Final Scream

by Jackson, Lisa

  “You’re too old for her,” Brig observed.

  “So are you.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Like hell.” Chase rubbed his jaw. “You’d better be careful, Brig. Sisters don’t appreciate it when a man can’t make up his mind. But by the way, she’s worried about you. Claims that Jed and Bobby are out for your blood.”

  “So what else is new?” Brig wasn’t concerned.

  “Cassidy Buchanan cares about you.”

  “I told you I’m not interested in either of the Buchanan girls.”

  “Yeah,” Chase replied with more than a modicum of sarcasm. “And I’m next on Reverend Spears’s list for canonization.”

  Angie wanted to die.

  Her stomach was queasy as it was and then the McKenzie boys nearly came to blows with Reverend Spears, of all people.

  She dashed upstairs and down a darkened hallway to be sick in Felicity’s private bathroom, where, after throwing up and rinsing out her mouth, she brushed her teeth with Felicity’s toothbrush, touched up her lipstick, took one look at her wild hair from the motorcycle ride and groaned. Her tangled locks were a lost cause. Instead of trying to comb the knots free, she tossed her head around and decided to go with the untamed look. She may as well get used to it. With Brig.

  She felt better now and some of her color had returned. So she had to face The Judge’s illustrious guests, deal with old men with a few drinks in them trying to flirt with her, face her father and Lord knew what else.

  Give me strength.

  Of course she’d expected Brig would make a scene. It had been inevitable, she’d told herself, but what the hell was wrong with Chase McKenzie, picking a fight with Reverend Spears? The entire party had nearly stopped. This wasn’t going well, not at all.

  And then there was the situation with Derrick and Felicity. What a joke. Why didn’t she just dump him? They were always fighting. Always. Couldn’t she figure it out that he didn’t care about her? That he just used her?

  Lately Felicity seemed so desperate, so determined to have Derrick all to herself.

  As if that would ever happen.

  Satisfied that she’d done everything she could to look her best, Angie slipped into the shadowy hallway and felt, as she had the other night, someone watching her.

  Get over it!

  No one was lurking in the darkened rooms and alcoves of The Judge’s huge Southern-looking mansion. For God’s sake, she was leaping at shadows.

  Lately she’d been a jangle of nerves…well, she had her reasons.

  Thud!

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. Someone was up here. She glanced over her shoulder and her breath caught as she felt, rather than saw, a bedroom door—one of the guest rooms—quietly shut.

  Her heart dropped and her skin crawled.

  You’re imagining things! You’re at a party with hundreds of people. It’s safe here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Even if someone is up here, it’s no big deal. Just someone looking for a bathroom, or snooping.

  And yet there was something that just felt wrong about it. Her curiosity got the better of her and she knew she had to face whoever was in that room. Quickly she strode down the hallway and, without knocking, threw open the door. She flipped the light switch, and two matching table lamps glowed to life on either side of a queen-sized bed with a floral coverlet.

  The room was empty aside from the bed, writing desk, bureau and a few plants near the French doors. Angie crossed to the doors but they were shut.

  She noticed a scratch on the edge of one of the nightstands, a smear of green, and she touched the scrape. Wax. As if a candle had fallen…but there was nothing on the floor. Again her skin prickled, but she ignored it. The room looked and smelled empty. She thought about looking under the bed, in the closet and adjoining bath, but told herself she was being ridiculous. Besides, she couldn’t leave Brig to his own devices for too long. Either he’d get into another fight or find some other woman. And what would she say if Judge Caldwell or his wife or Felicity found her snooping around?

  Get a grip, she told herself as she walked to the door. You’re not Nancy Drew, so give it up. Angry with herself, she snapped off the light and hurried down the hallway to the sounds of the party—music, laughter and the buzz of conversation that wafted up the wide, split staircase. She had to find Brig.

  She didn’t have time for her own paranoia.

  Clutching the damned candle, I watched her leave.

  Stupid, beautiful bitch.

  My back teeth ground together and I let out my breath. I’d gotten lucky. She hadn’t stepped out onto the small balcony where, if she’d confronted me, I’d have had to make up an excuse for being upstairs, an excuse that she would buy.

  Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that.

  And everything was still going according to plan. I shouldn’t have followed her to the bathroom, but I’d seen how upset she’d been, wondered why she fled to the second story, and expected her to meet her lover in a darkened upstairs room.

  Instead, she’d gone into the bathroom and, from the sounds of it, puked her guts out. The sounds of retching and the stale smell of vomit had slipped through the bathroom door.

  Served her right.

  No matter how sick she was, it wasn’t bad enough.

  Quietly I slipped back into the guest room, replaced the candle that I’d knocked over inadvertently in my haste and hurried to the door. I cracked it open, half expecting to see her waiting in the dim hallway, but the corridor was empty and I could make good my escape.

  Which was perfect.

  I had a lot to do and little time.

  I licked my lips in anticipation.

  The stage was set…it was just time for the final act.

  I smiled at that, imagining what was to come.

  Tsk, tsk. Poor Angie. Beautiful, smart and soon to be, oh, so dead.

  Cassidy felt a warm hand on her arm, and she closed her eyes.

  “How about a dance?” Brig asked, and his fingers left hot impressions on her skin.

  “No,” she said quickly. “You’d better leave. Jed and Bobby are on the warpath.”

  “I heard.”

  She turned pleading eyes up to him. “They’re dangerous.”

  “They’re all big talk. Snot-nosed kids.”

  “Don’t tell them that,” she said.

  “Now, the dance—?”

  Her heart leaped before she remembered that Angie planned to marry him. Her dreams scattered. “I don’t think so.”

  “You danced with Chase.”

  “He twisted my arm.”

  Brig smiled. “Is that what it takes?” His grip tightened.

  Her heart was knocking wildly. He wanted to be with her. “What—what about Angie?” she asked, turning to face him. There was something different in his gaze, a tortured ghost that seemed to pass behind his eyes.

  “Her dance card’s filled.”

  “I think she wants to be with you.” For the rest of her life.

  “She’ll wait,” he said, and then instead of drawing her toward the dance floor, he led her behind a thicket of fir trees to a small garden, where he pulled her into his arms. Tipping up her chin with one finger, he cursed himself, then his lips claimed hers. He tasted of tobacco and liquor, and he held her close enough that she could feel the angles of his body, hard and wanting. Closing her eyes she melted against him, kissing him until her heart was racing so wildly she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, and the beast of desire was awaking deep inside her, stretching and yawning.

  The music faded and the shadows surrounding them seemed to deepen as he held her fiercely, kissing her hungrily, his hands moving against her back, skimming her bare skin.

  He wrenched his lips from hers and that same dark angel she’d witnessed before appeared in his eyes. Resting his forehead against hers, he let out his breath in an agonized sigh. “No, no, no.”

  “What—?” She felt dazed and elated th
at he’d found her, drawn her to this private little garden and held her as if he never intended to let go. Now he was arguing with himself.

  “I just wanted you to know that it’s over.”

  “Over—what?”

  With a shuddering sigh, he stared into her eyes and she felt a tremor of despair. “Everything. This—you and me—it can’t be. We both know it. You want things I can’t begin to promise and you make me want to promise them. Hell, Cass, I’m all wrong for you and we shouldn’t even be having this conversation.” She tried to protest, but he shook his head before a word crossed her tongue. “I’m quitting working for your old man.”

  No! “But why—?”

  “There are things…” His voice failed him and he glowered at the sky where clouds roiled noiselessly, blotting out the stars. “Things you don’t know about me. Things you don’t want to know. Things that—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You would,” he said, his voice low as the wind rushing through the branches overhead. In the darkness he appeared older than his nineteen years, world-weary.

  “Why don’t you tell me and let me be the judge?” But she didn’t want to know, not really, didn’t want to hear his horrid confession that he’d been making it with Angie, that they had been lovers for weeks, that toying with Cassidy had been a big mistake, that he was going to marry her half sister. With a sickening jolt of her heart, she realized that he’d fallen for Angie, not just been seduced by her but fallen in love with her as well. Just like all the others.

