Fatal Burn

by Lisa Jackson

  Nerves strung tight, she flipped open her phone and tried to check her messages as the battery beeped a warning. Before she could connect, the phone went dead and there was no reviving it. “Damn,” she muttered, slapping it against her palm before giving up. Who had found her phone and placed it—no, hidden it—in her pickup without telling her? Someone who had found it that night? Travis? No. Nate? She made a mental note to ask him about it. But when? Surely not the night the shed burned down.

  And then she knew.

  As surely as if he’d whispered the truth to her, she realized that whoever had started the fire had placed the phone in her truck. The same twisted individual who had left her the burned birth certificate, who had kidnapped Dani, who had killed Mary Beth.

  And she’d just erased any chance of collecting his fingerprints, she berated herself. Then she decided that whoever had taken it would have been careful about that, too.

  Goose bumps broke out on her skin and she slowly turned, staring at her house, the kennels, the stable, the destroyed shed, searching the familiar nooks and crannies for a stranger, someone dangerous and dark, someone who enjoyed tormenting her.

  Who was he?

  Why had he killed Mary Beth but spared her?

  Because he’s not finished. And he wants you to know. He gets off on scaring you.

  “Bastard,” she hissed. She thought of Dani Settler. Her child. Travis’s child. Hang in there, honey…We’ll find you. We will!

  She strode into the house, hooked the cell phone into its charger, then dialed Nate’s cell phone. To hell with giving him his space. She needed him here. Now.

  But he didn’t answer and his voice mail box was full. “Damn it all to hell,” she muttered. Her thoughts next flew to Travis. She wanted to talk to him, to see him. He’d been gone for only a few hours and it seemed like an eternity.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” she muttered. What was she thinking? She, who was so hell-bent to get away from her overprotective brothers. She, who had sworn off marriage after the horror she’d endured as Mrs. Ryan Carlyle. She, the girl who had suffered the ultimate rejection when she’d told Brendan Giles she was pregnant. She had no business—no damned business at all—thinking of Travis Settler as anything more than Dani’s father, a worried man looking for his child.

  “He’s nothing more to me,” she told the puppy who had finally, in exhaustion, curled into a little ball and was sleeping on the fluffy pillow in the pen. “You’re going to be fine,” Shannon whispered and wondered if she was talking to the dog or herself.

  What she needed, she decided, was some time to think, away from the rubble, away from the phone, away from the ridiculous notion that there were sinister eyes watching her every move.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she promised the little dog, who didn’t so much as move upon the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

  She found the keys to her truck. She had to get out. She’d been cooped up with her thoughts too long.

  She wondered about Nate again. Ever since she’d told him she was buying a new place she’d felt a wall build between them, one emotional brick stacked upon another.

  And it was weird that he hadn’t been hovering over her since the fire, but maybe that was a blessing, to borrow from Oliver’s take on life.

  Deciding to do something constructive, she began hauling a load of supplies to her truck that she’d bought earlier, intending to move them to her new place. It was tricky, carrying the boxes of cleaning products, painting supplies, paper towels, toilet paper and such, but she managed eventually to fill the bed of the pickup. Shannon worked steadily, grimly satisfied at her efforts. With hours still before sunset the last case of Lysol was finally tucked behind a wheel well. Despite her tender shoulder and ribs, it felt good to actually do something again, to turn her thoughts away from the fires and Mary Beth’s murder, at least for a little while.

  Whistling to Khan, she opened the door of the cab and he flew across her seat to his position on the passenger side. “Aren’t you the pampered one,” she said with a smile as she twisted on the ignition. She threw the rig into drive and took off, gravel spraying from her tires as she tromped on the accelerator a little harder than she’d intended.

