Crash & Burn

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Zusatztext 41017368 Informationen zum Autor Lisa Gardner  is a #1  New York Times  bestselling author. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include  Find Her !  Fear Nothing !  Catch Me !  Love You More ! and  The Neighbor ! which won the International Thriller of the Year Award. She lives with her family in New England. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof*** Copyright  © 2015 Lisa Gardner Chapter 1 I died once. I remember now, as much as I am capable of remembering anything, the sensation of pain, burning and sharp, followed by fatigue, crushing and deep. I’d wanted to lie down; I recall that clearly. I’d needed to be done with it. But I hadn’t. I’d fought the pain, the fatigue, the fucking white light. I’d clawed my way back to the land of the living. Because of Vero. She needed me. What have you done? I am weightless now. I understand, absently, this is not a good thing. Cars shouldn’t be weightless. A luxury SUV was never intended to fly. And I smell something sharp and astringent. Alcohol. More specifically, whiskey. Glenlivet. Always prided myself on drinking the good stuff. What have you done? I want to cry out. As long as I’m sailing through the air, about to die for the second time, I should at least be able to scream. But no sound comes from my throat. Instead, I stare through the plunging windshield, out into the pitch-black night, and I notice, of all things, that it’s raining. Like that night. Before . . . What have you done? It is not so bad to fly. The feeling is pleasant, even exhilarating. The limits of gravity defied, the pressure of earthbound life left far behind. I should lift my arms, spread them wide and embrace the second death looming before me. Vero. Beautiful little Vero. And then . . . Gravity takes its revenge. My car is weightless no more as it reconnects savagely with the earth. A shuddering crash. An echoing boom. My body, once in flight, now tossed like a rag doll against steering wheel, dashboard, gear shift. The sound of glass cracking. My face shattering. Pain, burning and sharp. Followed by fatigue, crushing and deep. I want to lie down. I need to be done with it. Vero, I think. And then: Oh my God, what have I done? My face is wet. I lick my lips, tasting water, salt, blood. Slowly, I lift my head, only for my temple to explode in agony. I wince, tucking my chin reflexively against my chest, then rest my aching forehead against hard plastic. The steering wheel of my car, I realize, is now crushed against my chest, while my leg is twisted at a nearly impossible angle, my knee wedged somewhere under the crumpled dash. I have fallen, I think, and I can’t get up. I hear a sound. Laughter. Or maybe it’s keening. It’s a strange sound. High-pitched, continuous and not entirely sane. It’s coming from me. More wet. The rain has found its way inside my vehicle. Or I have found a way outside. I’m not sure. Whiskey. The stench of alcohol is so strong it makes me want to vomit. Soaked into my shirt, I realize. Then, my gaze still struggling to take in my surroundings, I spy glass fragments scattered around me; the remains of a bottle. I should move. Get out. Call someone. Do something. My head hurts so damn much, and instead of velvet black sky, I see bursting white lights exploding across my field of vision. Vero. One word. It rises to the front of my mind. Grounding me. Guiding me. Urging me forward. Vero, Vero, Vero. I move. Laboriously, the keening sound replaced by a soul-wrenching scream as I attempt to extricate myself from the driver’s seat. My vehicle appears to have landed on its front end, the dash nearly crushed against me. I’m not upright, but tilted forward, as if my Audi, once it broke its nose, couldn’t regain its balan...