Page 47 of Over the Edge

So while he’d give Lindsey the benefit of the doubt despite the two recent incidents that had implausibility written all over them, some doubt was wise.

And he’d also have plenty of it on hand when Allen came home and found a St. Louis County homicide detective waiting to talk to him.

Ten

AS THE FAINT RINGOF THE DOORBELLpenetrated her restless slumber, Dara forced her eyelids open. Peered at her watch.

Eight fifteen.

Who would come calling at this hour on a Sunday morning?

Whoever it was, Chad could deal with them. He was up already, if the faint aroma of coffee wafting through the cracks in the closed bedroom door was any indication. While he’d abandoned their sleep-late Sunday morning ritual now that he was spending his nights on the couch, this was one small luxury she wasn’t giving up. Even if sleep had been elusive since the Robertson murder.

She burrowed back into the pillow. She could spare another half hour under the covers before she had to get ready for the second service at church.

Ten seconds later, the doorbell rang again.

Heaving a sigh, she pushed herself to a sitting position, shoved her hair back, and groped for her robe at the foot of the bed. Apparently Chad intended to ignore the summons, perhaps assuming it was another pushy reporter. But the harassment from the press had tapered off over the past week, so that didn’t seem likely.

The bell pealed again as she trudged down the hall.

“All right already.” She muttered the comment as she passed the kitchen doorway and scanned the room.

No sign of Chad.

Nor was he in the living room. The couch had been reconfigured from a makeshift bed back to its usual role.

Huh.

Where could he be?

She continued to the front door, pausing by the peephole to squint through the fish-eye lens.

A clean-cut, respectable-looking stranger stood on the other side.

As he leaned forward to press the bell again, she scuttled back. Bit her lip.

The guy was persistent. And he didn’t show any signs of leaving until someone responded.

Better answer and find out what he wanted.

She moved back to the door and pulled it open a couple of inches, leaving the chain on the lock.

The man smiled. “Ms. Allen?”

“Yes.”

After giving her robe a quick once-over through the meager crack, he pulled out a small holder, flipped it open, and aimed it her direction. “Sorry to wake you. Detective Jack Tucker, St. Louis County Police. Is your husband home?”

Pulse skittering, Dara flicked a glance at the street behind the man.

The parking spot Chad had claimed last night in front of their apartment was empty.

Why?

“No. I’m sorry. He’s, uh, not here.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

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