This was crazy.
Everything since last night had been unbelievable. I had to stop my overactive imagination. But was it my imagination? Why did the mystery man call? How did he know I wasn't on my flight? Was Mark really a threat? What kind of threat? I was on whose radar?
Questions came faster than answers.
It seemed like the person I shouldn't trust was not the nice young man waiting for me but the one who ambushed me last night or Patrick, the one who led me like a lamb to the s*******r.
The bathroom was uncharacteristically empty, nine stalls all available. That never happened. Then again, this was a night for firsts. As my high heels clipped over the tile, I pushed each door, half expecting someone to be waiting inside. Every mystery or thriller movie I'd ever seen ran a reel in m
