Page 25 of My Killer Blind Date

The girl in the mirror looks serious as hell, and for the first time in a long time, I believe in her.

She’s not fucking around.

Chapter Eight

As I stride toward Liam, shoulders back and walking like I’m in heels even though I’m in sneakers, I feel powerful. Purposeful. And I’m going to keep a death grip on that feeling, because seducing a murderer so that you can nail him for your friend’s death is not a job for the faint of heart.

I slide on to the bar stool, reminding myself firmly that Liam’s heroic moment protecting me from Val is a front, and despite the positive optics, I am not going to fall for it.

‘So,’ I say, debating where I want to take my first line of questioning.

‘So,’ he repeats.

His dating habits. Yes. If I can get him talking about the sheer volume of women he dates, maybe he’ll let something slip.

‘Va-a-a-l.’ I do a little sing-song. ‘How’d you two meet?’

‘Hinge.’

‘Mmmm. An apps guy! Do you have a type?’

Between Zoe and the others, Val and me, I can’t seem to find any commonalities besides a willingness to go out with this guy at least once. But surely that’s not his only requirement. I’ve done enough research into serial killers to know that they have a preferred kind of victim. It’s not random. Some patterns are more obvious than others, but just because Liam isn’t choosing blonds every time doesn’t mean there isn’t something else that links us besides location, gender and single status.

‘That’s a good question,’ he says. ‘I’ll have to think on it.’

Ah. Deflecting.

‘C’mon. You’re, what – twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Surely you’ve thought about what kind of woman you’re attracted to.’

‘Twenty-eight,’ he says with a pleased smile. ‘And I have. But I can’t say I have a firm type. I guess it’s one of those “you know when you know” things.’

Well that’s ominous as shit. But I keep my tone playful.

‘You date a lot, huh? Me one night, Val the next …’ I lift a brow and try to seem amused, like this is a cute personality quirk rather than a technique for scoping out victims.

He lifts a brow too and smirks, mirroring me. ‘And does this bother you?’

The bartender brings me a replacement glass of wine. I’m not getting drunk tonight, obviously – but a few sips of cabernet won’t hurt.

‘Of course not! But tell me the truth,’ I say, taking a tiny sip and trying to channel hot psychiatrist. ‘Are you one of those commitment-phobes I keep hearing about?’

His eyes crinkle as he grins. He lifts his drink and takes a quick sip. ‘Not at all. I just rarely make it to the second date.’

I adjust a pretend pair of glasses and lean forward, very aware of the dip of cleavage this creates, remaining in character as Sexy Shrink.

‘And why do you think that is?’ Because you kill them after the first date?

Liam tilts his head, looking at me intently like I hold the key to a great mystery. ‘I honestly wonder about this. As a woman who literally ran out on me, maybe you have some insight?’

I cross a leg, lean my left arm on the bar top and give him a coy, analytical look.

‘Assessing … assessing … Ah! That’s it.’ I smile. ‘You’re too mysterious.’

He makes a sound of amused frustration, low in his throat, as if that can’t be a legitimate thing.

‘No. Seriously,’ I say. ‘I mean it. Let’s take last night. You were so attentive, so great at making me feel at ease, that I learned nothing about you. And you can’t really form a bond with someone unless it’s a two-way street. You know? In short, you’re a closed book.’ I smile. ‘Thanks for stopping in. I’ll send you my invoice.’

‘Is that why you ran?’ His expression conveys honest curiosity.