The wind lashed into the convertible, whipping a few strands of hair across her cheek and sending others straight up like tongues of strawberry blonde flame. She looked into the rearview mirror and smiled. She was wild. Carefree. A bad, bad girl.

The thought was so ridiculous that she laughed.

A slap of hair covered Charlotte's eyes, and she eased up on the gas to be on the safe side. She had plenty of time. She should just relax and enjoy the baby blue sky, the heavy green tunnel of leaves along the George Washington Parkway, and all that rich, sweet honeysuckle.

She sighed, thankful for the magic of this borrowed sports car. How odd that just the absence of a roof could make her feel so free. It was as if she'd been given permission to touch the whole big world along with the wind- and it made her feel strong, uninhibited, and, okay, she was going to admit it-she felt sexy!

She felt ready.

Charlotte's foot thumped and her thigh bounced as The Clash poured from the car's overtaxed CD player. She raised her voice to sing along-and why not? Why not sing loud enough to scare the birds? Why not feel the air caress the bare skin of her arms? Why not live in the moment? Wasn't that what life was-just a finite number of moments strung together?

And how could anyone know how many moments they got in this life? How precious was the number?

She checked the rearview mirror again.

That man was still there.

Charlotte first noticed the guy in the black Jeep and even blacker Ray Bans before she left the Beltway. When he followed her onto the GW, she'd told herself that there was nothing to worry about-it was the most beautiful route into the city on a day like this and he was entitled to enjoy his open-air ride, too.