Page 3 of Over the Edge

She was trapped.

Letting her instincts take over, she dropped to her knees, edged the last two stools closer together, and tucked herself under the island.

Please,God,don’t let whoever is in here find me!

As that plea for deliverance looped through her mind, she crouched lower and peeked through the shelving between the end of the cabinetry and the decorative column that held up the granite slab on top of the island.

A figure entered the kitchen, but a long coat, ski mask, latex gloves, and boots hid every identifying feature.

When the person walked her direction, Lindsey stopped breathing.

The murderer rounded the granite at the end of the other island. Halted when something clunked to the floor and skidded her direction.

It stopped sliding less than three feet from her, on the other side of the island where she’d taken refuge.

She froze as the killer walked toward her, bent down to grasp the sparkly item that lay almost within touching distance, then continued toward the dead man.

From her vantage point, only the person’s jeans-clad lower legs were visible as one of them nudged the body with the toe of a boot.

No reaction as James’s lifeless eyes stared at her.

Every nerve in her body vibrating, Lindsey snaked a hand toward the shelves at the end of the island and curled her shaky fingers around the rim of the Daum crystal vase Heidi had pointed out during their tour of the kitchen. The one she’d said had cost more than $4,000.

But with her knives out of reach on the coffee bar, the pricey decorative piece was the sole weapon at hand. Better to risk her client’s wrath if she broke it than certain death if the killer spotted her and she had no way to defend herself.

Best case, the murderer had finished what they’d come to do and would leave through the back door.

If they had more business to attend to in the house, however ... if they walked past the island that was her refuge ... they could spot her no matter how small she tried to make herself.

And if that happened, her career as a personal chef would likely come to a very sudden end.

Along with her life.

ST. LOUIS COUNTY DETECTIVE JACK TUCKERducked under the yellow tape around the mega mansion that was now a crime scene and strode toward the responding officer who’d been the first to arrive.

Meyers swiveled toward him as he approached. “You got here fast.”

“I was close when Sarge called.” Unfortunately. Another half hour, he’d have been miles away from this tony neighborhood, racked out at home. And after putting in eighteen hours straight on a mall shooting that had left one dead and three injured, that was where he’d rather be.

But this job didn’t come with a time clock.

“You inherited a big one.”

No kidding.

The scrutiny could be intense at scenes that reeked of power and money. No doubt the media would descend at any moment.

“Fill me in.”

He listened as the man gave him the basics and summarized the two reports he’d taken. One from the woman who’d called in the crime, the other from the workman who’d been on the premises.

“Where are they?”

“Woman’s in my car. She’s shook.” He motioned toward his cruiser, parked along the circle drive that led to the sprawling contemporary structure. “The guy preferred to stay outside, despite the cold. He’s on the patio. Also shook, but in a different way.”

Jack’s antennas went up. After more than two decades on the street, Meyers often had valuable people insights.

“Explain that.”

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