Chapter 10
“Whose idea was this?” Lindsay tried for a joking tone as she stepped out onto the frozen lake. Anything to conceal the near panic in her voice. Panic was winning.
And the question was rhetorical. Who else but Fred could have gotten her to drive up the mountain for the privilege of hobbling across slippery ice on narrow, precarious skates? Under the metal blades on her feet, the surface felt even slicker than it looked.
Fred squeezed her hands in both of his. “I’ve got you.”
That went without saying. Otherwise, she’d already be in a heap. Six-year-old kids are doing this, she reminded herself as one of them swooped by, leaving tiny shavings of ice scattered at her feet. Fred’s two black-gloved hands held hers securely as he guided her slowly along the ice, keeping them close to the edge of the lake.
When Fred first suggested it, ice skating had sounded like a fun winter adventure. But roller skates—the normal kind, anyway—had four wheels on each foot to keep you anchored to the earth, instead of tottering like a baby giraffe taking its first steps. The fact that Fred was skating backward, in order to face her, didn’t ease her mind. She’d feel a lot better if he could see where he was going.
He smiled down at her, apparently amused by her short, jerky strides. “Have you ever done this before?”
“Once. When I was about twelve. Have you?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Then how—”
A teenage boy cut across Fred’s path from behind, and Fred deftly sidestepped without looking backward. “I think it’s one of those osmosis things.”
“You mean ice skating is on a need-to-know basis too?”
Fred wobbled slightly. “Watch out. Don’t make me think. Remember, I’m the one who’s holding us both up.”
He took a longer, seemingly effortless stride backward, and Lindsay felt them pick up a little speed. She jittered off balance, gripping his gloved hands a little more tightly without meaning to. She’d never seen him wear gloves before; she was pretty sure he didn’t need the protection from the cold. But they went along with the whole ensemble: the warm overcoat, the bright red scarf—he’d even worn the top hat again tonight, with Lindsay’s approval. On the street, it would have been ridiculous, but in this wintry setting, it seemed fine, more flattering than the knit caps or ski masks some of the men out here wore. The top hat was jaunty. It was Christmasy.
Or maybe she’d left her sanity behind before they even left her apartment.
When she didn’t totter over, Fred increased their speed again. Lindsay felt a light brush of the cold night air on her cheeks, and started to remember why this had sounded like a good idea.
“Better?” Fred said.
“Better. But would you mind not skating backward?”
“For you, anything.” He said it lightly, yet she heard a ring of truth in his voice.
He shifted her right hand to his left and stepped alongside her with an ease that would have surprised her in anyone else. He left the outer edge of the lake to Lindsay, a little extra measure of security. That was something else. Indoor ice rinks had a ledge. Here, there was nothing but Fred to hold on to.
Not a bad deal, she decided, as he tucked her mittened hand into his arm. In fact, she’d be hard-pressed to think of a better one. Lindsay slid on the ice alongside him a little more smoothly now—not graceful by a long shot, but it felt good. It seemed easier now that they faced the same direction.
Fred had been in a pretty big hurry to get them out of the apartment, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. The bracing air was close to the literal equivalent of a cold shower, and Lindsay knew she, for one, had needed it. Out here, under the glare of the outdoor lamps, she could get as close to Fred as she wanted, and not worry about anything getting out of hand.
Even without that, they had to be breaking Headquarters rules six ways from Sunday. But if it didn’t bother Fred, she wasn’t about to bring it up.
How had she gone from brandishing a walking stick between them, to this?
And how in the world was she going to go back to her normal life after this?
Less than a week ago, she’d been buried in her routine of going to and from work, trying to fulfill her obligations in between, all while she watched Christmas pass her by in a blur from the corner of her eye. Now she was in the heart of it, feeling the bracing air around her, holding a hand she could swear was giving her warmth straight through both of their gloves.
