Heart of Ice Read online

  When you were in the fight of your life or your career, Stone was the guy you wanted sitting at the defense table. If you could pay his steep fees, you got the slickest lawyer in town, one who always had an ace—or two or three—up his hand-tailored sleeve.

  Foley’s parents certainly didn’t have the money. His mother was a cashier, his father a TriMet bus driver. But the med student did have a great-aunt who had plenty of money and who was sure that “dear Colton could never have done these terrible things.”

  Just being defended by Stone was a sure sign that you were involved in something embarrassing or off-putting. But if you were one of the people who came to him, then you couldn’t afford to be choosy. Couldn’t afford not to pay his high fees. Because otherwise Stone would be more than happy to leave you to the services of a public defender.

  Allison checked her watch. 11:58. Getting up, she turned on the small TV in her office to Channel Four. Cassidy had told her that Stone had announced plans to hold a press conference at eleven. The media-savvy Stone had picked a time that would ensure it would get the most play. Most stations wouldn’t risk a live news conference in case it turned out to be filled with nothing but hot air, but the eleven o’clock time frame allowed them just enough time to film and edit a two-minute segment.

  Allison would never have gone—it would show weakness—but she would watch all the coverage and order transcripts. The catnip Stone had offered the media was Foley’s fiancée. Until now, she had been in hiding. Stone had promised that she had something important to reveal to the press.

  After briefly running through the day’s top national and local stories—flooding in Ohio, a child left stranded on a MAX rail platform, a tease about the week’s weather—the news anchor cut away to Mike Stone standing in front of a bank of microphones in what looked like a hotel conference room.

  In ringing tones, Stone said, “My client, Colton Foley, is not guilty of these ridiculous trumped-up charges. I am confident that at the end of the day, given the facts of this case, the lack of evidence, and the faulty investigation, my client will be freed. Colton has the full support of his family, his friends, and his fiancée, Zoe Barrett, who is with me here today. I have not received any document or report or piece of evidence other than what I heard in the courtroom. All I have at the moment are words—no proof of anything.”

  Seeing as how Stone’s clients literally lived and died by words, Allison found it grimly amusing that he dismissed them so blithely. But it was true that they needed more evidence to convict Foley. The search of the condo that he shared with his fiancée had turned up a roll of duct tape and a single pair of plastic flex-cuff restraints—no gun or weapon, and nothing from any of the victims.

  Stone continued, “The police completely searched my client’s condominium but found absolutely nothing of any significance. A roll of duct tape? Heck, if that’s all it takes to be guilty of these crimes, 75 percent of Portlanders could be indicted.”

  A few of the reporters laughed.

  “And as for the plastic handcuffs, Zoe has a few words she would like to say.”

  The young woman, her eyes downcast so that her shoulder-length blonde hair obscured her face, stepped to the microphone. “This is very embarrassing for me to say, but Colton and I sometimes used those plastic restraints to play games.” She exhaled, and the microphone caught how her breath wobbled. “They were my idea. Of course, I had no idea that my personal and private life would have to go on display to right this travesty of justice. I love Colton and will continue to stand by him until he is freed and we can resume our wonderful life together.”

  Oh, honey, Allison thought as she looked at the trembling girl. Did someone put you up to that? Or was your boyfriend clever enough to have covered his own tracks in advance?

  Then it was back to the news anchor. “Our own Cassidy Shaw was at the press conference this morning, but neither Foley’s attorney nor his fiancée took questions.”

  The camera pulled back to show Cassidy sitting next to the anchor.

  Cassidy looked into the camera, and it was like she was looking right into Allison’s eyes. “I understand the crime lab is trying to link the single plastic restraint found at Foley’s condo to the ones that bound the victims’ hands. But Foley’s attorney is right—the federal prosecutor needs more than circumstantial evidence to win this case.”

