Page 52 of My Killer Blind Date

I can’t resist shimmying my ass a little so it fits more tightly into the curve his body makes. Ah, and he likes that, I register as he pushes back. The little moan I release is completely unintentional.

‘Never mind,’ he quickly amends. He puts a hand on my hip, locking me even closer. ‘I’m starting to get the appeal.’

‘Good. That’s what I’m here for,’ I say, letting my voice trend toward sleepy. ‘To enlighten you, you know? Teach you a thing or two. Give you new experiences …’ At this point, I actually yawn. Damn, turns out I’m really tired too. My doughnut drop-off and attempted lock-picking adventure from this morning seems like multiple lifetimes ago.

We spoon in silence for a while. I’m legitimately drifting off when he speaks again.

‘I liked kissing you,’ he whispers.

‘Mmm-hmmm,’ I respond.

‘The ganache should be cooled down …’

‘Forget the ganache.’

He drapes an arm over me and molds his body to mine. We fit together perfectly. I keep a hand on my purse, empowered by the knowledge that I can incapacitate him with an electric charge within seconds. Then, I wait.

His breathing gets slower. I force myself to stay still. My eyelids get heavy again – No! Stay awake!

To keep myself alert, I try to practice the steps in my head of getting out of a chokehold. Unfortunately, the mental practice session deteriorates into visions of Liam hoisting me against the wall and doing very naughty things to my body.

I listen to his breathing. It’s deep, regular, almost inaudible. Perfect.

‘Liam?’ I whisper. No response. I can hardly believe it. He’s actually asleep. Plan B is working.

All of a sudden, I’m wide awake.

Time to snoop.

Chapter Sixteen

Gently, I pick up his heavy arm and reposition it, then crawl out of bed, readjusting my clothing. I grab my purse and go for his nightstand, pulling the drawer open and shining my phone flashlight inside. If he wakes up and questions me, I’ll just say I was looking for lip balm. Sure enough, there is some lip balm, a roll of breath mints and some loose change, along with a few condoms, which makes sense given his dating habits. Next, I check under the bed, but besides a pair of slippers and some dust bunnies, there’s nothing to see.

His closet squeaks when I open it, but the whiffling snore now emerging from Liam reassures me I’m safe. Pulling out my UV flashlight, I click it on and shine it throughout the closet, then the bedroom. Even if he cleaned this space up with bleach, it’s nearly impossible to remove all traces of blood. But nothing illuminates.

Next, I rummage through his closet, not quite sure what I’m looking for, but this may be my only chance to look around, so I’ve got to scour every inch. The closet space is small, but as I rifle through the clothes, I spot something hiding behind the hanging shirts and pants, leaned up against the back wall. I shove through the layers of clothing. Some kind of art, maybe a painting. The wooden back of the canvas is marked with Sharpie: LIFE - 1/4. I pull it away from the wall to try and see the front. I can’t get a great look, but it’s abstract with lots of texture. Why stash it here? Does he not like it any more? Is he hiding it because it’s valuable? Or maybe he just hasn’t decided where to hang it yet … wait. There’s something familiar about the bold blues and reds …

I pull it out further, heart pounding. More of the painting reveals itself, and suddenly, I know.

It’s Zoe’s. I’ve never seen this one before, but her style is unmistakable to me. Still, just in case, I crouch to examine the front corner – and there’s the definitive evidence. Her signature, a scrawled ZD in the left-hand corner.

Disappointment crashes through me, then anger, then fear. Because this painting feels like definite proof of Liam’s guilt. How long ago did he buy this? While she was still alive? Did he purchase it to lure her in? A, hey, I just bought your painting, I’d love to hear more about it over dinner …

I realize I’m gripping the canvas. I don’t want to let it go. But I can’t just sit here spiraling. Pulling out my phone, I take a few pictures of the painting, even though the angles aren’t ideal, praying the little bursts of flash don’t wake Liam.

Then, I creep out of the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me.

Back in the living space, I turn off the lights and perform a sweep with my UV light, crouching to make sure I cover every inch of floor surface. Still no blood, but really, that means nothing. I already know the victims were smothered. And he could’ve put down a shower curtain before lopping off their feet. Stashing it back in my purse, I flip on the lights again.

I check the bathroom next. Prescription Lexapro is the most interesting thing I find, a pretty standard anti-anxiety and anti-depressant. Its main usefulness is that it verifies his legal name, Liam Porter. Do psychopaths get depressed? I do a quick search on my phone – and yes, apparently they can, though the article also notes that psychopathic serial killers are unlikely to. Hmm.

In the kitchen, I open every cabinet. Standard dishes, stainless steel cookware, spices. The inside of his fridge is like an advertisement for a fridge – beautifully labeled and stacked clear containers, all marked with the contents and the date. Grilled chicken. Hummus. Coleslaw. Tilapia. A big tub of sauerkraut. Nothing remotely suspicious, though if he’s a gourmet cook as he very much appears to be, could that be the way he drugs them? Through the food, such as the chocolate cakes he was going to offer me tonight?

I save the freezer for last, because despite its standard size and its inability to hide an entire corpse, it’s certainly big enough to hide a foot – or two. I open it and a blast of cold hits my face.

And – what am I even looking at? Behind a few bags of frozen vegetables and Häagen-Dazs ice cream is a wall of stacked Ziploc plastic bags. I pull one of them out. Ground meat. I pull out a couple more. All ground meat, pinkish-brownish and frozen solid.

The bags are even more suspicious now that I’m looking closely. They’re neither dated nor labeled, which seems completely counter to everything else Liam stocks for consumption. And why are there so many of them? I mean, this freezer is crammed. No single guy in finance stocks this much ground meat. Unless, of course …