Final Scream (49 page)

Dear Reader,

When my publisher asked me to rewrite
Intimacies
, I was delighted, but a little worried. Why? I loved the book in its original form, and I especially loved the characters. The two heroes in the book, Brig and Chase McKenzie, were both very real, complicated, and sexy men. The heroine, Cassidy Buchanan, was a woman I could relate to.

Because I loved this story so much, I wasn’t certain it needed rewriting. It was strong as it was. However, once I had sunk my teeth into the project, injecting more suspense into the pages, creating new scenes, adding a deeper understanding of the characters, giving the story a new perspective, I had a blast.

I was raised in a small town in Oregon, so it was a natural to return to Prosperity, a timber town nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. Though I didn’t know anyone like the Buchanans or the McKenzies, I did own a horse and I did run him on the flats of an abandoned, drained pond at an old logging camp, and I did swim him in the river against my parents’ warnings.

So, rewriting
Final Scream
was nostalgic for me on two levels. I think the book turned out well.

I hope you enjoyed reading
Final Scream
as much as I did writing it. Let me know what you think of this new, updated version and especially how you feel about the McKenzie boys! Visit me at
www.lisajackson.com
.

And now that you’ve finished
Final Scream
, I’d like to tell you about my next thriller from Zebra books.
Fatal Burn
will be on the stands in March 2006, and it’s the follow-up book to
Deep Freeze
, my March 2005 release.

Fatal Burn
is a whirlwind! It starts with the kidnapping of Dani Settler, a clever tomboy of a girl. Dani is at the heart of a deadly scheme. Her abductor is using her as bait, to flush out her biological mother.

Shannon Flannery gave up her baby thirteen years earlier and now she learns that her child is in dire jeopardy. The baby’s adoptive father, Travis Settler, has tracked Shannon down, demanded answers, and let her know that he’ll do anything to get his daughter back. He’s suspicious, worried, and sexy as hell.

The man behind the abduction, a cruel killer, has his own agenda, one that involves Shannon, her brothers, and a secret so dark it’s been buried for years.

What the kidnapper doesn’t count on is the tenacity, brains, and slyness of Dani Settler. She’s not about to sit around meekly while some creep decides her fate.

Fatal Burn
is an exciting, roller-coaster of a story with characters that have stayed with me for months after writing the book. I think you’ll like them. Visit
www.lisajackson.com
for more information about the book. While you’re at my website, e-mail me and let me know what you think of
Final Scream
, enter contests, play games, and read excerpts from my other books.

Keep Reading!

Lisa Jackson

Here is an exciting peek at
Lisa Jackson’s next
new thriller
FATAL BURN
coming in March 2006!

He stood before the fire, feeling its heat, listening to the crackle of flames as they devoured the tinder-dry kindling. With all the shades drawn, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the crisp white cotton falling off his shoulders as moss ignited, hissing. Sparking.

Above the mantel was a mirror and he watched himself undress, looked at his perfectly honed body, muscles moving easily, flexing and sliding beneath the taut skin of an athlete.

He glanced at his eyes. Blue. Icy. Described by one woman as “bedroom eyes,” by another as “cold eyes,” by yet another unsuspecting woman as “eyes that had seen too much.”

They’d all been right, he thought and flashed a smile.

A “killer smile,” he’d heard.

Bingo.

The women had no idea how close to the truth they’d all been. He was handsome and he knew it. Not good-looking enough to turn heads on the street, but so interesting that women, once they noticed him, had trouble looking away.

There had been a time when he’d been so flattered that he’d rarely turn in the other direction, a time when he’d picked and chosen and rarely been denied.

He unbuckled his leather belt, let it fall to the hardwood floor. His slacks slid easily off his butt, down his legs, and pooled at his feet. He hadn’t bothered with boxers or jockeys. Who cared? It was all about outward appearances.

Always.

His smile fell away as he walked closer to the mantel, feeling the heat already radiating from the old bricks. Pictures in frames stood at attention upon the smooth fir. Images he’d caught when his subject didn’t realize he or she was on camera. People who knew him. Or of him. People who had to pay.

His eyes fixated on one photograph, slightly larger than the others, and he stared into her gorgeous face. He traced a finger along her hairline, his guts churning as he noticed her hazel eyes, slightly freckled nose, thick waves of unruly reddish curls. Her skin was pale, her eyes alive, her smile tenuous, as if she’d sensed him hiding in the shadowy trees, his lens poised at her heart-shaped face.

