Fatal Burn (West Coast 2) - Page 182

“Over there.” Without hesitation she pointed through the trucks parked haphazardly in the driveway and past the fence behind Shannon’s house. “On the other side of those fields,” she said, indicating the subdivision. “In a back alley.”

“Let’s go. You show us the way,” Travis told his daughter.

The female firefighter snapped off her phone. “Paterno’s on his way.”

“Good.” Travis and Dani were already hurrying with Nate to Nate’s truck.

“Hey wait.” Travis glanced over his shoulder as Nate threw open a door. Beneath her helmet, disapproval twisted the woman’s features. “Your daughter should stay and wait for the police.”

Travis wasn’t listening to anyone. “We don’t have time,” he said as Nate fired the engine. Travis and Dani piled in and Nate stepped hard on the throttle, shooting past a worried-looking reporter who was motioning to a cameraman. Nate picked up speed, tearing down the driveway as sirens wailed in the distance.

Fear clawed at Travis. He had his daughter back, yes, but now Shannon was missing, caught by the same horrid psycho who had held his daughter.

He had to get to her.

Before it was too late.

Chapter 33

Shannon’s eyes fluttered open.

She coughed, her nostrils burning.

Where the hell was she?

She tried to move but couldn’t. As her head cleared and her eyes adjusted to the half-light, she realized she was in a small cabin of sorts. It was dark, the only illumination an eerie, blood-red glow from coals in an old, decrepit fireplace.

She coughed again at the acrid smell that permeated her nose and lungs.

Gasoline!

Instantly her brain snapped into gear. She struggled. Tried to stand. But she was tied to a chair. Her hands were bound behind her. Her feet were lashed to each of the front legs of the chair.

“No!” she yelled, her own voice startling her.

Images flashed through her mind. The fire in the stables. Her daughter tied to a stake. A ring of fire. A dark, hooded man swooping down on her.

Terror grabbed her by the throat.

This was wrong…so wrong.

“Awake?” a deep, evil voice asked.

She froze.

The voice was familiar. Hideous.

A ripple of disgust and fear swept over her skin. She was mistaken. She had to be. No way could the terrifying voice from her past be here…no…oh, God, no!

“Ryan?” she whispered, terror freezing her veins.

“So you do remember?”

Oh, please, God, no!

Like a wraith, he moved out of the shadows. He was naked, his body gleaming in the weird glow, as if he’d spent time anointing every inch of his skin with oil.

She gazed in disbelief. Blood ran down one side of his face. He was wounded near his eye which was purpling and swelling. This had to be a horrid, twisted nightmare.

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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