Page 45 of Over the Edge

Jack took a moment to digest her story. Another to grasp why she’d asked that question.

“You’re wondering if Robertson’s killer could be targeting you.”

“I know it seems off the wall, but why else would someone do that to me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

First a misplaced car. Now an attack by an underwater phantom.

Was it possible the trauma from nine days ago had affectedher mind? Could she have simply run into a submerged obstacle, panicked when she’d ended up in the drink, and imagined all the rest?

“I know my story sounds crazy.” Her voice grew taut, defensiveness vibrating through it. “But I also know there were fingers around my ankle. And I don’t think the attack was random.”

Jack maintained an even tone as he replied, composing his response with care. “No one could survive more than a few minutes in a lake at this time of year unless they were suited up for scuba diving. Are you thinking this person was lying in wait for you under the water?”

Maybe if he put the scenario she was describing into words, she’d realize how far-fetched it was.

“Like I said, I know my story is bizarre. But what other explanation could there be for what happened?”

He could think of a few. None of which she’d appreciate.

“Youhavebeen under a lot of stress.” If there was a more diplomatic way to phrase his reservations about her story, it eluded him.

The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line spoke volumes about her reaction to that comment, as did her glacial tone. “I’m sorry I interrupted your weekend. I’ll let you get back to—”

“Hold on a sec.” He pulled another towel from the rack and began scrubbing his hair. She was the only one who’d seen Robertson’s killer, and alienating her in the midst of that investigation wouldn’t be smart. “Are you absolutely sure about what happened?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

Jack sighed.

So much for his quiet Sunday agenda of church followed by a relaxing afternoon meal with his siblings.

“Where are you?”

“In my car at the boathouse next to the lake.”

“Are you hurt?” That was the first question he should have asked. An obvious lapse, now that his brain was clicking into gear.

“No.”

Not physically, perhaps, but the catch in her voice suggested she’d taken an emotional hit from today’s episode, whatever the cause.

“Are you warm and dry?”

“Yes. I ch-changed in the locker room.”

Smart. She didn’t need a case of hypothermia on top of the rest of her trauma—real or imagined.

“Are there any other people around?”

“A few are starting to show up.”

“Lock your doors and keep your phone in hand. I’m going to get a few eyes on the lake perimeter. Watch for me in twenty minutes and call again if anything happens that concerns you.”

“All right. Thanks.”

The line went dead, and Jack flew into action. In six minutes flat he was dressed, shaved, and jogging toward his car, phone pressed to his ear as he connected with his sergeant, who could get officers on-site fast. If they didn’t canvas the area ASAP to see if anyone had spotted suspicious activity around the lake, the opportunity to find potential witnesses would be lost.

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