No, she wouldn't go there. Not now. Not with Scanlon standing next to her. She blinked and looked back at the mother. In a language that was becoming more familiar to her than English, she said, "I want peace as you do. May I buy you food?"

The woman's eyes widened. She was new to the journalists' building. Most of the street people were regulars and knew to expect help from Lauren. The woman put her arms around her children, clearly protective as she locked eyes with Lauren. "Yes." She spoke with a shame and disbelief that was common among the Afghans. Years of repression had caused most women to fear speaking at all, let alone to an American stranger. The woman lifted her chin a little. "That would be more than I could ask."

"Very well." Lauren nodded to Scanlon. "It's early still. Let's meet down here in half an hour."

"Okay." They went through the doors together. A cafe on the first floor was operational now that Western journalists were always passing through the lobby. At the entrance, Scanlon waved. "I'll meet you here."

She nodded and turned her attention to a young girl working behind the cafe counter. Service was slow, but she paid for four rice bowls and four juice drinks. Then she took them outside and handed them to the children's mother. It was important that the woman be the one to give the food to her own children. It was one small way of giving her back some of her dignity.

"Thank you." There were tears in the woman's eyes. "All Americans, I thank you."

Lauren smiled, but gritted her teeth. Not all Americans. Some Americans still believed they were doing everyone a service by fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. But whatever slim reason the president might've had for starting the war, it was long past. It was time to call the war off and send over humanitarian help. If she were the one in charge, peace in this part of the world would be easy. But it was peace in her own life that was impossible to figure out.

She flipped her straight blonde hair over her shoulder and nodded at the woman. Then she turned back, went through the entrance, and walked past the elevator. Her room was on the seventh floor, and she always took the stairs. She could lie in foxholes next to soldiers, taking notes and working on a story while missiles exploded all around her. But she couldn't ride an elevator to save her life. The idea of stepping inside one was enough to make her heart race. Just the thought of them made her feel trapped, like she was suffocating.

She headed into the stairwell and started up.

The little Afghani girl's face flashed in her mind. What was it about her? Those eyes maybe, dark striking eyes, like Shane's. The sort of eyes Emily might've had. Of course, if she'd lived, she wouldn't be a little girl now. She'd be a young woman. For a moment Lauren stopped and closed her eyes, her hand tight around the railing.

It hurt so much spending time with children, knowing that her daughter would be alive if she'd been a better mother. If she hadn't taken chances with her baby's life. She opened her eyes and kept walking. As much as it hurt, she'd rather spend time with Afghani children than with any of the adults she'd met. Children reminded her that no matter how frozen her heart felt, no matter how driven she was to be the best, most hard-hitting reporter at Time, somewhere inside she was still seventeen years old, driving from Chicago to Los Angeles, grieving the loss of her little Emily. How different her life might've been if her daughter had lived.

Stop it! She'd given herself that same order so many times. Not that it made much difference. She breathed in and closed her eyes for a moment. How come I can still smell her, still feel her in my arms?

Enough. Lauren opened her eyes and picked up her pace. Scanlon would be down early, the way he always was. After a few minutes she reached her floor. The stairs were good for her. They helped her stay in shape, a crucial factor if she was going to continue reporting from active areas of the war theater. And she would continue, as long as she believed her articles might have even the smallest influence on bringing the war to an end.

She reached room 722, slipped her card in the slot above the door handle, and pushed her way inside. She changed from her heavy khaki pants to a pair of shorts. The day promised to get hotter and spending time at the orphanage would mean she didn't need extra clothing. There would be no slamming herself into the sand or hiding in craggy bluffs while a battle played out before her eyes.

Most Americans figured the war in Afghanistan was over. But there were uprisings of insurgents all the time, and an entire contingency of U.S. troops were still battling them on a daily basis. The problem wasn't the insurgents, of course. Countries like Afghanistan would always have radical insurgents and terrorist groups. The problem was the innocent people harmed along the way. No wonder the country had so many orphans.

