CHAPTER ONE
GOTCHA

     ROSE Cameron wandered through Tannyhill, her heels clicking against the floors as she walked. She had a lunch with friends to attend, one she refused to be late for—but there was one problem... Where were her keys?

Ward wouldn't have taken them, Rafe couldn't have, and neither could Wheezie. So where on Earth were they?

The summer sun ricocheted off the pristine walls of the mansion, illuminating her every move as she scoured the kitchen. Her hot pink dress was obnoxious in the light, her matching lipstick doing her complexion no favors either.

An irritated groan echoed from her lips as her ringer pierced through the silence; she didn't even spare a glance at the caller ID, placing the phone to her ear with a huff. "Honey, do you know where my keys are?"

"I do not."

The blonde froze, her brows furrowing; that definitely wasn't Ward's voice. "Who is this?"

"Don't worry about it," the voice echoed through the speaker.

Rose rolled her eyes, "I don't have time for this. Don't call me again."

Hanging up, she whipped her head around to search for her keys once more—when the phone rang again. This time, she looked at the screen, scoffing when her gaze fell upon the word "Unknown."

"This isn't funny." She snapped, "Do you know who I am?"

"Unfortunately." The voice crackled, "Nice dress."

She froze—completely. Chills crept up her spine, her oak eyes flickering between every window and door she could find. As far as she knew, she was alone.

     Rose's breath hitched as her grip tightened on the phone. Slowly, she stepped away from the counter, her heels clicking against the marble as she scanned the room. The kitchen suddenly felt too open, the walls too far apart, every shadow in the corners seemingly darker than before.

     "What did you just say?" She asked, her shaky voice barely above a whisper.

     "Nice dress," the voice repeated, slower this time, dripping with mockery.

     Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she rushed to the nearest window, yanking the curtain aside. The sprawling Tannyhill lawn stretched out endlessly, bathed in the glow of the summer sun. Nothing but empty space.

     No one there.

     "Is this some kind of joke?" She barked, her fear quickly turning to anger. "Rafe if this is you, I swear—"

     "Rafe?" The voice interrupted with a dark chuckle. "Sweetheart, this isn't about him. It's about you. Alone in that big, beautiful house. In that god-awful dress."

     "Shut up," she snapped, slamming the curtain shut. Her heels clicked faster now as she stormed toward the living room. She grabbed the house phone on the wall, ready to call the police, when the voice spoke again—this time, not from her cell, but from the house phone itself.

     "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

     Both phones dropped from her trembling fingers as she stumbled backward. Her eyes darted around the room, sweat beading at her temples despite the air conditioning.

     "Who are you?" She demanded, her voice cracking as she brought her cell back to her ear.

     "Let's just say I'm a fan of yours," the voice purred. "You've got quite the reputation, Rose Cameron. Always dressed to kill, but I wonder... how well can you run in those heels?"

     The words were a taunt, a dare. She felt a scream bubbling in her throat but swallowed it down, refusing to give whoever this was the satisfaction. Her eyes locked on the front door. If she could make it to her car—if she could find her keys—she could get out of there.

     But as she moved toward the door, her phone vibrated again. This time, it was a picture message.

     Her keys. Dangling from a hook.

     A hook that wasn't in the house.

     "No," she whispered, backing away, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

     "Better hurry, Rose," the voice said, now impossibly close, as if it were inside her head. "I'd just hate for you to miss your lunch."

     She spun around, eyes wild, but the room was empty.

     For now.

     The blonde didn't think—she just moved. Her heels clattered against the floor as she sprinted toward the front door. The heavy oak handle felt cool under her sweaty palm as she yanked it open. Blinding sunlight poured in, momentarily stunning her.

     She forced herself forward, running onto the sprawling front lawn, her breath hitching in panicked gasps. Every step felt like a lifetime, her pink stilettos sinking slightly into the soft grass, slowing her down. Behind her, the house loomed, its wide windows gleaming like watchful eyes.

