On Thin Ice. Debra Lee Brown

ahead, shoot.” He pulled a chair up close—a lot closer than he would have if she was a man—and shot her another smile.

      “How long have you been out here?”

      “Came in last Wednesday. Why?”

      “No reason. I just wondered.” She gave up a smile.

      “Matter of fact, a whole new crew came on that day. Was that your doing?”

      “My doing? No, how could it be? Geologists don’t make those kinds of decisions. Only the—”

      “Toolpusher?”

      “That’s right.”

      His eyes fixed on the tiny mole near her mouth. Sexy as hell. He’d noticed it for the first time last night in the lab.

      “Who’s in charge of the crew now that Paddy’s…” All the light went out of her eyes, and he found himself feeling sorry for her again. All part of her plan, he reminded himself.

      “Don’t know. Salvio, I guess.” Jack had been riding roughshod on them since the second Paddy O’Connor was pronounced dead. It made sense, since Salvio was Tiger’s senior man and in charge of the whole field operation.

      “Jack wants to shut it all down,” she said absently.

      “Makes sense, given what’s happened.” Seth cast a look out the window in the direction of the drilling rig, barely making out the outline of the derrick.

      “I’m going out there to talk to him.”

      “Hey, wait.”

      She ignored him, and a minute later was suited up and out the door to the yard. Seth was right behind her. He was late as it was. Lunch was over and everyone was back on shift.

      Lauren slipped on the ice as she grabbed the guideline connecting the camp to the rig. He caught her just in time.

      “Thanks.”

      He barely heard her over the wind. She smiled up at him, her auburn hair whipping around her face. He grabbed the fur ruff of her hood and pulled it snug, holding her close longer than he should have.

      Again he had to remind himself he was acting. So was she. All in a day’s work. He was a cop, and she was a murderer. He hadn’t wanted to believe it when he was with her last night, but what he’d found in the Dumpster convinced him. He’d wrapped the evidence in a paper bag and stashed it in his duffel. It wasn’t enough. He’d bet his life there’d be no usable fingerprints on that rock hammer. All the same, he had to get a look at Paddy’s body.

      As they pulled their way along the guideline to the rig, he mentally checked off what he knew about Lauren Fotheringay. Not nearly enough. Not yet. The homicide alone might be tough to hang on her. But proof that she was the corporate thief would likely buy her the murder rap, too.

      His goal was clear to him now. Forget the murder. Finger her for the illegal sale of Tiger’s proprietary data. Rock samples and maps—that was likely what she was selling. The rest would follow if he could establish motive. This much he did know about her:

      Oil industry papers had rumored Tiger’s CEO was thinking of promoting Lauren over her boss, Bill Walters, to VP of exploration. No small leap. She couldn’t be that good. There must be another reason. Maybe she was sleeping with him.

      Maybe she was sleeping with all of them—Tiger’s CEO, her boss, not to mention that pretty-boy fiancé of hers. Seth watched her shuck her jacket off inside the first-floor stairwell of the drilling rig, his gaze pinned on the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts against that ratty old cardigan she seemed to live in.

      He reminded himself that even if she wasn’t a perp, she was still off-limits to him: a rich sorority princess with a fancy career and ice water in her veins. He’d gotten burned on that type once already, and wouldn’t make that mistake again. Women like Lauren Fotheringay didn’t love men, they used them. That fact made it easier to focus on his goal.

      Bledsoe had ordered him to hold his cover even after he’d fingered the ringleader and his or her accomplices. They wanted to take everyone involved in this corporate piracy case down at once. No one was sure how high up in Tiger the fraud went, but Seth suspected pretty high.

      Based on what he knew so far, if he had to guess, he’d make Lauren as the kingpin here in the field, and Paddy O’Connor her accomplice. Paddy must have gotten scared or screwed up, done something to make it dangerous for Lauren to let him live. Maybe he was getting ready to blow the whistle on the whole operation.

      Seth didn’t know, but he was going to find out.

      Amazingly enough, his own father—a shrewd businessman who watched the movements of oil companies operating in the Arctic like a hawk—had been the one who’d tipped off the Feds to what he’d first thought was some kind of illegal collusion between Tiger and that foreign company. How ironic that Seth should catch the case. He wondered if his father knew. And if he did know, if he’d care.

      Oh, he’d care all right. The great and powerful Jeremy Adams would expect Seth to screw it up somehow. Just like he thought Seth had screwed up his career with the Bureau and his marriage. Not to mention a hundred other things growing up.

      Lauren started up the metal stairs, and Seth followed, his gaze fixed on her jeans-clad behind. Mmm, nice. The view drove all thoughts of his father from his mind.

      The higher they climbed and the closer they got to the drilling floor, the more deafening the noise became. The screeching sounds of machinery one floor above them told Seth they’d already started the rest of the shift without him. He’d catch hell from Salvio for sure now.

      He swore silently under his breath. One of these days he and Jack Salvio were going to have a serious disagreement.

      They topped a landing, and Lauren stopped short. Seth crashed into her from behind. “Whoa, sorry.” He grabbed the greasy metal handrail to keep from falling backward down the stairs.

      Over the noise, he heard her rattle off a litany of cuss words the average society cupcake shouldn’t even know. But her tirade wasn’t on his account. She pointed across one of the catwalks circling the central drilling pipe that stretched from ground level up five stories to the drilling floor just above them.

      Seth looked past her and saw two roustabouts—the same guys who’d corralled him yesterday into helping them move that equipment. He’d found out soon afterward that they’d lied to him about the camp’s forklift being down. The question was why?

      His hunch was that they’d deliberately wanted to divert his attention. Away from a murder being committed not fifty yards away as he humped crates off a pallet? Maybe. Maybe not.

      Seth filed that question away for the time being, and watched them scoop samples out of the big metal vat of drilling mud and rock being circulated out of the well. “Want me to—”

      Lauren didn’t wait for him to finish. In three seconds she was across the catwalk, shouting something at the two roustabouts that Seth couldn’t make out over the noise. A second later he bumped up behind her again.

      “What’s going on?” Seth looked to Pinkie for an explanation. The roustabout had gotten his nickname when he lost one of his little fingers in a drilling accident years ago, so Paddy O’Connor had told him.

      “Nothin’,” Pinkie said.

      “Yeah, nothin’.” Seth looked hard at Pinkie’s greasy-looking friend. The name Bulldog was painted in crude letters across his hard hat. “We was just takin’ samples like—”

      “Like we’re supposed to.” Pinkie shot Bulldog a cautionary look.

      Something was off about these two. Seth had thought so since his first day on the job. They were thick as thieves and strangely aloof from the rest of the crew. Come to think of it, neither of them had seemed overly concerned, as had the rest of the men, when Paddy O’Connor turned up dead in the reserve