Again she tried to release her seat belt and realized it was no use, the damned buckle was jammed tight. Hell! She was going to have to cut the seat belt . . . but with what? Grabbing at the console, she tried to open the lid, but it, too, was mangled. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, forcing one finger through the opening . . . while in her left hand, she still held her gun. There was a knife in her pocket. If she could just reach it . . . or the radio . . . or her cell phone . . . or her safety pack. If she were just wearing her safety pack—but she’d been off duty, so 12
Lisa Jackson
the small radio she sometimes wore at her shoulder was lost in the backseat. She hadn’t thought she’d need it in confronting Lucky.
Jaw tight, she tried to reach into her pocket where she kept a pocketknife with a serrated blade, one that could saw through the seat belt.
She struggled to push her right hand into her pants and tried vainly to tamp down her panic, the feeling that any second she might go into shock and render herself useless.
Don’t even think that way. Just keep working. You can do this, you can.
Swallowing back terror, she felt the knife with her fingertips. Come on, come on. She eased her hand farther into the pocket, all the while listening above the pounding of her heart and the wintry rush of the wind for footsteps or snapped twigs or any noise that didn’t fit in this frigid wilderness, any human sound that would warn her of the predator who stalked her. She would be found by her colleagues; she knew that. Eventually. Given enough time, the sheriff’s department would locate her vehicle. Though not equipped with a computer, there were devices within the vehicle that would send out signals and the Jeep would be located. By the good guys. But with the department stretched thin, and her own request that she needed some time alone, she would either be captured or freeze to death before anyone came looking.
Fear and fury swept through her just as her fingers clenched around the knife. Finally!
She concentrated on pulling the small weapon up her leg, out of the pocket, away from the pain.
CHOSEN TO DIE
13
Hands shaking, she finally extracted the knife. Painstakingly, she opened the blade, then madly slashed at the air bag, which hissed and slowly collapsed. She pushed it aside and then began to saw at the seat belt. Her cheeks were numb, her fingers unresponsive as they began to freeze.
If she were uninjured she could have sliced through the belt quickly. As it was, it took all of her strength. She began sawing and felt rather than saw that she wasn’t alone.
Holy shit.
She froze. The fingers of her left hand were clenched around her semi-automatic Glock. Cramped as she was, she needed the flexibility of the pistol. Once she was free of the wreckage, she could try for the shotgun again, see if she could get the catch to release.
She heard nothing save the scream of the wind and her own panicked heartbeat. She saw nothing but white on white, millions of furious snowflakes falling from the sky, creating a shifting curtain where only shadows and her own imagination created images. Her heart was racing wildly. I know you’re out there, you prick. Show yourself. Nothing.
She licked her cracked lips, told herself that she was imagining things. She usually didn’t take much stock in “gut feelings” or “women’s intuition” or “cop’s instincts.” But now, in this lonely frozen canyon . . . Was that movement? In the thicket only ten feet from the vehicle?
Heart drumming, she squinted as ice crystals peppered her face.
Nothing.
14
Lisa Jackson
No! Yes, something was definitely moving . . . She dropped the knife and put both hands on the pistol, training it through the shattered windshield. Another shadow.
She pulled the trigger as the image leaped. Bam!
The bullet hit the bole of a snow-blanketed pine. Bark and chunks of ice and snow exploded. A great buck leaped out from behind the trees and sprang up the hill, a frightened gray shadow disappearing into the whiteout.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, adrenaline spiking through her bloodstream. A deer. Only a damned deer. She let her breath out slowly, started sawing again, and had convinced herself she was overreacting when she saw something move in the fragments of her rearview mirror.
She looked again and it was gone.
Get over yourself.
One last swipe with the knife and the seat belt released just as she felt a sharp sting against her nape. What?
She slapped the back of her neck, felt something cold and metallic, a small missile lodged near her spine. Her heart turned to stone as she yanked a dart free.
Her insides liquified.