“Here.” The driver reached for something and handed it back to her. “You’ll be thirsty after your flight.”

She noticed a small cooler in the front seat of the car and wondered if he offered drinks to all his passengers. It was a good way to get a five-star review. He was right, she was thirsty. She twisted off the cap and drank deeply, feeling slightly better after she’d downed half the bottle.

“Thanks,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Why don’t you sit back and close your eyes,” he said, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror as he started the car. “I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

She smiled at him and murmured her thanks, but a feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She was in a strange country, in a car with a stranger. What if he was a serial killer and she’d just fallen into his trap? But no, he had that sign with her name on it. How would he have known who she was if Dr. Ward hadn’t hired him? Or maybe Dr. Ward accidentally hired a serial killer. How would she know? It probably wasn’t on his resume.

Yasmin giggled at her dark thoughts as they left the parking garage and then perked up when they headed into London. She was awed by the sights they passed and eagerly absorbed everything while trying to ignore the creeping exhaustion.

They’d been driving for about fifteen minutes when Yasmin realized something was wrong. She lifted her hand and tried to brush her hair out of her face but ended up smacking herself in the nose. Her hand, her entire arm, felt rubbery. Like it belonged to someone else.

She tried to lift her other hand and focus on it, but it swam in and out of her vision. The car spun around her as she blinked several times. She was tired, but this was ridiculous. Never in her life had she been so tired that she couldn’t work her own hands.

“Uhhh…” Had the driver told her his name? She couldn’t remember. “Ummm sir? I’m not feeling very well. Can we pull over? I think I need to get some fresh air.” In her mind, her words sounded just fine, but to her ears they were slurred and almost incomprehensible. Was she having a stroke?

Panic pricked at her brain as she realized something was very, very wrong. Even if she sounded muddled, the driver should still have heard her attempting to speak to him, but he hadn’t responded.

“Help!” she said as loud as she could, flailing her arm toward him.

It fell uselessly and her body slumped down. It was getting harder and harder to focus. Oh god, was she being kidnapped?