Dakota Meltdown. Elle James

As if to emphasize her point, a loud crack ripped through the air like the sound of a shotgun blast.

      Nick jumped, his brow dropping into a fierce frown. “What the hell was that?”

      “The ice cracking,” Brenna answered, ducking to hide a hint of a smile.

      “Cracking?” He glanced around at the others. “And nobody’s worried about falling in?”

      “Not yet,” Dave Jorgensen said. “The ice is still thick. It’ll hold.”

      Brenna looked up at Nick, her lips twitching. “Ready to go?”

      “Ready when you are.” He inhaled deeply and rolled his neck and shoulders, clearly uncomfortable out on the frozen lake. “Where to?”

      “I want to talk to Dr. Drummond’s neighbors.”

      “The police department interviewed the folks on both sides, across the street and behind them. No one saw anything.”

      “Then we need to ask again.” She snapped her collar up to block the wind. “There’s got to be something.”

      “For once, I couldn’t agree with you more.” Nick slid on the ice and Brenna put a hand out to steady him. When they reached her Jeep, he held her door. “Just can’t see the attraction in ice fishing. I always thought of lakes as places you swim or boat in, not drive on in a one-ton vehicle.”

      Brenna climbed behind the wheel. “I never thought of it as a place to ditch a body. Makes me wonder where he’s left the others. Should we be examining all the fishing holes in the lake?”

      “Not a bad thought. I’ll check with the sheriff.” Nick walked away across the ice, each step measured and careful.

      Brenna hid a smile. At least he was game to step out on the ice. Some people wouldn’t dream of it. The thought of the ice cracking and dumping them into freezing waters was more than most cared to face.

      As Nick climbed into the passenger seat, the image of Janine Drummond surfaced in Brenna’s thoughts and she shuddered.

      “Are you cold?” He closed his door and peeled his gloves off, holding his hands to the heater vent.

      “No, just chilled by what we found.”

      “Yeah.” Nick’s lips thinned. “Now we know for sure we’re dealing with a killer.”

      All the more reason to bring him in as soon as possible. She turned the vehicle and headed toward the shoreline, memories of better times flooding in.

      “You act like you know your way around on the ice,” Nick said.

      “I used to come out here with my father to ice fish.” She remembered the old ice hut he’d built with scrap lumber. As soon as the ice was thick enough to hold his truck, he’d drag the shanty out on the lake and spend many contented hours fishing for walleye and trout. Brenna joined him most of the time, relaxed by the sound of the wind wailing against the boards and a companionable silence with her father.

      Not Alice. She preferred to be out and about with her friends, shopping, bowling or playing games indoors. Brenna always thought she should have been born a boy. But her father had never made her feel that way. “What can a boy do that you can’t?” he’d asked, and handed her a fishing pole and bait.

      “You and your father were close?” Nick’s low tone broke through Brenna’s thoughts.

      “Yeah.” The old ache settled against her chest. He’d been the main man in her life. The only man to understand her and accept her for who she was, not what she looked like.

      “Must have been nice. My father was gone a lot while I was growing up.” He said with no emotion, as if he were stating a fact.

      Brenna pictured a little boy sitting on the front porch with a fishing pole and no one to take him fishing. She was very fortunate to have had a father as supportive as hers, who’d cared enough to teach her how to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures. The cold days spent on the lake with her father would be forever etched into her heart.

      But Eagle Lake had changed.

      “I had good memories of this place until today. Now I can’t get the image of Dr. Drummond’s body out of my mind.”

      Nick nodded, staring out across the white landscape. “We’ll get him.”

      “You bet we will.” Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Let’s just hope we do before he kills again.”

      “I’m afraid he already has. Question is where’d he hide the bodies?”

      THE REST OF THE DRIVE back to town was accomplished in silence. Sun shone down on the snow and ice, making a smooth glaze of moisture over the top. When darkness fell, the water would freeze and make a treacherous layer of black ice.

      Nick stared out the window without absorbing the scenery. Instead, he combed through what little evidence they had so far and came up with nothing.

      Brenna drove straight to Janine Drummond’s little cottage nestled among towering barren cottonwoods on East Thirty-second Avenue. Yellow crime-scene tape marked the exterior of the fifty-year-old white house with the forest-green trim.

      As soon as she shifted into Park, Brenna climbed down from the Jeep and headed for the house on the east side of Dr. Drummond’s.

      Behind her, Nick admired her no-nonsense pursuit of answers and the way her hips swayed as she picked her way across the slippery, wet driveway.

      After knocking several times with no answer, Brenna turned to leave.

      Nick touched her arm. “Wait.” He nodded toward the front window where a curtain twitched. “Sir,” he called out, “I’m Agent Nick Tarver with the FBI. Could we have a word with you about Dr. Drummond?” Nick pulled his credentials out of his pocket and held them high.

      Brenna followed suit.

      Several seconds passed before they heard the sound of a dead bolt being unlocked and the door cracked open.

      An old man dressed in wool slacks and a gray sweater peeked through the opening. “We already gave our statement.”

      Brenna stepped forward. “I’m Special Agent Brenna Jensen. We just want to ask a few questions,” she said softly, extending her hand. “Please, sir, we need more information.”

      Nick was impressed with the gentle quality of Brenna’s voice. How different from the tough-as-nails cop back at the station. And whatever she was doing was working on the old man.

      “Dean Helmke.” The man reached out and shook Brenna’s hand. “I don’t know what I can add to what we told the police department.”

      “We’ll only take a few minutes of your time, sir.” Brenna smiled. “We want to understand the case.”

      The man sighed. “You’ll have to talk to me. My wife’s lying down. All the excitement and worry is making her sick.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that,” Brenna said softly.

      “Come in.” The man held the door wide and waved them forward. “It’s still too cold to stand outside for long.”

      “Thank you.” Brenna stomped her feet on the outside mat before she stepped through.

      “Although, the way the sun’s been shining, won’t be long before the spring melt.” Mr. Helmke moved aside to make room for them. “Hope it doesn’t do it all at once. Sure don’t want a repeat of the flood of ninety-seven.”

      “No, we don’t.” Brenna kicked off her boots and hung her jacket on a coat rack. Then she nudged Nick in the side, staring pointedly at his boots, before she padded in her stocking feet to the living room.

      Nick removed his boots and jacket and followed, glad he didn’t have holes in his socks.

      “Can