Footsteps approached. A peek over her shoulder revealed a tall male body striding toward her. She muttered a curse of her own, not at all in the mood to deal with an accident report and insurance companies and some irate somebody who would undoubtedly give her all kinds of grief. Dreading what lay ahead, Judy laid her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. “Are you OK?” The voice was mercifully calm and she thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t hit a raving lunatic brandishing a gun. It was also deep and masculine. And vaguely familiar. Still hugging her steering wheel, Judy looked up and into warm hazel eyes set in the middle of an arresting face. She hadn’t seen that face, except in the occasional bawdy dream, for almost twenty-two years, but she would have known it anywhere. “Judy?” Brett O’Connor flashed the killer smile he’d slain her with in high school. “Gee, it’s really great to . . .” he paused and his smile grew broader as he realized what he was about to say, “run into you.”
