Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
My fingers scraped one last time.
Then I reeled back with a cry, dropping hard onto my ass as my heart punched so hard against my chest that I was sure I was going to have a heart attack right there in the woods by myself.
I gulped at the air, hoping that enough oxygen might make me less dizzy, might be able to clear my mind. But with each deep breath, my nose burned with the scent of rot.
Because when I’d scraped that last bit of dirt away, it had been eyes staring up at me. Open. Unblinking. Familiar. They were the same eyes I saw behind my lids each night when I tried to sleep.
Except, of course, they were no longer looking at me through the face of a freshly murdered body.
Oh, no.
This was a several-day-old corpse. The peachy skin was a mottled gray-green with darkened veins, clouded and sunken eyes, and a rounder, more bloated-looking face.
And, well, we weren’t going to talk about the insect activity.
Even just thinking it made me flip over onto all fours, dry heaving for several long, agonizing moments.
The scent was strong, drifting out of the makeshift grave on the breeze that started to kick up the leaves around me.
“Okay. Alright. Okay,” I murmured to myself, crawling a few more feet away, sure a little distance would help my stomach stop rolling.
This was what I thought I would find. There was no reason to be losing it like this.
My hands were sweating profusely, so I slipped off my gloves.
I sat back on my heels, trying to talk myself into turning around, pulling out my phone, and taking a picture.
Because what if cameras did see me? What if they came back and moved the body?
The cops would think I was crazy.
I needed proof.
Swallowing hard, I reached for my phone, unlocking it, then toggling over to my camera.
Then I turned, hoping that seeing the corpse through the lens might make it easier to detach myself from it.
As I raised my hand, I did catch a face.
But it wasn’t one belonging to the body on the ground.
No.
It was a man in the woods just a few yards behind him.
My heart lurched.
The sweat on my body turned to ice water.
Some voice in my head told me not to panic, that there were many reasons for someone to be in the woods. Hell, I took walks and hikes through the woods all the time. Granted, those were woods belonging to the state, not private property. But people did stuff like that all the time, didn’t they? Go where they didn’t belong?
That said, weren’t people usually dressed for an early morning walk or hike? In bright colors, with reflective gear? Not decked out all in black. Like a criminal. Like me.
But when people both randomly out for a stroll unexpectedly came across each other, they said something, they waved, they offered a pressed-lip smile.
This guy stared at me, dark eyes unreadable.
Some heightened animal instinct in me saw the way his muscles tensed just a second before he lunged.
And I ran.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hazel
My body decided before my brain did.
I just turned away and ran. Harder than I ever had, ignoring the branches that clawed at my arms and the stitch that immediately started in my side.
The sun hadn’t fully broken yet, only streaks of pale gold threading through the fog that still hugged the cold ground.
My shoes—cheap canvas sneakers not made for running—slapped the dry earth, each step kicking up leaves and adrenaline.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me.
My heart froze then thundered, the sound of it in my ears nearly drowning out everything else.
Another crunch, this time closer.
He was gaining on me already, tearing through the underbrush, steady, relentless. Like he wasn’t even winded. When I could barely suck in a breath.
“Get back here,” the man snarled.
Not a chance.
I ducked beneath a low branch and almost lost my footing on a patch of leaves slick with morning dew.
The world tilted—my shoulder slammed into a tree trunk, pain flashing hot up my arm.
I shoved away and kept going, tasting copper from biting the inside of my cheek.
Something—root, rock, fate—caught my foot. I pitched forward, the breath punched out of my lungs as I hit the ground.
For a moment, everything was sound. The pounding of my pulse, the ragged rasp of my breath, the rustle of leaves disturbed by footsteps closing in.
I scrambled, clawing at dirt and leaves and brambles. My nails filled with soil. The barely healed scratches on my palms opened back up.
My legs didn’t want to listen to my mind—my muscles trembled, rubbery from panic and exhaustion.
A shadow fell across me.
I twisted, kicked out. My heel connected with something solid, drawing a grunt from my pursuer.
Damn it—”
I flipped over, not wanting to see him, not wanting the look in his eye to freeze me in place.