"Hey, it's really nice that you came all this way to check up on me, but I'm fine," you say. You offer him what you hope is a confident smile, although you're wishing you had not rolled down the window. Would it be rude to roll it back up again?

He returns the smile with his disarming grin. "Kendall, I can get you fixed up in 30 minutes here."

"I actually already called Roadside Assistance. They'll be here in a minute. Besides." You glance at the clock on your cell phone. "It's almost 4, Wes, and I don't want to delay you with the bar, and all."

Wes looks up and down the winding gravel road, a frown on his face. Then he glances at you, raking a hand back through his dark hair. "I get it. I suppose it ain't easy to trust a good Samaritan these days."

Guilt and anxiety knot in your stomach. He seems really nice, but he hit the nail on the head with his assessment: you don't think you can trust him after knowing him for just a couple of hours. You can't be too careful. You know that more than anyone—you're covering the story, after all, and you're not keen on ending up in a ditch somewhere.

"Don't look so scared," he says, and he's smiling again. He comes up to the driver's side window and rests a forearm on the top of the car, leaning down so that he can look you in the eyes.

"I'm not scared. You understand, Wes: a woman can't be too careful." [[Go to Chapter 46.]]

"I'm not scared," you say, forcing a laugh. "It's just getting late, and I've got the pros coming. If you were the Butcher, I'm pretty sure you'd have pulled a gun or something by now." [[Go to Chapter 45.]]