The streets were surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Mackenzie Hunter yanked again on the skirt of the short dress she wore, cursing under her breath. It hadn't been her idea to be out here this late at night, especially not dressed the way she was. Damn Selena Jenkins and her stupid ideas to hell. So yeah, truthfully, she could have said no. She could have gone about getting the story her own way and be doing it in her comfortable jeans and tennis shoes. She could have snuck through into the alley behind the huge warehouse, and climbed up on the dumpster like a good reporter should. But no-o-o-o. She had to listen to the paper's big mouthed advice columnist. Yanking down her skirt once more and balancing precariously on the sky high skinny heels she wore on her tortured feet. She reached into the purse she carried, feeling the wires she'd pulled out of her car engine and then the tape recorder. Hitting the buttons, she set it to voice activation by feel and then reached out and knocked on the big door in the front of the warehouse. Kenzie heard the sound of male voices inside, then footsteps heading toward the doorway. She shook her head quickly, making her short black curls dance around her heart shaped face. Her hand slid down past her waist, to rest on her hip, in a typical come hither type stance.