But it was so much more than physical warmth she felt. Fred made her feel special, valued. He made the world around her look better, too: brighter, richer, as if she were seeing it more clearly. Lindsay couldn’t remember feeling this way with any other man, not even Steven, and she hadn’t gotten that close to anyone else since. With Steven she’d felt safe and comfortable. Pleasant, she admitted to herself reluctantly.
Being with Fred was so much better. So much more than she deserved.
And he’d be gone so soon.
Her stride faltered, and Fred’s arm instantly boosted her up for support. “Thinking again, weren’t you? Remember, the secret of a thing like this is not to think.”
She wondered if he was talking about the skating, or not.
Fred glided them into a turn as they approached the row of wooden barricades that blocked the unused portion of the lake from skaters—whether for safety, or to keep the public skating area down to a manageable size, Lindsay wasn’t sure. But as they crossed the center of the lake, she tried not to think about the depth of the water underneath them.
Not to think. Don’t think about the water. Don’t think about what happens when he leaves.
And then they reached the shore on the other side, and turned again. Fred’s arm squeezed her hand closer against him. And Lindsay’s heart lightened, along with her steps. She drew a deep breath of the cold air.
The lake was beautiful. The white ice and snow, the bright sweaters and caps of the skaters around them, all against the distant backdrop of the black night sky, with its tiny white pinpricks of stars. Tinny holiday music played from public address speakers near the skate rental shack, and even that sounded pretty in context. It’s that time of year . . . When the world falls in love . . .
Her skates slid smoothly along the ice now, and Lindsay felt light inside, almost as if she weren’t touching the ground. She had to hand it to Fred. Never had she lived so completely in the present. There was nothing but now. Lindsay took it all in, and let the moment fill her heart.
She had no right to be this happy.
Fred guided Lindsay once again around the lake, feeling her relax a bit more with each stride. It was like watching a flower blossom in the snow, seeing her open up this way. And the bud had been beautiful to begin with. Once, he tried to spin them at the shallow part of the lake, near a soft-looking snowbank. They’d nearly tottered over; after she shrieked, she collapsed against him in a spate of that little-girl laughter.
Their Christmas outings certainly seemed to be doing her some good. But at this point, he could no longer pretend he was doing this for anyone but himself. Making Lindsay happy made him happy. A strange form of selfishness, perhaps, but selfishness nevertheless.
And as for that invisible nemesis, Steven—
He drew Lindsay a little closer as they rounded the turn that took them along the blocked area across the center of the lake, the part that made her nervous. Once again her fingers squeezed tighter around his, and he squeezed back.
It couldn’t possibly make any difference to Fred whether he sent her back to Steven or not. Either way, come Christmas, Fred would never see her again. Still, something at the very core of him resisted.
Before, he’d never had a plan. But he’d always had a purpose. This was like being in free fall. Exactly like being in free fall—both exhilarating and terrifying. What repercussions from Headquarters awaited him on the other side of these four days, he didn’t know. But in this moment, one thing was crystal clear: he was going to enjoy Lindsay while he had her, and the consequences be damned.
Seconds later a loud, sharp noise filled the air. Followed by a thousand smaller, crackling noises under his feet.
Lindsay heard a sound like a gunshot. An instant later someone yanked her left arm and wrenched her away from Fred. She tried to pull free, to get back to him, but she couldn’t even see him. People blurred in front of her as someone dragged her backward by both arms now, the blades of her skates scraping the ice. Huge, spiderwebbing cracks radiated outward across the ice. She heard a referee’s whistle, shouting voices, and behind it all, that ominous cracking sound.
A louder shot than before—an explosive one—and an enormous plume of water burst upward, behind the people who blocked her view of Fred.
The last of the crowd in front of her streaked past as people reached the shallow edges of the lake, herded by safety workers in bright red vests. Still straining against the hands that pulled her, Lindsay stared at a jagged, gaping hole in the ice twenty feet away from her.
A tall, black hat floated on top of the water.