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The pickup bounced over a bump in the road and a jolt of pain blasted through her ribs. The headache she’d fought all day pounded at the base of her skull. She needed to get home, to down some more painkillers and sleep for about a hundred hours.

Then she could face the mess that was her life.

And Travis Settler?

And the whereabouts of his—your daughter?

The dull throb in her head increased.

She’d nearly lost the thread of her brother’s conversation, but then she heard Mary Beth’s name again.

“A bitch,” Aaron pronounced.

“Psycho…just like the rest of her family,” Shea agreed. “Look at Liam and Kevin.”

“Yeah, what the fuck was Liam doing with her tonight?”

“Moral support,” Shannon said.

Aaron snorted and streams of smoke shot from his nose. “From him? The guy has the morals of all of the devil’s disciples thrown together.”

Silently Shannon agreed as the town gave way to rolling countryside. At least about the psycho part of the Carlyles. Ryan’s cousins Liam and Kevin were known for their mercurial tempers. Their flash points were quick to ignite and when they did, all hell broke loose. How often, during her marriage to Ryan, had she witnessed the Carlyle brothers’ wrath at family gatherings?

The conversation lagged and Shannon realized that Aaron must’ve asked her a question while she’d been lost in thought about her ex-in-laws.

“What?”

“So, I asked, are you buyin’ Settler’s story? That he just happened to be at the fire?” Aaron repeated.

“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted.

Shea braked for a corner. “Me neither.”

“I’m not through checkin’ him out. I think there’s more goin’ on with our buddy from Oregon. Hell of a coincidence, him coming all the way from some little town in northern Oregon and landing here, at Shannon’s, the night the place gets torched. I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” Shea agreed.

Aaron had a point, she thought. It did seem more than a little coincidental that Travis Settler was at her place on the night of the fire. But being with him tonight, witnessing his fear, his desperation, his grief for his daughter, she didn’t think he would set an intentional fire. And he hadn’t been around when she’d received the burned birth certificate. He might be a lot of things…But she doubted that he was the arsonist. Thinking of him, she felt a dozen conflicting emotions for the steely jawed man who had raised her child.

Shea slowed the truck and the wheels turned off the county road. Opening one eye to a slit, Shannon spied the trees guarding her lane, the gnarled trunks visible in the splash of illumination from the Dodge’s headlights. Soon, she’d be in her own bed. It seemed like eons since she’d slept in the upstairs room of her little cottage, a home she’d once shared with her husband. Ryan. He was long dead now. She was sorry for the pain his death caused his family, but she wasn’t sorry that he was no longer a part of her life.

“And don’t forget Margaret. Another nut job,” Aaron said as he squashed his cigarette into the ashtray. Shannon didn’t want to think any more about any of Ryan’s cousins tonight. They were a close-knit, clannish family. Years ago, before her marriage to Ryan and before Robert had asked Mary Beth to be his wife, they’d all gone to school together at Saint Theresa’s. The Flannerys and Carlyles had often been friends, always acquaintances.

Until she’d made the mistake of marrying one of them.

She looked at the garage, saw the light in Nate’s apartment burning in the night and felt a bit of relief. The shed was a pile of ash and rubble and would be for a while, but she didn’t dwell on the loss. At least none of the other buildings had gone up in flames.

Because whoever did this didn’t want them to…He has a purpose. Remember the weird symbol with the number six in its middle. And never forget that he might have Dani as well.

The door over the garage opened and Nate, boots clattering on the steps, hurried down the exterior stairs. With his long strides, he was across the lot before Shea had cut the engine. Beside him, bounding to keep up with Nate’s brisk pace, was Khan.

Shannon’s heart nearly broke with happiness.

God, she’d missed the dog.

Aaron slid out of the truck, then helped Shannon land carefully on her feet. Khan let out a happy yip as he shot to her side, whining and wiggling, his tail swiping the air frantically and banging against the open door of the truck. Shannon leaned over and scratched him behind his ears and along his back.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” she said to the wriggling mass of fur.


Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery