Page 3 of Liar's Point

“He needs you at Lighthouse Point right away. And keep it off the radio.”

“What’s going on?” she asked again.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“He said, ‘I need Lawson at Lighthouse Point ASAP. Keep it off the radio.’ That’s all I have.”

Nicole hunched her head down, wishing for her leather jacket as she strode across the parking lot. It had filled in since she’d arrived.

“What’s your ETA?” Denise asked.

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Roger that.”

Nicole slid behind the wheel of her pickup and started it. Cold air shot from the vents, and she turned the heat to max. She set her purse on the passenger seat and backed out, still looking for David’s black Pathfinder in case he was pulling in late. He wasn’t.

She should shake it off. He had a demanding job, like she did. It was unpredictable. Maybe he got tied up at work and forgot to call.

But really, that only made her feel worse. She’d been looking forward to this all week. She’d planned her outfit and put on makeup and spent half an hour straightening her damn hair. This was why she didn’t go out. She hated the bullshit. She was much happier at home binge-watching TV with her cat.

The lighthouse came into view, and Nicole’s pulse picked up. Three, four, five emergency vehicles—four cruisers, plus a fire truck. No ambulance, which was a worrisome sign. Everyone was parked in the lot, but the action appeared to be centered on the beach where some portable klieg lights had been set up. Nicole whipped into a space beside the fire rig and scanned the crowd as she shifted into park.

She reached into the back and rummaged around. There was a flannel shirt, an LBPD windbreaker, and a rain poncho. No shoes, damn it. She had a pair of waders in the toolbox in back, but the mud boots she normally kept on hand were on her balcony at home, drying after she’d hosed them off.

She grabbed the windbreaker, then unzipped her little black purse and slid out her backup pistol. A tube of lipstick fell out, too, as if to taunt her.

She got out and pulled on the jacket, then tucked the gun into the pocket, along with her badge. Not that she needed her detective’s shield. Even at a glance, she could see she knew everyone out here.

She crossed the parking lot, attempting to look confident, which worked fine until she reached the sandy trail leading to the beach. She considered kicking off the heels and going barefoot, but there might be glass on the beach, plus her sister had threatened her within an inch of her life if anything happened to her precious Jimmy Choos.

“Don’t leave them at his house,” Kate had said. “And if he has a dog, put them up high.”

“I’m not going to end up at his house.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“I will not.”

“When he sees you in that? You will, trust me.”

Nicole strode across the sand to the group of men milling in the shadows near the klieg lights. A perimeter had been cordoned off around a small blue Subaru. The only person inside the yellow scene tape appeared to be their CSI, who wore a white Tyvek suit and a purple face mask. Miranda was just back from maternity leave and no doubt had plenty of things she’d rather be doing on a Saturday night. She crouched beside the car’s open passenger door and snapped a photograph.

Nicole headed for the cluster of first responders. Adam McDeere saw her and did a double take.

“Whoa.” He looked her up and down and seemed to get stuck on her cleavage. “Where were you?”

“Out. What’s going on?”

He cleared his throat, still distracted. “We got an OD. A jogger called it in ’bout an hour ago.”

Nicole looked at the car. “Where’s the ME’s team?”

“They came and went. It was pretty straightforward. No blood.”

“Is it a suicide?”

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