Jessa arrived back at Faith’s place just after eight with a briefcase filled with documents and her laptop. She’d been using both since her brief call with Gabby earlier in the afternoon. They had to meet, but Jessa needed a few more hours to make sure she covered everything, then she’d call Gabby.

Tomorrow. The fallout discussion could wait until then.

Exhausted from the internal battle over betraying Retta and a day of racing around, filling in every possible hole she could think of, Jessa was ready for wine and fluffy slippers. She opened her car door and slid out. Faith had two parking spaces—one underground near the elevator, and one in the back by the storage lockers, where Jessa parked. It was a pain trying to maneuver into the tiny space, but Jessa appreciated avoiding a daily spar for on-street parking.

Her space sat under a light, but today the row nearest her car had blinked out again, bathing this half of the parking floor in a shadowy gray haze. Second time it had happened since she’d been staying with Faith.

She slung her bag over her shoulder as she locked the car. Awareness tingled to life. An initial rush of adrenaline vibrated through her. She shook it off. Keys in hand, ready to do battle, she turned toward the door to the building and gasped.

Darren Bartholomew. Right there. In the private garage. In front of her.

She dropped her keys as she bit back a yelp of surprise. When he put his foot over the key ring and kicked it away, she almost drowned in the panic flooding her. The kind of terror that made her teeth click together as if she’d been plunged into an icy lake.

She should have switched from heels to sneakers before she’d gotten in the car, but she’d been in a hurry. Now, outrunning him sounded impossible. She backed up against the car, slamming her body to the door. Putting what limited space existed between them.

“Darren.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

He smiled. “Surprise.”

She looked at him, heard that soft, coaxing voice, and understood his wife’s fear. The sensation of being trapped and having to scrape and claw to survive filled Jessa. She looked around, scanning, hoping to see anyone. With or without assistance, she’d run and scream, hit and kick. Do anything to avoid him. But, for now, she was alone in the closing darkness.

She tried to clear her voice, force some firmness into it, but failed. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you want to ask why I’m not in prison?”