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think of nothing else, she studiously considered what she wanted to see, managing to clear her mind of all the pain in her past. Time passed easily. After a champagne dinner was served, Erin allowed her book to drop to her lap as her eyes closed. She drifted into a doze as light and free as the white clouds they passed above.
    It was late in the night when Jarod passed by her. While she slept peacefully, he was in turmoil.
    In sleep she appeared entirely guileless. Her lips were curled in a small sweet smile, her slender elegant hands were curled beneath her chin. Her toes, covered in nylon, the nails painted the same fashionable maroon color as those on her long fingers, just peeked out from their curled position beneath her.
    She was tall, Jarod noticed, hardly petite and delicate, and a klutz, he reminded himself. But as he stared at her, he strangely found himself touched by long-forgotten feelings. She looked like an angel … a rather sexy angel. Looks, he was well aware, could be highly deceptive.
    He shrugged with accustomed professional indifference. Only time would tell if he dealt with heaven or hell.
    He shifted to return to his seat, then paused; uncertain as to why. He leaned close to her face and whispered, “You should wake up, Miss McCabe, you’ll be able to see the fringes of the northern lights soon.”
    She stirred slightly. Jarod straightened and moved away with sleek silence.

II
    O SLO WAS REFRESHING, STOCKHOLM was marvelous with its Old Town and flavorful history, and even Helsinki, with its island of restored homes from another era, was utterly fascinating. Erin found the Scandinavians wonderfully polite, courteous, and helpful—and the majority of the people Erin met spoke English very well, sparing her from constantly having to comb through her language books.
    But to Erin, her trip was just beginning—and perfectly so. Her week among the cultured and sophisticated Scandinavians had been just what she needed. As she stood in the Helsinki train station at the appointed time—“I’m EARLY!” she wrote in a quick postcard to Mary—she was sure she hadn’t felt better in years.
    A sense of high excitement seemed to make her adrenaline race, and she felt incredibly alive. It was probably the cold weather, she advised herself, but whatever, it was marvelous. Ă faint mist hovered over the tracks, a pleasant tenor announced arrivals and departures in an impressive range of languages, whistles shrieked, and vital industry seemed to be taking place all over.
    Her silver eyes alive with exhilaration, Erin watched everything that took place around her, wondering about the lives of the colorful people who came and went, some sad as they left loved ones, others laughing and glowing as they greeted husbands, wives, children, and lovers.
    A soft smile curving her lips, Erin consulted her pendant watch. Her train was due to leave in thirty minutes, but it had yet to come in. Deciding to trust leaving her baggage on the platform, she adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and returned to the station to post her card to Mary. She chuckled wryly as a copy of The New York Times caught her eye. She decided to buy the paper and a small stalk of brilliantly yellow bananas that were extraordinarily appealing. The cost of the fruit was ridiculously high: importing bananas to the winter bleakness of Finland must be a costly venture. “I don’t even usually like bananas!” she murmured to herself as she paid the pleasant clerk the Finnish equivalent of four dollars for three of the captivating fruit. “I have to come to Finland to develop a penchant for bananas.”
    The Finnish concierge smiled at Erin, apparently aware she was dealing with an American. “You are crossing our border to the U.S.S.R.?”
    “Yes,” Erin smiled in return.
    “Then you must be sure to consume your purchase before you reach the border,” the woman advised. “Agriculture!” she reminded Erin. “The Soviets can be very … sticky