  “You’re too young, Cass.”

  “And you’re afraid.” She pushed away from him, her humiliation and mortification complete, tears hot in her eyes before they splashed down her cheeks.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Me!” She jerked her thumb at her pitiful little chest.

  He snatched her wrist in his big hands. His smile twisted sardonically, but he didn’t argue. “I just thought I should say good-bye.”

  Bereft, her silly little-girl dreams dashed, she yanked her arm away from him. “Go to hell,” she whispered, surprised at the vehemence behind her words as she spun away and headed into the darkness.

  “Believe me, I’m already there.” His words trailed after her, but she didn’t pause, didn’t listen, just tried to run through the gardens in the damned high heels and wished for all she was worth that she’d never met Brig McKenzie, never kissed him, never been stupid enough to give him her heart.

  Fifteen

  Crack!

  Pain exploded in the back of Brig’s head. His head snapped. He fell off his motorcycle. His face slammed against sharp gravel. The Harley, engine still thrumming, skidded across the drive to land against a fence. He tasted blood and he couldn’t see.

  “Where is she?” Jed Baker’s voice registered somewhere beyond the pain throbbing through his brain.

  Brig fought the urge to pass out. Groggily, he looked up. Jed stood above Brig, silhouetted by the feeble light shining from the trailer’s windows. Breathing hard, his face a mask of loathing, he snarled down at Brig. His teeth gleamed in the poor light, and he gripped a baseball bat in one meaty hand. “Angie. Where is she?”

  “What’s it to ya?”

  “You half-breed cocksucker, tell me. Where is she?”

  Brig tried to get his feet under him, but he was still woozy. “None of your business.”

  “You mean none of yours. You leave her alone. Y’hear me, boy?” Jed swung the bat hard. Brig rolled onto his side. The weapon grazed his shoulder, then smashed into the ground. “You just don’t get it, do you? She’s mine!”

  “Maybe you’d better tell her.” Brig rocked into a crouch, but the bat hit him full in the back, popping against his spine. Pain ricocheted up his backbone, erupting in his brain. He fell to his knees. Gravel cut through his jeans.

  Jed laughed and sucked a breath through his teeth. “You just stay away, you bastard.”

  On his feet in a heartbeat, Brig saw red. He spun quickly, wrapping steely fingers around the bat’s handle, kicking out with his feet and nailing Jed in his groin.

  With a wail Jed dropped to the ground. Brig wrenched the bat from him and started swinging. “Hey—watch out!”

  Thud! The bat shuddered in Brig’s hands as he smashed it hard against Jed’s shoulder. Jed screamed like a cat hit by buckshot, then staggered backward. Crack! The bat found Jed’s ribs, splintering a couple. Another hideous wail. “Shit, McKenzie. I’ll have you up on charges!” Brig didn’t care. Crunch! Jed’s nose flattened. With a yowl he sank to the ground, hands splayed over his mouth and nose, crying like a baby, begging Brig to stop as blood spurted through the beefy fingers trying to hold his nose in place.

  “You deserve this, you arrogant son of a bitch!” Breathing hard, sweat running down his face, Brig swung the bat over his head, intent on shutting Jed up forever.

  “Stop!” Sunny’s voice rang through the darkness. “Brig,” she commanded. “Stop it, now!”

  The first drops of rain fell from the sky.

  Brig’s fingers tightened over the slick wood.

  Jed cowered and babbled, “You can’t do this, you can’t.” He was crying, sobbing hysterically. He’d wet his pants and blood ran from his nose and mouth. “You fuckin’ bastard. Fuckin’ Injun bastard.”

  Brig let the bat slide from his hands. “Get out of here.”

  “I’ll get you for this.”

  “Get the hell out!”

  Sunny hurried down the steps and glared at both boys. Her long hair, black shot with gray, fell past her shoulders, and her long robe billowed around her in the wind. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No!” Jed staggered to his feet, nearly fell, but somehow managed to stay upright.

  “You’re hurt. You’re both hurt.”

