Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 2

Vincent shifted, uncertain, which made Cooper feel slightly better.

"You sure?"

"Do I look sure?"

He grinned. "Thanks, man."

"I'll be here all night." Cooper raised his beer in mock salute and

Vincent laughed, giving him one last hard clap on the shoulder

before disappearing.

Cooper stared at the unopened beer, bemused. He'd brought this

misery upon himself. He'd decided to go to the party. Sure, Vincent

wasn't exactly a guy you said no to, but Cooper was usually an

exception to that rule. Vincent only pushed him around when he

knew he was okay with it. And Cooper had to admit, the prospect

of sitting at home with his mom on Halloween hadn't been

appealing.

"Cooper Daniels, right?"

He turned, surprised to find himself face to face with Rachel Smith,

Tracy's younger cousin by eight months. Her long black hair, so

much like Tracy's, was pulled up in a high ponytail, accentuating

her high cheekbones and sweeping eyelashes.

His stomach did a quick somersault.

"Rachel. Hey. Hi." Cooper glanced down at his unopened beer and

quickly snapped off the cap. He didn't want to be that guy—not at

her cousin's biggest bash of the year.

"What are you supposed to be?" Rachel chirped, perching on the

counter beside him. Her legs were covered in some fishnet

material, which disappeared up an impossibly tiny skirt.

"Um." He focused on his beer. Anything other than her legs. "A lab

geek?"

He was wearing jeans and a button down. Maybe he needed a

white coat to be convincing? He really hadn't thought this through.

Rachel laughed, taking a sip out of her red solo cup. She held up a

hand, hiding a hiccup. "That's cute."

Cooper was flabbergasted. He felt his cheeks go red. When he

spoke, he managed to stammer out, "I-I like your outfit. You're

a...?"

"Sexy teacher." Rachel straightened and did a little spin, wobbling a

bit in her heels. The skirt twirled with her, revealing a hint of thigh

he wasn't sure he was supposed to see. "Can't you tell?"

He supposed the white button down she wore, paired with her mini

skirt and heels, was...reminiscent of a teacher. The fake glasses

on top of her head were meant to top off the ensemble.

Cooper wasn't complaining. Halloween was a sacred time of the

year, when girls were free to dress however they liked without

judgment—which usually meant the tiniest of skirts, the highest of

heels, and tops that left little to the imagination.

"Yeah," Cooper smiled, nodding. "You look great."

Rachel sketched a lopsided bow. "Thank you. Finally, a man with

taste."

The crowd in the living room had swelled to an uncomfortable

degree, forcing a cluster of very drunk juniors to push back into

the kitchen. One girl stumbled and bumped into Rachel; Cooper

caught her just before she fell on him, her long hair brushing his

face. She smelled like vanilla—why did all girls smell like vanilla?

Rachel giggled into his ear, her hands clutching his shoulders.

"Whoopsie."

"Whoopsie," Cooper repeated, smelling the alcohol on her breath.

She was more than tipsy, he realized. "Um, do you wanna lie

down?"

"Mmm?" Rachel leaned back and appraised him, her hazy eyes full of some emotion he couldn't place. Finally she smiled, taking his hands in hers. "You

know what? Sure. C'mon."

Bewildered—he was holding Rachel Smith's hand now—he let her

lead him beyond the kitchen and over to the grand staircase. The

wrought iron railing had been layered with gauzy cobwebs,

complete with little plastic spiders dangling within. Purple lights

wound around the banister, casting an odd glow on their faces.

Rachel stumbled up the stairs, Cooper catching her each time she

slipped. Up on the third floor, he could hear shrieks of fear and

delight: the haunted hall. Strobe lights flickered from above, and a

heavy layer of fog sank around his feet, spilling down the

staircase.

"This way!" Rachel declared, glancing back at Cooper with a smile that almost seemed...seductive? She was trying, anyway. The

alcohol made her smile wobbly, her eyes hooded.

By the time they reached the end of the hall, Rachel was leaning

heavily against Cooper. He helped her open the door to the last

bedroom on the right—her room, he guessed. The Smiths were

certainly wealthy enough to afford a spare bedroom for their

favorite niece. A lamp was already on inside, casting a faint, warm

glow over everything.

"It's very... white ," Cooper noted lamely. The curtains, bedspread,

the furry blanket on the edge of the bed, the carpet; these were all

varying shades of cream, as were most of the decorations. Bursts

of purple interrupted the monotony, which he supposed was meant

to be chic. He didn't really know.

"I love this bed." To prove her point, Rachel fell back on the

pillows, giggling as she wrapped her hands in the furry blanket.

