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and stepped away from the counter, dragging the suitcase along after her.
    Well, at least things were looking up. She’d heard of WestAir—it was a large airline that flew in the western United States. Either the receptionist back at Allen Associates had got the name wrong or Wind River shared facilities with WestAir. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was getting there on time.
    Automatically, she began walking faster, glancing every now and then at the green WestAir signs. The suitcase behind her wobbled dangerously and headed towards the wall.
    J essica swallowed a muttered obscenity and dragged it into line. She had passed through another doorway; a long corridor loomed ahead of her. She quickened her pace, tugging sharply at the suitcase as it changed direction once more. There was a faint dragging sensation against her hand and then the suitcase ground to stop. She almost stumbled at the intensity with which it seemed to work itself into the floor. Jessica brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and knelt down.
    ‘Damn!’ she said softly. Two of the wheels lay behind the suitcase, belly up like little dead animals . She touched her finger to them and then scooped them into the palm of her hand.
    N ow what, she thought, rising to her feet and looking up and down the corridor. There wasn’t a trolley in sight. In fact, there was no one in sight. The corridor was lined with flight gates, but all the waiting areas around them were dark.
    But the little green signs for WestAir still pointed the way. Jessica took a deep breath and grasped the leather handle of the suitcase with both hands, groaning as she hoisted it up from the floor.
    ‘Come on, Jessie, you can do it,’ she muttered under her breath.
    She’d survived two weeks of aerobic workouts, hadn’t she? And a month of early-morning jogging through Central Park. And a trial membership at that health club…
    If sh e’d only stuck with one of those things long enough to make it count. Each time, she’d wanted to work off a couple of pounds, not grow muscles. And she needed muscles right now, she knew. The handle was digging into her palm—actually it felt as if it were gouging a hole in the tender flesh. But that wasn’t as bad as the pain shooting up her arms and shoulders and back and, dammit, she needed a porter.
    ‘Hey ... Excuse me. Sir?’
    Jessica tottered towards a man carrying a mop and pail. He was stoop-shouldered and sparse white hair lay across his shiny scalp, but he was the most beautiful sight she’d seen all day. He put down his pail as she approached.
    ‘Is there a porter around?’ The man shook his head. ‘Well, is there a way for me to call for one?’
    ‘Nope. That suitcase of yours broken?’
    Jessica nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, it is ...’
    The old man shrugged. ‘Don’t make things the way they used to,’ he said, bending towards the pail. Jessica held out her hand.
    ‘Wait, please. Can you just tell me how far it is to the Wind River gate?’ He looked blank and she almost rolled her eyes in frustration. ’WestAir,’ she said. ‘How far is it to WestAir, then?’
    ‘ Gotta say what you mean,’ he said laconically. ‘WestAir’s just down the hall a piece. Not far.’
    ‘Not far,’ she repeated, staring at the endless corridor ahead. With a sigh, she lifted the suitcase again. ‘Thanks.’
    So much for Western hospitality, she thought, marching onward. Or was it Southern hospitality? No matter. Whichever it was, it wasn’t anything to boast about. New Yorkers were supposed to be cold and impersonal, but at least at Kennedy Airport they had trolleys and luggage carts and people!
    This place was the wide open West, all right. Miles and miles of airport and not a soul in sight. And the ones who were certainly weren’t very helpful. Oh, they sounded friendly enough, but that was just because there was a kind of softness to their speech, like that man on the plane.
    Jessica’s shoulders stiffened.
    That