Short Excerpt

“Grier?” Her name tasted sour on his tongue. Pete couldn’t help himself. He brushed his fingertips along her jawline. She wasn’t as cold as he expected. Stains—something like dirt or mud—ringed her mouth, and he notched her chin down to peel her bottom lip free. Dirt. Shoved into her mouth, presumably into her throat. Hell. She would’ve suffocated by inhaling it into her lungs. He pried his attention from her face and studied her clothing. Jeans, t-shirt, a zipped sweatshirt. No shoes. Forensic techs would have to take her clothing. “What the hell did you get yourself into this time?”

He traced his thumb over the birth mark.

Grier’s eyes sprung open.

“Shit!” His fight-or flight instincts launched him into the drawers at his back a split second before logic took control.

She wasn’t dead.

Pete hauled Grier onto her side as Dr. Whedon raced to the opposite side of the exam table. Grier’s back arched in a painful curve as she fought for survival. “She has dirt in her mouth. We need to get it out before she suffocates.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance.” Dr. Whedon scurried back to the phone.

He couldn’t wait. Centering his fist between Grier’s exposed shoulder blades, he struck her as hard as he could to force the dirt up her throat. “Come on, Grier! Breathe!”

A flood of mud and stomach contents hit the tiled floor.

And Grier took her first strangled breath.