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After a quick finger comb of her hair and a couple of steadying inhales, she lifted her phone toward her. She turned her head to the right because that was her best side, and the light from her phone spilled onto her, illuminating her face and the fountain that was right behind her. A good bit of strategic positioning. Tiffany knew exactly how to frame a shot.

Tiffany made sure she wasn’t smiling when the video began to record. Not a live feed, not this time, because she wanted to edit and do some takes and maybe change a few of the things she said. This was more like, take one.

Action.

“I’m at the site of the former Murder House.” Oh, but she thought she sounded dramatic and a little scary. Deliberately, Tiffany released a ragged breath. Good thing she’d been so into theater back in high school. “The fountain is behind me. Quiet. Still. The big dedication ceremony is coming up soon, and our sole survivor, Shelby Carter, will be front and center for the big event.”

A twig snapped.

Her head whipped toward the sound as she gasped.

A little shadow darted toward her, then veered away. The moon was half-full so she could just make out the little beastie. Maybe a squirrel? A cat? “Dammit.” A long exhale. She stopped the recording. Reset herself mentally. Take two. She turned her head to the right. Eased a little closer to the fountain. The water was in the base of the massive fountain. There was a big, black box about fifteen feet away—one of those squat, electrical boxes. She suspected that the control panel for the fountain was in that box, and maybe she should turn on the fountain for just a moment, to get the full effect for her video.

Maybe…

But for now…

She started recording again. “I’m at the site of the former Murder House. Six dead women. But it should have been seven.” Oh, yes, she liked this speech better. Way more intense. “Seven women should have died right here, but only six⁠—”

The fountain began to spray. Water flew into the air, and because she was so close to the stone fountain, right on the edge, some of that water hit her. “What in the hell?” Tiffany spun toward the fountain. She gaped at it. The water surged out in six beautiful arches.

Six victims but there should have been seven.

And the lights were on in the base of the fountain. Soft, pale yellow lights. How about that? The fountain was really very beautiful. But…why was it on?

“You’re right,” a voice growled…a voice that was coming from just behind her. “It should have been seven.”

She started to whirl, and as she turned, something slashed across her neck. The pain was brief, terrifying, and she felt wetness pour down her shirt.

Wet…I’m so wet…from the fountain?

Tiffany tried to scream, but she couldn’t. A hard hand shoved her, and she fell over the edge of the fountain, twisting and going down face-first into the water. But the water wasn’t clear, not like it had been a few moments before. In fact, the water looked dark. Dark red.

Blood red.

She tried to get out, but the hard hand that had shoved her forward was holding her under. Her mouth opened as she tried to scream again, tried to scream into that red water, and she just choked. Choked and felt the water pour down her throat.

Then she felt the knife stab into her again. Into her shoulder. Into her back.

The phone she’d been gripping slid from her fingers.

The red water turned darker and darker and…

“Now there are seven,” the killer said when she stopped struggling. Then the killer walked away, heading back into the night. The killer left the fountain on. Left the water running. Left the soft lighting on.

Left the dead woman in the red water.

Chapter Ten

“I am obsessed with you.”

Hunter could have handled the whole situation better. A million times better. He could have chosen different words. He could have delivered the news sooner. Later. Not at all? He could have done a hundred things differently and maybe Shelby wouldn’t currently be sitting—every muscle tight—in the seat beside him as tension rolled from her in waves and filled the interior of his vehicle.

“I’m assuming…” The first words she’d spoken since they left the diner. “You don’t mean you’re obsessed with me in the ever so creepy, I-Want-To-Wear-Your-Skin way.”

Hunter braked hard at the stop light. “What?” His head whipped toward her. His hands gripped the steering wheel with so much force he was surprised the damn thing didn’t rip from the dash.

“Because if you were obsessed in that way, it would be alarming. Highly alarming. Granted, I used to get letters along that same scary line. Incredibly disturbing letters that were sent to me before I left this town and started a brand new life in New Orleans. Creeps who told me what they wanted to do to me. How they wanted to finish what the Sorority Seven Killer had started. Men and women who were obsessed.”