Her tires hit a slick patch, and she clenched the wheel. She didn’t want to think about her old job right now. She just wanted to get to her destination. Her shoulders were in knots from the drive, and she wanted a glass of wine and a steamy shower.

“So, are we still on for tomorrow?” she asked Josh. “Nine o’clock?”

“Assuming weather clears. No use scouting locations in the rain.”

“It’s supposed to be beautiful,” she said. “Let’s start on the north end. We can meet at my beach house.”

Beach house. She pictured the sun-drenched deck overlooking the surf. She’d been daydreaming about it since she first found the listing.

“Sure you don’t need help with the equipment?” Josh asked.

“Thanks, but I can handle it.”

“Okay, well, see you tomorrow, then.”

She ended the call and squinted through the swishing wipers at the sign up ahead: WHITE DUNES PARK, 2 MILES.

A strobe of lightning lit the sky, revealing empty fields on either side of the two-lane highway. She was well past the tourist center of Lost Beach, past the hotels and restaurants and T-shirt shops.

She hit a bump, and the car jerked right. Her heart skipped a beat as the Honda fishtailed and skidded. She clenched the wheel and tried to get control, but it careened onto the shoulder with a jaw-rattling thunk. She jabbed the brakes and slammed to a halt.

Macey blinked at the windshield, shocked. Her heart raced as she tried to catch her breath. The car was tilted, and the headlights illuminated a patch of weeds and a gravelly strip of shoulder.

Macey put the gearshift in park and shoved open the door. She started to get out, but the seat belt yanked her back. She unbuckled herself and slid out. Rain pelted her as she looked around in a daze.

What the hell had happened? One second she’d been driving along and the next second it was like aliens had seized the control of the car. And she’d definitely felt a bump. Had she hit something?

Glancing up and down the highway, she saw no other traffic. She retrieved her cell phone and slammed the door shut. Her wet flip-flops thwacked against the gravel as she walked around the front of the Honda and checked for damage. No dents. No sign of an animal.

She stopped beside the front bumper. The right tire was flat.

“Crap.”

She switched on her cell phone’s flashlight and aimed it at the tire. Yep, flat.

Rain streamed down her face and neck. What now? She turned off the flashlight and called Josh, but he didn’t pick up. She sent him a text:

SOS! Flat tire. Call me.