The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson
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up her leg. How could she save herself?
Spruce Creek, Montana? Why the hell had she been there? What was it that had propelled her from her home to this frigid, forested wilderness? She couldn’t quiet grasp it, but there was something that connected her to this state…something that bothered her, something she couldn’t pull out of her subconscious. What was it? Oh God. Her pulse jumped. She did know someone in Montana, someone she was pretty certain she hadn’t raced out in the middle of the winter to visit:
Mason Rivers.
Her ex-husband.
Her stomach knotted as she tried to conjure up Mason’s face and came up blank. She had the vague feeling that he had brown hair and hazel eyes and kept himself in pretty good shape, but she couldn’t recall his features, at least at the moment. Besides, he was in Helena, an attorney. No, make that a defense lawyer.
Though she couldn’t remember why, she was fairly certain Mason was part of the reason she was in Montana in the first place.
The cold became a soothing blanket, drawing her under as she shivered. Don’t let go. Fight, Jillian. For God’s sake, fight!
She forced her eyes open. “Help!” she yelled again, determined to find a way out of this mess. “Can anybody hear me? I’m down here! For God’s sake, someone, please! Help me!” Again she pounded on the horn.
But her words echoed back at her through the canyon, taunting her in their naivete and fear, the lights of the car dimming as the battery died, the horn becoming little more than a weak honk.
She kept at it, but within minutes the battery had failed. Jillian beat on the horn, but its sound had died away and her voice was little more than a desperate, croaky whisper, while the headlights had grown impossibly dim.
“Oh God,” she murmured, alone in the dark.
Worn out, she could do nothing but wait and pray and try to stay awake, to keep the cold and unconsciousness at bay, until there was only silence.
Dark, disturbing silence.
She wondered about her life and those she’d loved. Would she ever see them again? Or was this it? Was her life truly over?
A shadow in the cracked rearview mirror moved. It seemed far away, and yet, oddly out of place, a scuttling umbra on this white landscape.
Her heart jumped.
She twisted her head. Searched the darkening terrain.
Had someone found her?
Was it her imagination? Or was someone or something out there? Maybe it was just the snow falling, an optical illusion.
She started to open her mouth to yell, then stopped before making a sound.
There was a chance it was nothing. Her mind playing tricks on her.
Nerves tight as bowstrings, she stared into the night, eyes straining, heart pounding.
A rescuer would have called out.
Anyone searching down here would have seen her car. Right?
Why else would anyone be in this lonesome, frozen canyon?
Another movement in the cracked mirror.
Her heart leaped to her throat.
Again she started to scream for help and again she snapped her mouth closed and bit her tongue.
Frantic, she tried to make out the movement in the shadows.
Was she hallucinating?
Or…
You have to take a chance. Friend or foe, you need help! You can’t stay here in the car if you want to get out of this alive!
And yet…she didn’t move a muscle and the world began to spin as if she were going to pass out. She struggled to keep her eyes open, her gaze vigilant.
Pinned in the car, unable to free herself and all alone, she was such easy prey. Too easy.
Paralyzing fear controlled her.
For the first time since the accident, she felt incredibly and ultimately vulnerable, entirely at the mercy of whomever or whatever was outside. The skin on the back of her neck prickled and she fought the urge to scream. Muscles tight, she stared through the broken glass. Please be a good guy. Please…oh please…
Another movement.
She gasped, nearly screaming, then held back. She grabbed a piece of glass, cutting her hand, needing something to use as a weapon.
Don’t be silly, she told herself, but her blood was pumping, fear jetting through her veins, and yet she felt a wave of darkness threatening to pull her under. Don’t fall victim to your own wild imagination or fright. You’ve watched too many teen slasher movies. Call out to whomever’s out there. You need help. You have to get medical attention or you will die.
However, she resisted the urge to let out even the barest of whispers.
Because she knew.
Deep in her gut she knew.
Call it feminine intuition, or some kind of animal instinct, but, trapped in the twisted metal of her car, unable to get out of this steep ravine, she was as easy quarry as a rabbit in a snare. She felt her scalp wrinkle with foreboding and she was certain that whatever was prowling these snowy, night-darkened woods was the embodiment of pure, malevolent evil.
Her insides turned as cold as death and still the blackness tried to pull her under, tugging hard.
Shivering, struggling to stay conscious, she set her jaw and wondered if, within the wreckage of her old Subaru, there was anything other than the piece of glass she could use as a weapon. Her camera! It was heavy. She could swing the strap of the case like a bola or Mace and hurl the Canon .35-millimeter at—
Another movement, this time closer.
Swift. Dark. Scurrying.
In front of the car.
Her pulse skyrocketed for a moment, jarring her awake.
Jesus, help me!
Her every nerve was strung tight. Blood oozed through her fingers as she clenched the shard of glass. The blackness toyed with her brain, seducing her to let go.
She held her breath. Listened hard, her ears straining, her eyes trying to pierce the coming darkness.
But she saw nothing and the wind died inexplicably.
Goosebumps pimpled her flesh and she fought to stay awake.
Suddenly, the silence within that deep, frozen chasm was deafening.
Chapter Six
Alvarez was naturally suspicious.
But then again, it came with the territory.
She hadn’t been born distrusting people; no, she’d been a happy child, but all that had changed about the time she’d entered high school.
You can’t outrun your past.
She knew that, of course, but couldn’t help trying. She probably always would, she thought as she hurried through the lobby of the courthouse, where she’d testified in a domestic violence case. She’d heard before that she was a good witness. Cool. Calm. Not rattled easily.
Defense lawyers hated to come up against her and today had been no exception.
She pushed open the doors of the courthouse and, feeling the bite of the wind, tightened the scarf around her neck. Despite the fact the temperature was hovering near freezing, she was wearing a knee-length skirt, high-heeled boots, a snug turtleneck and a jacket. Small silver hoops and a matching pendant necklace were her only accessories and she’d twisted her hair away from her face a little less severely. Her testimony had been clear and concise, no matter how hard the defense lawyer tried to make her say something