Page 10 of The Liar

I showered, dressed, and took my time moisturizing my face and applying a little mascara—not something I’d normally do, but it delayed my inevitable encounter with West and had the added benefit of making me feel prettier. Perhaps if I made an effort more often, my husband wouldn’t be out holding hands with other women.

I snorted at myself in disgust. As if I could be in any way responsible for his being unfaithful. If another woman had made a comment along those lines to me, I’d have told her the only one to blame for a cheating husband was the cheat himself. Not the other woman. Not the wife. Only him.

Somehow, it was hard to remember that when faced with the reality. But West knew who I was when he married me. He knew I don’t wear dresses, do my makeup, or get around in high heels. He’d claimed to love me just the way I am, and until yesterday, I’d had no reason to doubt him.

So why was I doubting him now?

He’d told me there was nothing between him and that other woman. Why was I having such a difficult time believing him? Perhaps because his excuse had been flimsy. I’d been trained to detect lies, and something in his expression, or his tone, had given him away.

I stood in front of the mirror and scanned my reflection as steam billowed around me, my mind once again wandering to the curvaceous blonde. I was as different from her as night and day. My hips were narrow, my breasts barely a B cup, my hair long, straight, and black. I’d always liked it, but many men preferred blondes. Was West one of them?

Or maybe it wasn’t my appearance that caused him to stray, but my work hours and obsession with the job.Between my long shifts and his unusual bartending hours, we didn’t see each other as much as I’d like.

No. None of that was a valid excuse for unfaithfulness.

Assuming he’d been unfaithful in the first place.

Stop jumping to conclusions, I told myself. It gets you nowhere.Now, pull yourself together and face him.

I turned away from the mirror to unlock and open the bathroom door. I grabbed my bag and put my service weapon inside, then carried it out to the living area. West was sitting at the table, eating from a bowl, a cup of coffee to his right. Another bowl and coffee were stationed on the opposite side of the table.

His gaze warmed as it landed on me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Not at all.

I forced my lips to curve upward, so he wouldn’t suspect. “Yes, thank you. Have you been cooking?”

He nodded. “I made fried noodles the way your mama does. Hope you’re hungry. I might have overdone it a bit.”

I moved closer. “It looks great.”

I pulled out the other chair and sat. The noodles honestly did look delicious. West was a great cook. But I still had no appetite.

I sipped the coffee instead, closing my eyes to savor the rich, bitter taste. I’d grown up drinking more tea than coffee, but caffeine quickly became a staple for all detectives.

“You’re up early.” I looked across at him. There was a note of accusation in my voice, and I hoped he didn’t hear it. He usually woke later than me since he worked later into the night. Was this breakfast a peace offering because he had a guilty conscience?

He shrugged. “I woke up around five and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

I studied him more closely. Shadows darkened the skinbeneath his eyes, so perhaps he was telling the truth. “Sorry. I hope I wasn’t snoring or anything.”

“No.” He gave me a thin-lipped smile. “My mind was busy, and it wouldn’t quiet.”

I was tempted to ask what had been keeping it busy but decided not to. If I wanted him to think I’d believed him last night, then I couldn’t question him too much.

I settled for saying, “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here.”

“Thanks.” His expression said he wouldn’t be taking me up on the offer. He gestured toward my bowl of noodles. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten I was supposed to be eating. I dug my fork in, twirled it, and loaded the noodles into my mouth. The delicious flavors of onion, soy sauce, and sesame hit my tongue. My stomach rumbled in response, apparently deciding I could eat after all. I chewed and swallowed.

“Very tasty, as usual.” I helped myself to more, but stopped when it began to feel heavy in my stomach.

“Would you like me to pack leftovers for your lunch?” he asked, setting his fork down and pushing his bowl away from himself.

“I can do it.”

He drained his coffee and stood. “Let me.”

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