“No one’s sitting around here duck-style, Lu,” I insisted, but I barely heard her admonition. I was almost certain there was someone lurking behind my car. I’d only seen him for an instant, but that moment was enough to reveal a tallish woman or a shortish man in a long, dark-colored coat. A head and hunkered neck rose barely above my trunk. He or she (he, I suspected) was checking my license plate.

“I’ve gotta go,” I said, letting the phone fall from the side of my face and dropping it into the receiver. I let the curtain slip back into place and twisted the dead bolt.

Inside my overnight bag I kept a marble-handled knife with a blade too long to be legal in most states. It wasn’t a utility knife like the serrated folding blade I’d taken with me to Pine Breeze, but it looked mighty intimidating all the same and it was weighted more nicely for holding. An old friend gave it to me as a birthday present, and I took it with me nearly everywhere, so I guess I did have a lucky charm of sorts, before Brian handed me the gris-gris.

I always kept the thing razor sharp and shiny, and when I was feeling like a more nervous soul, I kept it on my belt. I unfastened the latch to my pants and slid the holster onto the black leather belt I wore mostly for decoration, then buckled myself tight again. I unsnapped the sheath’s guard and let the knife ride free, ready to be whipped into action if such was called for.

I ducked low beneath the window and lifted the curtain enough to peek back out at the lot. The shady form was nowhere in sight, but, then again, I didn’t think it cared to be. Maintaining my crouched position, I reached for the lock and, as quietly as possible, I released it. I grasped the handle and pulled it down slowly, waiting for the click.

With a yank and a shove, I opened the door, still nearly on my knees.

Nothing.

No one jumped inside, no one reached for my throat.

Nothing.

I craned my head around the corner. No one. I stood, knife now in hand, hand discreetly hidden halfway behind my back. I braced my feet apart and let the doorway frame me, wide open and vulnerable . . . sort of. The knife’s handle was warming under my fingers. I opened and closed my knuckles around it, clenching for the best grip.

“Hello?” My breath was steady, though my pulse came hard. “Whoever you are, get the hell away from my car.”

No one answered.