Deidre was floating on a cloud. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was in love.

She flipped on the bedroom light and tossed her purse on the bed and placed the box of roses Marcus gave her beside it.

“He was perfect,” she thought aloud and pulled a bloody knife from her purse, wiping it clean with a satin scarf that hung off the footboard. “So gorgeous and funny.”

Hell, he even pulled the chair out for her at the restaurant. And talk about being a great kisser.

She giggled.

No man had ever made her weak-kneed by a little kiss alone. It was the absolute best first date ever.

She whimpered a woeful sigh. Too bad she’d never see him again. “Oh, well, c’est comme ça.”

She shrugged off her moment of regret and tossed the knife on the bed, and carried the blood-stained scarf to the closet, threw it in the hamper, and glanced at her collection on the top shelf.

“Oh, good,” she chirped, delighted there were still a couple empty mason jars. She snatched one from the shelf and returned to the bed.

She opened the box of flowers, inhaling their beautiful perfume, and smiled at Marcus’ heart nestled between the blood-soaked thorns. It still seemed to throb. And when she picked it up and cradled the gelatinous memento in her hand, it was still hot, like all stolen things.

“Absolutely beautiful,” she cooed, sealing the heart in the jar. “The most perfect specimen so far.”

She placed it on the shelf with the others and, unable to take her eyes off her beloved and growing collection, smiled and pulled the stained scarf from the laundry basket and wiped her gooey hands.

The phone rang. “Now, who could be calling this late?” She dropped the scarf into the basket and hurried to the bedside, pulling her cell from her purse.

“Hello? Oh, Todd, hi…dinner?” She picked the knife up from the blanket and caught her beaming reflection in its polished blade. “Tomorrow night?” She giggled and slipped the knife into her purse. “I thought you’d never ask.”