She’d just have to jump for it. Or she could continue to stand there like some kind of crazily dressed prostitute turned damsel-in-distress at three in the morning. Someone might come along and help her; then again, the way her night was going, she’d probably end up a statistic. Or arrested.But her heels were freaking five inches high. And she hated climbing, boots or not.“Come on, Jules,” she sang to herself as she plowed her hand through the contents of the bag for the third time. How could she not have her keys? She might be directionally challenged but she never forgot them. Ever.A nearby streetlight flickered off, then on again, casting a dull yellow glow.She shuddered; goose bumps rushed up her arms but it wasn’t cold. That could only mean one thing: she wasn’t alone. She listened for whoever—or more likely, whatever—it was to make its presence known.Nothing. Not a sound except the ocean waves washing against the sandy shore a block away. The gentle lapping water soothed her and a small, relieved sigh slipped from her lips.“Who, whoooooo!”
