THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

opened the hood over the engine compartment? She stood staring at the engine with no idea what she was looking at. She reached in and wiggled some wires, then pulled out the dipstick and checked at the oil. Having been spoiled by the mechanics and Jeremy, she’d never seen any reason to learn much beyond the basics.
    She hadn’t seen an exit for miles and didn’t see one on the straightaway ahead. Heck, she hadn’t passed anything except woods for at least three miles. How far would she have to walk to the next town or gas station?
    Maybe that radar cop would come this way.
    She went back to the driver’s seat and tried the key. Nothing.
    She flipped open her phone, then rolled her eyes. No bars. No Service. “The one time I have an emergency, the doggone thing won’t work.”
    Hiking up the road wasn’t a good option. Kasey didn’t have the time to walk for miles or the strength to carry all of her camera equipment. She couldn’t risk leaving it behind for someone to steal, either.
    She walked about thirty feet forward to see if she could get a signal on her phone. No luck. She even held the phone in the air hoping it might miraculously catch a wave or something. Of course, that didn’t work either.
    Why did I take this route instead of Interstate 64? Just to torture myself by going by the accident site again? When will I learn?
    If she didn’t get a move on soon, she’d be late for her appointment. The International Auto Show was too good a gig to screw up, and really the first real job she had scheduled since the tour. Prescott Banks wasn’t the type to take being late lightly. Old fuddy-duddy.
    Cars passed, but no one even slowed down. She hoped that radar cop would break for lunch and ride this way. He’d have to stop and help. Wasn’t it his duty to serve?
    She looked at her watch. Not even five minutes had passed. It sure seemed longer standing there alone on the side of the road. Maybe the jokers who passed weren’t familiar with a rear engine car or were afraid they’d have to help her change a tire. All she needed was a phone and a ride. She slammed the cover over the engine and opened the trunk at the front of the car, praying that would change her luck.
    The late January afternoon was sunny and warm. In the southeastern part of Virginia in January, it could be twenty-eight degrees and sleeting one day and in the high sixties the next. It really wasn’t unusual to have a few spring-like days sandwiched between snowfalls.
    She scrounged around in her purse for a clip, fastened her hair up off her neck, and popped a piece of gum into her mouth. When she turned around, she almost swallowed her gum.
    An antique baby-blue T-Bird was parked right behind her. The dark-haired man behind the wheel looked just like... Nick?
    Coughing to get the gum out of her throat, she reached into the car for her bottle of water. When she stood back up, the man was out of his car.
    She exhaled. His car had a vanity plate. It wasn’t Nick’s. Wishful thinking or her mind playing tricks on her. But the T-Bird looked like Nick’s car, and the man had looked like Nick in silhouette.
    He walked toward her. “You okay?”
    She cleared her throat, trying to shake the chills that had scampered up her spine a moment ago. “I’ve been better.”
    “Broke down?”
    “Not exactly a picnic spot.” Kasey regretted the snarky response as soon as it left her lips.
    He raised a brow and smirked as traffic whizzed by. “What’s the matter?”
    “I don’t know. She just sputtered and quit.” Kasey propped her hand on her hip. “A big rig almost ran over me.”
    “Probably electrical,” he said.
    “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
    Is he going to help me, or just make friends? “I’m late. Can you get me to a town so I can rent a car, or get a cab into Richmond? I have an appointment I can’t be late for.”
    He’s too good-looking to be a murderer. Isn’t he?
    “You live in Richmond?”
    “No.”
    “Oh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
    “I just moved up this way.”
    Why did I tell him that? Because his mouth moves like Nick’s—soft.
    “Really? Where?”
    “Over in Adams Grove.”
    He met her gaze. “You must be the girl Huckaby has been talking about. The old Miller farm?”
    “You know Chaz Huckaby?”
    “Who doesn’t know Chaz Huckaby? Are you over on Nickel Creek Road?”
    “Yeah. That’s it.”
    “My mom lives over that way.”
    “Really? Small world. It’s beautiful out