Page 2 of Liar's Point

For the first time ever she had a date on Valentine’s, and not just any date. Tonight was the date. She and David had gone out three times already. The last time had ended with intense kissing in his car, which definitely would have continued if he hadn’t been called into work. Nothing like being summoned to an autopsy to kill the mood.

He wanted to make it up to her, though. Those were his exact words when he’d invited her to this expensive restaurant. And so Nicole had squeezed herself into a low-cut black dress that gave her the illusion of boobs, borrowed her sister’s stilettos, and come here to meet him for dinner.

“Are we still waiting?”

Her server was back again with that pitying look that was almost as annoying as the glitter.

She smiled up at him. “We are.”

“And would you like some wine, perhaps? Maybe a cocktail?”

“I’m good.” She nodded at her half-finished water. “Thanks.”

He walked off, leaving her to her silent phone. No text, no voice message. She’d even checked her email, but zip.

Nicole looked around, sure people were staring at her. God, the white-haired couple behind her was already paying their bill.

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she snatched it up.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?”

Not David. She closed her eyes.

“I’m out. Why?”

“Didn’t you get the call?” Emmet asked her, and she pictured him at the police station surrounded by the typical Saturday-night chaos.

“I’m off tonight.”

“Not anymore.”

Her phone beeped with an incoming call, and she checked the screen.

“Listen, that’s Denise. I have to go.” Nicole got off with Emmet and took the call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“The chief asked me to reach you. He needs you at a scene.”

Damn it.

Nicole pushed her chair back and grabbed her purse. “Does he know I’m off tonight?”

“Yep.”

She unzipped her little black clutch and left a ten on the table. They were going to have to bus it, even though she hadn’t ordered anything.

“Well, what’s going on?”

“One sec,” Denise said, and cut over to another call. When things were busy, the Lost Beach PD receptionist doubled as a dispatcher. She was also the chief’s right hand, doing everything from managing his calendar to deflecting reporters who called in from time to time.

The front of the restaurant was packed with waiting couples. Nicole scanned the bar and the area around the hostess stand but didn’t see any tall, handsome doctors looking around for their date. It was 7:32. She’d officially been stood up.

“Nicole?”

“I’m here.” She squeezed past the people and pushed open the door. A cold gust hit her, and she stepped back.

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