The dog, some kind of scraggly mutt, had appeared from the other side of the woods, lifted his nose in the air as he’d reached her, trembled, growled, and nearly given him away. Shannon had given the cur a short command and peered into the woods.

By that time, he’d been slipping away. Silently moving through the dark woods, putting distance between them, heading upwind. He’d gotten his snapshots. He’d needed nothing more.

Then.

Because the timing hadn’t been right.

But now…

The fire glowed bright, seemed to pulse with life as it grew, giving the bare room a warm, rosy glow. He stared again at his image. So perfect in the mirror.

He turned, facing away from the reflection.

Looking over his shoulder, he gritted those perfect white teeth, gnashing them together as he saw the mirror’s cruel image of his back, the skin scarred and shiny, looking as if it had melted from his body.

He remembered the fire.

The agony of his flesh being burned from his bones.

He’d never forget.

Not for as long as he drew a breath on this godforsaken planet.

And those who had done this to him would pay.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the picture of Shannon again. Beautiful and wary, as if she knew her life was about to change forever.

Lookout
, he thought, smiling evilly.
I’m coming, Shannon, oh, yes, I’m coming. And this time I’ll have more than a camera with me.

“Move over, Stephanie Plum! Jane Kelly has arrived!”
—Lisa Jackson

Romance is thin on the ground in Lake Chinook. But the bodies are just beginning to pile up…

Jane Kelly is through with following men anywhere. Last time she did, she left Southern California for the dubious charms of Lake Chinook, Oregon, where she’s traded in bartending for the much more glamorous trade of process serving. (Well, she can tell herself it’s glamorous, anyway.) And the boyfriend, of course, is long gone.

So she’s thirty, she’s single, she’s living in a town where fishing is more important than fashion, and one of her closest friends is an “information specialist”—which is a fancy way of saying private detective. Odder still, she’s been helping him out, which makes the criminology courses she took a few years back with her ex at least worth the tuition. She’s not making any lifetime commitments, but when Portland divorce attorney Marta Cornell calls with a P.I. job, the money involved sounds like the answer to her dwindling bank account—until she learns Tess Bradbury wants her to investigate the disappearance of Bobby Reynolds.

Four years ago, without warning, Bobby murdered his young family and promptly vanished. No one disputed that he’d slaughtered his own flesh and blood except Tim Murphy, his best friend—and Jane’s ex—the one guy she’s never quite gotten over. The murders had driven a wedge between him and Jane, and finally drove him right out of town. Now he’s on his way back, to attend a Lake Chinook Historical Society benefit that Cotton Reynolds, Bobby’s father, is hosting.

Every alarm bell in Jane’s head is clanging, but before she can say “Not on your life,” Marta has convinced her to accept Tess’s assignment—an interview with Tess’s ex-husband, Cotton, who she believes has been in contact with Bobby. It looks like Jane’s going to be following men around again—this time with a tape recorder and a camera.

To top it off, an only vaguely remembered aunt has left her a homely pug named Binky, and her mother is once again threatening to head north and settle in Oregon. With a brand-new job she’s learning as she goes along and the man who broke her heart into a million pathetic little pieces back in town, Jane’s life just went from stress-free to completely stressed-out. And that’s before she finds the dead body in the lake…

The following is
an exciting sneak peek at
Candy Apple Red
by Nancy Bush
coming in October 2005!

If I’d known they were about to find a body at the bottom of Lake Chinook, I never would have gotten myself into the whole mess. The lake’s deep in places, and the Lake Corporation only drains it every couple of years to check the sewer lines running along its muddy bottom. The thought of the little fishy things trolling the waters, chewing off teensy nibbles of human flesh, would have been enough for me to say, “
Hasta la vista
, baby,” and I would have exerted great haste in making tracks.

But I didn’t know. And I also didn’t know my whole life was about to change. The day I spoke with
uber
-bitch/lawyer Marta Cornell I was blissfully ignorant of the events in store for me, which was just as well. Don’t ever tell yourself you’re happy with the way things are because that’s when everything changes in seconds flat. And not necessarily for the better.

“Jane!” Marta boomed over the phone. The woman was over six feet tall with a voice to match. She could deafen with one word. I yanked the phone from my ear and hoped I still possessed my hearing. “I have a client who has an unusual request and I think you’re just the person to help.”

“What unusual request?” I asked.

“It’s about Cotton Reynolds.”

