The man with the umbrella took another step toward our car.

He stood right outside my passenger side door.

The rain poured off the edges of his umbrella, splashing against my window.

He leaned down, his face inches from the wet glass.

The dark fabric of his coat smelled faintly of expensive tobacco and wet wool.

I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

The laptop screen gave a tiny, silent flash as the progress bar reached one hundred percent.

“Done,” Nora breathed.

She quickly closed the lid, the latch clicking shut in the dark.

The man outside tapped on my window with the metal tip of his umbrella.

The sound was a sharp, terrifying crack.

I kept my eyes fixed on the dashboard, my muscles locked tight.

“Don’t look,” Nora whispered.

She reached down and started the ignition.

The engine roared to life, the headlights cutting through the rainy dark.

The man outside took a step back, startled by the sudden movement.

Nora slammed the gear shift into reverse.