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when she had arrived, but she didn’t tell him how frightened she had been or how she had collapsed in tears into a total stranger’s arms. She laughed, making light of the incident. Anyone would have been terrified, she assured herself. But Gene was astute. She was afraid he might have learned more about her past from the incident than she wanted.
    By four-thirty she had rented a little sedan. She had made friends with the taxi driver and the rental car clerk—everyone knew Gene, it seemed. They were glad to meet his great-granddaughter and fascinated to discover that she was the Helen of Troy lady. Alexi was a bit uneasy to find that she was so recognizable—she would have preferred anonymity. She convinced herself that it would be okay, then decided that she was going to like small-town living. The people were warm—if just a little bit nosy.
    â€œYou just be careful out there,” the old gentleman at the agency warned her. “That peninsula can be a mighty scary place.”
    â€œWhy?” Alexi asked. But he had already turned to help the businessman in line behind her. She shrugged and left for her car. Once inside, she tapped idly against the steering wheel. She should get going on her shopping. There was nothing in the house. And whether she had a professional cleaner or not, she needed all kinds of detergents. And bug sprays. She was sure that except for the kitchen the place was crawling.
    But she wasn’t really ready for work yet. And she decided she would drive back to the peninsula. It would be dark before long, and she wanted to see the little spit of land in its entirety.
    Alexi started the car, then froze. She stared at the blond head and broad shoulders of a man slipping into a rented Mustang next to her car. For a moment, her stomach and heart careened; panic set in. Then he turned. It wasn’t John. She exhaled, shaking.
    He couldn’t have followed her here, she promised herself. She had finished up with the Helen of Troy campaign—and then she had run. He couldn’t know where. And no one would tell him.
    She took several deep breaths and eased out of the parking lot. She got lost only once, and then she was on the one road that led to Gene’s house. It was a horrible road, she quickly discovered. The town didn’t own it, Gene had told her once; he and Rex Morrow owned it jointly. And apparently, Alexi thought with a smile, neither of them had been very interested in keeping it up. There were potholes everywhere.
    She slowed to accommodate the bumps and juts, but apparently she did so just a moment too late. The car suddenly sputtered and died, spewing up a froth of steam from the front. Alexi stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then swore at herself and crawled out of the driver’s seat.
    For fifteen minutes she tried to figure out how to open the hood; once it was open, she wondered why she had bothered. Steam was still spewing out, and she didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do. She looked around, wondering how long a walk it was to the house. The peninsula was only about four miles long and one across, but both houses were at the far end of it.
    Alexi swore and kicked a tire. She decided that people lied when they said that doing such things couldn’t help—she felt ten times better for having kicked the car. She was annoyed that she didn’t know what to do, but then she had never kept a car. She just hadn’t needed one in New York.
    It was getting dark, she perceived suddenly. And if she hadn’t been stuck here, she would have thought that it was beautiful. The sky was burnt orange and pink, a lovely background for the pines and shrubs that littered the sandy ground. She had no idea how quickly the darkness fell there.
    Alexi gave the car a withering stare, then decided she had best start walking toward the house. She could phone the rental agency, and they could call a mechanic and get the car out to the