Page 4 of The Liar

“Deborah will have my head,” he said as he climbed behind the wheel—because God forbid he should allow a woman to drive. “She’s been cooking all afternoon. She’s testing a new recipe.”

“She’ll understand.” After more than thirty years married to a cop, Deborah Hanson undoubtedly understood the demands of the job more than most.

“I’m sure you had plans with your man too,” Hanson said, pulling out of the parking garage and onto the street.

“I’m supposed to bring him dinner at Henry’s,” I admitted, taking my phone out to send West a quick message explaining that I’d be late.

We didn’t speak much as Hanson navigated the city streets. That was all right with me. I wasn’t much of a talker. We drove past the apartment building that Thackery had directed us to, but there were no parking spots available, so we had to park a block away and walk back.

As we passed a coffee shop, I glanced inside, and my heart nearly stopped.

I jolted to a halt, nearly tripping over my feet.

No.

No, no, no. It couldn’t be.

A chill stole over me and my chest squeezed painfully. Seated in a booth at the coffee shop, holding hands with a beautiful blond woman, was my husband.

My stomach lurched. I shut my eyes and opened them again, praying I’d been mistaken and that the man in the coffee shop only resembled West. But no, it was definitely him.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I clapped my hand to my mouth, unable to tear my gaze from them. The blonde was leaning toward West, her hair spilling over her shoulders, framing cleavage that a Playboy bunny would be proud of. She was all curves and creamy skin, the complete opposite of me with my slim build, dark hair, and olive complexion.

“Why’d you stop?” Hanson asked, jolting me out of my reverie. He followed my gaze through the window, and his eyebrows inched up his forehead. “That’s your man, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.” I jerked into motion, forcing my legs to carry me past the coffee shop, toward the crime scene that awaited us.

I couldn’t handle it if West saw me here. I needed time to get my thoughts straight before I faced him. A little quiet, so I could piece together what I’d seen.

“Slow down, Lee,” Hanson wheezed, struggling to keep up. “Maybe it wasn’t how it looked.”

“You’re probably right.” My voice seemed to come from somewhere outside of myself. I felt like I was hovering above my body, watching everything from a distance.

You’re detaching, my brain helpfully supplied. It often happens to victims of crime or—

Nope. Not going there.

Perhaps Hanson was right and there was a reasonable explanation. God, I hoped there was. My throat ached and Iblinked back tears as we turned into the apartment building. Hanson pressed the button for the elevator.

Don’t fall apart now.

I drew in a shuddering breath. Hanson glanced at me, but I ignored him. I was strong. I was practical. I wouldn’t leap to conclusions or let my personal life interfere with the job. Right now, I had to focus. A woman was depending on me to figure out what happened to her. I couldn’t afford to break down.

We took the elevator to the third floor. There were four apartments on the floor, and it was immediately obvious which one we were here for because of the young male officer stationed at the door.

He nodded to us deferentially. “Detectives.”

“Officer Jackson, what do we have?” I asked.

Hanson always lets me liaise with the younger officers, probably because he never bothered to learn their names.

Jackson cleared his throat. “The victim appears to be a Miss Sasha Sloane. At least, I’m assuming as much because this is Miss Sloane’s apartment and the building manager described her as a brunette in her late twenties, which fits with what I’ve seen of the vic. Dr. Kelly is there now, along with a crime scene team. I’m sure they can tell you more.”

“Thank you, Officer Jackson.”

“No problem, ma’am.” He smiled, his teeth bright against his darker skin. He moved out of the way so we could enter the apartment. Almost immediately, the sickly-sweet scent of death filled my nostrils.

Breathing through my mouth to avoid the worst of it, I looked around. Miss Sloane’s apartment had a spacious living area, a kitchen tucked away in the corner, and a view of the water through the window. There was a vase of real flowers on the coffee table and very little in the way of clutter.

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