by Lisa Jackson
Atop the sagging roof was a miniature Christmas sleigh, while a stuffed, life-sized Santa hung perilously from the gutters. No sign of Rudolph or the other reindeer. It looked as if they’d run for their lives.
While the other dogs were sunning themselves outside, Atlas was inside, lying on a rug near the fireplace where soft red coals gently glowed.
Glancing over at the dog, Shannon smiled as she poured water into the coffeemaker. She would have thought with all she’d been through that burning a fire in the grate would have been traumatic. Not so, thank goodness, and now seeing lights and a holly and fir swag on the mantel she felt an inward warmth spread through her. The latest injuries had healed. Even her shoulder was almost as good as new.
She punched the button to start the coffee. Atlas lifted his broad head while thumping his big tail on the floorboards. “Life could be worse,” she told him. “A lot worse.”
Dani and Allie had camped out in the attic of this little house, planning the expansion of the area into a suite for Dani, and probably, Marilyn.
The coffee percolated, filling the air with a warm scent and Shannon looked around her new home. With Travis’s help she’d moved into the cabin near the lake and though the little cottage was far from renovated, it seemed like home. A real home. She walked to the window and gazed out to the lake where Travis, Allie, and Dani were fishing.
Her family.
Such as it was.
Travis hadn’t thought twice about staying with her. Since Dani was starting high school, he’d decided it was a perfect time to move and surprisingly, he’d not gotten many arguments from his daughter. Her daughter. Their daughter.
They were talking about marriage but had decided to take it slow. Maybe in the spring. Travis’s place in Oregon was for sale. The real estate agent informed them that a couple was “really interested” and an offer, “nearly certain.” They would see.
As she watched, a Jeep rolled up the drive. Shane Carter was at the wheel with Jenna Hughes beside him. They’d come to celebrate Christmas with Travis and Dani in California. In the backseat was Jenna’s daughter, Cassie, who, though taller, was nearly a carbon copy of her mother.
Shannon hurried outside and down the steps of the porch as Shane parked the Jeep near the garage. Several of the dogs, including Khan, barked and greeted the newcomers as they piled out of the car.
“How do you stand all these animals?” Cassie asked, but she was teasing, her smile wide as she petted every head that came her way.
“I don’t know,” Shannon said, “but I love them all. It nearly kills me when I sell one.”
“I wouldn’t sell any of them, not ever.” With Khan leading the way, Cassie made a beeline to the dock where Allie was reeling in a fish.
“Merry Christmas,” Jenna said, unloading the car.
She was petite and striking, Shannon thought, even more gorgeous than her Hollywood image. Stripped down to bare lipstick, worn jeans, and the glow of a woman in love, Jenna was the kind of woman who would turn heads no matter what. She’d also turned out to be a warm friend.
“Merry Christmas.” Shannon hugged her as Shane followed his soon-to-be stepdaughter toward the lake.
Jenna watched her eldest daughter. “It’s amazing how resilient kids are. Last year, I thought she’d never get over what happened to her, to us, during that ice storm, but she’s surprised me. She’s doing well in school and,” Jenna’s smile widened, “she’s got a new boyfriend. One I like.”
Shannon laughed. “It’ll never last.”
“I know. I’m sure that because I get along with him and his parents, the relationship is doomed.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “So, how’s Dani doing? She went through a rough time, too.”
Shannon raised a hand and tilted it in the air. “Sometimes good. Sometimes not so good.”
“But she’s coming around? I mean moving down here and all?”
“I think so. She misses Allie, but she’s made new friends and she even slipped and called me ‘Mom’ the other day.” Smiling, Shannon shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it.”
“That’s great.”
“It feels good,” Shannon admitted. She let her gaze wander to the dock where the girls were talking to Shane and Travis. She felt the same familiar tug on her heart every time she saw her daughter with her father. He was so good with her. Shannon had a brief thought of the boy who had fathered Dani and was glad that the rumors about Brendan Giles had proven false. He hadn’t returned. Someday, when she was older, if Dani wanted to know about him, Shannon would give her all the information she had. For now, though, Travis Settler was the girl’s only father.