  They drove fifteen miles under a canopy of madrona and oak trees where sunlight pierced through the leaves to spackle the ground. Though she turned on the radio and tried to concentrate on a ballad by some country artist she didn’t recognize, her mind spun wildly with images of charred documents, baby pictures, Brendan Giles, Mary Beth’s horrid death, Travis Settler—who was too damned sexy for his own good—and odd-shaped symbols burned into wood. What kind of nightmare had she fallen into? What did it all mean? Was Brendan really back in Santa Lucia?

  Don’t trust what Oliver told you, her mind warned. He’s been wrong before. Hallucinated. Been hospitalized for psychiatric problems…It could be happening again…

  She was so deep in thought that she nearly missed the turnoff to her new place. The lane was overgrown, brambles and berry vines covering a rusted, permanently opened gate that lopped on uneven hinges. She braked quickly, causing Khan to nearly lose his footing.

  “Sorry,” she said, then maneuvered her pickup into the private road. Little more than two ruts separated by a stripe of dry weeds that scraped the truck’s undercarriage, the lane wound through the trees upward into the foothills. The old pickup bounced and lurched as it made the gentle climb. Shannon, shifting down, made a mental note to order several loads of gravel.

  When her life returned to normal. If it did.

  Around a final turn, the trees gave way to a clearing and a lake of clear water. Near the shore was a rambling cottage that had been built between the First and Second World Wars. It was two full stories, though the upstairs hadn’t been used in years. A well-kept barn, stable, separate double-car garage and several utility sheds had been built on the north shore of the spring-fed lake. A boathouse and dock jutted into the water where dragonflies flitted, and trout swam below the clear surface.

  From the instant Shannon had set eyes on the place, she’d felt at home, though she couldn’t explain why. This quaint, albeit run-down ranch had touched her. True, it needed a lot of TLC and elbow grease, but it was larger than her current home, it was more private and most of all, it held no memories of the past; no ghosts walked the hallways here.

  And though the old house needed repair, the outbuildings were in fairly good shape, and the grounds were perfect for the new life she’d carved for herself since Ryan’s death. She already imagined how she could expand her business, placing more emphasis on water-rescue dogs and training them on the private lake.

  The configuration of the large field behind the barn could be changed to include a circular enclosure for Nate and his horses.

  Nate.

  Still missing in action.

  Theirs was a unique union, she thought. Most people assumed they were lovers—two misfits who lived on the same compound, two loners. The gossips in Santa Lucia who whispered that she and Nate shared a bed were wrong, not that she disavowed any of the tongue-waggers of their speculation. Nate worked with the horses, she with the dogs. Nate had spent eighteen months in prison before his murder conviction had been overturned with new DNA evidence. She’d been accused of killing her husband…No, they weren’t lovers, at least not yet, and that was her decision, not his. That was probably the crux of their recent disputes, the primary reason he was against her buying the place from Demitri. He thought she was running away.

  From him.

  Shannon grimaced. She didn’t want to think about him and what he wanted from her because she knew, deep in her heart, she’d never fall in love with him. Probably because he might just be the “right” kind of man for her, despite her brothers’ protests. But then, she never did go for the right guy. Even now, the only man she found interesting was Travis Settler, and no matter how damnably male he was, that thought was just plain absurd. He had suspected her of stealing his daughter away
from him. He had been found at her place on some kind of mission, loaded with military-like equipment and weapons. Since he’d come to California, things had gone from bad to worse and now her sister-in-law was dead.

  Travis Settler was definitely a man to avoid at all costs. Getting close to him, even if he allowed it, would be another mistake. And hadn’t she made enough for a lifetime?

  She had only to think of Brendan, the college boy she’d dated in high school and a friend of her brother Robert and how that had turned out. Then, of course, there had been Ryan, the man she’d married on the rebound—and the biggest mistake of her life. The few men she’d dated since Ryan had been few and far between, no one to write home about.

  Remembering her husband, Shannon shuddered. What a nightmare. One of the reasons she’d finally decided to leave her home was to get away from the house they’d shared, a place where unspeakable acts had occurred. Though she’d long ago moved out of the main downstairs bedroom, converting it into a kind of office, and had bought a new bed and placed it upstairs, the memories of Ryan and what he’d done to her still lingered.

