Frantically, she reached into her pocket and hit the remote to unlock her car and heard the beep as her headlights and taillights flashed.

Almost there!

The elevator stopped on her floor just as she reached the van’s driver’s door.

She slid inside as the doors of the elevator swept open.

Freaked, she jammed her key into the ignition and locked her minivan’s doors in one swift motion.

The engine roared to life just as a man in dark jeans, a camo jacket, and a stocking cap pulled down to his ears strode from the elevator car. He took a look at Charity, who was wheeling out of her spot.

Their eyes met.

Her heart jolted.

A gloved hand slid into his jacket pocket.

For a weapon.

Oh. God. No!

Her insides turned to water.

She rammed the minivan into REVERSE.

With a screech of tires, she backed up, swinging around wildly.

Her assailant suddenly in her headlights, she threw the minivan into DRIVE and hit the gas.

He lifted his arm.

Pointed a gloved hand in her direction.

Oh. Jesus. He was going to shoot her! Right here! Right now!

Her heart leapt to her throat.

No way! No effin’ way!

She wouldn’t let it end this way.

She floored it!

The van shot forward as a nearby Toyota blinked and beeped.

The guy’s mouth fell open in shock.

With a shriek, he jumped backward, dropping his weapon.

No. Not a gun, but a fricking car remote, a small keyless entry device.

Not anything like a pistol.

Nothing dangerous.

She cranked the wheel, the van rocking, narrowly missing the man.

“What the fuck?” he screamed, scrambling away, his face drained of color. “You fucking moron!”

Oh, sweet God, she’d nearly run a guy over, just because her jangled nerves got the better of her.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered, hitting the brakes for a second.

She thought about stopping completely and apologizing and trying to explain, but to what end? In the side-view mirror, she saw him grab for the remote, which had skittered across the stained concrete floor of the garage. Remote in hand, he was now climbing to his feet and looked as if now he really would kill her. No longer frightened, he was now furious, his face twisted in an ugly, angry grimace, his gaze zeroing in on the back end of the van. The license plate!

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, stop!” He found his phone, aimed it to take a picture.

She didn’t think so.

She pressed on the accelerator, but kept her eyes on him in the rearview.

“You nearly killed me!” he screamed.

He started running after her, and she felt renewed fear.

“Oh, shit.”