Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim Read Online Free PDF

plastic restrained her arms and legs. It
compressed her chest, covered her face and sealed her eyes. The stench of burned plastic filled her
nose and mouth. Fear of a panic attack merged with the attack itself. Her heart pounded against her
ribs, each beat sending sharp pains across her chest and down her arms. She couldn't see. She
couldn't breathe. She was dying.
    * * * *
    Claire drifted back to consciousness in the lethargy that follows a panic attack, unsure
where she was or how she'd gotten there, and too tired to care. Gradually, she became aware of her
body, heavy and unresponsive. Of the ash-covered ground on which she lay, of the cold, the damp,
the smoke. She turned her head and saw her car, remembered looking for Frank and finding the
burned cabin.
    There it was, behind her.
    She had to get out of here, had to find a phone and report the fire. She pulled her sweater
over her nose and staggered to her car. When it started, she wept with relief.
    She drove as fast as she dared up the bumpy track, out of the fog and into the sunshine on
top of the levee. Once away from the eerie clearing, she calmed down. She told herself that she'd
over-reacted because of what happened to Tom. Frank and Hatch weren't children. If they'd been in
the cabin, they would have escaped. Frank said he always drove his Jeep, but it wasn't there. They
could have gone somewhere in the Jeep and left the Jag behind. Or they were out on the Gulf fishing
with some of Frank's friends on another boat. They were probably okay, but she should report the
fire.
    Shortly after she reached a paved road, the extra meds kicked in. Groggy and disoriented,
Claire wandered for what seemed like hours before finding the highway, which was now full of cars
heading toward the Gulf. She squeezed in behind a minivan with surf mats tied onto the roof and
followed it to a parking lot across from the beach.
    "Are you okay, ma'am?"
    Claire lifted her head from the steering wheel. A man stood beside her car. He looked
concerned.
    "I'm fine. Just tired." Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and she slurred her words. He
watched, frowning now, as she swung her legs out of the car and pulled herself upright. "I'm really
fine." She'd taken too many pills. He probably thought she was drunk.
    Across the street, wooden stairs led down to the beach. She held on to the railing, and took
the steps one at a time like a toddler just learning to walk. Down on the sand, she threaded her way
through the towels and blankets, sand sculptures and volleyball games, apologizing when she
bumped someone, and followed the water line to a quiet spot at the far end of the beach.
    The steady rhythm of the waves comforted her. One, two, three... She counted up to seven
and then backwards from seven to zero. Up to seven and back down again, over and over. She
counted waves, dozed off, half woke to count some more, and dozed off again. Water splashed her
thighs and startled her awake. The tide must be coming in. She moved back up the beach and
thought about this morning.
    Doctor Bennett had warned that drugs and visualization could help manage her panic
attacks, but the only cure was to address the underlying cause--whatever had frightened her so
badly she'd suppressed it and, when reminded of it, panicked rather than face it. The attacks had
begun after Tom died. They were clearly related to his death, but even with therapy, she hadn't
been able to find how. There was nothing suppressed about her sorrow. She mourned him every
day.
    What could she be afraid of? The worst had already happened.
    Smoke had contributed to this morning's panic attack--she was sure of that--and it had
followed her here. Hours later and miles away she could still smell it. She sniffed the sleeve of her
blouse. The scent was in her clothes, which were also mud-stained and wet. She needed clean
clothes--and something to drink. She was dehydrated, her lips stuck to her teeth and her eyes
scratched as if she had sand under her