She sat on the edge of her bed and caught her breath. Her chest hurt and she leaned back on her elbows. The stairs must've done it, right? That's why she felt so tight. But even as the thought tried to take root, she let it go. It was a lie. The walk up hadn't made her chest ache. It was the little girl. The child's eyes burned in her mind, taking her back the way orphans' faces often took her back. Back to that terrible day, when she left the life she'd known . . .

She'd driven away from the hospital and headed for California, determined never to come home again. Her plan had been straightforward. She would live in LA until she found Shane. Three or four months, if it took that long. Then the two of them could find a way to stay together and, when things were stable, they'd go back to Chicago and have a proper burial for Emily. Give their baby the funeral service she deserved.

Much had gone just the way she'd planned. With a place to live, a car, and a job, she had no trouble getting her new ID and her residency established. School came easily, also. She passed the GED without studying at all, and the community college was more than happy to have her. Only one thing hadn't gone according to schedule.

She never found Shane.

As the months turned into years, she thought about going home. She could walk up to the front door and tell her parents she needed their help to find him. By then, maybe they would've known a way to reach Shane. She would hug them and hold them and tell them she forgave them for what they'd done. At least she'd have a family again, even if she never found Shane.

But she couldn't do it. She kept telling herself she needed to find him first. That way she could go home and make a clean start, without the need to hold anything against her parents.

The memories stirred dusty emotions in her soul, making her throat thick. She grabbed a water bottle from the half-full case on the nightstand next to her bed. There wasn't one thing she hadn't done to find Shane Galanter. She called high schools and eventually colleges. She searched out his last name, and three times she had help from one of her university professors, a man who specialized in investigative reporting.

"He must be living under his parents'corporation name," the guy finally concluded. "His parents could've called their California business just about anything. All the assets would be listed under that name."

The question she never asked, the thing that didn't make sense, was why Shane would do such a thing? Didn't he realize she couldn't find him if he lived that way? Of course, by changing her name she might've kept him away without meaning to. She'd done it to hide from her parents, not from Shane. Regardless, she kept looking. Every week she thought of something else, but each idea fizzled, turning up no sign of him. Sometimes she thought she'd go crazy looking. Back when every tall, dark-haired, Greek-looking man caused her heart to skip a beat. Back when she would race across a street and into a store or office building chasing after someone with Shane's build, his look.

"Excuse me," she'd shout at the man. "Are you - "

He'd turn and she'd be looking at a complete stranger - who clearly thought she was crazy.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

It happened again and again. A different street, different store, different tall, dark man. Sometimes she got close enough to touch his arm or his shoulder before realizing it wasn't Shane.

"I'm sorry." She would back away, her face hot. "I thought you were someone else."

She didn't give up until the ten-year anniversary of Emily's death. On that day she took off Shane's ring and put it in a small, square cardboard jewelry box with the pictures she'd kept: one of the two of them, their arms around each other, and the other of Emily. Before she closed the lid she read the words on the ring, words Shane had engraved for her alone.

Even now.

They were still true that dark day. In some ways they always would be. She loved Shane, even now. Even when he was dead to her, when she had moved a million miles beyond the days of loving him.

As time wore on, she no longer lived under a different name. She became Lauren Gibbs. A single woman, alone in a world that had turned upside down overnight. If Shane had tried to find her, he wouldn't have had a clue to look for her under that name. No one would've. Even so, she didn't change her name back. She didn't want to be Lauren Anderson again. That Lauren had been trapped by her circumstances and forced into a series of actions that cost her the two people she loved most.

No, Lauren Anderson was as dead as her baby daughter.

Lauren sat up straighter and took a long swig of the water. It was room temperature, as usual. She swallowed some more and then lowered the bottle back to her lap. A wind had picked up outside, kicking dust into the atmosphere and dulling the blue morning sky. What were her parents doing these days? They would be nearing retirement age, probably traveling and talking about the old days. In the beginning they probably looked for her, but after awhile it would've become obvious that she didn't want to be found. Not then, and not now. Except . . .

