“It might be the same guy. I guess there was something about the attack on Sara that jibed with what they know about him.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t tell me much, and I don’t see how there could be a connection between a serial killer who’s preying on prostitutes and what happened this morning in the boathouse. The important thing is that she wasn’t seriously hurt. My guess is that it was probably just a random attack, and Sara happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, whoever did attack her is going to be in a lot of trouble when they catch him. I’ll see to that,” he said firmly.

“Good,” I answered, somewhat reassured. And then my stomach gave an audible growl. I flushed. Again.

“Hungry?” Jonathan asked with a bemused smile.

“A bit. It’s been a while since breakfast,” I admitted.

“Well, I just picked up a sandwich at the student center. Want half?” I checked my watch. I still had an hour before I had to be back at the Charles.

“Are you sure?”

“It would be a pleasure.” He stood and crossed to the door, retrieving a paper bag from his jacket pocket. “And I want to hear more about the last ten years of your life.”

We had a little picnic there in Jonathan’s office. He even had a small refrigerator in a corner from which he pulled two cold Diet Cokes. His calm assessment of the attack on Sara and his confidence that the attacker would be found and punished helped me to relax. We chatted easily as we ate. It was with reluctance that I realized it was time to go.

We exchanged phone numbers, and he promised to let me know if he heard any news about Sara and the investigation.

“Well,” he said, helping me into my coat, “I’m sorry that we had to run into each other under these circumstances, but I’m glad that we ran into each other.”

“Me, too,” I said, suddenly feeling as awkward in his presence as I had at eighteen. Not that I’d actually ever stood this close to him when I was eighteen. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing,” he said. And while I was figuring out whether or not it made sense to shake his hand, he bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I was out the door and a few steps down the hallway, feeling the familiar blush spreading across my face with renewed vigor, when he called after me.

“Hey, Rachel?”

I turned, hoping that my color wouldn’t show in the fluorescent light of the corridor. He stood in the doorway to his office, his blue eyes bright.

“I hope it’s not another ten years before I see you again.”

I flashed him a smile and a wave and scurried off.

It wasn’t until I was outside that I realized I hadn’t thought of Peter once since I’d entered the building, much less mentioned him to Jonathan.

I had to tell someone about what had just happened. It’s not every day that you run into the love of your life. Even though, I reminded myself, I’d only thought Jonathan was the love of my life when I was young and naive. Now I had Peter, the real love of my life, even if he had been acting a bit preoccupied of late and even if Jonathan’s presence had been enough to erase all thoughts of him from my head for the better part of an hour. Still, I was bursting with the news.

I pulled out my phone as I hurried across the business school campus. My first thought was to try Emma, but if she was really starting a new series, she’d be too distracted to be of much use, so I dialed Jane’s number instead. The familiar voice that answered was throaty, with faint traces of an exotic accent.

“Luisa?”

“Rachel? Is that you?”

“It is,” I confirmed.

“How are you, darling? I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Me, too. But you’ll never guess who I just had lunch with.”

“Rachel, I took an overnight flight and I’ve gotten three hours of sleep in the last two days. You can’t honestly expect me to guess.”

“No need to be cranky. You give up?”

“Indeed. And I’m not cranky.”

“Jonathan Beasley!”

“Who’s Jonathan Beasley?”

“Who’s Jonathan Beasley?” I repeated, amazed that she could have forgotten and forgetting myself that I had pretty much forgotten until I’d crashed into him. “Only the love of my life.”

“Peter’s the love of your life, darling. Nice try.”

“I know he is. I’m talking about the love of my previous life.”

“I thought that was Chris the Sociopath?”

“This predates Chris the Sociopath. Don’t you remember? The guy from English 10?”

“No.”

“The Love Story guy? You honestly don’t remember him?”

“Hold on a sec.” I heard her open a door and close it and then the sound of her lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “Sorry, needed to step out onto the porch. I think Jane would have me arrested if I smoked in the house. Of course, she doesn’t seem too worried about my dying from exposure.”

“Come on, Luisa. Pay attention. Jonathan Beasley. Blondish hair, bluish eyes. Incredible smile. So beautiful. Just like Ryan O’Neal but smarter looking. And with a better voice. And maybe with some Robert Redford thrown in. A much younger Robert Redford. You must remember.”

“Maybe I do. Dressed really preppie?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’d sit there like a lump, ogling him and not doing anything about it? Just sort of pining away instead?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but that pretty much describes a lot of your behavior in college. At least when it came to matters concerning the opposite sex.” I heard her take another deep drag.

“Nice to talk to you, too.”

“Okay, tell me, since you clearly want to. Where did you encounter Jonathan Beasley?”

I gave her a quick but comprehensive account of the events of the past twenty-four hours as I picked my way among the piles of slush and patches of ice on the bridge across the river.

“It sounds like you’ve had an action-packed visit so far,” she commented. “I hadn’t realized Cambridge had gotten so dangerous. I thought things had shaped up since we were in college. But someone attacked this woman-what is her name again, your client?”

“Sara. Sara Grenthaler.”

“And they don’t know who did it?”

“No.” I filled her in on the various theories that had been floated so far. “But it was probably just a random thing. I can’t imagine someone would really want to hurt her.”

“I hope not. Anyhow, enough of this. I want to hear about Peter.”

I hesitated. Seeing Jonathan Beasley had provided a welcome distraction from my earlier unease about Peter. And if I actually put my unease into words, talked about it out loud, would I make it true? But pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t would invite the wrath of the Jinxing Gods. Not that I believed in them anymore. “He’s been acting sort of weird,” I hedged.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, really. I mean, he was fine last night, but he seems really stressed-out about work, and he’s barely had time to speak to me today.”

“He’s probably just busy.”

“I know. And I’m probably overreacting.”

“But?”

“He has this new colleague.”

“Let me guess. The colleague’s a she, and you’re jealous.”

“She looks like Christy Turlington.”

“Who’s Christy Turlington?”

“The one who does all the perfume ads for Calvin Klein.”

“Oh. That’s not good.”

“She called him twice between eleven last night and seven this morning.”

“They are working together,” Luisa pointed out. “And you know what start-ups are like. The pace is frantic.”

“Two calls, Luisa. At times when people should be asleep. And I could hear her laughing in the background this morning when I called him. They were in her hotel room, together. He said they had work to do and rushed me off the phone.”

“Darling, even if she does look like this Christy person, I think you may be imagining problems where there aren’t any.”