Page 59 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Trust who? God? The universe? You?’ I let out a harsh laugh. ‘Who’s in charge of making things make sense? I’ve been burned before, OK? So I’m going to need some pretty damn solid proof before I start handing out my trust.’

‘And what about trusting me?’ says Liam, his tone taking on a sudden controlled intensity. He steps closer. Heat lightning strobes through the sky.

I release a laugh-sob. ‘Seems like a tall order, at the moment.’

‘How do I earn your trust?’ He looks down, and I feel our height difference – his strength, and how easily he could overcome me if he wanted to.

‘Why do you want it?’

‘I think that’s obvious.’

I don’t respond.

‘I didn’t date her.’ His tone goes low. ‘I didn’t even meet her – ever. What do I have to do to prove that to you, Margot?’

He’s so close that if I take the smallest step forward, I’d be in his arms – and suddenly, that’s what I want. To trust him. To be held, crushed in his strong embrace. To not be alone. To confide in him about my Reddit digging, the reason I took the job at Anderson & Pulaski – everything. To have someone walking with me through this twisty road I can’t see the end of.

I open my mouth. ‘I—’

Then, my throat closes. No. I need to hold on. Wait until I get the results from the meat I pulled from his freezer. But even then, how can I know, for sure? All I have is his word. And words are cheap. George can wax eloquent all she wants about leaps of faith, but what if I leap and crash?

I growl in frustration, because after all of this, after months of sleuthing, after literally arming myself with literal weapons and risking my life to get into Liam’s apartment, and even after seeing literal footage of someone dropping Zoe’s paintings off at the gallery, I have nothing to hang on to that’s certain.

How long am I going to keep spinning my wheels? A scary, new thought takes center stage in my brain.

You just admitted your investigation is a failure. Maybe it’s time to stop.

My heart squeezes. Stop looking for Zoe? No!

You’ve paid your dues. It hasn’t led you anywhere. Maybe it’s time.

As if the weather is responding to me, a crack of thunder peals above us. Then, with no further warning, the skies open up and the rain comes beating down.

I yelp, and we both start running. We grab each other’s hands by instinct as a bolt of lightning zaps across the sky. We splash through a puddle, and then—

‘Here!’ Liam pulls me under an awning. Light and music are spilling out of big, open doors. We’ve stumbled into a salsa dance studio. A class is in full swing, with a dozen couples dancing to a Tito Rodríguez song. I’m panting, and my hair is dripping. I wring it out as Liam tries to dash water off the shoulders of his blazer, but it’s no use. We’re soaked. Between kayaking and this, it seems our couples’ theme is getting rained on.

A dapper man in a tight white T-shirt and tight black pants notices us and beckons. ‘Drop-ins welcome! Twenty a person for the hour, come on in!’

Liam quirks an eyebrow at me, and suddenly, I’m laughing, because after all my intense feelings, this is the most ridiculous, non-sequitur thing that could possibly happen, and he’s grabbing my waist and spinning me into the group, front row, the instructor’s jaunty butt swaying right in front of us.

It’s humid in here, sticky, and Liam’s hand on my lower back is warm. The hypnotic pulse of the song fills my senses, rolling over all my anger and frustration and scattering it.

I have a split second of hesitation – is this smart? Maybe yes, maybe no, but the truth is, everything in me wants to let go, to let loose, just for a minute. We’re trapped until the rain stops. I can treat this like parenthesis. A breather.

‘Now we’re gonna do a one-two step together …’ says the instructor. ‘Three four and together …’

Our feet move in tandem, Liam’s hand pressing me close. It’s so hard to know what’s real and what’s pretend – but there’s no denying the hardness of his body under my hands.

Liam leans close, his breath warm. ‘You’re a natural.’

‘I took lessons as a kid.’

‘Fancy.’

‘Not really. I wanted to do ice skating but it was too expensive. This was their compromise.’

‘Now we’re gonna do our spin! Ready?’ says the instructor. ‘Step to the side – one, two, three, right foot out – six, seven! You got it!’