My heart leapt. Christ, I thought a bit shakily. I’d just been thinking about my ex-boyfriend, Tim Murphy, who knew Cotton well. Had thoughts of Murphy actually triggered the past? “What about him?” I asked, trying to hold my voice steady.

“My client wants some follow-up on…Bobby Reynolds.” Marta had hesitated, unlike her to the extreme. “She wants you to interview Cotton.”

I stared at my office door and, instead of its scarred, paneled wood, saw the white-haired man who happened to be one of the wealthiest in the state of Oregon. Cotton Reynolds lived on the only island in Lake Chinook, less than a mile from my bungalow. By boat, I could be there in ten minutes, if I wanted to. By car, it would be trickier. The island was private and Cotton’s was the only house on its three acres. If I dropped in to say hello, I wouldn’t get past the huge, wrought-iron gate nor the island’s guard dogs, two ill-tempered Dobermans.

But interviewing Cotton wasn’t what was on my mind. Following up on Bobby Reynolds was. Murphy’s close, high school friend. His best buddy.

I almost hung up right then. I probably should have. A shiver slid coldly down my spine; someone walking on my grave.

Bobby Reynolds had murdered his family and left their bodies lined up in a row—wife Laura; Aaron, eight; Jenny, three; and infant Kit—somewhere in the Tillamook State Forest, just off the Oregon coast. Bobby Reynolds was a “family annihilator:” a man apparently overwhelmed with the responsibility of his family so he chose to send them to a “better place.” He shot them each once in the back of the head, then drove away. He dumped his Dodge Caravan on a turnout off Highway 101, which meanders along the West Coast throughout Washington, Oregon, and into California, then disappeared without a trace, though he’d been rumored to have been seen as far north as the Canadian border and as far south as Puerto Vallarta. To date, after four years, he was still very much a fugitive. The murders—disputed by Murphy, who simply could not believe his friend capable of cold-blooded homicide—had driven Murphy away from Lake Chinook, the tragedy, and me.

I cleared my throat and asked, “Who is this client?”

“Tess Reynolds Bradbury.”

“Bobby’s
mother?
”

“Cotton won’t talk to her about Bobby or anything else. They haven’t spoken civilly in years. When it was all over the news, they had words, but it wasn’t exactly what I would call communication.”

“I remember,” I said, recalling how Cotton’s ex, with her blond bob, hard eyes, and angry mouth, had been bleeped out by the local news, time and again. Cotton had been silent and stony, although my impression was that it was a mask for deep, deep pain and shock. I’d tried to talk to Murphy but he’d gone to a place inside himself, as distant as a cold moon, before he’d left for good.

“Why does she want me to talk to him?” I asked, baffled. “The police and FBI and every news channel around have been on this since it happened. What could I learn? I don’t even know Cotton.”

“You’ve met. You were Tim Murphy’s girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t call myself his girlfriend,” I said carefully. “I knew him.” Not as well as I thought I did, as it turned out.

“Murphy was close to Bobby and Cotton. Tess thinks you can use that connection—”

“No,”
I said again, with more force. “I’m outta this. I’d be useless.”

“She stopped by my office the other day, and we started talking about Bobby, a little. She never could before. But it’s like she’s suddenly gotta get it out. Along the line, your name came up. She remembered you.”

If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed, I would have been surprised. Tess had barely seen me. She’d been divorced from Cotton in those few months before Bobby’s deadly deed was discovered. I hadn’t known Bobby very well, as he and his family had moved to Astoria. I mostly knew about them through Murphy. I’d met Bobby and his wife Laura exactly once, so when their pictures were in the papers, they’d looked like the strangers they were to me. I said, “It would be a miracle if Cotton remembered me.”

“He knows Murphy. That’s all that matters.”

I didn’t like it. It was sneaky and wrong. Oh, sure, I can be a snoop, but this tragedy was epic in size. I felt small and mean even talking about it with Marta. “What kind of information does she expect?” I asked. “I don’t get it.”

“Whether she’s right or wrong, she thinks Cotton’s been in touch with Bobby. I know the police and FBI have wrung him dry, and he’s been more than cooperative. I’m just telling you what she wants. And she’s willing to pay well.”

“I’m not a private investigator.”

“As good as,” Marta dismissed, but then she was always saying things like that when she wanted something.

“How much is she willing to pay?” I asked cautiously, lured in spite of myself. I inwardly shuddered. It was like dipping a toe in cold, cold water.

