The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

turned toward her.
    “I must be stupid to listen, but maybe . . . show me,” he said.
    “I will.”
    To the left the mountain sheered down in a drop-off guaranteed to kill. To the right, the stone wall, varnished in a layer of ice, seeming to reach into eternity. She couldn’t see beyond the bend. Her prayer had been that a car or truck, any vehicle would appear, but the traffic was sparse in the winter over this pass and the two of them were utterly alone. In the abstract her idea made sense; but Kyle was looking at her in a way that engendered a new kind of fear. And then the thought that crystallized inside her: what would she do to save her life?
    This. I can do this. As she moved close to him, he grabbed the back of her head and pressed her mouth violently into his. Like a statue she held herself immobile, her fists constricting as she forced herself to stay still. Compliant. He was working himself up, more brutal now. She could feel the anger in him, the rage as his tongue barged into her mouth.
    “Is this what you mean?” he asked hoarsely. “Because if you can love me, I will let you live. I’ll let us live.” Wrapping her hair around his forearm, he yanked her face to him so hard that her right arm twisted in its socket. She gasped in pain.
    “Do you love me, Cammie?”
    He forced her to look into his hazel eyes. The gold was back, shimmering like flakes of metal against warm wood. Wide-set, they pleaded with her, the eyes of a manic child.
    “Yes,” she answered, as gently as she could. “Yes, Kyle, I do.”
    “Then show me again.”
    This time his hands were soft on her face. These were the hands that killed Justin. This body, this inhuman being she had to pretend to care for, leaned into her and pressed his lips against hers. Repulsed, she issued orders to her body, signals from the general of her mind to the soldiers that made up the parts of her. She commanded her mouth to follow his, her arms to flex toward him, not away. As he kissed her, she felt her mind detach from her body, separate and hover somewhere above them near the ceiling of the car.
    A lone car roared by, then vanished beyond the bend, useless to her. Finally, he pulled back and sighed contentedly. “ That’s what I remember,” he said.
    “Yes.” It was all she could manage to say.
    “You can see into me and see something worth saving.”
    “I can.”
    He moved close and put his arms around her, a lover’s embrace with no hint of violence. Gently, he put his lips to her ear and whispered, “The thing is, I’m not stupid, Cammie. I know you are lying to me. But I give you credit for trying. It was a good effort. Really, really good. A kiss before dying.”
    And then in one fluid motion he sat back and floored the gas pedal, the Jeep fishtailing as it reentered the Million Dollar Highway.
    But she was still close to him, just as she had planned to be. Beneath her, the gearshift knob rose like a beacon, only inches away, as the speedometer shot to thirty, thirty-five. Now! she screamed in her head. With all the strength she had left in her throbbing left hand she grabbed the ball of the knob, yanking it into reverse. Instantly the engine seized up with a violent spasm, the gears grinding in an almost human scream.
    “What the—” Kyle swore in a fury as he wrenched back into his seat. His strike was fast and hard. Balling his hand into a fist, he punched Cameryn in her cheek as the Jeep lurched into the other traffic lane. Bright lights shimmered behind her eyes as she held onto the gearshift, but the second punch sent her reeling and Kyle once again took control of the gearshift.
    He swore again as he tried to reset the gear, his attention solely on the car.
    It was the millisecond Cameryn had planned on, had prayed for. As his hand clutched the knob, Cameryn grasped the steering wheel and pulled to the right with every ounce of strength she had. Her elbow snapped as he broke her hold but it was too late; the Jeep pitched toward the mountain. A sickening squeal of metal against rock as the front end of the Jeep collided with granite. Sparks shot out like the end of a sparkler and then there was an explosion so loud it felt like a gunshot had ripped through her head. The breath knocked out of her as she whipped back into the seat, and then . . . silence.
    Smoke clouded the interior of the Jeep, stinging her lungs. She heard coughing and a quiet moan from Kyle. Deflated airbags hung down like white curtains as she