Page 107 of Over the Edge

“Thanks again. For everything.”

He closed the scant distance between them, a swirl of his subtle but potent aftershave tickling her nose. “My pleasure.” The dim light shadowed his features, but the warmth in his husky voice was impossible to miss—and helped take the chill out of the night air.

Heart doing a happy dance, she slid in after he opened the door. Set her satchel on the floor while he closed it. “Thanks again, Madeleine. It was lucky you were close by.” Her greeting sounded as breathless as if she’d run a fifty-yard dash.

“Providential.” Her chauffeur watched Jack return to his car. “That’s the case detective?”

“Yes.”

“I like how he took your arm.”

“He’s, uh, very polite.”

“Also very hot.”

Lindsey clicked the seat belt into place, keeping her chin down. Thank goodness the darkness hid her flush. “I noticed.”

“You’d be dead if you didn’t. And I got the impression it was mutual. The body language between you two was telling.”

Sheesh.

Was she that easy to read?

“He’s very nice.”

“Why do I have a feeling that’s an understatement?” Though Madeleine’s grin was hidden by the shadows, it spilled over into her inflection. “But hey. I’m rooting for you. It’s not easy to find hot men who are also polite and nice. Yours truly can attest to that. I’m sorry for the circumstances that brought the two of you together, but God works in mysterious ways. Wouldn’t it be amazing if all the weirdness happening in your life leads to romance?”

Madeleine moved on to other topics, suggesting her question had been rhetorical, but yeah. It would be amazing.

Best of all?

The odds of it happening appeared to be more and more in her favor with every passing day.

And now that the killer or someone connected to the killer had made a mistake, they might be one step closer to finding the identity of the person who’d committed the terrible crime in the Robertson kitchen—and turned her life into a living nightmare ever since.

HE WASN’T GOINGto be happy if he found out about this.

But hopefully he wouldn’t.

After all, the cut wasn’t terrible. And as long as they continued to keep their distance, he wouldn’t see it. At the rate things were going, it would be healed long before they had another in-person visit.

Unfortunately, however, it was deep. A candidate for stitches under other circumstances. But a visit to an urgent care center was out of the question. There could be no record of this injury.

At least the glove had caught most of the blood, once it was back on. Taking it off had been a mistake, but operating that stupid electronic signal device with gloved fingers had been impossible.

Besides, who knew Lindsey had a cracked taillight with a jagged edge that could snatch a muffler? Extricating the fabric had been tricky, and the clock had been ticking on the signal capture. Haste, it seemed, didn’t just make waste. It also led to mistakes ... and a case of follow-up jitters.

At least a scotch and soda would alleviate the latter. It would also take away the lingering bone chill from this frigid night. There ought to be enough booze left in the emergency reserve bottle for tonight. Tomorrow, the stash could be restocked.

Beneath the bandage, the cut began to throb, and blood started seeping through the gauze. Again.

A word slipped out that wasn’t fit for polite company, but who cared? No one was around to hear it.

Wasn’t there a rule about elevating wounds above the heart to control bleeding and swelling?

Worth a try, once the scotch was in hand.

And if lady luck deigned to smile after the cut stopped bleeding and the booze was gone, maybe sleep would come.

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