What would you do to track down a killer? Sloan Macleod has searched all over Scotland to find the man who viciously murdered his sister and when his search leads him to America, right to the door of mystery writer Mackenzi Tate writing as Torran McGowan, he comes with the rage of a man wanting justice—blood justice.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here because you’ve been writing me murders sweetheart and I need you to stop.”
She laughed hard. “Dude, this is my job—as in it pays my bills. It’s complete fiction.” She moved farther into the area that sat in sight of her office. If they went a little deeper into her home they could have gone into her living room area that she had turned into an entertainment, or party, area—even though she never had anybody over to use it.
He tossed a series of files down on her coffee table. “Take a look at that. I’ve been tracking the bastard all over the Highlands and now to the States. You tell me what you think.”
She looked at the headlines. “Woman brutally murdered with a rake,” she mumbled. “Man fed to a wood chipper.” She kept reading. At first she didn’t put it together, but by the third one she realized exactly what they were. “These are the ways characters died in my books.”
“I know. And these are just from your first and second book. I see you have ten out and while I’m trying to read them, the cheesy romance in your mystery keeps boring me. So stop writing them and tell me what comes after man gutted like a fish.”
“Hey! This is not my fault.”
“You wrote it.”
“I didn’t tell some nut job to start killing. And I don’t know what’s next. Maybe nothing. So again, why are you here? Are you a cop or something?”
He laughed, but there was nothing humorous or pleasant about the tone. There was sheer rage in that laughter. The sound was eerie, foreboding and gut wrenchingly scary. “No. I’m just a man who wants the bastard who killed my sister.”
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