She's got an artificial intelligence app. He's got her. If they don't get their sh*t together soon, New Yorkers are going to die.

Don't freak out, Jones. It's probably just a bug.

Oh. My. God. I'm on a bus with a friggin' terrorist!

In the bus's side window, my wide-eyed reflection gawks back, pale Irish skin tinted green. And instead of a successful entrepreneur, I see a woman biting down on her lower lip like a scared teenager.

Yeah, I want off this death trap. Who wouldn't? One small push on the stop bar and I could get free. But I can't just leave a bus filled with innocent people,can I?

I brace for the searing blast wondering if there really is a heavenly doorway with brilliant white light.

There's a clunk. I wait. Then nothing.

Finally a male voice shouts from upfront, "NYPD. Everyone remain seated!"

When I open my eyes, I figure I didn't survive the attack and this is the afterlife. Otherwise the chances of seeing Colin O'Brien again are what? A hundred zillion to one?

...He hasn't changed a bit. He's still got those dreamy baby-blues and jet-black lashes.I can't handle his intense stare, his breath. Just like long ago, his presence makes my panties melt.