Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce
CHAPTER ONE
Darkness suggested itself across bashful starlight. Ever since the snowstorm two weeks ago, the highway leading through the southern heart of the Black Forest in the Baden-Württemberg region of Germany had become treacherous. Within view, three of seven safety lights lining 317—out. Herman counted them again from within the cabin of his hauling truck. A fading flicker of blue and yellow emitted from one. Fine then. Two out of seven. Still—maintenance teams should have visited. He zipped by the spasming light, moving on to darker portions of the road.
Herman gripped his steering wheel, muttering a quiet curse beneath his breath as he guided his large vehicle along the damp asphalt. The snow had cleared, mostly, but the cold had damaged the highway lights. Portions of the road seemed nearly abandoned. Herman knew friends—other drivers—who were avoiding this section of highway. But he couldn’t afford the time wasted. No, not now. He drove along the lonely, poorly illuminated road, a swirl of browns and greens passing by his windows as he zipped through the forest, testing his vehicle’s capacity for urgency. He’d already passed Rotmeer, and could see Feldberg Mountain in the distance.
Couldn’t be late. Not tonight. He had to make the return trip in time to get some sleep before the custody hearing tomorrow.
Herman frowned to himself at the thought of what the morning heralded, and, for the briefest moments, he glanced down to the picture of the young, hazel-eyed girl taped to his dashboard. Some of his frustrations melted as he looked at his daughter suspended in time.
Only a brief moment of inattention… He looked up again. And yelled.
Someone was standing in the middle of the road.
Herman went cold, slamming on the brakes, twisting the steering wheel to avoid the person.
The tires screeched, protesting the sudden change in motion. Herman could feel the cabin threatening to tip. His heart had already escaped his chest and seemed to be twisting somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. His scream was lost in the sound of the whining brakes. The truck veered off the road, slamming into one of the light poles. The pole crumpled, and glass from the light shattered, scattering across his windshield with insistent taps.
Three of seven lights. Herman sat there, trembling, blood dripping down his nose. It took him a moment to fully realize the airbag had deployed. His hands still gripped the steering wheel. For a moment, it almost felt like he couldn’t let go. He stared at the back of his knuckles. His vision was blurry, adrenaline pulsing through him. His hands were white. A spectacle of red dripped against the back of his hand. He reached up and felt warm liquid seeping from his nose.
He shook his head and blinked a few times. Had he hit the person?
He looked through the windshield once more, and was struck by how lonely and desolate these parts of the forests were. No one around. He glanced up and down the side of the road, given a good view from where he’d crashed, and noticed no cars parked on the shoulder. A slow trickle of fear probed down his spine.
Herman wanted to lock himself in the cabin, call the police. But a small niggling sense of worry caused him to glance down at the picture on his dashboard once more. The person in the road had looked like a young girl. A blossom of courage propelled him toward the edge of his seat. He unbuckled, pushed away the airbag, and then opened the door.
Normally, though middle-aged, he was spry enough to drop from the cabin in one leap; now, though, with trembling footfalls, he used the metal step leading to the ground and eased himself from the cabin.
The cold settled on him like a blanket. The chill winds seemed to have picked up. Above him, the safety light he’d struck was dead. The one across the road, a few hundred yards back, still sputtered and blinked blue.
It was in this haze of pulsing light that he spotted the person again. A woman. A girl. Perhaps something in between. Young, certainly no older than twenty. She stood in the middle of the road, not having moved an inch from when he’d first spotted her. Standing. Standing was good. It meant she was still alive.
“Hello? Fräulein!” he called. “Are you okay?” He raised a hand, gesturing at where she stood in the middle of the highway.
She didn’t turn. She continued to stare, eyes fixed ahead, glaring down the open road.
Herman