She pressed the elevator button to take her to the garage level and then looked at her watch. After seven. Most everyone else in the company had gone home for the day. As usual, she’d let time get away from her while working out the MacGregor defense, and when she’d finally looked up, the sun was a huge, orange ball on the western horizon.

      The bell dinged and the elevator doors opened. She stepped out, her footsteps echoing in the nearly empty chamber. She slowed, giving a little shiver and gripping her briefcase more tightly. If need be, she could use it as a weapon.

      She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. And just who, exactly, was she expecting to accost her? The janitor with a broom demanding she hand over her thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos?

      She was tired, that’s all. And the lack of sleep was amplifying the fear that lingered in the wake of that threatening note. She didn’t have anything to worry about. She hadn’t committed any crime. Wronged anyone else. She was merely defending her innocent client.

      And she did believe that Devon MacGregor was innocent, didn’t she? While she didn’t think she was an expert, she considered herself a pretty good judge of human behavior. And Devon MacGregor’s pleas for her to believe him and the supporting, if meager, evidence told her that her client had been wrongfully accused.

      Which meant that the real culprit was still out there somewhere.

      God. Of course. That was it. Whoever had committed the crimes was probably very interested in letting Devon serve the time for them.

      The thought had crossed her mind before, but she’d dismissed it. She wasn’t interested in pointing the finger at anyone else, merely turning the fingers pointing at her client away from him.

      The elevator dinged and she jumped.

      Okay, she really needed to get a grip.

      Still, she looked over her shoulder, watching to see who got out.

      No one did.

      The elevator doors slid shut again.

      Now, that wasn’t a figment of her imagination. That was just downright creepy.

      Palming her key ring, she picked up her pace. Only a hundred feet separated her from her car. She kept to the middle of the floor, away from shadowy pillars, her gaze darting around for any activity. At this time of day there was none. Her quickened footsteps seemed to taunt her. She considered lightening her footfalls so she could hear if there were others. At this rate, she wouldn’t hear a car engine above the sound of her own heartbeat.

      She turned the corner and someone stepped out of the shadows. She cried out and swung her briefcase, simultaneously trying to figure out the safest escape route. The stranger was between her and her car, so that was out. It was a long way back to the elevator and the stairs. The closest route was the spiraling ramp leading out onto the street.

      “Whoa.”

      A man’s voice. A familiar man’s voice.

      She stared into Carter Southard’s handsomely surprised face when he righted himself after ducking.

      “Jesus,” Laney said, leaning her hand against the trunk of her car. “What are you trying to do? Scare the spirits out of me?”

      He reached out and took her briefcase from her other hand, setting it closer to the car door. “Was that the best you could do? Swing your bag?”

      Laney managed to get her breathing under control and stood straight. “You mean you were deliberately trying to frighten me? To see what I would do?”

      He grinned. “No. I wasn’t. But in hindsight, I suppose my stepping out like that probably wasn’t the smartest move.”

      “You can say that again.”

      “I think once is enough.”

      “Funny. Very funny.” Laney rubbed her arms. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

      He tucked his hands into his front jeans pockets. “I wanted to get you that information I promised. Sorry it’s so late. But I told my neighbor that I’d help him repair his fence. Turned into a two-day job and I just finally knocked off.” He glanced toward the elevator. “I figured you as the workaholic type, so I thought it was a pretty good bet you’d still be here. And since the lobby was closed, this was my best chance for entry.”

      “Yes, well,” she said, looking around at shadows that didn’t seem as sinister with Carter at her side. “I’ll have to have a talk with management about this.”

      “Might be a good idea. At least they could make sure the parking attendant doesn’t think sleeping with his feet up on the counter is part of his job description.”

      “How did you know this was my car?”

      “Educated guess.” He gestured toward the luxury vehicle. “But that’s not what drew me over this way. I’d planned to come up to the office.”

      She grimaced at him as he stepped to the side, revealing the flat front tire.

      “Great,” she said, exasperated, wondering if her auto service could gain access to the garage.

      “That wouldn’t be so bad,” Carter said, “if the other tire wasn’t flat, too. One flat tire, fate. Two? Someone wanted to make it difficult for you to get home tonight.”

      Laney slowly walked toward the front of the car, considering the damage.

      “See that,” Carter said, pointing to the sidewall. “Looks like a knife slash.”

      Laney shuddered, feeling as if a knife-wielding stranger was in front of her instead of long gone.

      “What’s this?” she said.

      She leaned forward, spotting a note under the wiper, not unlike the one she’d received in the mail a couple of days ago. She pulled it out.

      “Drop the MacGregor case. Now.” Next to the words was the number two.

      “That doesn’t look good to me,” Carter said, his voice low and gravelly. “That doesn’t look good to me at all.”