She pressed her eyelids together, trying to steady herself.
“Tell me about yourself, Gina,” the man said as if they were on a first date. “Start with your biggest fear.”
Tell me about yourself?What kind of game was this man playing?
The last thing she wanted to do was chat.
“I don’t have a biggest—” she started.
“Wrong answer.”
The next instant, something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. Not quite breaking skin but promising it could.
A knife, she realized. This man had a knife with him.
A fresh wave of fear swept over her.
Was he going to kill her?
A cry caught in her throat.
“Your biggest fear, Gina.”
“Being helpless.” The truth tumbled out. “Not being able to fight back.”
The man laughed, the noise sounding like grinding gears. “How beautifully appropriate.”
He didn’t speak again.
He only sat there.
Gina felt him—not just his presence, but his attention.
Heavy. Focused. Absolute.
The headlamp dimmed slightly as he tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle he was savoring the process of solving.
Seconds stretched.
Maybe minutes.
Her sense of time warped under the blinding beam.
Then she heard it—a quiet exhale.
His.
Close enough to feel the faint warmth of it stir the hair near her temple.
“I wondered,” he murmured, “if you’d look different up close.”
Her heart hammered so hard she was afraid he’d hear it.
“You always seem so composed.” His gloved fingers brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “At work you keep everything in order. Everything neat. Everything controlled.”
Her stomach dropped.
He knew where she worked.
