FATAL BURN

forest was burning out of control. Hot, scalding flames spiraled hellishly to the sky. Smoke clogged her throat, searing her nostrils with the hot, acrid smell. Her lungs burned. Her

Neville. She still missed him horribly and that particular knot of sorrow when she thought of him tightened painfully in her chest. Technically, since Neville had been born a scant seven minutes after his twin brother, Oliver, Neville had been the closest in age to Shannon, who'd come along nearly two years later, the last of Patrick and Maureen Flannery's brood of six children. Though Oliver and Neville had shared that special "twin bond," she, too, had felt an intimacy with Neville that she never experienced with the rest of her siblings. She wished Neville was here now. He'd rumple her hair, smile crookedly and say, "You worry too much, Shannon. It was just a dream." "And a phone call," she would reply. "A weird phone call." "A wrong number." "At midnight?" "Hey, somewhere in the world it's already happy hour. Chill out." "Right," she muttered, like she could. She soaked the cloth again, wrung it between her hands, then placed it at the base of her neck. A headache, brought on by the nightmare, pounded at the base of her skull. Reaching into the cabinet, she found a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed two pills into her palm before chasing them down with another long swallow from the tap. She saw the bottle of sleeping pills on the shelf under the mirror, the ones Dr. Brennan had prescribed three years earlier. She considered taking a couple, then discarded the idea. Tomorrow morning-no, later this morning-she couldn't afford to be groggy or sluggish. She had several training sessions scheduled with some new dogs and she was supposed to sign papers on her new place-a bigger ranch. Although the move was still weeks away, the deal was falling into place. Remembering the property she was going to buy, she felt another jab of distress. Just last week, when she'd walked the perimeter of the ranch, she'd felt as if she was being watched, that there had been unseen eyes hidden behind the gnarled trunks of the black oaks. Even Khan had seemed edgy that day. Nervous. Get over it, she mentally berated herself. Unlike most of the dogs she trained, Khan wasn't known for his intuition. No one had been following her, watching her every move. She wasn't in some kind of horror movie, for God's sake. No one had been hiding in the shaded forest that surrounded the place, no sinister being had been observing her from the outcropping of rocks on a nearby hillside. No one, other than herself, had been there at all. She was just antsy about plunking down all of her inheritance and savings on the new place. And why wouldn't she be? Her brothers had all been against her plan and each had enough nerve to tell her the vastness of her mistake. "This isn't what Dad would have wanted," Shea had pointed out the last time he'd stopped by. His black hair had gleamed blue in the lamplight as he'd stood on her porch while smoking a cigarette, staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Dad spent his entire life scrimping, saving and investing and wouldn't want you to squander your share on a run-down, overgrown farm." "You haven't even seen the place," she'd charged, undeterred. "And don't pull out the violin and crying towel. Dad always trusted my decisions." Shea had given her a dark, unfathomable look, drawing hard on his cigarette and giving Shannon the distinct impression that she hadn't known their father at all. "Dad always backed me up," she said, her voice faltering just a bit. "I'm just tellin' ya." He blew out a plume of gray smoke, then tossed his cigarette butt into the dust and gravel of the lot separating the house from the barns and other outbuildings. "Be careful, Shannon, with your money and yourself." "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" The cigarette smoldered, trailing a tiny wisp of smoke. "Just that sometimes you're impetuous." He cocked his head and winked at her. "You know. All part of the Flannery curse." "Don't even go there. That's the biggest load of bull I've ever heard. Just a way for Mom to get back at Dad. Flannery curse? Come on, Shea." He lifted a dark brow. For a second he'd looked like one of those caricatures of Satan with his knowing leer and upraised eyebrows. "I'm just saying." "Yeah, well, I'm buying the place and that's that." Now, a week later, she wondered what that was all about. It was almost as if her brother had been warning her. And Shea hadn't been the only naysayer. Oh, no! Her other brothers had weighed in over the past few weeks, grown men who seemed to think they still held some sway over her. She snorted in disgust as she remembered Robert advising her to put her money in the bank. But she would only earn some pittance on it. Robert! The man was running through his share of the inheritance like water, buying a sports car and going through a major midlife crisis that included ditching his wife and kids. As for Aaron, her oldest sibling, he'd already lost some of his money on speculative stocks. Not to mention that weekend in Reno and the rumors of him having been up thirty thousand dollars at the blackjack table, only to end up losing and playing double-up to catch up. It hadn't worked and Aaron had been touchy about it ever since. Then there was Oliver, who was pledging all of his money to the church and God. Of course, she thought, frowning, wondering if Oliver's sudden renewed faith was because of her. Guilt dug a deeper hole in her heart as she remembered that after the accident, when Ryan had lost his life and Neville had disappeared, Oliver had turned ultrareligious, to the point that he'd applied to the seminary and now was studying for the priesthood. Her part in his newfound faith was murky. Unclear. However, her being accused of her husband's murder had been a factor. Shannon shrugged it off, wouldn't revisit that familiar but forbidden territory. She suspected her brother Shea was the one who'd been careful with his share of the inheritance. But then, he was always careful. With his money. With his life. A secretive sort, who trod softly but heavily armed. He not only carried a big stick but a bazooka and grenades as well. Who were her brothers to offer up advice? They could spout their negative opinions until hel l froze over, but she'd do what she thought best. She was nothing if not as stubborn as they were. It was probably all their negative vibes that had made her nervous the last time she'd walked the overgrown acres. That was all. Then why, suddenly, was she so anxious? Not sleeping? Jumping at shadows? Awaking from god-awful nightmares? She grimaced and dropped her washcloth into the sink. Maybe it was time to visit her shrink again. It had been over a year since she'd felt strong enough to end the weekly sessions that had helped her sort out her life. Though she didn't much like the thought, maybe she truly was one of those people who needed therapy just to keep functioning. "Great," she muttered. Lord, it was hot. The temperatures had been teetering around one hundred all week, the evenings barely cooling into the high eighties. All over town there was talk of a serious drought and, of course, the escalating threat of fire. She refused to gaze at her reflection again. "You'll look better in the morning," she said, then wondered if there was enough foundation in the warehouses of Revlon to make her appear fresh-faced. She couldn't begin to imagine how many drops of Visine it was going to take when she slipped her contact lenses into her eyes in a few hours. Her mouth tasted foul. She rubbed some toothpaste over her teeth, rinsed, then twisted hard on the handles of the dripping faucet, listening as the old pipes groaned in protest. Still the scent of smoke and fire lingered. Dabbing her mouth dry with a hand towel, she wondered why she couldn't get the acrid odor out of her nostrils. At that moment she heard Khan growl. Low. Warning. Still holding the towel she glanced through the doorway and saw a gray-and-brown blur as he leapt onto the bed. "What the devil?" she asked a

.Oh, God, the phone call had come in at precisely 12:07. Knees buckling, she leaned against the porch rail, her gaze scouring the darkness, searching for whoever had done this to her, whoever had wanted to bring back all the pain. "You son of a bitch," she bi