Page 101 of My Killer Blind Date

Where are you? I type back. I just stopped by your place.

With a friend. Can’t talk now.

A friend? I pfft out my breath. Does he want pissed? Because he hasn’t seen it yet. He didn’t give me details on the lead he was following. And now he’s being needlessly vague about his whereabouts. This is such a red flag. What happened to all our openness and transparency?

OK, but what was your lead?? I type back. I need details.

Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

Turned out to be nothing. Also, I just got word today that I have to leave town for a job. The money is good and I can’t pass this up. I’ll be gone for at least 5-6 weeks. Talk when I get back?

I stare and stare. Leave town for a job? Now? For five to six weeks? Fuck!

And then, cutting through my initial burst of anger, a thought, clear as day.

This isn’t Liam.

Chapter Thirty-four

It’s so obvious that someone other than Liam is texting me.

No way would Liam commit to helping me find Zoe and then take an out-of-town job so quickly.

No way he’d make those promises to me and then turn around and break them.

So if it isn’t Liam, who is it?

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

Zoe’s killer. It has to be. After he said goodbye to me in the shower, he left my apartment and followed his lead, whatever it was. He must have actually found the guy. And now the guy has Liam.

I breathe deeply through spike after spike of adrenaline. The phone shakes in my hands.

Why this person is texting me instead of turning the phone off, I don’t know. Phones are traceable, aren’t they? But there are more pressing questions. Namely, is Liam OK? Is he even still alive? And why didn’t he wait until I could go with him? If he hadn’t struck out alone, if he’d had me for backup—

But this is not the time for what-ifs. I have to deal with what’s happening. I have to think clearly.

And the first thing I have to do is make extra-extra sure this isn’t Liam. Because if I want Barnett on my side, I can’t just call him with a theory. I need proof.

With trembling fingers, I type. OK. Before you go, is that Ramone guy you mentioned still a suspect?

If it’s really Liam, he’ll either be really confused, or remember it’s the name I christened the ceramic squirrel with.

I stare at the three dots as they appear and disappear. I’m surprised my phone doesn’t burst into pieces from how hard I’m gripping it. Finally, a response appears.

Haven’t ruled it out. Sorry, really have to go. Catch you around?

And there’s my proof. Which is good. And … fuck. So, so bad.

I thumbs-up his text.

I dial Barnett immediately. Of course it goes to voicemail; story of my life. I try to pace myself, stay calm and coherent. ‘Hi, Detective Barnett. It’s Margot. You know Liam Porter, the guy I thought was a serial killer? Well, now I know he’s a PI, and I’m guessing you do too, since you didn’t arrest him … Anyway, he left yesterday morning to follow a lead related to Zoe, and now someone is texting me from his phone and I know it’s not him. I think Zoe’s killer has him. I need your help to find him before it’s too late.’ I share Liam’s cell number, then mine for good measure, and hang up. For a second, I debate calling 911 – but I’m not sure they can do anything, since I don’t even know where Liam is. Maybe they can trace the cell towers where these texts pinged, and get closer to his location? But how long will that take? Too long. And if he’s still alive, I have to get to him now.

‘Think, Margot,’ I say out loud, even though my thundering senses are making it difficult.

If I could just figure out what this ‘lead’ was … I try to remember our last conversation. He was making eggs. I walk into the kitchen. Even though this morning I grabbed the purse essentials before heading to the gallery, there’s still a big mess on the counter that hasn’t moved. I close my eyes. He said he’d been up since five, and had done some reading about Brooke Walsh but found nothing. We ate. We talked more. Then I went to the shower. He came in to say goodbye …

Wait.