The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

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      Jillian’s eyelids snapped open.

      But she couldn’t see…all around was darkness.

      She groaned as a burning, grinding pain shrieked through her body. And her vision, oh God, why couldn’t she make out anything? Her legs were on fire, her head thudding, something covering her mouth and nose, cutting off her air.

      Oh, sweet God in heaven, what happened?

      Where am I?

      And please, please make the pain stop!

      She tried to draw in a breath, gasping around whatever was over her face, suffocating her.

      Panic engulfed her, but she attempted to put it at bay. It was dark, but not completely, and the object over her face wasn’t pressing down, wasn’t stopping the flow of air completely. Her mind cleared as she tried to bat it away. What the hell was it? A pillow? No. A damned balloon? No…oh dear God, it was an air bag!

      Teeth chattering from the cold or shock, she flailed at the damned bag and pushed it to one side. Despite the pounding in her head, she tried to focus. Slowly she realized she was trapped in the twisted wreckage that had been her Subaru.

      A car wreck?

      I was in an accident. Oh Holy Mother, my ankle!

      She sucked in a breath, tried to think back. She was trapped inside a car, her ten-year-old Subaru Outback, now mangled and dead. It was freezing cold, wind screaming through the shattered windshield. Her head pounded and she felt blood, sticky and warm, in her hair.

      Her thoughts were scattered and disjointed, as if she were drunk, blackness threatening to pull her under, pain keeping her conscious.

      You’ve got a concussion, you idiot. You’ve got a stupid concussion. That’s why you feel light-headed. Wake up, Jillian, and figure this out! You’re going to freeze in here.

      She moved just a bit.

      Pain stopped her cold.

      Every bone in her body felt as if it were broken, her muscles and skin bruised, agony throbbing through her joints.

      Gritting her teeth, she tried to move again, but her left foot, pinned beneath the crumpled dash, wouldn’t budge. Pain jagged up her leg. Nausea boiled in her throat and she nearly retched. She felt the blood drain from her face and knew she was on the verge of passing out.

      Don’t do it. Don’t let go. Hang on, whatever you do. Losing consciousness will kill you.

      Taking deep breaths, her chest aching as if she’d cracked ribs, she struggled to stay awake.

      God, it was cold. So damned cold. She tried the ignition, twisting the key, but nothing happened, as if the starter itself were ruined. She tried again and again, but there wasn’t so much as a click indicating the engine was trying to spark.

      “Damn it all to hell,” she muttered, giving up on any hope of starting the car.

      She stared out the splintered glass to the coming dusk and the snow blowing in wild circles, a million swirling flakes caught in the dim beams of headlights twisted at odd angles but still, somehow, giving off cockeyed illumination.

      Maybe someone would see her, find her because of the headlights splashing in macabre patterns upward through the trees.

      And if they don’t, what happens? You freeze. Right here in this wreck of a car. You have to get out, Jillian, and you have to get out now!

      “Help!” she cried. “Someone, help me!”

      Her voice was hoarse and faint against the wind.