“Ah… Okay—text me Tate’s address and I’ll let you know when I’m there—but I’m not snooping,” Nettie admonished, flopping fully into the driver’s seat and turning the key. The engine hummed to life, filling the quiet car.
“You’re the best—muah!” Gina exclaimed, blowing a kiss into the phone before hanging up.
The call ended, leaving Nettie staring at the darkening sky through her windshield. She tightened her grip on the wheel, heart thudding with a mix of dread and… something else.
She was really about to go to Tate’s house.
It was a lair.
An honest-to-God lair.
Nettie’s little compact car rolled to a reluctant stop at the edge of the driveway, her stomach dropping as she stared up at the house looming ahead. The sun was sinking low, bleeding burnt orange across the Texas horizon, but the shadows underthe trees only made the entire property look darker. More menacing.
The driveway curled in a long, almost serpentine ribbon of black asphalt, swallowed up by the overgrown oaks until it spat her out in front of… that.
A modern monstrosity.
Black on black. Everything was black.
A black driveway, black iron lights shaped like torches, a black roof sloping at sharp, aggressive angles. Even the siding looked dark enough to drink in what little sunlight remained. She could already imagine the heat baking off it at noon—like trying to hug a cast-iron skillet fresh out of the oven.
Nettie squinted, craning her neck. Of course, Tate Cassidy, professional hockey player, big-shot superstar, could afford the electric bill for a house like this. And the doctor bill, when he scalded himself to death on a doorknob hot enough to fry an egg or bake cookies in the Texas sun. She huffed out a nervous laugh, but it was weak.
“It’s Dracula’s vacation home,” she muttered to herself, rereading the directions Gina had texted for the hundredth time.
Her best friend’s text was casual, cheerful, and way too confident for someone sending Nettie into the belly of the beast. Nettie shut off the car with a click that sounded far too final, then grabbed her purse and slid out. Her sandals crunched on a stray bit of gravel on the driveway.
I’ve seen this in movies, she thought silently, remembering all those episodes of Scooby Doo and horror flicks she wasn’t allowed to watch at home with her Grandmother – but did anyhow at Gina’s house. She braced herself for something to jump out, for a trap door to open, or a vampire to appear. If I see a coffin in the yard or creepy green fog, I’m outta here.
The garage door keypad glared back at her like an accusation. After a moment of hesitation, she punched in the numbersGina had given her. To her surprise, the door rumbled open immediately, groaning like some kind of mechanical monster.
She stepped cautiously inside, her heart kicking into a sprint. The cool shade of the garage wrapped around her—and then a sharpclickfollowed by a low electronicbeep.
Motion detector.
Correction: motion detector and camera.
Nettie froze, glancing up. A small red light blinked above her like a watchful eye. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. There was no hiding this from Tate. She was already backing toward her car when the static crackle of a speaker stopped her cold.
“What’s going on?”
Nettie jumped a full foot in the air. Her purse strap nearly slid off her shoulder.
“Hey, um, hi Tate,” she stammered, forcing what she hoped was a friendly, casual tone. Instead, she sounded like an intruder caught mid-break-in.
“Where’s my sister?” he asked bluntly.
“At the hairdresser’s,” Nettie rushed out, shifting her weight from foot to foot like a guilty teenager. “She asked me to come in her place because she knew Mulligan was on a schedule and… hi.” She lifted her hand and gave the camera a mortified little wave. Then, realizing how ridiculous she must look, she pointed weakly toward the driveway. “I can go. This was a bad idea.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you took care of Mulligan for me,” Tate’s voice crackled through the speaker. Then, before she could react, her phone buzzed in her hand.
Nettie looked down.
Incoming call: Tate Cassidy.
Oh mercy— now I’m in trouble.
“Hello?” she answered, throat dry.
