As I got dressed, I noticed my phone flashing on the night stand. Thinking it might be Tess checking in, I grabbed it and waited for the voice mail.

“Ms. McKenzie, I’m calling from The Studio on Fourth about our open position. I know it’s last minute, but we had a cancellation this morning and would like you to come in for an interview. We look forward to speaking with you at eight.”

“Holy shit!” I scrambled around for something to write their address on and shut the phone off. I never thought I’d get an interview with that designer. An interview. In less than an hour. This could be my chance to stop answering phones and finally start using my art degree. “Oh, shit.”

I looked out the window and groaned. I’d have to drive. There was no way I’d be able to get there on public transit in time. The thought made my stomach clench and I debated not going at all. The new me, the try-everything, give-everything-a-shot-me, put her foot down. I couldn’t miss out on the chance to have job and a reason to stay in exciting London. I had to try.

I searched the closet for something suitable to wear and threw on a dark dress suit before pulling my hair up into a bun. Dumping my jewelry bag out on the bed, I chose large teal earrings and a chunky necklace. Designing jewelry was my passion and I wanted to wear pieces that would show off my skills.

I glanced in the mirror briefly and hurried out the door before realizing I’d left my phone and needed to go back inside for it. I locked the door again and made it halfway down the hall before I remembered I’d left the address on the table.

“Fuck me!” I said just as one of the other tenants opened their door. I frowned at the little old man staring at me. “Excuse me.”

“I’ll take the first option.” He cackled and I felt my face flush.

“Not really up for consideration.” I hurried past him, ignoring the leer he directed at me.

“Then don’t offer!” He slammed the door and I fought the urge to shoot him the bird. Grumpy old cuss. Grumpy, old, perverted cuss.

If this morning was any indication of how this interview would go, I was already screwed six ways to Sunday. By the time I made it to the garage, I was a complete mess. My stomach was in knots. The rain had started again and I could hear it pounding away outside. Driving would be a nightmare and I was already nervous about the interview.

I made my way to the car and pressed the unlock key. I was halfway into the seat before I realized I was on the wrong side.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Will anything go right today?” I got out and stomped around to the other side. “Stupid ass car with the steering wheel on the wrong damn side.” I muttered under my breath as I climbed in, situating my stuff and taking a deep breath. I clenched the steering wheel as my stomach knotted even tighter.

Something dark fluttered beside my car, like a shadow shifting feet. I leaned forward and looked around. Nothing. There was nothing there and I was stalling.

“I can do this.” I could do this. I was going to drive all the way to this interview and then kick ass. It was going to be good. English driving had to be better the second time around, right? I’d have picked up some stuff. I shouldn’t be so afraid.

I put the car in reverse, my eyes on the rear view mirror, and reached down to turn on the GPS. Someone shouted as I slid out of the spot and I slammed my foot down on the pedal.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong pedal. A loud sick crunch filled the car as it slammed into something solid, and I saw a dark shape fly across the parking lot.

My heart froze as my brain processed what had just happened. Thankfully the rest of my body kept moving and I threw the car into park before jumping out of my seat.

“Oh my god!” My heart stuttered in my chest and panic lit my veins like fire. Blood pooled under the man’s head and his body was twisted at an unnatural angle. A long stick with a mirror attached to the end lay a few feet away. I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the severe haircut.

“Mr. Song? Mr. Song, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I never saw you.” I knelt down to check the man. He didn’t move and I reached out to check for a pulse. It was so weak I couldn’t even find it. “Mr. Song? Oh, God. Oh no. Oh no.”

I stood up to go call for help, my eyes swung wildly around the empty garage. My heart was beating so loudly I never heard the person behind me. Someone grabbed my wrist and spun me against the car.

“It was an accident!” I immediately assumed I was being arrested. It was the only thing that made sense to me, but it didn’t stop me from trying to stand back up. “You have to help him!”

“I fucking knew they’d sent someone else.” A hand pushed me forward so my face was pressed against the trunk. “Who sent you?” The voice sounded familiar. The man’s hand slid around my waist and along my small belt.

“What are you doing? That man’s dying!” I hollered and tried to wiggle away. Fear made it hard to breathe. “We need to get him help. Let me go!”

“He’s not dying. He’s dead.” His free hand slid down the outside of my leg before sliding up the inside of my thighs, brushing along my panties. “How did he know about the bomb?”

“Hey! Fuck off, pervert!” I stepped back, my heel landing on his instep just like I’d learned in college, but he didn’t budge. If this was a cop, he’d just crossed my boundaries. I tried to wiggle away from him again and he just grunted.

“Who do you work for?” He leaned close, his body pressing into mine so that he could keep me in place as his hands rummaged through my pockets before moving to trace the underwire of my bra with strong fingers. “Where’s your weapon?”