One Last Scream. Kevin O'Brien

dug the keys out of his jeans pocket. He plopped them in her hand. “Do whatever you want to do,” he grumbled. “I don’t care.”

      Amelia gave him a quick kiss. “Please, don’t be mad at me,” she whispered.

      Shane started to put his arm around her, but she broke away and fled. She could hear the other girl behind her, saying something about her boyfriend being cute and that he looked like Justin Timberlake. Amelia didn’t really hear her. Threading through the mob of partygoers, she made her way back to the kitchen.

      “Hey, wait up!” the girl yelled. “Hey, wait a minute!” But Amelia kept moving. She spotted a half-full bottle of tequila on the kitchen counter amid an assortment of empty bottles and beer cans. She swiped it up, and then tucked it inside the flap of her cardigan sweater. Heading out the kitchen door, Amelia found a walkway to the front of the house. As she hurried toward Shane’s beat-up VW Golf, she heard the girl screaming at her from the side of the townhouse. “Hey, don’t forget the cigs! I’ll pay you back! I need menthols! All right? Did you hear me?”

      Amelia waved without looking back at her, and then she ducked inside Shane’s car. Starting up the engine, she stashed the tequila bottle under her seat, and then peeled out of the parking spot. She didn’t look in her rearview mirror as she sped down the street.

      Four minutes later, she saw Marty’s MiniMart on the corner. Only a couple of cars were in the lot in front of the tacky little store; there was plenty of available parking.

      But Amelia kept going, and headed for the interstate. If she didn’t make any stops along the way, she’d reach Lake Wenatchee by about two in the morning. The gas tank was three-quarters full.

      Amelia pressed harder on the accelerator, and kept telling herself that she loved her parents and her Aunt Ina. She’d never do anything to harm them.

      Never.

      Chapter Two

      Ina McMillan hated these sinks with separate spouts for the hot and cold water. Washing her face, she had to cup her hands under the cold, and then switch over to the hot water. It was either scalding or freezing when Ina finally splashed her face. Water ran down her arms to her elbows, dampening the sleeves of her robe. What a pain in the ass. It was a major undertaking just to wash her face here.

      She didn’t like Jenna and Mark’s cabin, and she hated the country. Ina was a city girl.

      Actually, her sister and brother-in-law’s “weekend getaway” spot wasn’t a cabin. It was a slightly dilapidated little two-story Cape Cod–style house built in the fifties. There was a fallout shelter in the basement, along with a furnace that manufactured more noise than heat. Ina’s bedroom, with its cute dormer windows, slanted ceiling, and creaky twin beds, had a space heater that might as well have had FIRE HAZARD stenciled all over it. She’d been instructed not to leave the heater on overnight. Fine. Whatever. Either way, the room still felt damp, cold, and drafty.

      The house was just off the lake, and cut off from the rest of civilization by rolling wooded hills that wreaked havoc on cell phone service. There wasn’t a landline phone either. For emergencies, they were supposed to run a half mile around the lake to this old lesbian neighbor’s house and use her phone. There was also a pay phone at a diner about three miles away at the mountain road junction.

      Just what her sister and Mark saw in this godforsaken shack was a mystery to Ina. For a spot that was supposed to be so relaxing, everything was an ordeal. They couldn’t even drive up to the place. Mark had had to park the car by a turnaround on a bluff, and then they’d trekked down a steep trail through the forest, lugging their suitcases all the way. And, of course, Ina had overpacked.

      She felt like an idiot for bringing along her lacy burgundy nightgown and the matching silk robe. Flannel pajamas would have been more appropriate.

      The sexy nightwear had been a Christmas present from George last year, back when he’d thought it possible to rekindle some romance in their marriage. He was home with the kids right now. They’d agreed this weekend away from each other might do them some good—a time-out from all the tension.

      She was silly to think it would be any less tense here, with Mark and her sister.

      Ina dried off her face and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Even with her wild, wavy, shoulder-length auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup, she was still pretty. How often did other 38-year-olds get mistaken for college girls? Well, that still happened to her sometimes. She had clear, creamy skin and blue eyes. And right now, the burgundy nightgown showed off her willowy figure to good advantage.

      Padding down the hall to her room, Ina glanced over her shoulder at the partially open bedroom door. Mark and Jenna still had the light on. She half expected, half hoped Mark would come to the door and see her.

      He was the reason she’d packed the burgundy nightgown ensemble. Ina wanted to look sexy for her sister’s husband.

      But Mark wasn’t looking at her in the hallway. He was where he belonged, in bed with her sister.

      Ina retreated into her damp, drafty little bedroom and, once again, wished she’d packed her flannel pj’s. With a sigh, she bent down and switched off the space heater. She turned down her bedcovers. She was about to take off her robe, but hesitated. She heard a noise outside, and suddenly stopped moving.

      She listened to what sounded like footsteps. A hand over her heart, she crept to one of the dormer windows and looked down. Ina gasped.

      Just below her, a dark figure darted between some bushes.

      Reeling back from the window, she turned and raced down the hall. “Mark!” she called, but the word barely came out. She couldn’t get a breath. Ina burst into their bedroom. “There’s someone outside!” she whispered.

      Mark and Jenna were sitting up in bed. “Are you sure?” he asked, putting his book aside.

      She nodded urgently. “I saw someone—something—in the bushes right below my window.”

      “Someone or something?” he asked.

      Flustered, Ina gave a helpless shrug. “I—I’m not sure—”

      “It was probably just a bear,” Jenna said, a copy of Vanity Fair in her hands. She was wearing her glasses and one of Mark’s T-shirts. “They come around all the time looking for food scraps in the garbage. They’re harmless.”

      Ina hated the way her sister was talking to her as if she were a scared little girl. “Well, whatever it is,” she replied, still shaking, “this thing is right below my window, and it scared the shit out of me. What, do you expect me to go back in there and just fall asleep now? It looked like a person, Jenna.”

      “I better check it out,” Mark grumbled, getting to his feet. “Could be our uninvited houseguest is back.”

      Biting her lip, Ina watched him throw a robe over his T-shirt and boxer shorts. Mark was balding and a bit out of shape, but he still had a certain masculine sexiness. He slipped his bare feet into a pair of slippers. The uninvited houseguest was another reason she didn’t like this damn cabin.

      When they’d arrived there earlier tonight, Mark and Jenna had noticed several things out of place. Someone had tracked mud onto the kitchen and living room floors. A few empty beer bottles, some cigarette butts, and a crumpled-up potato chip bag littered the pathway from the front porch to the lake. The intruder had even built a fire in the fireplace. Jenna wondered out loud if their daughter, Amelia, had stayed there on the sly with her boyfriend. But Mark, trusting soul that he was, insisted Amelia hadn’t touched a drop in weeks, and neither had Shane. Both were nonsmokers, too. So the empty beer bottles and cigarette butts couldn’t have been theirs.

      Rolling her eyes, Jenna said he shouldn’t believe everything Amelia told him. Their daughter had a good heart, but she wasn’t exactly reliable—or honest. That was why Amelia was seeing a therapist once a week, to the tune of eighty bucks a pop.

      Ina