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Ordinary Woman, Extraordinary Situation Still more than a block behind, but gaining, the man followed. Twenty-something, spiky blond hair, steel zippers and snaps punctuating his black leather jacket. Eugenia Clarke couldn't see his eyes, but didn't need to. The prickling skin on her back told her they were fixed on her. A drop of sweat trickled down her calf. The route along Rome's Via del Babuino's few irregular blocks, from the Piazza del Popolo to the Piazza di Spagna, was so familiar-she'd walked it a hundred times-and the stones of the shuttered buildings glowed in the clear autumn sunlight of a Sunday afternoon. This can't be happening, not here, now. To me. She glanced back. Yet, there he was. She should have called out to one of the young couples she'd passed when she first entered the street, but at that point she wasn't sure. A leather-clad man half her age following her, why would he be? Who'd believe it? Now it was too late. No one was near. How ironic-she bit her upper lip and walked faster-a travel writer, full of sought-after advice, she helped people stay out of trouble. Thousands of readers relied on her. Why is he doing this?

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