Final Scream by Lisa Jackson Page A

call to them, to warn them, but her voice was silent. Impotent.
    Fear screamed through her; her heart pounded in dread. Be careful! Climb down! But her voice was stilled, and she could only watch in mounting horror as their fingers scrabbled against the sheer cliff and their bloody toes tried to grip, slid, knocking away dirt and sand as they tried desperately—vainly—to gain purchase.
    No, oh, God, no!
    Muscles strained. They shouted to each other. Ignored her and the blackness that blocked the sun.
    Help them. Please, please keep them safe , she silently prayed to whatever deity would listen.
    The earth moved, the cliff shattered, the nightlike darkness became a whirling vortex of smoke. Coughing, she watched in horror as her boys fell, tumbling and screaming, arms and legs flailing as the darkness splintered into a blistering burst of flames.
    Screams reverberated through her mind, and her sons, dark silhouettes against a backdrop of hot, hungry fire, disappeared before her.
    “No!” her own voice echoed around her. She blinked and the vision disappeared, scattering away from the hot little trailer, but the sweat and fear still lingered. Her insides seemed to melt and she fell, gasping, into a kitchen chair. She couldn’t shake the image that her children—her precious sons—would soon meet their ruin.
    It wasn’t the first time she’d seen this same terrifying image; the premonition had started appearing two weeks ago, creeping into her sleep, breaking out of her subconscious.
    She checked the old calendar—the free one she’d been given from Al’s Garage—that hung on the wall near the refrigerator. Running her finger along the appointments and cancellations, she finally stopped on the fourth, the day of her first vision—the very day after Brig had taken the job with Rex Buchanan.

Four

    “What’re you doin’ in here?”
    At the sound of Brig’s voice, Cassidy nearly dropped the comb that she was dragging through Remmington’s knotted mane. The colt snorted, rolling his eyes as he tossed his head.
    “What does it look like?” she asked, feeling heat sear up her cheeks. She glanced over her shoulder and stared into eyes that seemed to smolder in the half-light of the stable.
    “Botherin’ the horse.”
    “He needs to be groomed,” she replied tartly, then winced when she recognized the sound of a spoiled little rich girl’s voice. Her voice. “I, uh, thought it would be a good idea.”
    “I thought you didn’t want a show pony.”
    “I don’t.”
    “But you think he gives a good goddamn whether his mane and tail lay straight?” He snorted and shook his head. “Hell, all he cares about is throwin’ you out of the saddle, tryin’ to take a nip out of my arm, and mountin’ those mares up in the south paddock. You should see him show off for the ladies.” His smile was crooked and cynical, his voice low with a sexy drawl. “Kinda reminds me of Jed Baker and Bobby Alonzo anytime your sister’s around.” With a knowing grin, Brig climbed up the metal rungs of the ladder to the hayloft. Within seconds bales of hay tumbled to the concrete floor.
    Cassidy didn’t want to be reminded of her half sister. For nearly two weeks she’d remembered Angie and Felicity’s conversation by the pool, and she’d watched as Angie had set her plan into motion. It bothered her how Angie had begun hanging around the stable, talking and smiling at Brig as he worked, laughing with him, turning on the charm. Cassidy wanted to believe that Brig was just being polite to the boss’s daughter, but it was more than that. He, like every other male in Prosperity, responded to Angie. Male to female. It wouldn’t take long before he and she were making out and…the image of their two bodies, slick with sweat, panting and heaving, flitted through Cassidy’s mind.
    A sour taste rose in the back of her throat.
    Brig didn’t bother with the ladder, just swung down from the haymow and landed lightly on his booted