Page 115 of Liar's Point

“I’m fine.”

“Nik, you’re not fine. Come on. You’ve been through an ordeal. I’m surprised you’re not freaking out like Emmet, and the fact that you’re not tells me maybe you’re just a little too immersed in your work. I mean, hello? You could have easily been killed yesterday.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

Her sister sighed. This conversation was going in circles, and it was time to jump off.

“Kate, let me let you go, okay? I just got home, and I’m trying to change clothes.”

“Sure. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. It’s okay to ask for help, you know. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

It sounded so much like what Emmet had said to her just the other night, only he’d been talking about work. Nicole didn’t like relying on other people. She’d always strived to be self-sufficient—which made it all the more exasperating that she had this injury to deal with.

After hanging up with Kate, she set her phone on the nightstand. Carefully this time, she leaned forward and grabbed her favorite shorts off the floor—the loose cotton ones with sunflowers all over them. They were the easiest thing she had to pull on and off over her big boot. She wiggled into the shorts and then flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Frustration churned around inside her. She knew Kate was right—to an extent. Last night had scared the hell out of her, and every time she thought about it, she got this panicky feeling like someone was reaching inside her and squeezing her lungs in a big fist. So, yeah, she’d been on edge today, maybe a little snappy. Even David had commented on it.

But work was her comfort zone. She was good at it. And whenever she felt unsettled with some aspect of her life, she dove headlong into her job to distract herself. Now, though, Emmet and Brady had yanked that option away. What the hell was she going to do for three whole days?

“Screw it.”

She grabbed her crutches and pulled herself up. What she wasn’t going to do was sit around and mope. The case needed her. Both cases did. And if she couldn’t show her face at the police station, then she’d work remotely. She could start by catching up on the reports she hadn’t had time to read because she’d been too busy interviewing witnesses and driving back and forth to the crime lab. Maybe she’d find some key nugget of information that everyone else had overlooked. She had no idea what it might be, but she knew—she knew—that these two homicides were connected in some way, and she was determined to figure out the link.

Nicole grabbed her computer bag off the sofa. Hitching it onto her shoulder, she crutched over to the bar. She slid David’s flower arrangement aside and took out her laptop.

A knock sounded at the door, and Nicole turned to look at it.

Damn.

She took a deep breath and crossed the living room. Peering through the peephole, she confirmed what she’d suspected. She opened the door, and Emmet strode inside.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m here to finish the conversation we were having when you hung up on me.” He stared down at her, hands on hips. He wore a faded gray T-shirt and jeans, and he hadn’t even bothered to put on a jacket.

“I have nothing more to say.” She closed the door and crutched over to the sofa. The basketball game was playing at low volume. She propped her crutches against the armchair and lowered herself onto the couch.

“Nicole.”

“What?”

He sat down on the arm of the sofa. “What is with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Look at me.”

She glared up at him. His hair was still damp from his shower as if he’d rushed straight over here.

“You hung up on me,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little immature?”

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