  This new place, though about a dozen tiers below rustic, was a fresh start. One with bright, broad horizons, she told herself while unloading paint cans, rollers, trays, cleaning supplies and a few essentials such as toilet paper, paper towels and trash bags, hauling them all inside.

  The kitchen had yellowed pine walls, the floors throughout were a scarred, scratched hardwood. The chimney was river rock and, she suspected, from disuse was home to either birds or hornets. But, in her mind’s eye, she saw the place as it would be with fresh paint, a new glossy surface on the plank floors, repainted cabinets and new tile on the counters.

  She imagined a few rugs scattered strategically between her old rocker and antique sofa, a fire burning cheerily in the grate. Best yet, just off the kitchen, through a porch that opened on both sides of the house and doubled as a laundry facility, there was an attached woodshed. Long and narrow with a sagging roof and a door on the far end leading to the backyard, this unused space would become the new kennel for all the dogs she boarded and trained. She would build individual runs that would open into a general exercise and play area.

  It would be perfect!

  “Heaven on earth,” she muttered sarcastically, knowing there was no such thing, as she took the key Alexi had given her and opened the door to the sagging woodshed. The scents of dry kindling, sawdust and dirt filled her nostrils and she made her way to the back door while swatting at the spiderwebs draping from a ceiling that would need to be replaced. She wondered if any of the woodshed’s existing walls could be saved, deciding as she reached the back door that the whole one-room shed was probably a teardown. Besides, she would need insulation, plumbing, updated electricity, heat and more windows to let in natural light for the dogs. She would also have to rip out the rotting wood floors and replace them with cement and tile. It would take time and money—lots of both; but Shannon had been saving for three years, determined to move from the place that had caused her such heartache, pain and shame.

  She was about to unlock the shed’s back door when she realized it hadn’t been latched, the shiny new deadbolt wasn’t slipped into its place.

  In fact, as she touched the knob, the door itself creaked open, revealing a broken back step and an overgrown yard with a weed-choked path to the gate.

  A tremor of unease whispered through her.

  Why would Alexi go to all the trouble of installing a new lock, then negligently leave the door unlatched?

  A mistake?

  Or had someone broken in?

  She stepped outside, turning slowly, scanning the house and grounds once again. She dismissed that thought. The only people who would be interested in the place were either teenagers looking for a place to party—although she’d seen no evidence of anyone inside the house, no empty beer bottles or tossed cigarette butts, or other trash—another realtor hoping the sale would fall through, or some hiker or hunter who’d stumbled upon the place and was just curious.

  No one evil.

  Nothing serious.

  She was just projecting because of all the weird stuff that had happened. Because of the fire and attack. “Stop jumping at shadows,” she muttered as she locked the door firmly, then tested it. The unlatched door was probably just an oversight. No big mystery.

  She left the woodshed and called to Khan, wading through ankle-high grass to the front of the house where the lake, with its still waters, beckoned. The old dock was sound except for a few rotten boards, so she made her way to the edge, kicked off her running shoes and socks and dangled her feet into the cool depths. The water felt like heaven! She undid her ponytail, letting her hair spring free to her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and sighed.

  She didn’t feel like explaining to Nate or any of her brothers why she’d felt compelled to move. Nor had she confided in her mother or any of her friends. Buying this place had been a simple decision she’d made single-handedly. She shuddered as she imagined her family discussing the pros and cons of the change in her life. Let them think what they would. She’d decided three years ago to stand on her own two feet, come hell or high water. No more running to her brothers. No more discussions with her mother. No more depending upon anyone but herself. Okay, so Shea and Robert and Aaron had helped her with this last trauma, but from now on, she’d make her own decisions. In the past she’d let her family talk her into things, but no more.

