She eased off the bridge and wound her way through the city streets of Oakland. Her heart rate finally returned to normal, and she loosened her grip on the steering wheel. For now, she pushed the image of the man in the parking garage out of her mind and wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the fact that she’d nearly run him down. It was over. At least for now.

When she saw the neon sign for the Good Bay, she let out her breath. “Home sweet home,” she said, almost meaning it, as she wheeled into the lot. The minivan bounced over a pothole in the asphalt.

Clunk!

Something bounced in the cargo area behind her.

Crap!

Probably a piece of equipment that had come loose from its bindings and was shifting. Oh, God, please not one of her expensive cameras.

She pulled into her parking slot and reached for her keys.

Something passed in the rearview mirror, a shadow in the dark, obscuring the back window and her view of the empty lot behind her.

What the hell?

A frisson of fear skittered down her spine.

It’s nothing!

She licked her lips and cut the engine, her hands still on the key ring.

And she reached for the door, which was when the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of her neck.

Her insides turned to water.

Oh. God.

Panic flooded through her.

“Don’t move,” a whispered voice ordered.

Like hell!

Charity yanked the keys from the ignition and swiped blindly backward with her right hand. A yowl of surprise cut through the van.

The gun shifted.

She scrabbled for the door handle.

“No, you don’t!” the voice warned.

The door flew open.

She fell out. Tried to get up.

Whoever it was tumbled after her, climbing over the seat and falling atop her, pressing her against the cold, hard pavement.

Charity started to scream, but a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and in the watery light from a single security lamp, she looked up and saw eyes staring down at her.

Malicious eyes.

Eyes she’d seen before.

A new fear surged through her.

She struggled and saw the butt of a gun being raised with her assailant’s free hand.

NO!

Her scream was muffled, resounding only in her head as she twisted and writhed to no avail.

The pistol slammed into her face.

Her nose exploded in a burst of pain.

Blood spurted.

Still she fought, trying to scoot away from this maniac’s weight, the rough asphalt tearing at her coat. Her legs were useless, kicking at the air but striking nothing, as the would-be killer straddled her.

Get off me! Get off!

She bit at the hand holding her mouth, the taste of stained leather filling her mouth. The gun was raised again, this time dripping blood.