Khan, realizing that his position of honor with Shannon was in jeopardy, raced to her side and growled at Atlas. The big shepherd, didn’t seem to notice, just wagged his tail.
Leaning down, Shannon patted both dogs’ heads. “You’re such good boys,” she said as they crowded around her, slapping her legs with their tails.
A burst of laughter erupted from the little crowd gathered on the dock.
“Love the Santa,” Jenna said to Shannon as she pointed at the roof of the house.
“Travis’s doing.”
“I figured.”
Jenna and Shannon walked toward their families as the sunlight reflected on the glassy surface of the lake. Dani and Travis turned to look at her and Shannon couldn’t help but smile.
So it would take time to heal all the old wounds. Who cared? She had all the time in the world. What were the words in that John Lennon tune…” A very merry Christmas…”
Yes, she thought, gazing at Travis and Dani, so it would be.
A very, very merry Christmas.
Dear Reader,
Thanks for picking up FATAL BURN! I hope you liked reading the book as much as I did writing it. You might remember that Travis and Dani Settler were secondary characters in DEEP FREEZE, the prequel to FATAL BURN.
As you know most of my books are linked, some more than others. Often times a favorite character of mine appears in a subsequent book. And I’m going to do it once again, this time with one of the most popular characters I’ve ever created.
Remember Detective Reuben “Diego” Montoya from HOT BLOODED and COLD BLOODED and THE NIGHT BEFORE? He’s always taken second seat to another popular character, Detective Rick Bentz. For years readers have written me and asked, “When is Montoya going to get his own book?” Well, now he does.
In April of 2006 SHIVER will be on the shelves. Montoya is back in New Orleans, now a senior detective. Although he’s grown up a bit, he’s still the swaggering, sexy, rebel cop that he was in previous books. This time he meets his match in Abby Chastain, a woman with a murky past and a disturbing future.
A string of bizarre murders takes place and they center around Our Lady of Virtues, a now-abandoned mental hospital. Set outside of New Orleans and now falling into ruin, Our Lady of Virtues is the same hospital where Oliver from FATAL BURN was sent and came back scarred. There are secrets within the walls of Our Lady of Virtues, dark and deadly secrets that have now come back to haunt anyone who had the misfortune of being a patient there. Abby Chastain’s mother died at Our Lady of Virtues under mysterious circumstances, and now Abby realizes Faith Chastain’s death was only the first.
A killer is stalking the old, musty hallways of the decrepit hospital and everyone, including Abby and Montoya, is at risk. With each step, he gets just a little closer and the danger becomes more grave.
I think you’ll like SHIVER. Those of you who wanted to see Montoya in his own story will love it. Want to know a little more? Just turn the page for an excerpt from the book. Then, log onto www.lisajackson.com for a unique look into the deadly hallways of Our Lady of Virtues and SHIVER.
Keep reading,
Lisa Jackson
In each of her gripping bestsellers, Lisa Jackson has brought readers to the edge of their seats and proven herself a master of romantic suspense. Now the New York Times bestselli
ng author of Hot Blooded and Cold Blooded delivers her most powerful novel yet, bringing back New Orleans detective Reuben Montoya as he matches wits with a twisted psychopath whose very presence makes his victims SHIVER…
Detective Reuben “Diego” Montoya is back in New Orleans. Thanks to years of working with the dark side of society, his youthful swagger is gone, replaced by straightforward determination. He’ll need it, because a serial killer is turning The Big Easy into his personal playground. The victims are killed in pairs—no connection, no apparent motive, no real clues. Somebody’s playing a sick game, and Montoya intends to beat him at it.
