Red Midnight Read Free Page B

plants hung from high decking above the island range; the overpass gave view to the comfortable living room and the plate-glass windows that let out to a small balcony—and a view of the city far below. Her home was coming along, she thought with pleasure. For years she had collected antique furniture, delighting in refinishing it herself. She knew the period of each piece she collected, and loved to envision the lives of the previous owners. It was a hobby, it was a relaxation. It was a way of reminding herself that she had come within a stone’s throw of finishing her studies and that one day she would go back.
    The divorce had cost her many of her most prized possessions. She had moved her belongings into Marc’s penthouse before the wedding, and when she had moved out, the last thing on her shattered mind had been material objects. But she had had this place six months now, time enough to fill it with pictures and plants, time enough to make it home.
    The kettle whistled. Erin made her cup of tea and took it out to the sofa, where she curled into a corner to sip it while watching the moon through the plate-glass windows. A long sigh escaped her. She had spent the day dancing across Fifth Avenue countless times in fur coats. She shook her head at the incomprehensible genius of the advertising agencies. Did dancing in the street make women crave thick fur coats? Surely, winter was enough in itself to get that point across.
    She shook her head again, wondering why she was still modeling. She was always telling herself that she would go back to college and get her degree.
    She had always meant to get out of modeling, but somehow the time had just kept passing. She had forgotten about everything else when she had fallen in love with Marc. And, she admitted dryly, the more time passed, the harder it became to leave this life-style behind. She was accustomed to writing checks on a whim, purchasing things when they caught her eye. Her apartment alone was beyond a teacher’s salary—far beyond a student’s income. But since the breakup of her marriage she had begun to take steps in the right direction. More and more of her income was finding its way into a savings account. This trip to Russia was diminishing the savings account, but it was necessary for her sanity, and it was a part of the circuitous road toward her dream.
    A soft scratching at the door interrupted Erin’s thoughts, and she uncurled her long legs from the sofa. With a smile on her face she opened her door to the perpetrator of the sound—a sleek gray Persian torn with the unpretentious name of Bill. “What are you up to, huh, Bill? A little scrounging-around-town time?” Erin stooped to collect the highly independent animal into her arms and stroked his silken coat until Bill decided he had had enough of such coddling. His purr became a protesting meow and she set him back down. “You know, Bill, you don’t live here. You have an owner who feeds you and cares for you! But I always was a sucker for a pretty face. I bought you a can of sardines just the other day.”
    I sure as hell was a sucker for a pretty face, Erin thought with a stab of chilling pain as she led the cat into the kitchen. A total fool. But I really wasn’t so terribly foolish, she defended herself. Marc wasn’t just pretty, his appeal had been devastating. Tall, suave, and sleek. Omar Sharif eyes. Many women had fallen head over heels in love with him before Erin, and many would do so in the future.
    He had always been charming; he was athletic and rugged. For the first time in her life Erin had been enchanted beyond control.
    How was I to know? she tormented herself with the same question she had asked a million times. But she should have known. Her job had given her exposure to the sophisticated world of fame and wealth. She had been verbally warned, but she had been sure Marc’s ex-mistress was merely jealous, and she listened with kind patience only to the hints given.
    Yes, she