She couldn’t let those rat bastards bully her into changing her plans. She checked for traffic and then crossed the road, riding on the left shoulder, putting some distance between herself and the jerks in the SUV.
This time, they said nothing as she passed.
She relaxed into her ride, now only a hundred feet or so from the turnoff. More than once, she’d seen a moose—
The roar of an engine. Tires squealing on asphalt.
She glanced over her shoulder to see the black SUV cross the centerline, heading straight toward her.
What the…?
Were they freaking insane?
On a surge of adrenaline, she turned her handlebars toward the forest, instinct driving her toward the cover of trees. But this side of the highway had a steep five-foot drop from the road to the forest floor. She would have taken her chances and ridden her bike over the edge, but the SUV was too fast. Its bumper hit her rear tire and sent her hurtling over the handlebars, her scream cut short when she struck a tree.
Bone snapped. Brakes shrieked. The forest floor rushed up at her, drove the breath from her lungs when she hit, landing face down.
Men’s laughter.
“Die, bitch!”
She fought to inhale, pain exploding in her side. As the world went dark, she heard them drive away.
It waspain that roused Sasha as she fought to get air into her lungs.
Stay awake, or you’ll die here.
She raised her head, spit pine needles and dirt from her mouth, and struggled to sit up. But the pain in her ribs and chest was unbearable, and it was all she could do to roll onto her back. Without the breath to scream or cry for help, she lay there, feeling as if there were a fifty-pound weight on her chest. She knew what that meant.
Pneumothorax. A collapsed lung.
Your phone.
Where was it?
It was zipped into the right pocket of her cycling shorts.
She tried to reach for it with her right hand, but pain stopped her, her wrist clearly broken. But retrieving it with her left hand was impossible because it forced her to reach across her body, putting pressure on her collapsed lung and ribs that must be broken. She steeled herself against the pain and tried with her right hand once more. The zipper wasn’t completely zipped, the gap at the top large enough for a fingertip. Gritting her teeth, she worked her finger inside, pushed the zipper down, and drew the phone out with two fingers, dropping it onto her chest.
She took it with her left hand, searched her contacts, and called Megs.
Megs answered, the familiar sound of her voice putting a lump in Sasha’s throat. “Hey, Sasha, what’s up?”
Dizzy from pain and lack of breath, Sasha managed to get out only a handful of words. “Help me! Hit … by car … near … Caribou turnoff. Can’t… breathe.”
Then the world went dark again.
Darius Silva pouredhimself a cup of coffee, relieved that today’s action had gone so well. After nine months of hard detective work, the son of a bitch who’d murdered Reina Hernandez was behind bars.
“Way to go, Silva.” Julian Darcangelo clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “I’m glad that bastard is off the streets.”
“Thanks, man.”
As a detective with Major Crimes Investigations, Darius didn’t work directly with Darcangelo. Still, the man had a reputation for getting the job done, and Darius respected that. If even half the shit people said about him was true, he was a badass.
Darius made his way down the hallway toward Conference Room 2 for the debriefing, nodding to those who congratulated him along the way.
“Congrats, Silva.”
