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“No. Why would I?” Shannon said. “But it was odd because she said I’d phoned her and that she was calling me back. I said she was wrong and she got all belligerent, said something ridiculous like she had my number on caller ID or something. I figured she’d just had too much to drink. Why?”

“You’re sure about all this?”

“Of course I’m sure, Shea! She called me,” Shannon insisted. When Shea didn’t respond, she sensed, again, there was something more he wasn’t telling her. Something vital. Maybe even something damning. “What is this? You don’t believe me? Check her phone records.”

“We are.”

“Good!” She pushed herself away from the cabinets, tossing the remains of her coffee down the sink. “That should settle everything.” Deciding the conversation was going nowhere, she changed the subject again. “Has anyone else talked to Mom?”

“Oliver stayed with her last night and I stopped by this morning. I don’t know if Robert or Aaron have seen her.”

“I’ll call.”

“That would be good.” She heard other muted voices, apparently Shea was no longer alone. “What? Yeah. Just a sec,” he said, his voice muffled, then he turned his attention back to her. “Look, Shan, I gotta go now. We’ll talk later.” He hung up before she could say good-bye, but that wasn’t unusual. Shea’s brain was always two steps ahead of his body.

She hung up, feeling cold from the inside out. Although the temperature was already over eighty, she felt as if her blood was slowly but surely turning to ice.

“Stop it,” she told herself sternly, and as she did she heard the sound of a truck’s engine rumbling up the drive. Within seconds Travis Settler’s pickup rolled into view.

Chapter 18

The Beast was back!

Dani’s heart flew to her t

hroat. So engrossed was she in pulling out the darn nail, she hadn’t heard his truck arrive. Since he hadn’t come back last night, she figured she had the day to herself. Now his boots were clomping on the creaky floorboards of the porch.

She tossed her dirty clothes over the nail, then vaulted from the closet onto her bed. Her heart pounded as she heard the locks click and the door unlatch.

Heavy footsteps pounded through the cabin.

She swallowed hard as she realized she’d left the door to the closet open. But it was too late to do anything about it.

Half a heartbeat later the door to her room opened with enough force to bang against the wall. Terrified, she stared up at him and knew something had happened.

Something bad.

His usual cool was gone, his hair was uncombed, the pupils of his eyes were pinpricks, and there was a desperation to him that scared her to her bones. She hoped to God he wouldn’t walk into the closet, see that the nail head was over half an inch above the board.

Looming over the bed, he was sweating, dusty and breathing hard. It was almost as if there was an electric current running through him. “Get up!” he ordered. He jerked a hand to the living area and didn’t so much as glance at the open closet. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“In there.” There was the hint of a tic over his eye and she didn’t argue, though she wondered what had happened. The sun had been up for several hours, the cabin was already warm and he hadn’t returned all night, which was odd, different from his usual pattern.

She walked into the living area, a room he usually forced her through at a quick pace.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the broken hearth. “And don’t try any funny stuff.”

He started building a fire and she knew then that he was over the edge. The room was already hot, but he lit the stacked paper, kindling and chunks of wood anyway, rocking back on his heels and grunting in satisfaction when the flames began crackling and growing, burning bright.

For the first time she got a closer look at the pictures on the mantel. She’d been allowed through this room before, but always only as she was being shepherded outside. Now she saw that there were six pictures, all of them looking as if they’d been taken long ago. Four of the pictures were head shots of serious young men who all had similar traits: shiny black hair, intense, don’t-mess-with-me blue eyes and thin lips. Another picture was a snapshot of a couple on their wedding day, the woman wearing a long white gown and a wedding veil, the man in a tuxedo. He could have been one of the guys in the head shots, taken at a different time. The final picture was of a woman, just her face, and Dani felt her heart tighten. She had reddish brown hair, big green eyes and a smile that showed off just a bit of her teeth. Her expression looked as if she was in on a private joke as she tilted her ear, leaning it upon one hand, her fingers buried in the riot of auburn curls.

“Who are those people?” she asked, her mind snapping with questions.

He didn’t respond.

“They’re all related, aren’t they? Brothers?”


Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery