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What the hell? Her heart locked painfully as the car rocked madly in a jerking rhythm, threatening to tear the steering wheel from her grip.
Slow, slow.
Sweat popped at her collar. She took her foot off the gas and, switching her hazards on, guided the car to a lay-by on the left, insanely grateful it wasn’t on the side where the road pitched away to nothing. She killed the engine and closed her eyes for a few seconds, waiting for the irregular flutter of her pulse to calm.
A car whizzed past, and she opened her eyes.
Still alive, Jo. She exited her car on wobbly knees. She paused a moment, hands on knees, catching her breath.
The car sat cock-eyed, the flat tire making it look like it’d had one too many drinks.
Shit.
She kicked the offending tire and pressed her palms to her temples, willing the adrenaline punching through her system to burn off. This is all I need. She pressed her lips together, checked her watch. The meeting was at three. Plenty of time to get there, plenty of time to change the fucking tire.
She kicked the car one more time for good measure and stomped to the trunk. The wide expanse of water on one side and the sheer rise of uninhabited mountain on the other made her heart race just a little faster. Wind soughed between the trees.
No one’s here. Get a grip.
“This is fine. I can do this. I know how to change a tire.” Her voice sounded scratchy. Too loud.
She popped the trunk with tense fingers, then wrestled her loose hair into a band at the base of her neck. A cool breeze was welcome on the damp skin at the base of her neck. She surveyed the contents. First aid kit. Emergency hazard triangle. She lifted the floor of the trunk. A pristine spare nestled in the guts of the car.
At last, something was going her way. She wrestled the jack free from where it was tucked inside the spare tire and decided maybe she spoke too soon. It was a spindly contraption with an inadequate handle. It looked too flimsy to hold up a person, never mind a car.
She collected the wheel chocks to stop the car from rolling and wedged them behind the tires. Okay. I’m doing this. She pulled off the hubcap. Pain lanced her finger. She’d ripped the nail to the quick and blood welled at the base of her nail bed.
Shit. Jo rocked back on her heels, sucking the damaged finger, studying the lug nuts, trying not to think about the fact that no one knew where she was. If something happened—
The rumble of an engine approached and stopped.
Jo forced herself to look up. A nondescript, dusty Taurus had parked just behind her. The driver’s door opened, glass winking in the sun, and a man got out.
Whoa.
A freaking lumberjack of a man.
Black cargo pants, and gray and black checked flannel shirt snug over broad shoulders and the flat planes of his chest.
Jo straightened and picked up the jack, holding it across her body like a talisman.
“Hi.” He raised one hand in greeting. The corners of his lips lifted in a friendly smile, but his eyes were unreadable behind sunglasses. As if reading her mind, he removed the glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. His clothes were immaculate, at odds with the aging car. “You need some help?” His accent was American. He stopped several feet away, resting sun-darkened hands on trim hips. Could he sense the wariness coursing hot through her blood?
“Thanks.” She lifted the jack in front of her. “But I’m good.”
His gaze snapped from the stupid-looking jack to the depressed angle of her rental and back to Jo. One eyebrow winged upward.
Jo firmed her jaw, refusing to show any vulnerability.
“Are you sure? That jack looks a bit old.” He adjusted the brim of the black baseball hat on his head, making his biceps bulge. His vibe was definitely military. Just like the relentless trackers she’d been evading for weeks, waiting for her to crumble, to make a mistake. Maybe this was their new plan, one solitary operative to lure her in instead of an entire team?
It was a risk she couldn’t take.
“I’m kinda good with cars.” He spread his hands, flashing white teeth at her. His face wasn’t classically handsome, it was too craggy. There was a sharpness in his gaze that was intense and if she was honest, slightly intimidating, even though his smile was confident and tempting.
“No, it’s super kind of you—”
A muscle beat in his jaw and he sighed, giving the isolated landscape surrounding them a surveying glance. “I get it. You don’t know me. I could be a mad serial killer.”
