Christa Chapman

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“But you trick them into giving up their souls.” He spread his hands wide, acquiescing. “That was the old me. This is the new.” “You no longer trick them?” “Oh, I trick them. Really, it’s just too easy. But I only trick the bad ones, remember?” he added quickly when I scowled at him. “Child molesters and such. As per your request,” he mocked. “And people who talk at the theater. Don’t forget people who talk at the theater.” One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Eighth Grave After Dark (Charley Davidson, #8)
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