Tilly groaned, struggling to open her eyes. Confusion muddled her brain and fogged her vision. Where was she? What happened?
Her head hurt and so did her chest. And her legs… for a minute she couldn’t feel them. Panic shot through her and she realized the air bag had exploded on impact but thankfully it had automatically deflated.
She heard rustling and turned her head to check on her brother. Blood dotted his forehead where glass had shattered, and he was slumped over in the seat unconscious. The passenger door was crushed and so was the dash. Could he have internal injuries?
Fear clogged her throat along with denial. She couldn’t have just reunited with Hayden to lose him like this.
She pushed away the airbag and noticed a cut on her hand which was bleeding. The front dash was crunched and her leg was caught. Dammit.
With her other hand, she nudged her brother. “Hayden, wake up.” She shook his shoulder again, but he remained limp. “Please, Hayden. I don’t want to lose you.”
Again, no movement. Instead, blood trickled down his cheek and his arm was twisted at an odd angle. Probably broken. Terrified, she used two fingers to check for a pulse.
Please don’t die on me, she silently cried as she waited. A second passed. Another. Five more.
Finally she felt a faint pulse.Thank you, sweet Jesus.
Still, she had to get help.
Frantic, she raked her hand across the seat until she snagged her purse. Inside, she found a tissue and pressed it to her cut to stem the bleeding then dug around for her phone. Not in the purse.
The floor maybe? It was so dark she couldn’t see the floorboard and even if she could, with her leg pinned she couldn’t reach it. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and she wiggled and squirmed to free her leg but couldn’t budge it. Dear God, she had to do something.
Checking to see if her phone had flown from her purse onto the seat, she raked her hand across it, digging between the seat edges, then peered down between the console and her seat. Something metallic glinted in the dark.
Her phone. Her breathing grew raspy as she angled her hand between the space and maneuvered her fingers until she finally grasped it. An inch at a time she managed to pull it up and clutched it in her sweating fingers. Trembling with fear, she entered her passcode then called 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Accident, someone hit us,” she cried. “We’re trapped in the car.”
“Who am I speaking with?”
“Tilly Higgins,” she said shakily then named the highway where they’d crashed. “Please, hurry. My brother… unconscious.”
“Are you injured yourself, Miss?”
Was she? “I’m okay. I think. Just a cut on my hand. And I… my leg is pinned under the steering wheel.”
“I’m dispatching a team to you now. Please stay on the line until they arrive.”
Terrified, she glanced at her brother again reliving the minutes before they’d crashed. She’d told the operator they had an accident. But it wasn’t an accident.
Someone had intentionally run them off the road.
NINETY-SIX
Gus’s Goat Farm
Ellie photographed the wardrobe with the shoes and scarves inside then hurried downstairs to relay her findings. Derrick was just stepping into the house.
“The killer has definitely been here,” she told him. “Look at this.” She showed him the pictures and Derrick clenched his jaw.
“His trophies,” he said. “Just like you speculated, the sick bastard collects one of the shoes as a reminder of each victim.”
“We found the scarves he used to kill Bonnie and Jacey with their bodies.But look how many scarves are here.”
Derrick pulled a hand down his chin. “Damn. He’s planning more victims.”