His only lead is the ex-wife of one of the victims. Abby Chastain is a woman haunted by painful secrets. Twenty years ago she watched in horror as her mother, a patient at the Our Lady of Virtues Mental Hospital, plunged through a window to her death. Abby has always dreaded that she too would one day go insane…especially now, back in this town, where she’s begun to feel watched, as if the devil himself is scraping a fingernail along her spine. Something about Abby—her spirit and her honest fear—gets to Montoya. His gut tells him his prime suspect is innocent, just like it’s telling him there’s something significant about the once-grand hospital now decaying in a gloomy thicket of ancient live oaks. Abby Chastain can help unlock the mystery—if only Montoya can get her to trust him enough to face the ghosts of her past.
As more bodies are found in gruesome, staged scenarios and the FBI moves in, Montoya’s in a desperate race to find a killer whose crimes are getting more terrifying, and closer all the time. Plunging deep into a nightmare investigation will uncover a shocking revelation—a deadly connection between Abby and Montoya and an asylum where unspeakable crimes were committed, evil once roamed free, and a human predator may still wait. For the past is never completely gone. Its sins must be avenged, its wrongs righted. And this time Detective Reuben Montoya may pay the price…
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at
SHIVER
coming in April 2006!
Prologue
Twenty years earlier
Our Lady of Virtues Hospital
Near New Orleans, Louisiana
She felt his breath.
Warm.
Seductive.
Erotically evil.
A presence that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to lift, her skin to prickle, sweat to collect on her spine.
Her heart thumped. Barely able to move, standing in the darkness, she searched the shadowed corners of her room frantically. Through the open window, she heard the reverberating songs of the frogs in the nearby swamps, and farther still the rumble of a train on faraway tracks.
But here, now, he was with her.
Go away, she tried to say but held her tongue, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t notice her standing near the window. On the other side of the paned glass security lamps illuminated the grounds with pale bluish light and she realized belatedly that her body, shrouded only by a sheer nightgown, was silhouetted by the eerie bluish glow from those lamps.
Of course he could see her, find her in the darkness.
He always did.
Throat dry, she stepped backward, placing a hand on the window casing to steady herself. Maybe she had just imagined his presence. Maybe she hadn’t heard the door open after all. Maybe she’d jumped up from a drug-induced sleep too quickly. After all it wasn’t late, only eight in the evening.
Maybe she was safe in this room, her room on the third floor.
Maybe.
She was reaching for the bedside light when she heard the soft scrape of leather against hardwood.
Her throat closed on a silent scream.
Having adjusted to the half-light, her eyes took in the bed with its mussed sheets, evidence of her fitful rest. On the dressing table was the lamp and a bifold picture frame; one that held small portraits of her two daughters. Across the small room was a fireplace. She could see its decorative tile and cold grate and above the mantel a bare spot, faded now where a mirror had once hung.
So where was he? She glanced at the tall windows. Beyond, the October night was hot and sultry. In the panes she could see her wan reflection: petite, small-boned frame; sad hazel eyes; high cheekbones; lustrous black hair pulled away from her face. And behind her…was that a shadow creeping near?
Or her imagination?
That was the trouble. Sometimes he hid.
But he was always nearby. Always. She could feel him, hear his soft, determined footsteps in the hallway, smell his scent—a mixture of male musk and sweat—catch a glimpse of a quick, darting shadow as he passed.
There was no getting away from him. Ever. Not even in the dead of night. He received great satisfaction in surprising her, sneaking up on her while she was sitting at her desk, leaning down behind her when she was kneeling at her bedside. He was always ready to press his face against the back of her neck, to reach around her and touch her breasts, arousing her though she loathed him, pulling her tightly against him so that she could feel his erection against her back. She wasn’t safe when she was under the thin spray of the shower, nor while sleeping naked beneath the covers of her small bed.
How ironic that they had placed her here…for her own safety.
“Go away,” she whispered, her head pounding, her thoughts disjointed. “Leave me alone!”
