Page 1 of Control Freak
Chapter One
Isla
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I lean forward over the steering wheel, straining my eyes to find the side road amidst the rapidly falling snow. With no marker, I have to assume it’s the slightly overgrown trail. Tree-lined and growing darker by the moment, I say a quick prayer and slowly ease my car toward what I hope to be my last delivery of the day.
Gravel crunches under my tires. My body rocks against the turbulent terrain. I silently curse my brother for calling out today, leaving me with the task. I thought running Green Valley Books would mean more of a managerial position, but when anyone calls out, I have to take up the slack. That means making sure anyone who’s placed an order—impending snowstorm or not—receives their books. Besides, I would hate to be snowed in without something to read.
I double-check the address, grateful my GPS hasn’t given up on me; connection up here in the mountains can be spotty. My wipers work overtime, clearing away the delicate white flakes decorating the windshield. When my destination appears, I let out a long exhale.
“That has to be it.” I mutter to myself, grateful at first to have arrived, but am immediately overtaken with a new tension, thelong driveway leading up to the house. There’s no way my Honda Civic will make it up there.
I’m so freaking stupid. My brother has four-wheel drive. This is a suicide mission.
The bag of books in the passenger seat glares up at me. It’s like they’re screaming, “Don’t abandon us! Walk us to the door.”
“Fine.” I snatch them up, take a cleansing breath, and pop my door open.
The cold wind is a sheet of needles against my face. I tuck the books under my parka, grateful I had the foresight to wear my snow boots to work. I’m normally not this prepared, but I saw the weather alert come across my homepage when I was checking my email—a happy accident.
The ominous sky shows no mercy, snowflakes settling on my eyelashes. I have a frozen pizza, a bottle of wine, and the latest Mary Kubica novel at home. This comforting thought is the hand on my back gently nudging me up the steep driveway.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the porch. I bat at wet strands of hair plastered against my face. My fingers are too frozen to work properly. I give up and reach for the doorbell.
“Don’t touch that.” A booming voice blares from overhead. The bag of books falls from my hand.
“Shit.” I scramble to pick it up. “Sorry.” I’m breathing even heavier now. “It’s Isla Davie from Green Valley Books here with?—”
“I know what you’re here for.” I flinch at the curtness of his tone. “Just set them outside the door.” My eyes widen in shock. I’m both insulted at the way he’s speaking to me and unnaturally intrigued by the mystery man barking orders. I’ve always been drawn to gruff men.
Yeah, and look how that’s treated you in the past, sister?
“Sure thing.” I shake off the voice inside my head, reminding myself of the cozy rewards waiting for me at home. “Thanks for your order.” I wave at what I assume is the doorbell camera.
The speaker clicks off in response without ceremony.
“Well.” I force the smile to remain on my face, shaking off the interaction. You never know what people are going through. Sometimes it’s easier to give them the benefit of the doubt and pretend like everything’s hunky-dory.
When I turn back toward my car, the storm’s picked up. A sheet of white stretches out in front of me. I’d better beat feet if I’m going to get off this mountain. With the wherewithal to pull my hood up this time, I step from the porch onto the first step and lose my breath.
My heel slips.
My arms swim through the air in search of purchase.
A white hot pain erupts in my hip as I crash into the edge of the wooden step, before I topple down the rest of the way. I land flat on my back, staring at the sky.
“Ohhhhhh.” I groan, fat snowflakes pelting my face. That’s going to bruise, but it could’ve been a lot worse. I roll onto my side and pray I can make it to standing. It’s slow going, but I’m up and easing my way down the hill toward my car. Someone upstairsmustbe looking out for me because I make it down the hill. I wiggle into the driver’s seat and slam the door behind me.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whisper to no one and pull my hood down, wipe the wetness from my cheeks, and start my car. Slowly, I three-point turn it back in the direction I came from.
With my heart in my throat, I strain to see, hoping I’m on the trail. My tires skid every few feet, causing me to gasp. “You’re fine. Take it slow. Mary Kubica.” I repeat over and over until my tires completely lose traction.
My hands grip the wheel. I turn into the skid, but it’s too late. A metal crunch pierces the air. My weight catapults forward, ribs hitting the wheel and then…
Silence.
Goes on.
Forever.