“An initial five hundred dollars and then whatever you work out. She wants you to develop some kind of relationship, Jane,” Marta went on. “She says Cotton always admired you when you were there with Murphy. She thinks you could…have some sway.”

“I doubt it.”

“Are you saying you won’t do it?”

I didn’t know what I was saying. I was out of my depth and I knew it. I’m not all that hot at self-delusion. If I were really thinking about taking the jump to information specialist/ private investigator, l’d sure as hell like to start with something smaller. Like grand larceny. Or…corporate tax fraud. Or that Erin Brockovich deadly chemical thing. I did not want to be personally involved in the investigation, no matter how distantly, as I was in this one.

“Cotton does remember you,” Marta insisted. “Bobby told Tess how his dad liked you.”

“Bobby told his mother that his dad liked me? That’s just great. When was that, Marta? I was only here for a few months before it happened.”

Marta sighed at my obstinacy. “Are you going to do it, or not?”

“All signs point to ‘not.’” I paused, belatedly hearing some innuendo between the lines. Why did Tess want me to get close to Cotton? My thoughts took a turn toward the salacious. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jane. Tess just wants you to suck up to him a little, show some interest in the guy. He’s been living like a hermit with his young wife ever since Bobby slaughtered his family and ran.” I cringed at her words. “Tess thinks this is the perfect time to lend a sympathetic ear.”

“I won’t get any results the police haven’t.”

“Five hundred dollars plus, whether you learn anything or not,” Marta coerced.

Five hundred dollars plus. My brain started calculating, taking a trip of its own, as I wondered how many “sessions” I could squeeze out of the deal. It’s hard to turn down pure, cold cash. My mentor Dwayne Durbin would be proud of my way of thinking.

“Cotton’s having a party next Saturday night.” Marta sweetened the pot. “I can get you an invitation.”

“How?”

“Well…Murphy’s been invited. He’s coming into town this week.”

I swore beneath my breath, loud enough for Marta to hear.
Murphy?
“What a setup. I’m not interested, Marta. Not one little bit.”

“He knows you might be there. He wants to see you.”

“Not a chance.” Marta knows what she’s doing at all times. She’s an operator, someone who sees what she wants and goes after it, no matter how many souls she grinds into the pavement along the way. I almost admired her.

“Murphy still talks to Tess,” Marta went on. “He mentioned you the other day. That’s what got Tess thinking.”

“Murphy and I don’t talk.”

“Jane, Tess is going to be in my office at three today. She’d really like to meet you.”

“You’re railroading me. I can hear the train whistle.”

“I thought you might want to see him.”

“Bullshit. You thought of a new way to squeeze money out of a client. How much is Tess paying you for this setup?”

“Plenty,” was her equable answer. “Tess is a grateful client.”

I almost laughed. I could imagine how well Marta had put the squeeze on Cotton as Tess’s representative in their divorce. Her unabashed greed appealed to me, maybe because deep inside I’m a kindred spirit. Okay, maybe it’s just that I’m not that deep inside.

She seemed to sense my lessening fury. “Is that a yes?”

I had an instant memory of a hot midnight on Murphy’s boat, illegally docked in the shelter of Phantom’s Cove, the deepest part of Lake Chinook, two hundred feet beneath the houses perched on the bluff above, hidden by the canopies of oaks and firs which kept the cove under shadow most of the time. I remembered fevered bodies wrapped tightly together, sweat and silent laughter that remained caught in the back of my throat. And pleasure.

An ache filled me inside. I’d fallen in love once in college, but Murphy was the next, and last, man who’d ever filled my senses so completely. I half believed now that it would never happen to me again. Maybe it would, but right now it felt impossible.

The thought that he might actually be at this party was enough to send me into the kind of female panic I loathed seeing in others. I couldn’t go. Even if I met with Cotton, I couldn’t go to this party if Murphy was going to be there.

I said as much to Marta. At least 1 think I did. But she responded with a quick overview of how much income this could provide me. I turned her down over and over again, I swear. Yes, dollar signs danced in front of my eyes, but the thought of clapping eyes on Tim Murphy again was something my system couldn’t take. I told myself I would rather live in destitution for a thousand lifetimes than go another round with Murphy.

“We’ll see you at three, then,” Marta said happily and hung up.

I was left staring into space, my jaw hanging open. Slowly, I brought my lips together again and clicked off my cell phone. There was no memory in my mind of my agreement to meet with Tess, but somehow I’d managed to say yes.