Page 35 of My Killer Blind Date

I nod without looking at him. I don’t even know why I asked. It’s not like he’s going to tell me ‘yeah, might as well level with you, I’m a stone-cold killer, babe.’

He leans forward, and I make myself look at him again. ‘I mean, I can’t promise you that I’m perfect. But I can promise that I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you.’

I know words are easy; words are cheap. But I look into his eyes, and everything I see in his face demands that I believe him.

A flicker of humor dances in his eyes as he scoots even closer. ‘And I can also promise I’m not cheating with the florist.’

With another jolt, the ride starts rotating again. We start our descent.

‘She was cute,’ I say, and my voice cracks.

‘Not as cute as you.’

‘You don’t know that—’

‘But I do. It’s not possible.’ He leans forward, and suddenly I’m leaning forward too, and his hand is on my knee and our lips are meeting and the wind is buffeting my hair around us and it’s a storm of sensation. His knee goes between mine, and I clamp it there, my body overloaded with feelings, trembling as he cups my face gently with his hand, tugging me closer, deepening the kiss.

A sudden flurry of hoots, whistles and applause pulls us apart – ah. We’re swooping past the bottom of the ride, and the people in line have noticed us.

Liam grins, and I offer the cheering onlookers a weak smile. The truth is, I feel emptied out. Raw.

The bucket ascends for another round. It’s darker. The wind is stronger. The world beneath us goes tiny again, and it’s incredible that all these lives are playing out down there, each with their own dramas, their own tragedies. I wonder how many disappeared women are right down there, somewhere, in the dark, if my eyes were just sharp enough to find them.

We complete the ride in silence, and when we get off, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.

‘You’re shaking,’ Liam says, rubbing my arm, which is covered in painful goosebumps.

‘I’m cold,’ I whisper.

‘We could go back to your place.’

‘Or your place.’ My heart is racing, because all of a sudden, my plan seems very flimsy indeed. If we go back to his place, he might expect that we’ll sleep together. And I’m sure as hell not doing that, no matter how much half of me seems to want to. ‘Where do you live, anyway?’

‘Wicker Park.’

‘Let’s go there.’

‘Or we could grab a bite to eat first. You hungry?’

Why is he stalling? Then again, I could use some nosh. Maybe a hot dog from a stand with mustard and relish, Chicago style.

‘Yeah. Sure.’ We’ll eat. I’ll fortify myself. Then, I’m gaining access to his apartment. Just like I planned.

As we walk hand in hand back up Navy Pier, a yank on my shoulder pulls me forward.

‘Ouch!’ I cry, and in the ensuing stumble, I realize what happened. ‘Fuck! My purse!’

A guy in a black sweatshirt is sprinting off. It happened so fast, I can’t even process. Like a bolt, Liam springs after him.

‘Wait! Liam!’ I shout just as the adrenaline catches up with me, burning my skin. ‘It’s not worth it!’

But Liam is insanely fast, and before I can wrap my head around what’s happened, he’s tackling the guy. I jog forward even as a little circle of people gathers. Phones are coming out, and a woman is saying, ‘Should someone call the police?’ The two men are a shadowy blur on the ground. There’s grunting and tousling – then Liam is on top, straddling the guy.

‘Fucking thief!’ he grunts, swings an arm back, and punches the perp right in the face. The thief groans and releases my purse, which goes flying somewhere off to the left.

‘Let me go, man!’ says the guy, trying to protect his face. Liam draws back his arm like he’s going to hit him again.

‘Liam!’ I shriek. ‘Stop!’