Page 105 of Over the Edge

“I’m at my cooking class. My car is gone again.”

Silence as he digested that.

“You mean it’s missing?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the church kitchen.”

“Is anyone else there?”

“No.”

“Stay put. I’m on my way.” There wasn’t a trace of skepticism or here-we-go-again frustration in his response.

“I hate to bring you out on such a cold night. Maybe I shouldtake a stroll around the block, see if the car is parked on the perimeter like last time. I could keep my phone in hand and call you if I have any issues.”

“No. I don’t want you wandering around that neighborhood at night. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t go outside. Lock the door and get your pepper gel out.”

His grim, clipped tone must mean he was convinced her claim was valid.

Relief coursed through her, and she sank onto a stool, pressure building in her throat. “Thank you. Not only for coming but for not dismissing my story like I’m sure your colleagues did after the first incident.”

“There have been too many odd episodes in the interim. And in the past few weeks I’ve gotten to know you. Even without consulting Oliver, I don’t see any evidence to suggest all of these strange events are a figment of your imagination. Sit tight and watch for me.”

The line went dead.

Taking a long, slow breath, Lindsey put her phone away, got out her pepper gel, and took up a position by the window that offered a view of the parking area.

Twenty-five minutes later, a car swung into the lot. When it stopped, the lights flicked off and Jack emerged.

She met him at the door.

“Everything okay?” He gave her a once-over.

“Fine.”

“Did you see anyone in the lot while you waited for me?”

“No.”

“Sorry it took me so long to get here. I circled the block before I pulled in. Your car’s around the corner, next street over. I didn’t want to leave until a patrol officer got there. He’ll stay by it until I come back.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“I can think of a stronger term.” A muscle clenched in his cheek. “I also have news. While I waited for the officer, I took a close look at the car. There’s a small streak of what appears to be relatively fresh blood on the car door near the handle. Could it be yours?”

“No. I haven’t cut myself since the day James Robertson was killed. A nasty encounter with a knife while I was dicing at my next customer’s house. I should have followed your advice and gone home instead of trying to carry on with my schedule. But that cut healed.”

“Then we may have captured the perpetrator’s DNA.” He pulled out his cell. “I called my boss to have him get a CSU tech down here. I want the car gone over by an expert, and I want a blood sample sent to the lab ASAP. I also plan to knock on a few doors, see if anyone saw anything helpful.”

“Does that mean you and my car will be here for the foreseeable future?”

“Well into the night, I imagine. Would you like me to have someone drive you home?”

Thanks to her full plate tomorrow, including a session with Dr. Oliver, she ought to accept. Even if hanging out here came with the bonus of a few hours in Jack’s company.

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