Part 1 (1/2)

SWEETHEART IN HIGH HEELS.

by GEMMA HALLIDAY.

Chapter One.

Being the wife of a cop isn't all it's cracked up to be. Take now, for instance. I was supposed to be having a nice, romantic dinner with my husband at our favorite Italian restaurant. The ambiance was perfect a” drippy candles, couples holding hands at tables for two, soft music, dim lighting, and me in a brand new black, strapless dress that perfectly matched the new slingbacks on my freshly pedicured feet. The only thing missing from my romantic evening?

The man.

I was sitting at the table alone, enjoying my third helping of bread as I waited for my husband who was nowa I looked down at the readout on my cell phonea officially twenty minutes late.

Not that I wasn't used to Ramirez showing up late. It had actually become kind of a theme in our marriage so far. My husband was Detective Jack Ramirez, L.A.P.D. homicide division. To say his work schedule was unpredictable would be the understatement of the century. Most of the time, I tried not to let it bother me. I was, after all, self-employed as a high-end footware designer, so it wasn't hard to set my own work hours around his. Sure, it meant some late nights alone and some early mornings listening to his cell go off as the captain called him into investigate another dead body abandoned on their precinct's turf. But usually I could let those minor annoyances roll off me as par for the course being a cop's wife.

Usually.

Tonight had been a special night. One we'd planned weeks in advance. I'd checked and double checked to make sure he was scheduled to have the night off. I'd even reminded him that morning about our seven o'-clock reservation.

And yet, here I was. Alone.

Again.

Some days, I wished I'd married a nice reliable plumber.

My cell rang in the sparkly silver purse I'd picked out to match my slingbacks, and I checked the readout. Ramirez.

”Hey,” I said, hitting the on b.u.t.ton. ”Where are you?” I silently prayed he'd say on the 405, stuck in traffic on his way to meet me.

”Maddie, I'm so sorry,” he started.

d.a.m.n. No good news ever began that way.

”Sorry for being just a few minutes late to dinner?” I asked hopefully.

Ramirez sighed on the other end. ”Look, I'm really, really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make dinner tonight after all.”

I felt my hope melt faster than the romantic candle in the center of my table for one. ”Great.”

”I wish I could be there,” Ramirez quickly added.

”Who is it this time?” I asked.

”Who?”

”The dead body. I am a.s.suming you're standing me up for a dead body, right?”

I could hear a pause on the other end. ”I'm really sorry. But, yeah, we've got a body in Chatsworth.”

It took a certain kind of girl to keep from taking it personally that her husband routinely chose dead bodies over her.

Too bad I wasn't that kind of girl.

”Again?” I moaned, unable to keep the whiney toddler out of my voice.

”I'm sorry,” Ramirez repeated for the umpteenth time. ”Look, I gotta go.”

”Will I see you later?” I asked, signaling the server for our bill. Which, hopefully, would be small considering all I'd had was bread and water.

I could hear Ramirez shaking his head in response on the other end. ”I doubt it. Looks like it's going to be a late night. It sounds like it's a real mess over here.” Even as he said it, I could hear sirens in the background, signaling he was approaching the scene.

”Fine,” I said, not even trying to keep the sulk out of my voice. ”I guess I'll see youa sometime.”

”Sorry, Maddie,” Ramirez said again. ”I promise I'll make it up to you.”

Then he hung up.

I looked across the restaurant at a couple in the corner, holding hands, smiling at each other, sharing a bottle of the same wine Ramirez and I had planned on ordering.

What did you want to bet he was a plumber?

”He left you alone at Giseppi's?” My best friend, Dana, stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes as she cranked her elliptical up to nine.

I nodded. ”Yes. Again,” I added for emphasis. I took a long sip from my water bottle. Even though my machine was only on four, I was sweating twice as hard as Dana. To say I was a regular at the gym would be a bigger exaggeration than calling Snookie a celebrity. Usually it took an act of G.o.d or a too tight favorite pair of jeans to get me here. But when Dana had called me that morning, I'd been in the mood to blow off a little steam, and the gym seemed like as a good a place as any to do that. So, I'd relented. A decision I was having serious second thoughts about now as I sweated a river.

”Geeze, Maddie, I'm so sorry. I know you were looking forward to a night out finally.”

”And you know what's even worse?” I added.

”It gets worse?”

”He didn't even come home last night. Called from the station around midnight saying he was pulling another all-nighter. That's three this week. I swear I fall asleep to Conan more than I sleep with my husband.”

”Dude. Sucks,” Dana said, shaking her head in sympathy as she ratcheted her machine up another notch.

”Tell me about it,” I mumbled.

”Oh, hey! I know what will cheer you up,” Dana said.

”What?”

”Shopping. You picked out your awards dress yet?' she asked.

Last year I had been lucky enough to land a gig as the shoe designer for a period film that was nominated for a Viewer's Choice Award for best picture. Not that I, as the lowly shoe designer, would get an award if we won, but it had garnered me an invitation to the red carpet event a” my very first.

I nodded. ”Yep. I decided to go with the vintage Versace.”