     Her phone buzzed again in her hand. Against her better judgment, she glanced down.

     "Don't run, Rose. You'll only make it worse."

     The message was accompanied by a picture of her—running—taken from behind.

     Her blood froze, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. She spun around, scanning the property, but the grounds were empty, eerily quiet except for the hum of cicadas in the afternoon heat.

     "Where the fuck are you?" She shouted, her voice echoing off the walls of Tannyhill.

     No answer.

     Then, movement.

     A shadow darted between two trees at the edge of the property, just inside the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as the figure emerged. A tall figure clad in black, their face hidden behind a smooth, screaming white mask, stood there—watching her.

     For a brief, horrible moment, they didn't move.

     Then, they charged.

     Rose Cameron screamed, kicking off her heels and breaking into a full sprint toward the pool house at the far end of the property. Her bare feet slammed against the gravel path, sharp stones digging into her soles, but she didn't care. Her only thought was escape.

     She reached the door of the small house, fumbling for the handle, her fingers trembling so violently she couldn't grip it. Her pursuer was closing in fast; she could hear their heavy boots pounding against the ground, the sound growing louder with each passing second.

     Finally, the door gave way, and she stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her. She flipped the lock and collapsed against the wall, her chest heaving as she fought for breath.

     The house was silent, the air thick with tension. She reached for her phone, intending to call 911, when a faint sound made her blood run cold.

     A gentle tapping.

     It was coming from the window.

     Slowly, she turned her head.

     The masked figure stood outside, their head tilted tauntingly to the side as they raised one gloved hand to wave at her.

     Then, with a sickening crack, they smashed their fist through the glass.

     Rose screamed again, scrambling backward as shards rained onto the floor. The figure reached through the broken window, unlocking it with ease before climbing inside.

     Desperate, she grabbed the nearest object—a heavy crystal vase—and hurled it at them. The figure ducked, the vase shattering against the wall behind them.

     "You stay away from me!" She shrieked, backing into the small kitchen space, where her eyes landed on a gleaming set of knives on the counter.

     She lunged for one, her fingers wrapping around the handle just as the figure reached her. They grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully, forcing her to drop the knife with a clatter.

     "Gotcha."

...

     Rose Cameron was the first body to drop, leaving Ward and his remaining children absolutely devastated.

     Jordyn Routledge and JJ Maybank watched from the crowd as Officer Shoupe questioned the millionaire, and the coroner wheeled a wrinkled black bodybag into his van.

     Pope Heyward and Kiara Carrera watched in morbid curiosity, a conflicting blend of satisfaction and sympathy buried within them—the entire group despised the Cameron family for what they'd done, for what they'd gotten away with. They believed that they deserved to suffer, but they didn't believe they deserved to die.

"Holy shit..." Kie muttered, leaning against Jordyn slightly. "Who the hell could've done this?"

JJ shrugged, an arm resting casually across his girlfriend's shoulders as he replied. "Think that's the point of a murder investigation, Kie."

Jordyn fought a snort, leaning further into his embrace. "It's a shame. Really." Her tone was dripping with feigned sympathy, the underlying sarcasm flying directly over her friends heads.

Pope nodded in agreement, glancing over the remaining Pogues. "I wonder why they targeted Rose."

"Maybe it was a matter of wrong place, wrong time?" Kie suggested, arms crossed as her fingers nervously tapped against her elbow. "Could've been gunnin' for dickheads one and two."

The shorter brunette sighed, tearing her eyes away from the scene and looking to her boyfriend's freshly cleaned boots with a hidden smile. "C'mon, let's go home."

     The group of four nodded, weaving through the crowd and hopping into the Twinkie—which Jordyn had managed to steal back from the impound lot, with JJ's help.

Pope and Kie hopped in the back, watching through the sticker-bombed windows as the scene behind them began to shrink. With their attention diverted, the couple up front shared a small smile—before JJ brought them home.