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upon a machine for a life he would no longer care to live.
    But Jodie … Jodie had been a shock. He had always been there for Erin, a friend for so long, gentle and patient, never pressing their relationship. Their love had been a soft one, built mutually with time and respect. They had carefully planned their marriage; Erin would continue working until Jodie acquired his degree, and then they would switch roles. Jodie never doubted Erin; his serene pride and trust were the virtues of a young man secure in himself, secure in the woman he loved.
    As long as she lived, Erin would never forget the day he had been due home. Christmas vacation. Jodie had stayed in the background after her parents’ death, understanding how the loss of her parents so close together had left her in need of a special time to mourn without the complications and pressures of pushing her relationship with him. It had been Erin who had suddenly realized she had kept Jodie waiting long enough. On the day he was to arrive she had purchased the most stunning of nightgowns and a bottle of the finest champagne. She had laughed and smiled all day, imagining the night and Jodie’s pleasure when he found her fully determined to seduce him and satisfy all the longings they had held back for so long.
    Jodie never came home. His roommate had brokenly tried to explain how he had been laughing in the passenger seat on their drive to Manhattan one minute, dead the next. A strong, healthy, twenty-two-year-old man who had his whole life to look forward to.
    It had taken Erin a long, long time to quit hating God and herself and everyone else who lived. But with time and the tender care of good friends like Mary and Ted, Erin had learned acceptance. At first she had turned catatonically to work, rising in her field because she was not only extraordinarily photogenic but extraordinarily professional and cooperative. And she had learned to live again, to enjoy the camaraderie of new friends and old, to enjoy her life. She had finally opened to the possibility of romance again, and just when loneliness had made her prime taking for a sophisticated male, Marc Helmsly had walked into her life.
    It was strange, Erin thought now as she stood in the hall, feeling a little weak. Marc, she was sure, had really cared for her. He had just misread her. He hadn’t understood that he was not only not dealing with a sophisticate—but had wound up with a pathetically inept innocent! He should have figured it out rather quickly, Erin thought bitterly. No, not Marc. He had probably thought himself the great leader, giving her a crash course in freedom and an “open” marriage.
    It didn’t really matter. It was over. And in retrospect, she could only blame her own persistence in refusing to see and accept the truth of that last night. If Marc—and his friend—had been dealing with a more sophisticated woman, things wouldn’t have come to that point.
    Damn, Erin thought with irritation, what the hell was she doing? The past was the past, and she was on a personal quest, fulfilling a dream she had had since she was a child. She should be imagining herself as an old—but charming” and elegant, please!—teacher or professor, enchanting her government students with her quiet tales of her personal experiences in the Soviet Union. She was a very level-headed individual, and she took a certain amount of pride in positive willpower. She simply wasn’t going to waste time brooding.
    Erin rotated on her heel to return to her couchette, then paused in midswing as she noticed the door next to her own was open. Remembering that the friendly concierge in Helsinki had advised her that her nearest traveling companions would most probably be English-speaking, Erin impulsively took a look into the couchette.
    The compartment was empty, but displayed sure signs of occupancy. A dark leather briefcase sat ajar on the bed and a heavy suitcase in complementary leather was shoved beneath it. A garment