Catherine did not want to be anywhere near Dorian Blackwood and she certainly had no intention of getting into Dorian Blackwood's car.
The moment he opened the rear door of the Maybach, she turned and attempted to leave. She only managed a few steps before stopping.
The street appeared ordinary enough at first glance. People walked along the sidewalks. A man sat outside a café with a newspaper. Another stood near a storefront, speaking on his phone. Traffic flowed normally through the intersection.
Yet the longer she looked, the more artificial the scene felt.
Every instinct she possessed screamed that something was wrong. Several people were watching her.
Not openly. Professionally. The sort of attention trained men gave to a target while pretending not to look.
And a few of them carried themselves with the unmistakable alertness of security personnel. Their jackets concealed most of it, but Catherine caught brief glimpses of hard outlines beneath the fabric.
Armed.
