Page 9 of Liar's Point

“I have to be there at seven freaking a.m. I’m going to bed.”

Right.

“Thanks for offering to trade with me,” she said.

“No problem.” He stopped in the doorway and gazed down at her.

She arched her eyebrows. “What is it?”

He stepped outside.

“Skip breakfast,” he told her. “Maybe you won’t puke.”

CHAPTER

THREE

The county justice center was busy with the typical Sunday traffic—detectives dropping off evidence, girlfriends bailing out boyfriends, and bleary-eyed deputies heading home after a long night of traffic stops. After waiting in line to get a visitor’s badge, Nicole took the elevator down and navigated through the windowless labyrinth where the medical examiner worked.

“You looking for David?”

Nicole turned around to see Cynthia bustling toward her. The clerk had a clipboard in one hand and a giant coffee mug in the other.

“Is he in yet?”

“Honey, he’s been in. I don’t think he went home.” She stopped at the big metal desk and set her mug on a stack of files. “Y’all got a case today?”

“Drug OD,” Nicole told her. “It came in last night.”

“Whew. We got flooded last night.” She set her clipboard on the desk and ran a glittery purple fingernail down the list. “Must be the full moon. People actin’ crazy. You’re with Lost Beach PD, right?”

“Right.”

She flipped a page. “Scheduled for seven a.m. but... I think he just finished.”

“He did?”

“I saw him in the hallway a minute ago.”

Nicole muttered a curse and headed for the autopsy suite.

“Upstairs,” Cynthia told her. “He was on his way to the lab.”

“Thanks.”

Nicole retraced her steps to the elevator bank. How had David finished already? He would have had to start at five. Had he actually spent the night? That seemed extreme, even for a workaholic triathlete who operated on very little sleep.

She hit the elevator button. Irritation roiled inside her as she waited. She and David still hadn’t had a live conversation. After reading his text message last night, she’d let his calls go to voicemail. Maybe she should just get over it. He was obviously buried with work. He had a high-pressure job.

But she did, too, and that didn’t stop her from communicating with people and showing basic common courtesy. She hadn’t heard from him until eight last night, a full hour after he was supposed to meet her. And it had been a text message. Just thinking about it pissed her off, and she jabbed the call button again.

The doors slid open, and David stepped out.

Nicole froze.

“Hi.” He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the post.”

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