Page 1 of Liar's Point

CHAPTER

ONE

The beach was deserted again.

On sunny days it was the good sort of deserted, empty and peaceful like a postcard. But today’s sky was cold and colorless, and the beach just felt bleak. The wind nipped at Cassandra’s cheeks, and she wished she hadn’t come.

Focus on the breathing, not the pain.

She set her gaze on the foamy waterline and tried to get into the zone. The tip of her nose felt frozen, and her knuckles were numb as she pumped her arms.

Almost there. Just a little more.

She should be used to this by now. She’d been coming here for months on her evenings off. The route to the lighthouse from her apartment was a perfect two-mile loop that was both scenic and invigorating.

Her mind shifted to the stress that had prompted her to come out here and freeze her butt off when what she really wanted to do was pour a fat glass of wine. Today had been crazy, even for a Saturday. Her classes had been filled to capacity, and then she’d had to pick up two classes for Reese, who was out sick.

Or so she’d claimed. Reese had a new boyfriend, and Cassandra had her doubts about that excuse. But she’d filled in anyway, without complaint, because she owed Reese a favor.

Pounding out her frustration on the sand, Cassandra focused on the lighthouse. Perched upon a grassy hill, it looked gray and lonely in the waning daylight. During the summer, the lighthouse was packed with people climbing to the top for a panoramic view of the island’s south side. But the visitors’ lot was vacant now—not a tourist in sight.

Up ahead, a little blue car was parked on the beach near the dunes. Cassandra scanned the shoreline for its owner but didn’t see any walkers or wade fishermen. She looked out at the waves.

A low buzzing noise pulled her attention back to the beach. She glanced up, searching for the drone. She couldn’t see it, but the menacing hum told her it was there. She halted and stared up at the sky.

A red-haired boy darted out from a sand dune, with an excited black dog bounding behind him. The kid looked up, and Cassandra saw that the noise wasn’t a drone but a remote-control airplane. The plane did a series of rolls and loops. Then a man joined the boy and took over the controls to bring the plane down for a smooth landing.

Cassandra resumed her run. She focused on her breathing again, sucking in big gulps of air, then blowing them out. Like magic, the anxiety faded, and her limbic system began to settle down.

Just a dad and his kid. Don’t be so paranoid.

The wind whipped up, making her eyes water as she neared the lighthouse. She sprinted the last twenty yards, then stretched her arms above her head and turned around. The boy and his dog were leaving now. The dad loaded them into a pickup truck and walked around to the driver’s side. He drove in a circle on the beach and disappeared behind the dunes.

Cassandra spied the solitary blue car again. Something about it needled her.

She glanced around. Still no shell seekers or fishermen, and she gazed out at the churning surf. Had someone gone for a swim? It was freezing. But maybe that was the point. Cold water could grab you by the chest and squeeze the breath right out of you. It was terrifying but exhilarating, too, and she understood the allure.

Even so, this end of the island had a notorious rip current. You’d have to have a death wish to swim out here alone, especially at sundown.

Cassandra veered toward the car, unable to stay away. Jogging toward it, she studied the tinted windows, the dinged door. She caught sight of something hanging from the rearview mirror, and her heart lurched. A dream catcher. A small white feather dangled from the hoop.

She jogged straight up to the door and looked through the window. Someone was asleep in the front seat. Long brown hair, pale arms.

Cassandra’s breath caught, and her stomach did a somersault. Panic gripped her as she noticed the flies.

***

Nicole Lawson felt naked.

It wasn’t the minidress or the strappy sandals. It wasn’t even the weird slit that left the entire side of her thigh on display.

It was the Smith & Wesson .40 caliber pistol—or absence of it—that was making her feel exposed. She was so accustomed to those twenty-nine ounces riding on her hip, and the lack of weight was making her antsy as hell.

She checked her phone, then flipped it over.

Nicole glanced around the restaurant, which was wall-to-wall couples, of course. She’d never been in here before, and the decorations grated on her nerves. They were going for elegant, she knew—this was the Nautilus, after all—and it wasn’t like the place was covered in pink balloons. The bloodred rosebuds on every table looked nice, actually. Ditto for the votive candles that emitted a soft glow. Really, it was the glitter that was giving her hives, all those tiny gold hearts sprinkled across her table like pixie dust. Just the sight was making her feel even stupider than she already did in this ridiculous dress.

She checked her phone again.

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