"It's so comfortable. Wanna try it?"

Cooper shuffled forward awkwardly. Rachel's skirt had hiked up

well past her thighs. He averted his gaze, walking over to the bed.

"C'mon, Coop." Rachel reached out a hand, beckoning him to her.

"Don't you wanna lay down with me?"

Cooper cleared his throat and took Rachel's hand. "Thanks, Rach.

But you know what? I totally forgot my phone downstairs, I'm an

idiot. I'll go grab it."

Rachel sat up, pouting. "You're leaving me?"

Cooper hesitated, letting her pull him down closer to the bed.

Closer. Closer. Until finally he was leaning over her, her nose an

inch from his face. She reeked of alcohol. "Rachel..."

"Cooper," she said with a giggle, her fingers caressing his cheek.

He had to be dreaming. Fate could not be so cruel as to

land Rachel Smith right in the palm of his hand—only to have her

be really drunk.

Cooper stammered. He had no idea what he was doing. "I'll be

quick. Y-you want me to get you another drink?" He tried to lean

back, out of her reach. To take the sting out of it, he took her hand

in his.

Rachel frowned, but the idea of another drink seemed to please

her. She assessed him, trying to see what his intentions were.

Trying to see if he really would come back.

And do things he'd only dreamed of with her. Things he had no

idea how to do, quite frankly.

"Okay," she finally agreed happily, dropping his hand. "I guess

some punch would be cool."

"Totally cool," Cooper murmured. He grabbed the waste basket by

the bed and positioned it so she wouldn't throw up all over the

floor. And then he made his escape; when he glanced back, Rachel

was already out. She hung over the edge of the bed, her full,

enticing lips parted in an adorable little O.

He turned. At the end of the hall, a figure cast in shadows lingered

by the staircase, one hand gripping the bannister.

Cooper hesitated, his hand lingering on the doorknob. Making a

snap decision, he reached back and twisted the lock on the door

before closing it firmly behind him.

There. No creeps would be sneaking in to give Rachel company.

When Cooper turned back, the shadowy figure was gone. He

sighed. Maybe his paranoia had been misplaced.

Rachel Smith, he thought wistfully, meandering down the hall. She'd

actually wanted to bring him back to bed...when she was drunk,

anyway. He hoped that counted for something.

Cooper checked his cellphone. He had five unread messages.

One was from his mom: No drinking!

Not a problem there. Cooper looked sourly at the full beer in his

hand. He'd managed to snag it before leaving Rachel's room,

worried she would knock it off the nightstand in the middle of the

night by accident.

The other four texts were from Vincent. Cooper read through them

quickly, rolling his eyes.

By the cheering that rose up from downstairs at

irregular intervals, he guessed the beer pong tournament was

already in full swing.

He didn't particularly want to go back down into the crowd. In fact,

that was the last thing he wanted to do. So instead he trudged

upstairs, toward the flickering strobe lights and the putting

of the fog machine. His hand trailed along the iron bannister,

cobwebs sticking to the pads of his fingers.

The third floor was silent. The haunted hall was definitely over.

Feeling the sudden urge to pee, Cooper felt along the walls,

searching for a light switch. The strobe lights made it difficult to

see, and he didn't much feel like bumping into some priceless vase

with a great dead aunt inside of it. So he proceeded with

caution, cursing when he tried a doorknob, only to find it locked.

Unsure now, Cooper tried to turn around and make his way back

downstairs—before promptly tripping on something heavy and

soft.

"Ow." He caught himself before he could faceplant, his fingers

digging into the warm, wet carpet. He flexed his hands. The carpet was definitely damp. But why

the hell was it warm?

"You've got to be kidding me." Cooper jerked upright and lifted his

hands to his nose. Please don't be piss.

"Please don't be—"

He took a deep breath, but it wasn't the stench of urine on his

fingers. He frowned and stared down at his hands, rubbing his

fingertips together. The strobe lights flashed, playing tricks with

his vision. His hands smelled like iron.

Fighting a wave of panic, Cooper felt along the wall, searching for

the light switch. He took one step and then another. His sneakers

made a horrible squelching sound, sinking deeper into the moist

floor.

What was the point of a light switch if he couldn't find the damn

thing, anyway? He cursed his bad luck—right as his fingers finally

grazed the switch. He let out an exhale of relief.

But the relief was short-lived.

Cooper stared at his hand. It looked as if he'd dunked it in a vat of

red Kool Aid, his fingertips stained red.

He didn't want to look down.

He glanced at his feet. Regret stole over him an instant later.

Cooper stood, transfixed, as he stared at Tracy Smith's very

bloody, and very dead body.