Chapter Fourteen
Instantly upon waking Sunday morning, I am deeply regretting all my choices.
I turn into my pillow and release a small scream.
I was supposed to get into Liam’s place!
Snoop around! Gosh darnit, I’m supposed to be the intrepid investigator.
I had all my weapons with me. All I had to do was keep my damn pants on and my stun gun handy. How hard could that be?
Then I remember my heated pulse. The way my breasts pressed against his chest. Even the gear shift digging into my butt was hot, somehow. The confined space – his tongue working down my neck – the way the sound of our breathing filled the car …
‘Fuuuuuck,’ I groan. Why does this have to be so complicated??? Nancy Drew never seemed to have this much trouble.
It was a week between our last two encounters. I can’t afford to wait that long again.
Maybe I should rip the band-aid off and go over there.
Surprise him. It’s Sunday. He doesn’t seem like the church-going type, so unless he’s brunching with friends, he should be home like a normal person, having a normal lazy Sunday.
Or even better, I can catch him doing serial killer weekend stuff, whatever that is.
I’ll bring some doughnuts, I decide as I pad into the bathroom and splash water on my face.
Two people can play the love-bombing game, after all, and it gives me a cover should things get awkward.
I pull my hair into a top knot. My eyes briefly stray to my underutilized makeup stash, but today isn’t about looking sexy.
In fact, the less sexy I look and feel, the better.
I won’t even brush my teeth. That way, my morning coffee breath will prevent me from trying to kiss him, because no one needs to be subjected to that.
In the kitchen, I imbibe some instant coffee so fast it scalds my mouth.
Yes. It’s time to get into Liam’s apartment once and for all.
I grab my purse, feel for the comfort of the stun gun and head out the door. I don’t know his exact address, of course, but I know the neighborhood and the street, and how many new-construction corner buildings with little balconies can there possibly be?
*
Milwaukee Avenue, the main thoroughfare through the hip neighborhood of Wicker Park, is bustling with shoppers, dogwalkers and a disproportionate amount of hot young people in designer clothes. It would be fun to come back here some time and shop the boutiques … if I ever have money.
Soon, I spot a corner building that has to be Liam’s. I crane my neck and look up at the eight-story condo complex. It’s pristine, and sure enough, speckled with little iron balconies just big enough for an Adirondack chair and a small grill.
Am I ready to enter Liam’s lair?
The time of day does feel like it offers some protection. I mean, does anyone murder anyone in the morning, if they can avoid it? It seems like the mood would be off, right?
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I approach the locked entrance and survey the call buttons. No names, just unit numbers. It would be better to surprise him at his very door, but there’s no way I can suss out which apartment is his.
I pull out my phone and dial Liam. It rings twice before he picks up.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘Hey! So, surprise, I’m right outside your building! At least I think this is your building? And I brought doughnuts! I hope you’re hungry. Or did you eat breakfast already? Well—’ I laugh. ‘—it doesn’t matter, because there’s always room for doughnuts!’
There’s a silence.
‘Yeah, uh … I’m not actually home right now. And I can’t talk now either. Catch up later?’
‘Oh … OK—?’
‘Sorry, Margot, gotta go.’
He hangs up without waiting for my response. What the heck?? He didn’t say he had any plans this morning. Maybe he’s lying, and he is home, but doing something really shady that he doesn’t want me to see.
All the more reason to get in there.
Just then, someone comes out the front door – an older couple in athletic wear, holding hands.
‘Oooh, who’s getting a doughnut delivery?’ says the woman with a friendly smile and a lustful glance at the box. ‘I love that place, by the way.’
Now’s my chance.
‘I’m actually dropping these off for Liam Porter, who lives in the building. But the delivery instructions didn’t include his unit number. Do you happen to know …?’
‘Five-oh-five,’ says the woman, a sudden frown of distaste overtaking her previously peppy expression. ‘He lives across the hall from us.’
‘Oh! Is he, uh, a good neighbor?’
The man frowns too. ‘He keeps to himself. But a lot of strange smells seem to come from his place.’
Holy shit. ‘Strange … smells?’
They wrinkle their noses simultaneously. ‘Not pleasant,’ says the woman. ‘I’m very sensitive to strong smells. And don’t even get me started about the noises.’
‘I think it’s just the TV, honey,’ says her partner.
‘Oh, no. I think those screams were real.’ She purses her lips, her wrinkles feathering.
‘My wife is convinced it’s his lady friends,’ says the man with a pointed look at me, ‘who are very vocal, if you catch my meaning.’
Words fail me. Screams of pleasure? Or the other kind? I tighten my grip on the doughnut box.
The woman tugs on her partner’s elbow. ‘Come on, sweetie. We’re going to be late for brunch.’
The man smiles kindly at me. ‘Good luck with your deliveries today, young lady.’ And they’re off.
Pushing the door open, I step inside the building.
Elevator or stairs? Stairs. I’m too antsy to wait. Soon, I’m out of breath and standing in front of 505 – a plain white door with the unit numbers in brushed brass. I press an ear to the door. Silent. Or … wait. No. There are footsteps. Oh my God, he’s actually home.
I knock on the door, loud. The footsteps stop.
‘Liam,’ I call into the door. ‘You home? It’s me! I come bearing gifts!’
There’s another silence. Then, the footsteps resume.
I bang again. ‘Liam, I can hear you walking around in there!’
Again, the footsteps stop. I step back from the door.
The footsteps resume – but now it sounds like they’re above me.
I look at the ceiling. Shit. Is the sound coming from his apartment, or the apartment above?
I press my ear against his door. Then look up at the ceiling. Damn it. I can’t tell for sure.
What I do know for sure is that it seems like a huge waste to walk away, after all this.
Could I break in?
Immediately, my pulse ratchets up. If he’s home, that could go poorly.
Very poorly. But I could always use the doughnuts as an excuse.
‘I had to break in to leave you the doughnuts!’ – that’s believable, right?
If I spin it right and make adorable facial expressions?
I study the door. Then, I set the doughnuts down on his plain welcome mat and pull a bobby pin from the bottom of my purse, kicking myself for not having the foresight to purchase lock-picking devices when I ordered all the weapons.
I lower myself to a crouch and squint into the keyhole, then pry the pin apart and jam in one end.
I move it vigorously back and forth. Nothing happens.
Harder. Still nothing. If it’s a deadbolt, can a bobby pin even do anything?
Maybe I should get some help from Mr YouTube—
A door opens behind me and I spin, yanking the bobby pin out, a blush flooding my face.
‘Can I help you, young lady?’ A very stern woman in glasses looks me up and down.
‘Oh! Sorry. No. Just dropping off doughnuts for Mr Porter!’ I gesture to the box on the floor, which I now very sadly have to leave to maintain my cover. The woman’s eyes track my departure as I scurry back downstairs, stuffing the tortured bobby pin back into my purse.
I push out of the building, back out into the sunlight, my heart still in my throat. I lean against the building to catch my breath and give the adrenaline flood a minute to recede so I can function properly again.
Fuck me, I am not cut out for this sneaking around stuff.
I guess I will need to get in the honest way. A date. And trust that I am perfectly capable of keeping my head on my shoulders and my body fully clothed.
It strikes me that maybe the leap of faith I need to take isn’t about trusting others.
Maybe it’s about trusting me.