She was looking at her reflection in the big plate glass mirror that covered most of the wall over the sink. At least, she knew it had to be her reflection, because - a swift glance behind her confirmed it - there was no one else in the small, gray-tiled, steel-fixtured room. The thing was, though, the woman looking back at her - the stranger with the pole-axed expression and the IV unit teetering precariously beside her - was no one she recognized at all. Whoever this woman was, it definitely wasn't her. You're nuts. That was her first thought. Her second, as she stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at what had to be her own reflection because there just wasn't anyone else there in the bathroom with her whose reflection it could be, was, Holy crap, I've woken up in somebody else's body. Or something. SHE had an unruly mop of curly auburn hair that cascaded around her shoulders. Her skin was pale as milk. Her cheeks were full, her chin pointed. Her eyes were deep-set, with thick dark brown brows that gave her expression a distinguishing gravitas that she had always liked. And she was plumper, not plump but curvier, that was the word, than the waif in the mirror. Who was an impossibly thin beauty with a golden tan and shiny straight platinum blonde hair that ended in feathery layers that reached maybe an inch past her chin in front and was shorter in back. Right at the moment, the 'do was a mess, with the ends sticking out every which way and the back smashed, but she was pretty sure she was looking at a hundred dollar haircut. Or maybe even a two hundred dollar haircut. The very thought of which boggled her mind. I can't afford that. The thought popped into her mind out of nowhere. The woman in the mirror apparently could. Along with a big ole sapphire ring and diamond ear studs that had to be at least a carat each and a pricey manicure and who knew what else. This isn't me. Heart pounding, staring horrified at the woman in the mirror who was - duh! - looking equally horrified as she stared back, Katharine broke into a cold sweat. Whoa. Calm down. Breathe. Okay, the bandage on her nose - which thankfully wasn't nearly as big or noticeable as it felt - kept her from getting a good look at that feature, but she definitely remembered getting her face smashed into her kitchen floor, so that was right. The bump on her forehead, too, had probably happened then, or maybe later, when she had flung herself out the window. Which meant that she was definitely looking at the woman who had been terrorized and almost killed in her townhouse last night. In other words, herself. Get a grip. Who else could you be?