  It was dark by the time Allison got home. As she walked up the path, the rhododendron in front of her rustled. She stopped, the back of her neck prickling. You couldn’t be a federal prosecutor for five years without making enemies. Was one of the many threats she had received about to become a reality? Should she scream for Marshall, try to get back in her car, dial 911?

  But before she could move, a voice broke the stillness.

  “Ally?”

  “Lindsay?” Her sister. The perennial bad seed. Or the bad penny, always turning up.

  Allison had been sixteen and Lindsay thirteen when their dad died. As their mother lost herself in loneliness and a bottle of brandy, Allison became the adult and Lindsay became the troublemaker. Each finding her own way to cope. Only Lindsay’s had led to a rap sheet by the time she was eighteen. She had even spent six months in the Spurling Institute. As an adult, her life wasn’t much different. In and out of jail, in and out of rehab, off-again, on-again boyfriends with problems of their own.

  Accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs, Lindsay pushed her way out of the bushes. Allison hoped it was just her hiding place that had left her black hair so tangled, the overhead porch light that made her eyes and cheeks dark hollows. The prettiness, the enthusiasm, the energy that had been there at thirteen had long ago dissipated. Now, at thirty, Lindsay looked far older than her older sister.

  Allison was torn between crossing her arms and reaching out to hug Lindsay. She compromised by leaving her hands dangling loose by her side. “Why are you here?” How many tears, how much money, how many sleepless nights had Lindsay cost her?

  “I need a place to stay. I broke up with Chris. For good this time.” Lindsay swiped the hair from her eyes. “And I’m clean, Allison. I really am.”

  Which of those things were true? Any of them? Lindsay couldn’t seem to keep away from Chris. And she couldn’t seem to keep away from drugs. Pot, coke, and for the past few years, meth. At least, as far as Allison knew, her sister had never done any needle drugs. Thank heaven for small favors. Of course, she still might have Hep C or HIV, but if she did, it hadn’t come from sharing a needle.

  “Why aren’t you at Mom’s?” Allison worked to keep her voice neutral.

  “She won’t let me in. Mom stood in the door to our house—our house!—with the chain on and said she couldn’t. Said her counselor told her she had to let go of me.” Lindsay’s voice broke. “But where am I supposed to go, Ally? What am I supposed to do?”

  Allison was on the verge of echoing her mother’s words. Then she thought of Peter. Peter asking Jesus, “How many times must I forgive my brother? Up to seven times?” And Jesus’ answer, “Not seven, but seventy times seven.”

  She reached for her sister’s hand while she found her house key with the other. “Come on in.”

  And Allison prayed she was making the right choice.

  CHAPTER 11

  Bridgetown Medical Associates

  The white paper on top of the examining table crackled under Nic’s thighs as she shifted restlessly. Her fingers reached up and found the lump. Still there. At odd moments during the day—and even while she slept—she kept touching it. Trying to prove to herself that she had been wrong.

  Now she ordered herself to stop. She was wearing a blue exam gown patterned with snowflakes. It concealed her body about as well as a cape. Around her wrist was a bright-green plastic spiral bracelet holding the key to the locker where she had stashed her clothes and purse. Her Glock was locked in a gun safe in her car. And on the exam table next to her left thigh was a pen and a small notebook. She didn’t want to chance forgetting
something important.

  Nic couldn’t remember the last time she had been to the doctor for anything besides a physical. Even today, with everything going on, her blood pressure and pulse had been low when the assistant took them. It had taken her nearly a week to get this appointment, which was both too soon and not soon enough. What if the cells were dividing at an exponential rate? What if those few days turned out to be the difference between life and death? Whenever she thought about it, her breath seemed to only go as far as the hollow of her throat.

  Nic wanted to be anywhere but here. Maybe if she got up from this table, threw on her clothes, and hurried out before the doctor could make any pronouncements, she would be safe.

  And so would Makayla. That was the heart of her fear. Not for herself, but for her child. And at nine, Makayla was still a child.

