LEFT TO DIE by Lisa Jackson
On Sale: July 29th
Paperback
484 pages
ISBN-10: 1420102761
ISBN-13: 9781420102765
#1 New
York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson returns with a new paperback original!
LEFT TO DIE is the first of a new series focusing on two female detectives: Regan
Pescoli and Selena Alvarez. In this first book, the two are on the trail of a
serial killer who leaves his victims exposed to the elements and left to die...
A serial killer is stalking the Bitteroot Mountains surrounding Grizzly
Falls, Montana. The Sheriff's department and the FBI are frustrated as they're
dealing with an intense blizzared as well as a psychopath who, after days of keeping
them in his hidden lair, strips his victims, binds them to trees and leaves them
out in the elements to let nature take its course and kill them from exposure.
He always kills around the 20th of the month and he leaves cryptic notes nailed
to the tree, along with a star symbol notched into the bark. The press has dubbed
him the Star Crossed Killer though the public doesn't know everything about the
killings.
When Jillian Rivers' car crashes on the icy slopes, she awakens
with a twisted, broken ankle, bruised ribs and a concussion. She's rescued by
Zane MacGregor, a local outdoorsman who takes her to his cabin. Meanwhile, Regan
and Selena are trying to track down Jillian, but something about her disappearance
doesn't match the other abductions. It all leads to a cliffhanger climax which
will lead into Lisa Jackson's 2009 paperback original, CHOSEN TO DIE!
Lisa Jackson
is the number-one New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy-five
novels, including Shiver, Fatal Burn, Deep Freeze, and The Morning After. She
has over ten million copies of her books in print. She lives with her family and
an eighty-pound dog in the Pacific Northwest. Readers can visit her website at www.lisajackson.com.
It’s November, and sub-zero temperatures and blizzard conditions assault the Bitterroot Mountains near Grizzly Falls, Montana. After the storm, Ivor Hicks --- one of Pinewood County’s more eccentric and colorful characters --- discovers the body of a young woman tied to a tree. In his 76 years, whiskey-chugging Ivor has witnessed his share of misery. Decades earlier, he claimed to have been abducted by aliens, who used his body to conduct experiments and then implanted him with an invisible chip. But he has never been as frightened as the day he stumbles upon the dead female.
Ivor’s discovery is just the beginning. Grace Perchant --- Grizzly Falls’s ghost-whispering “wolf-woman” who communes with the dead --- finds a missing vehicle abandoned in the mountains. As more bodies are found and another woman disappears, the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department, headed by Dan Grayson, re-doubles their efforts. The FBI is called in, and they have their own ideas and ways of operating. After the media gets wind of the gruesome nature of the murders and the clues the killer leaves behind, they dub the psychopathic murderer “the Star Crossed Killer.”
With another blizzard approaching and Christmas drawing near, the culprit becomes bolder, taunting the Pinewood County sheriff’s deputies with cryptic clues and leaving a trail of victims. Detectives Selena Alvarez and Regan Pescoli take the killings personally and work feverishly to catch the killer, who lures his victims to his den, strips them, ties them to a tree and leaves them to the unforgiving elements.
The two female detectives are “about as alike as oil and water.” The diet-conscious, organized and methodical Alvarez is a California transplant and a loner who shares little about her background and next to nothing about her personal life. Alvarez is unrelenting in finding the truth and thrives in a controlled environment, yet she also carries a secret that haunts her.
Pescoli’s life is a mess, and everybody knows it. She’s a single mother with ex-husbands and two teenagers who test the limits of her patience. Pescoli is an impetuous woman with lusty desires she’s not the least bit shy about having met. While lacking self-discipline, her intuition and detective’s instincts are spot-on. What both women have in common are their dedication to their jobs and their willingness to do whatever it takes to catch the killer. But will the hunters become the hunted?
In LEFT TO DIE, New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson does a great job making the Montana wilderness and its fascinating residents pop off the pages. She’s sure to please her fans who expect fast-paced, tightly-plotted thrillers, and she doesn’t shy away from explicit sex scenes or violence. In this first installment of a new series, Jackson has created a pulse-pounding novel that kept me reading into the wee hours of the morning while I tried to figure out the identity of the sadistic killer by the cliffhanger ending. I guess I’ll have to wait until 2009 --- when the second book in the series, CHOSEN TO DIE, is released --- to learn more.
--- Reviewed by Donna Volkenannt (dvolkenannt@charter.net)
 Click here now to buy this book from Amazon.com.
Prologue
Bitterroot Mountains, Montana
November
He's
going to kill you.
Right here in the middle of this snow-covered God-forsaken
valley, he's going to kill you! Fight, Wendy, fight!
Wendy Ito struggled,
battling with the ropes that cut into her bare flesh, feeling the sting of a fierce
arctic wind as it howled through the mountain ridges that surrounded them.
She was alone. Aside from the psychopath who had captured her.
God, why
had she trusted him?
How in the world had she thought that he was her
rescuer? That his mission was to heal her until, after the blizzard, he could
call for help or take her to the nearest hospital?
Had it been his sincere
concern as he'd come upon her wrecked car? Had it been those blue, blue eyes?
His smile? His soft words of assurance? Or had it been because she'd had no choice,
without his aid she would surely die alone in a deep, forgotten ravine?
Whatever the reason she'd believed him, trusted him.
Fool! Idiot!
He'd proved himself to be her worst nightmare, an evil wolf in sheep's clothing
and now, oh, God, now she was paying the price.
Shivering, certain she
would die, she was naked and lashed to a tree, the thick rope cutting into her
bare arms and torso, a gag so tight over her lips that she could barely breathe.
And he was close. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath sifting
around the trunk of the sturdy pine, hear him grunt as he put all his strength
into securing her, see a flash of white neoprene ski pants and parka from the
corner of her eye.
Another tug on the rope.
She gasped, her
whole body jerked even tighter against the scaly bark of the tree. Pain shot through
her and she set her jaw. She just needed him to get close enough that she could
kick hard. Hit his shin. Or his nuts.
She couldn't let him get away with
this. Wouldn't!
Her heart raced and she tried to come up with a way to
save herself, to break free of her bonds and climb up the snow-covered deer trail
he'd dragged her down. Oh, she'd fought him. Wriggling and fighting, flinging
herself at him, trying someway to free herself, to avoid being brought down here
to whatever fate he'd planned. She could still see the fresh tracks in the thick
snow. His steady, evenly-placed big boot prints and her smaller, wild, erratic
barefoot scrambles as she'd tried to get away, even though he'd prodded her with
his damned knife and there were drips of blood in the white snow, proving that
he'd cut her, that he'd meant business.
Dear God, help me, she silently
prayed to the gun-metal gray heavens threatening more snow.
He laced
the restraining ropes ever tighter.
"No!" Wendy tried to scream. "No!
No! No!" But the foul gag covered her mouth and kept her cries muffled and weak
while the panic surging through her blood caused her heart to thunder. Why? Oh,
God, why me?
She blinked back tears but felt the salty drops fall from
her eyes to stain and freeze upon her cheeks.
Don't cry. Whatever you
do, do not let him see that you fear him. Don't give the son of a bitch the satisfaction.
But don't fight either, pretend to give up, fake it and act like you've accepted
your fate. Maybe his guard will slip and you can somehow get hold of his damn
knife.
Her stomach clenched even tighter and she tried to keep his weapon,
a hunting knife used for the gutting of game, in her sights. Razor sharp, it could
slice through the ropes easily. Just as easily as it could pierce and cut her
flesh.
Oh, God...
Her knees went weak and it was all she could
do not to bawl and beg, to mewl and plead, to offer to do anything he wanted if
he would just not hurt her.
Go ahead, let him see that you're resigned
to your fate... but keep your eye on the knife with its menacing, deadly blade.
She was shivering harder now. Shaking so violently that slivers from
the bark were digging into her skin. Was she trembling because of the bitter,
Montana wind, gusts she was certain where blowing down from Canada and the arctic?
Or was she quivering from the fear that tore at her insides?
Beneath
the gag her teeth chattered and she felt the raw wind buffet her as he worked.
She caught glimpses of his legs warmed by thick hunting socks and the white ski
pants, his heavy, fur-lined parka protecting him from the very elements to which
she was exposed.
This lying son of a bitch had no intention of saving
you, of healing your wounds after the horrible car wreck. All along the sick bastard
only kept you alive, citing the storm as a reason he couldn't get help, only to
kill you. In the time he wanted. In the manner he wanted. He was savoring the
anticipation while you half fell in love with him.
Bile rose up her throat
and she nearly wretched at the thought. He'd known it. She'd seen it in his eyes,
that he'd read her utter dependency, her silly, stupid and pathetic desire to
please him.
If she could, she'd kill him.
Right here. Right
now.
She heard him grunt again, as if satisfied as he pulled the taut
rope even tighter, forcing her buttocks into the sharp bark, her shoulders to
be held fast. She could still kick, but he kept himself far from the damage she
might inflict. Even with one leg still sore from the accident she thought she
could wound, and wound badly, because of all her training in martial arts.
But he was careful to stay on the far side of the tree and keep away from her
heels. And the cold was beginning to take its toll. She had trouble focusing,
thinking of anything but the ice in her flesh, the sheer frigidity settling in
her bones.
Blackness pulled at her vision.
Each breath she drew
was labored and thin, her lungs on fire from lack of oxygen.
Maybe unconsciousness
would be the way out. The blackness was soothing, taking the sting out of the
wind.
But then she saw him move, so that he was in front of her, staring
at her with his cruel, relentless gaze.
How had she ever thought him
handsome? How had she ever fantasized about him, how had she ever considering
making love to him?
Slowly he removed the knife from his belt. Its cruel
metallic surface winked in the shifting gray light.
She was doomed.
She knew it.
Even before he slowly, inexorably raised the blade.
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