He glances in my directly. “Really? You think you’ve got the balls to shoot me?”
“Drop the gun.” I’m aiming at his legs, not a kill shot, not yet.
“You’re an asshole.” He swings his gun in my direction and takes a shot. It’s not well-aimed and easy to duck but by the time I regain my footing he’s gone.
I run into the room where the DelMarcos are huddled together on a couch. They’re to my right and a large kitchen is to my left. Bobby DelMarco points in the direction of the kitchen. I take off, heading through a pantry area and into what the real estate agents would call a mud room. There’s a back door and it’s open.
I keep running, through the door and around the house. By the time I get to the street, I’ve got a stitch in my side and Smith is nothing but a pair of taillights traveling fast.
“Damn it.” I grab my side. “How’d he move so fast in flipflops?
Frustrated, I head back into the house.
There are now three DelMarcos by the couch; the older couple and their son Joey. He does a little tongue-flick thing that looks way too snakelike for a human and his aura matches his eyes; green with yellow spikes.
The three of them stare at me. The woman’s way too hopeful, the older man’s just tired. The younger man, Joey? He’s pissed as hell.
“So let’s start with introductions.” I put my gun away and return their stares. “I’m Connor MacPherson.”
Mrs. DelMarco’s name is Sheila. The men introduce themselves, and we return to our stare-down.
“Okay, so you called me, and I guess I successfully chased Smith off. I’m afraid he’ll be back, though, so we should come up with a plan.”
“Thank you,” Sheila says. “We need your help.”
“No we don’t, Ma. He’ll just bring more trouble.” Joey flicks his tongue again and I fight the urge to smack him.
“That attitude is going to get you killed,” I say. “That’s if the game you’re playing doesn’t.”
Bobby sits up straighter. “What game?”
“It’s nothing, Dad.”
I talk over him. “Rumor is, Joey’s running an auction for the name of the murderer. What’s the bidding up to now? You hit fifty K yet?”
“What?” “No!” Both parents start yelling and I keep out of their way.
When the family calms, I try again. “Is it safe to assume that Smith is the name you’ve come up with?”
Joey’s grin is more serpentine than the tongue flick. “If you’ve got the cash, we can talk.”
“God, you’re an idiot,” Bobby says, and I have to agree.
“Look, do you have a safe place to go when you shift?”
The parents share a glance. “Yes,” Sheila says.
“Then I suggest you go there.”
Joey starts to argue, but I stop him with a raised hand and a glare. “Not you, cowboy. You’re coming with me.”
There’s another spate of yelling, but this time I’m pretty sure the parents are taking my side.
“Because, you idiot,” Bobby says, “I don’t want to die because you’re stupid enough to poke a shark shifter.”
“Wait.” I raise my hand again. “You all know what Smith’s supernatural form is?”
Sheila gives me a perplexed look. “Of course. He went to high school with Donna.”