  “I don’t need your kind of help—none of that witch doctor bullshit. It’s all fake anyway,” he sneered, tears trailing from eyes that were already turning black. “I’m gonna talk to the sheriff and I’ll have you up on charges, McKenzie. You can’t go around assaulting people.”

  “Try it,” Brig suggested.

  “Yes, do,” Sunny said and before Jed could react, she grabbed his hand and held on fiercely.

  “Let me go—” Jed tried to wrench free.

  A strange light came into her eyes. “Yes, go and tell the authorities and they will find out the truth. About Brig. About you. About Angie Buchanan…This blood”—she wiped a drop from his chin—“will prove that you’re a liar.” Her voice faltered a bit, then took on a high pitch and she started chanting in a language that Brig suspected was Cherokee, but he wasn’t certain as her eyes closed and she began to sway to the repetitious litany.

  Jed shuddered and his eyes rolled back in fear.

  The chanting continued and he seemed to snap to attention.

  “Let go of me, you witch!” Jed screamed, his eyes nearly bulging from his head. “What’s she doin’ to me?”

  “Don’t know, but it sounds like a curse,” Brig answered, enjoying the game. Ma was playing with Jed, and the boy deserved it.

  “Leave me alone!”

  The chanting continued, keening high over the rising wind that blew the first dry leaves around their feet and whistled over the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine as it lay, wheel spinning on the gravel.

  Jed tore himself free, fell into a pothole Chase had missed while filling the driveway. He scrambled to his feet. “Go to hell,” he yelled in a voice strangled by terror. “You all go to hell!”

  A cat howled in the darkness and Jed took off running. A few seconds later the sound of a huge engine—that of Jed’s Corvette—gave forth a mighty roar and tires spun on loose gravel. The noise of the engine faded and gears ground, whining and disappearing in the night.

  “And good riddance,” Sunny said.

  “What was all that about?” Brig asked his mother. She reached up, touched him on the forehead, and he winced.

  “You have to learn to beat your enem
ies with your head, Brig, not with your fists.”

  “You’re a fake, Ma.”

  “Only when I have to be.” Her eyes were calm and dark. “But I do see danger for you, Brig. More danger than this unimportant boy.”

  “Watch out, Ma. You’re starting to believe your own press.”

  “I do believe.”

  “Bull,” he said as rain peppered the ground.

  “Just because I put on a show for the Baker boy doesn’t mean I don’t believe. Jed needed the pee scared out of him. But what I see for you. For Chase. It’s real.”

  “I think you scared more than the pee out of him.”

  “I intended to.” She glanced down the lane and her smooth brow wrinkled. “He won’t bully anyone again.”

  “Look, I’m not worried about Chase and me,” Brig lied, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and felt a dozen raindrops hit his scalp.

  “You should be.”

  “I gotta go—”

  “Not yet.” She glanced at the sky and frowned at the clouds moving restlessly over the moon. “You have to tell me about the Caldwells’ party. You’re back early.”

  “It was a bore.”

  “And there was some altercation.”

  “You guessin’ or you have one of your visions?”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts and frowned. “Next time I’ll curse you,” she teased but there wasn’t any laughter in her voice, and she rolled her bottom lip over her teeth as she stared at the bloodied bat.

  “Okay, there was a little trouble, but nothing serious,” he lied. “No one even bothered calling the police.” He dusted off his jacket and reached for his Harley. There was trouble, all right, big trouble, and it went far beyond a few insults whispered about Sunny or a couple of knocks with a damned baseball bat. He thought of Cassidy and felt a sweeping sense of guilt. Hell, that girl had somehow managed to get under his skin. Then there was her sister. Angie. She’d acted strange tonight. Instead of seductive most of the evening, she’d almost seemed morose, alternately clinging to him sadly, or flirting and dancing with the boys that seemed to follow after her in a pack. Then, when Brig had had enough of the lavish party and small-minded guests, he’d tried to get her to leave. She’d agreed and they’d walked up a path between the trees at the side of the house. Suddenly she’d started to cry and drawn him into a private little spot behind the greenhouse away from the party.