  The irony was that Nic sometimes entertained morbid fantasies about her daughter—Makayla coming down with leukemia or meningitis, Makayla hit by a car or bitten by a dog—just to insure her safety. Because if she worried about it, it would be too ironic for it to actually happen.

  But Nic had never bothered to worry about herself.

  She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—leave Makayla alone on this earth. Because who would raise her? Every redundant aspect of Nic’s life was organized, except this one. She had never made a will, because she couldn’t decide whom to name as her daughter’s guardian. Nic’s parents were good people, and they loved their granddaughter as much as Nic herself did, but they were growing frail. Her four brothers? They didn’t always see eye to eye. But how would Makayla become a healthy adult without someone Nic trusted to guide her?

  Nic put her hand on her belly and tried to take a breath that went all the way down.

  There was a knock on the door. Dr. Magel came in and shook Nic’s hand. She was slightly plump, with dark curls and light brown skin. Turning to wash her hands in the sink, she asked Nic questions over her shoulder.

  “And you’re—how old again?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “When did you first notice the lump?”

  “About ten days ago.”

  “Any family history of breast cancer?”

  “No.” Nic then amended it to, “Not that I know of.” Who knew what her parents’ aunts and cousins and grandparents’ sisters had died from? And she wasn’t going to tip off her parents by inquiring. Not until she was sure there was something to worry about.

  “Okay, lie back and I’ll do a breast exam.” Dr. Magel’s gloved hands were warm. She looked, not down at Nic’s breasts, but off into the distance. Nic tried to read her face, but it gave nothing away. Then her fingers stopped. “Is this it?”

  “Yes.”

  She gently kneaded it. “Well, there’s definitely something there, but your breasts are pretty fibrous, which at your age is more common than not. And nine out of ten lumps aren’t cancerous. We’re going to need an ultrasound and a mammogram to start. We can have those done down the hall, and then we’ll talk again.”

  Nic had never had a mammogram before. It didn’t hurt as much as she had heard. After imaging both breasts, the technician switched to smaller plates and only did her left breast, zeroing in, Nic imagined, on the spot. The lump.

  The mammogram tech pressed the button for the X-rays and then checked out the digital images to make sure they were clear. When she did, Nic tried to read her face, but it revealed nothing. For the ultrasound, a different tech had her lie down, smeared cold lubricant on her breasts, then slid a handheld sensor over each one, lingering on the lump again as she peered at her screen. Nic watched this woman’s face, too, but her intent expression gave away nothing.

  Everything could go up in flames. Without any warning. Just when Nic was beginning to heal from what had happened a decade ago. After all this time, she was finally starting to feel safe around men. Well, around Leif anyway.

  Was it a mistake to be here alone? In her head she had tried out telling people.

  She couldn’t bring that kind of cold fear to her mother. Or see the pain in her father’s big sad eyes. No parent wanted to outlive a child.

  And Leif ? Once the doctor gave Nic the bad news, Leif would keep up a good front, sacrifice himself, pretend to still find her attractive, even after he secretly felt only pity. The Nic Leif was attracted to was strong, confident, professional, beautiful. Cancer could take all that away. Leif would support her unconditionally. Nic knew that in her gut. But whatever it was between them might not be strong enough to survive a life-or-death challenge.

  Then there were Cassidy and Allison, her best friends. She knew she could count on them to support her, at least in their own ways. But either of them, when faced with something that might be bearing down on her like a freight train—how rational and lucid would they be?

  Cassidy would move heaven and earth to help her, but she would also probably try to redecorate Nic’s house according to feng shui, or beg her to go to some kind of alternative medicine provider who would prescribe coffee enemas and elderflower root.

  Allison knew what it was like to have your body betray you, to be consumed by something you had no control over. She would understand, at least a little, how Nic was feeling. But she would probably want to pray over Nic, or at least for her. Like that would help. It was like islanders thinking the weather gods were angry after a tsunami. You grasped at straws when you were desperate. Looked for symbols and portents, willing to sacrifice anything to save yourself. Once Nic had even found herself praying when she thought she was on the verge of death—and then had been ashamed of her weakness.

