Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

THIS COULDN 'T BE HAPPENING.

Not again.

Lindsey stared at the spot where she'd parked for the cooking class, a dozen yards from the door.

It was empty.

Squeezing the strap on her tote, she scanned the dark lot as the cold wind battered her face, the mounds of snow from the storm last weekend hunched like malevolent white specters on the black asphalt.

Nada.

Her car was gone. No question about it.

Keeping an eye on the empty expanse, she retreated to the church hall, slipped back inside, and locked the door.

Now what?

She could call the police—but what if her car was parked around the corner, like it had been last time? They'd really think she was nuts if she reported it missing again.

Should she make a circuit of the streets on the perimeter of the church property, see if she could locate the car herself?

But what if she did find it? Was she supposed to simply drive away like this had never happened? Tell no one?

No. That would be foolish. For two reasons.

First, this wasn't the best neighborhood to be wandering around in at night, even armed with pepper gel. And second, if this was another attempt to undermine her integrity as a witness, to convince her and the police she was losing her mind, someone ought to know.

Someone like Jack.

She pulled out her cell. There was a risk in telling him, of course. It could erode the credibility she'd built up with him, renew his doubts about her memory of the events related to the murder as well as her potential as a romantic interest.

But someone had taken, or moved, her car. There was zero doubt in her mind about that.

Bracing, she tapped in his number.

He answered on the first ring. "Hi. I was just thinking about you."

On any other cold night, the warmth in his tone would have chased the chill from her bones. But who knew how he was going to react to her news?

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes. "You're never going to believe this."

"What's up?" His manner switched at light speed from easygoing to dead serious.

"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 should take 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.

"I do have a busy—" Her phone began to vibrate, and she pulled it out.

Madeleine.

The woman's timing was impeccable.

"Give me a minute."

"No rush." Jack strolled a few feet away and began scrolling through messages.

"Hi, Madeleine."

"Back at you. I just wanted to check in and make certain you didn't run into any glitches at the church because of the change in day for the class."

"No glitches with the church. A little glitch afterward." She explained what had happened.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was. I called the case detective, and he's going to have one of their crime scene people come down to go over the car. Maybe the blood he found will give them a lead."

"We can hope. If your car is stuck there, do you need a ride home?"

"The detective offered to line one up for me."

"Why don't I pick you up instead?"

Tempting as it was to accept her offer instead of hitching a lift with a stranger in a patrol car, it wouldn't be fair to drag Madeleine out on a cold night like this when an alternative was available.

"I don't want to bother you again."

"It's the least I can do, considering all the hours you've donated to teaching classes for me."

"I appreciate it, but the church isn't exactly in your backyard."

"It is tonight. I was at a gallery opening for a showing by a friend of mine not too far from the church, so I'm in the neighborhood. Watch for me soon." She ended the call without waiting for a response.

Lindsey slid her phone back into her pocket and swiveled toward Jack. "My friend Madeleine is in the area and will pick me up."

"That works." He rejoined her. "I can give you a lift back here in the morning."

"I'd appreciate that. How long will it take to run the DNA?"

"In general, best case is twenty-four hours. I'll push hard for a rapid test, though. As soon as I have it, I'll run it through our databases and see if we can find a match."

"What if you don't?"

"We hang on to it. My gut tells me that whoever the blood on your car belongs to is either Robertson's killer or has a close link to the killer."

"Your colleague's theory about someone trying to discredit me as a witness by pulling bizarre stunts is becoming more and more credible."

"After tonight, I'd say it's passed the theory stage. Whoever has been targeting you has done an excellent job covering their tracks—until tonight. Leaving blood behind was a big mistake. We'll run your DNA too to rule out a match, but if you don't have any cuts, it doesn't belong to you. I'll call you tomorrow to set that up."

Headlights swung into the lot, and Lindsey picked up her satchel. "Madeleine's here."

"I'll walk you out." He pushed open the door, and a frigid blast of wind pummeled them. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." A shiver rippled through her. "Who expects winter this early?"

"Welcome to St. Louis. By tomorrow it may feel like spring again." He angled his body to shield her while she pulled the door closed and double-checked the lock, then took her arm as they circled Madeleine's car. "I'll be in touch as soon as I know anything."

"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 GOING to 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.

But the best cure for insomnia?

An end to the police investigation.

So if tonight's incident didn't convince the police Lindsey was crazy, there was only one step left to take.

Together, they had to make sure Lindsey stopped remembering.

Permanently.

Whether he liked it or not.