Land’s Halloween parties end in death.
Always.
I’m not sure if it’s his parents or him, but there is sinister evilness lurking this time of year. They throw their blowout parties and invite everyone. People invite more people. And, eventually, everyone from our town and all the surrounding ones seem to be a part of the biggest shindig around. They’re so wrapped up in schmoozing with each other they miss the fact that people wind up dead. Every year. Not at the party, but elsewhere. It’s a busy night for Dad and his police buddies. Bodies just pile up. I’m no cop, but the sign practically flashes above the Sharpe house.
Here.
Here.
Here.
Here.
“You’re an odd one. Sheriff Eastland’s daughter, right? Hope?”
I cringe, jolting from my inner rambling to stare at Gabe. “Yes.” There’s no point in denying it. You don’t exactly look like me and blend in, unless you’re standing in front of a white wall or it’s fucking Christmas.
“Hmm.” He smirks, his dark eyes flashing with wicked intent, before he scans the crowd. “He here?”
“Land?”
His smirk transforms into a smile that reminds me so much of Land that it makes my stomach clench. Evil men shouldn’t be hot. It should be a rule. They lure their victims in with a handsome smile, right before they cut them open. I’m not stupid. I know how this works. I just wish I weren’t affected.
“I know my son is here, being it’s his home. I meant the sheriff. Or is he out fighting crime like a good little boy?”
Dad is anything but little.
His gut has grown over the years, but since he’s six foot five, he doesn’t seem fat. Just big. Taller than Gabe, but Gabe would still whoop his ass in a heartbeat. Luckily for Dad, he’s an ace with a Glock.
“You know he’s not here,” I bite out a little too harshly considering I know exactly who this man is.
He’s a rapist. A murderer. A fucking villain.
And his wife…
I suppress a shudder and lift my chin, ready for battle.
His dark brow arches up as though I amuse him. “Question is, little ghost, why are you? Last I heard, your kind wasn’t welcome around here.”
My kind?
White.
Rabbit.
Tears of embarrassment burn my lids and cling to my lashes. “My skin—”
He barks out a laugh. “Not your skin, silly little rabbit. You. A cop’s precious little girl. From the spark in your eyes, I’d say you know you’re in the den with wolves. Question is, why? Why. Are. You. Here?”
I swallow down the emotion as fear races through my veins like a spike of heroin. “I wanted to see what the McPherson parties were all about.” Truth. I narrow my eyes at him, challenging him to argue.
“You’re not a rabbit at all,” he says with a wild grin that makes me want to run far, far away from him. “You’re a bloodhound. You’re a hunter too. Look at how bloodthirsty you are, girl.”
For your blood, asshole.
For every single one of you.
Maybe not Toni Lynn. Land’s big sister’s story is still a mystery to me, but it’s one I’ll one day solve. If I get out of here alive.
“Speaking of thirsty,” I say with a saccharine smile. “Where can I get something to drink?”
“There’s punch in the kitchen.” His features darken. “It’s red. Careful, it stains.”
I start backing away from Land’s psychopathic father when my eyes catch two eyes in shadows. A flash of blond hair.
The mother.
Land’s mother.
Nope. Not today, Satan. I dealt with the dad, but I am not dealing with the mom. Turning on my heel, I push past familiar people who don’t give me the time of day. When I burst into the kitchen, I suck in a sharp breath of air, desperate to calm my nerves. I’m way out of my element, but I’m here. On a hunt. Seeking truth. Looking for clues. One day, I’m going to drop all of my evidence on Dad’s desk and demand they pay for their sins.
So close.
I’m just stepping over to the punchbowl that reeks of hard liquor when I feel it. Him. Land freaking Sharpe. Not McPherson. Sharpe. Like a blade, cutting through the crowd. He must have me on his scent because he is pulled to me as though we’re connected by an invisible tether.
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
Of course I look. I always look. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look, but I like that sort of pain.
Even in a skintight black and white skull mask, I know it’s him. His dark brown eyes seem to shoot laser beams of hate, burning me right into the wood floors. Lacrosse has been good to him and I drag my gaze down his perfect form. The devil was perfect too. Hell, his father is as well. Must be in the blood. Their freakish, fucked up genes. He’s tall like his father. Muscular and hard, but maybe not as wide in the shoulders. Where his father has a close-cut beard, Land’s face is smooth, not that you’d know it with the mask covering his face. But I’ve memorized everything about him in my quest for knowledge. Every cowlick in his hair. Every freckle on his face. Every stupid expression his face makes.