  “No more,” she said aloud and felt a chill, as if a cloud had slid over the sun. But when she opened her eyes, the sky was still clear, the golden orb in the sky as intense and bright as ever.

  Funny.

  She rubbed her sore shoulder and looked for the dog, only to find him standing stiffly, hackles raised, eyes trained on the woods just on the other side of the fence line.

  Shannon’s body tensed.

  Frozen, Khan let out a low warning growl.

  “What is it?” Shannon whispered as she gathered her shoes and socks. Sitting alone on the edge of the dock, dangling her feet in the still waters she’d felt innocent as a schoolgirl, but that was foolish. Hadn’t she learned? Hadn’t the attack against her or Mary Beth’s death taught her anything? Exposed as she’d been, she could be a target for any—

  Stop it! Don’t go there! Do NOT go there. You still have to live your life and not feel compelled to cower and hide.

  But Mary Beth was dead. Horribly and cruelly murdered.

  And Dani Settler was missing.

  Had she allowed the insanity, the fear, to follow her to the place she’d hoped would become her haven?

  Slowly letting out her pent-up breath, she turned her gaze to the shadowy area of trees. There was nothing visible. No one lurking in the umbra. Yet the goose bumps on the back of her arms didn’t go away and she felt as if someone was watching her, someone studying her every move.

  Angry with herself, she gave a sharp command to the dog and Khan, still growling, tucked his tail between his legs and sprinted for the truck.

  “You’re being a big wuss,” she told the mutt, ruffling his hair after she’d climbed inside. She rammed the Dodge into gear. “Make that a major wuss!”

  And so are you, Shannon!

  Flipping on the radio, she caught the tail end of the weather report as she cranked on the steering wheel, forcing the truck into a wide arc.

  “…continued heat spell with no end in sight. Temperatures will soar into the upper nineties and fire danger remains high…” the announcer said as she glanced in her rearview mirror.

  Her heart jammed into her throat.

  He was there!

  Through the dust, a blurry, dark figure appeared in the reflection—a quick image of someone darting through the trees.

  She gasped.

  Slammed on the brakes.

  Whipped her head around to stare through the back window. Dust settled behind her.

  Heat shimmered in waves, distorting her view.


  Yet no one was visible in the dappled light beneath the black oaks. No bogeyman lurked maliciously in the shadows. No evil presence skulked through the thickets.

  She glanced at the dog. Khan looked up at her expectantly. His coat was smooth. Unruffled.

  There was no sound other than the soft call of birds over the thrum of the truck’s engine and the click of insects hidden in the grass. Shannon forced her muscles to relax. “Idiot,” she ground out. She was moving up here to get away from her demons…she would not bring them with her. No way. Slowly, she eased off the brake and with one eye on the rearview mirror continued driving down the lane.

  Nothing seemed disturbed.

  Nothing was out of the normal.

  The rambling bungalow near the shores of the wooded lake disappeared from view as she rounded a corner and the pickup bounced and jarred down the grooved lane.

  She had probably imagined the image in her mirror. She’d picked up on the dog’s anxiety. He could have seen a deer or a fox, or even a cougar.

  But you saw a man.

  Upright. On two legs.

  Pulse racing, she punched several buttons on the radio, found a rock station, and singing along to some Springsteen song she remembered from her youth, turned onto the highway. She wasn’t going to let her overactive imagination run away with her. She refused to let fear control her.

  Not this time.

  Not ever again.

  Chapter 21

  Her fingers bleeding through her now toeless and filthy socks, Dani worked hard, putting all her strength into pulling out the damned nail. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, knowing she was running out of time. As well as patience. The creep wouldn’t keep her here forever; she knew that much. She’d observed him through the crack in the door and he was getting more restless, more keyed up. He paced a lot, striding back and forth in front of the fire, and he’d taken to leaving his knife on the bricks near the firebox, the blade stretching toward the flames, its steel looking red with the reflection of the coals.