Page 48 of Dead Pretty

Because you’re seriously into him.

I don’t even get to process that thought further because the library doors open, bringing in two policemen.

Both in plain clothes.

How do I know they’re police?

Because I have spent enough time around the police to recognize them when I see them.

I watch them approach.

The taller of the two men is in his early thirties, I would say. Red hair, cut short. Smart suit. Clean-cut look to him. Handsome too. The other guy is older. Late forties, early fifties. Dark hair, peppered with gray, which looks like it hasn’t seen scissors in a while. Overgrown stubble on his face. Wrinkled suit.

They’re a stark contrast.

I straighten up as they come closer, trying to relax but failing.

As much as I respect the police and the job they do, I really don’t like seeing them. Especially not when a woman was discovered murdered yesterday.

God, what if they’re here to see me? My past might have brought them here.

But why would it? People don’t know who I am.

But they’re the police. Their job is to know who people are.

But why would they want to see me over the woman who was murdered yesterday? Because you’re linked to a serial killer.

And two other women have been murdered since I moved here.

Fuck.

The hairs on the nape of my neck rise. I swallow past my nerves.

“Officers,” I greet them with a forced smile.

The older of the two smiles back at me, and it’s not a smile that puts me at ease.

“I’m Detective Sparks,” he tells me. “This is Detective Peters.” He gestures to his partner. “We’re hoping you can help us.”

I swallow again. “With?”

Detective Sparks leans an arm on the desk. “We’re looking for someone who works here.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My hands come together in front of me, fingers gripping together to stop them from trembling. “Wh-who?”

“A … Mr. Michael King.”

They’re here for Mike?

Relief seeps through me, relaxing me a touch. But not much. If the police are here for Mike, then it’s not for a good reason.

“Um, Mike’s not here. He didn’t show up for work today,” I tell them both.

“Have you heard from him at all today?” Detective Peters asks, speaking for the first time.

“No. He didn’t call in. Our manager, Margaret, tried calling his cell, but he didn’t answer.”