The P.I.
Friday, August 28—evening SHE SURFACED SLOWLY, her senses awakening one by one. She felt the pain first—a hammering headache near her right temple. And heat. Humid air pressed in on her carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and the noise of traffic. Engines thrummed and a horn blasted in a staccato rhythm.
Close by, voices shouted. Angry male voices. She caught enough of what they were saying to wonder if their language was turning the surrounding air blue.
Where was she? What had happened? Panic bubbled up as the questions swirled through her mind. Opening her eyes, she managed to get a glimpse of her surroundings before a fresh wave of pain had her wincing and squeezing them shut again. She'd registered enough to know that it was dark out. Not pitch–black, but a sort of twilight–gray. She was in a car. The plastic divider that separated her from the front seat made her think it had to be a taxi.
Opening her eyes again, she gritted her teeth against the pain and took more careful stock of her surroundings. She was half lying on the backseat. The shattered window to her right gave her the first clue that she'd been in an accid ... read full excerpt from The P.I. ebook