  For now, she was saying nothing to them. She needed her friends to not treat her any differently. It allowed her to pretend that this wasn’t happening.

  She sat straight-backed in the waiting room, her notebook and pen on her lap, while she waited for her test results. Finally the nurse led her back to Dr. Magel’s office. The doctor was sitting behind a wooden desk, looking at her computer screen. Nic took one of two seats opposite her.

  Dr. Magel looked up. “Our radiologist says the mammogram is inconclusive. The ultrasound, though, shows a dense spot. In other words, it’s not a fluid-filled cyst, but rather something else. It could be a fibroma, which are fairly common and benign. Or it could be cancer. I’m going to refer you to a surgeon to discuss next steps. But we need to get this looked at.”

  Nic realized she hadn’t written a word in her notebook. “Do you think it’s cancer?”

  “Nicole, it’s too early to say.”

  But it seemed to Nic that Dr. Magel’s eyes told a different story. One where she knew that the news was bad.

  Allison was always telling her there was a God. But what kind of a God would give Nic everything and then just snatch it away?

  CHAPTER 12

  Portland Fitness Center

  That’s Elizabeth,” Cassidy whispered to Allison as they entered the exercise room. She had badgered Allison and Nicole until they had agreed to give boot camp a try. It was hard to claim a conflict when the class started at six a.m.

  Elizabeth was as tall as Allison, with rich auburn hair cut in a swinging bob that showed off her high cheekbones. Her intense blue gaze seemed to weigh and measure Allison in a half second. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she had to put her hand on Nicole’s arm to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?” Nicole’s brow creased with concern.

  Allison straightened up. “Just a touch of vertigo, that’s all. The doctor says I’m a little anemic.” She hoped that was the reason there were still times she felt flattened and empty. And why this woman’s gaze had left her off balance.

  The only three mats next to each other were in the last row. Cassidy looked disappointed, but Allison was relieved that they wouldn’t be right in front of the instructor.

  When the three of them had been at Catlin Gabel together, Allison had been a straight-A student. Except for PE. No matter how hard she tried, she was rewarded with a string of Cs. Allis
on’s natural reaction when a ball of any type came in her direction was to duck. Even in sports without balls, her clumsiness was always on display. She twisted her knee on the pommel horse, knocked over rows of hurdles, and in archery bruised her arm from elbow to wrist with the bowstring. Even standing on top of a balance beam had seemed as daring as Icarus flying to the sun on wax wings. With each new sport, the only thing that changed was the location of Allison’s bruises.

  Coordinated people had always intimidated her. She might be able to argue circles around them, but once she was on a dance floor they would best her, no problem.

  Or in an exercise studio. By the time Allison got the hang of one move, Elizabeth was switching to the next. Longingly, Allison looked at the clock on the wall again, but the hands seemed not to have moved. She still had forty-five minutes to get through. Forty-five minutes of torture.

  Next to her Cassidy gamely puffed along. If it had been Nicole who had been singing the praises of this class, Allison could have understood. But Cassidy? Cassidy and discipline did not belong in the same sentence. Unless it came to her job. Then Cassidy would willingly do the heavy lifting, if it meant she ended up with a great story.

  Cassidy looked over with her brows pulled together, as if Allison’s panting and poor form personally reflected on her. “Suck it in,” she mouthed, patting her own hollowed-out stomach.

  The problem was that Allison already was sucking it in. But no matter how hard she tried, a little shelf of flesh remained just below her navel. If she hadn’t miscarried, it would have made a comfortable cradle for the baby. Lately she had tried to fill that empty space with eating. Everything from Cool Ranch Doritos from the office vending machine to olive-oil poached halibut and the spring vegetable medley at Paley’s Place. At home, there were scalloped potatoes made with half-and-half and Tillamook cheddar cheese. Umpqua Dairy’s almond mocha fudge ice cream.