Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(101)

He owes that to his own daughter.

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111

It is pitch dark when Hanna comes around. The airbag has deployed, she is freezing cold, and her forehead is throbbing with pain.

It takes a few seconds for her to grasp where she is.

Then she remembers—the crazy chase along the E14, the car behind her that came too close. The impact that made her lose control of her own vehicle.

She turns her head cautiously, trying to see if her neck is injured. Her muscles cooperate; everything seems to be fine except for the pain above her eyes.

When she gently touches the skin, it hurts even more.

She brings her finger to her lips and tastes blood.

Panic floods her body. She is trapped in the car, and there are no lights anywhere to be seen. No houses, not a soul in sight.

Where is she?

She was driving through the forest just before she was forced off the road. Everything happened so fast she can’t remember where she was, just that the other car was way too close and bumped her from behind.

If the driver wanted to hurt her, then he or she must have followed her all the way from Zuhra’s apartment building.

The thought is terrifying, although she should have known that the people exploiting Zuhra would be ruthless.

It is freezing and her teeth are chattering. The cold has penetrated her bones; her shallow breath turns to white vapor. She must have been unconscious for quite some time, because all the warmth has left her body.

She needs to get out of here.

Hanna turns the key. The engine starts—thank God—but the wheels simply spin. She tries putting the car in reverse, but it is going nowhere.

The beam of the headlights illuminates her surroundings. The tall fir trees form a dark wall in every direction; farther away she can see a large rock. The trees are close together, but somehow she has managed to steer between the trunks and stopped the car before hitting anything. Her front fender is no more than three feet away from a huge fir.

The fact that she has survived is practically a miracle.

The realization of how close to death she came makes her whole body start shaking.

If she had collided with the tree, the impact would probably have killed her. As it is, she has sustained only a cut to her forehead. She might well be suffering from concussion too; she feels dizzy and slightly nauseous and is finding it difficult to focus.

Her teeth won’t stop rattling, her fingers are ice cold, and she has virtually no feeling in her feet.

She must call Daniel, send for help.

But when she fumbles in her pocket for her phone, she can’t find it. Did she have it out when she got into the car?

She often puts it on the passenger seat because it’s illegal to hold a phone while driving.

She tries hard to remember, but everything is hazy. All she wants to do is sit back and go to sleep.

Her eyelids are heavy, but the nausea is getting worse.

She feels so bad that she opens the door to throw up. Her stomach turns itself inside out as she spews onto the snow.

At least it wakes her up.

She absolutely must not fall asleep in the car. If she doesn’t get out of here, she could easily freeze to death during the night.

Just like Amanda did.

Hanna forces herself to search systematically for her phone, keeping the engine running. She switches on the interior light and gropes around on the floor by the pedals in case it was thrown off the seat when she slammed on the brakes.

It must be in the car; she can’t have dropped it when she ran from the apartment building. She can’t be that unlucky.

She bends down as best she can, but finds nothing. If it isn’t on the floor, then maybe it’s slipped down the side of the driver’s seat? She reaches as far as she can between the two front seats—nothing.

Tears of frustration fill her eyes. How could she be stupid enough not to tell Daniel what she was planning to do?

No one knows where she is.

If only she’d at least sent a text.

The nausea is increasing again; she is so tired; the desire to sleep is almost irresistible. She pinches the palm of her hand, forces herself to concentrate.

Could her phone have been thrown the other way, ended up under the back seat?

She doesn’t want to get out into the biting cold, but scrambles into the back instead. She kneels down, feels her way slowly across the rubber mats with her fingertips, whispering, “Please, please.”

Suddenly she feels something solid. It must be her phone.

The relief is overwhelming. Carefully she teases it out from beneath the passenger seat.

Please don’t let it be broken.

Hanna presses the screen, sees it light up.

Then it goes dark again.

She presses it once more, but nothing happens. She knows that the battery wasn’t run down when she left home; she should have at least half left.

Then she understands. It’s an iPhone; their batteries can’t withstand extreme cold. The temperature inside the car has fallen so low that the phone has shut down. It won’t work until it has warmed up.

She tucks the phone inside her sweater, inside her bra.

The metal is icy, but she tells herself that’s a good thing— she needs to stay awake until she can get help. She can keep the engine running for a while, but she doesn’t know how long it will last before the battery dies. It is twenty to nine in the evening.