy's killer's suspected location down to something like a hundred square miles. Give or take a few dozen. And that was assuming their man hadn't gone over the state lines into Maine or Vermont. "Fuck of a lot of good it's going to do us."

Dave bristled at his language. Fuck him, too.

Sophia didn't seem to care about Izzy's word choices. "It must've been awful," she said, sympathy in her eyes. "Seeing her like that."

"It might not be her," Izzy said, because that's what everyone else was saying. But if it wasn't Tracy, then the bastard who did that to her might well be carving her into pieces right this very moment. The thought of that was almost too hard to bear when the chances they would find her were slim to none. All they had to go on was a vague description-who the hell was Ralph Fiennes, anyway?-and possibly incorrect information, along with those dozens of huge chunks of New Hampshire that made up Tess Bailey's aptly named dead zones.

The current genius plan was to canvass those areas. Knock on doors and politely ask if anyone had seen Tracy, and hope that someone came to the door with blood on their Nikes. But if he didn't, they could conceivably knock on the motherfucker's door, have a conversation, No, I haven't seen her, but I'll keep my eyes open, then drive away, while he tromped back into the basement and blithely went back to sewing her mouth shut with a leather needle.

Izzy put his head down on the table.

"Even if it wasn't Tracy, it's still somebody," Sophia gently pointed out. "It might make it less personal, but it doesn't make it less awful." She touched his hand, her fingers warm. "It might not be over, Irving. Don't just quit."

It might not be over. The sewing-the-mouth-shut part might still be in Tracy's future.

"I don't know what to pray for," he admitted, lifting his head to look at Sophia.

She understood that he meant whether to pray that the body came back identified as Tracy-which would mean her suffering was over, or...

"I always prayed to stay alive," she told him, and Izzy knew from Dave's reaction that she was talking about her own ordeal as a prisoner of some sadistic warlord in some godforsaken country-the ordeal that had left her so badly scarred. He also knew from both her own and Dave's body language that this was something she didn't often discuss.

"I prayed that someone would rescue me, and I vowed to still be breathing when they came," she continued quietly. "As long as there's life, there's hope. If Tracy's still alive, she knows we're out here, looking for her. So don't quit on her, okay? Get yourself warmed up and ready to help. And talk to whoever you need to and convince them that you'll turn yourself back in-after we find Tracy. Otherwise, not only will you not be able to help us, but someone else will be forced to stay behind to guard you."

He hadn't thought of that. It was completely unacceptable.

Sophia stood up. She got him another mug of hot chocolate and set it down on the table in front of him. "Drink," she told him.

Izzy drank.

By the time she got back to the motel, the snow had started falling. Lightly at first, with big fluffy flakes.

It was beautiful. Or it could have been, if Lindsey had been able to erase the memory of that horrible face from her mind.

She knocked on Jenk's motel room door, and he opened it right away, as if he'd been waiting for her. He seemed alert, but she suspected he'd been sleeping. He had total bedhead, as if he'd showered but then immediately crashed for a nap.

He didn't say a word. No hello, no nothing. He just grabbed her and pulled her inside.

And kissed her.

It was quite the kiss. His tongue was hot as he filled her mouth-no warm-up, no foreplay, just wham. Instant soul kiss. His entire body was radiating heat, his T-shirt warm and soft beneath her hands and against her body-he'd definitely been asleep just moments earlier.

Lindsey kissed him, too, harder, deeper, tightly closing her eyes, her fingers in the softness of his hair, banishing all thoughts but those of his mouth, his hands, his body, his solid heat.

He had his hand up her shirt, her back pressed against the wall, before she realized he'd somehow managed to get her jacket unzipped and off of her.

And still he kissed her.

Lindsey felt his fingers at the waist of her pants, fumbling with the button. He got it on his second try, and she knew, even without her help, she'd be out of them in an another instant.

"We should probably talk," she pulled away to gasp.

He captured her mouth again, kissing her just as thoroughly, stopping only to breathe, "I need you," as he kissed her face, her throat.

Oh, God. "I need you, too." Enough said.

He kissed her again as he wrapped her legs around him and carried her to the back of the room, where he had a leather case on the sink counter. He set her down only for a moment as he rummaged in it, during which time she managed to kick off one of her boots. He found what he was looking for and covered himself, then pulled her closer to kiss her again, even as she tried to lose her second boot. It was impossible to pry it off with her other foot in only a sock-no traction-but he ignored it, focusing on removing her jeans.

Having one of her legs free was sufficient for what he wanted, and he didn't try for more. His own pants were already down around his thighs, and he picked her up and pushed her against the wall by the thermostat, filling her just as unceremoniously and completely as that very first kiss.