She blinked and tried to focus.
Where was he?
Nervously she trained her eyes on the one hiding place, the closet. She licked her lips. The wooden door was ajar, just slightly, enough that anyone inside could peer through the crack. From the small sliver of darkness within the closet something seemed to glimmer. A reflection. Eyes?
Oh, God.
Maybe he was inside. Waiting.
Gooseflesh broke out on her skin. She should call out to someone, but if she did, she would be restrained, medicated…or worse. Stop it, Faith. Don’t get paranoid! But the glittering eyes in the closet watched her. She felt them. Wrapping one arm around her middle, the other folded over it, she scraped her nails on the skin of her elbow.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
But maybe this was all a dream. A nightmare. Wasn’t that what the nuns had assured her in their soft whispered voices as they gently patted her hands and stared at her with compassionate, disbelieving eyes? A dream. A nightmare of vast, intense proportions. Even the nurse had agreed with the nuns, telling her that what she’d thought she’d seen wasn’t real. And the doctor, cold, clinical, with the bedside manner of a stone monkey, had talked to her as if she were a small child.
“There, there, Faith, no one is following you,” he’d said, wearing a thin patronizing smile. “No one is watching you. You know that. You’re…you’re just confused. You’re safe here. Remember, this is your home now.”
Tears burned her eyes and she scratched more anxiously, her short fingernails running over the smooth skin of her forearm, encountering scabs. Home? This monstrous place? She closed her eyes, grabbed the headboard of the bed to steady herself.
Was she really as sick as they said? Did she really see people who weren’t there? That’s what they’d told her, time and time again, to the point that she was no longer certain what was real and what was not. Maybe that was the plot against her, to make her believe she was as crazy as they insisted she was.
She heard a footstep and looked up quickly.
The hairs on the backs of her arms rose.
She began to shake as she saw the closet door crack open a bit more.
“Sweet Jesus.” Trembling, she backed up, her gaze fixed on the closet, her fingers scraping her forearm like mad. The door creaked open in slow motion. “Go away!” she whispered, her stomach knotting as full-blown terror took root.
A weapon! You need a weapon!
Anxiously, she looked around the near-dark room with its bed bolted to the floor.
Get your letter opener! Now!
She took one step toward the desk before she remembered
that Sister Madeline had taken the letter opener away from her.
The lamp on the night table!
But it, too, was screwed down.
She pressed the switch.
Click.
No great wash of light. Frantically, she hit the switch again. Over and over.
Click. Click. Click.
She looked up and saw him, then. A tall man, looming in front of the door to the hallway. It was too dark to see his features but she knew his wicked smile was in place, his eyes glinting with an evil need.
He was Satan incarnate. And there was no way to get away from him. There never was.
“Please don’t,” she begged, her voice sounding pathetic and weak as she backed up, her legs quivering.
“Please don’t what?”
Don’t touch me…don’t place your fingers anywhere on my body…don’t tell me I’m beautiful…don’t kiss me…
“Leave now,” she insisted. Dear God, was there no weapon, nothing to stop him?
“Leave now or what?”
“Or I’ll scream and call the guards.”
“‘The guards,’” he repeated in that low, amused, nearly hypnotic voice. “Here?” He clucked his tongue as if she were a disobedient child. “You’ve tried that before.” She knew for certain that her plight was futile. She would submit to him again. As she always did. “‘The guards?’ Did they believe you the last time?”
Of course they hadn’t. Why would they? The two scrawny pimply-faced boys hadn’t hidden the fact they considered her mad. At least that’s what they’d insinuated, though they’d used fancier words…delusional…paranoid…schizophrenic…
Or had they said anything at all? Maybe not. Maybe they’d just stared at her with their pitying, yet hungry, eyes. Hadn’t one of them told her she was sexy? The other one cupping one cheek of her buttocks…or…or had that all been a horrid, vivid nightmare?