Except once in a while, when a cool wind kicked up in the middle of December and she could still feel how it was, sitting around a Christmas tree with her parents and Shane's parents and Shane. She stared out the hotel window, but instead of the wind-beaten sky, she saw a scene from two decades ago, heard the laughter, felt the warmth of shared love.

What would happen if she went back now?

She blinked, and the memory swirled into nothingness, like dust in the desert wind. It didn't matter what would happen, because she couldn't go back. She didn't know the way if she wanted to. Her throat still hurt, and her eyes grew moist. She coughed. Get a grip, Lauren.

"Come on, Gibbs. You're tougher than this." She pressed her hands to her eyes and inhaled sharply. "A story's waiting."

She grabbed her backpack and double-checked to see that her lip balm was still inside. Then she snatched a bag of American lollipops from one of her dresser drawers. Lollipops were in high demand at orphanages. It gave her a way to connect with the kids. With that she was out the door and headed down the stairs.

Normally with a story pending, she could shake off any memories of the past. But today it wasn't so easy. Was it Christmas making things so difficult? Whatever it was, times like this she had to wonder which battle affected her more. The one that still raged in parts of Afghanistan.

Or the one deep in her heart.

FIFTEEN.

Shane Galanter had been putting off the engagement party for nearly a month. But when Ellen suggested December 23, he knew he'd run out of excuses. Even the Top Gun flight school where he worked as an instructor was closed down that Friday and the following week. Fighter pilots needed a Christmas break, same as anyone.

Maybe even more so.

The engagement party was at the Marriott in Reno. Ellen had worked with his mother to pull it together. Eighty people in one of the hotel's smaller banquet rooms. Shane left his car with a valet and squinted up at the building. It wasn't true that it never rained in the desert states. That afternoon was fifty degrees with drizzle. Another reason he hated spending a Friday night in a room packed with people.

"Here, sir." A blond surfer kid handed him a claim check.

"Thanks." He stuffed it into his pocket and faced the hotel entrance.

He wanted to marry Ellen. It wasn't that. But throwing a party to announce their engagement seemed a little outdated. He was thirty-six, after all, and Ellen was twenty-seven. People their age were supposed to have a quiet ceremony and get on with their lives.

He sucked in a quick breath and slipped his hands in his pocket. The party was more his mother's idea than anything. His parents loved Ellen, the way they hadn't loved any of his previous girlfriends. He maneuvered himself through the lobby to the bank of elevators. Not that he'd had many girlfriends.

None that ever really mattered until now.

Ellen Randolph, the daughter of Congressman Terry Randolph, was a Christian connected to the most powerful Republican circles in the country. Shane met her two years earlier at a congressional award dinner. He was receiving an honor for being one of the top fighter pilots in Operation Enduring Freedom. She was working for her father, and he noticed her a minute after entering the room.

Halfway through the night, Shane saw one of the veteran flight instructors talking with her and her father. The man was one of Shane's most respected mentors, so he made his way to the small cluster of people and managed to get an introduction.

He and Ellen had been inseparable ever since.

He stopped at the front desk and waited until one of the attendants looked his way. "Yes, I'm trying to find the Galanter banquet room."

The girl blushed as she looked at him. She was a heavy redhead with pale blue eyes. "The engagement party, right?"

Shane smiled. "That's the one."

"Let's see." She checked a list taped to the desk. "You're in the Hillside Room. It's on the tenth floor, right turn off the elevator." She batted her lashes at him. "You by yourself?"

He gave her a half grin. "I'm the guy getting married."

"Oh." Her cheeks darkened. "Lucky girl."

"I guess." He gave her a nod and headed for the elevator. It had taken him longer to get ready than he'd expected. He'd wrapped things up at the air base early that afternoon and made good time getting back to his home in La Costa. But he'd lost time after he got dressed. He was looking for a certain set of cuff links when he spotted the picture. Her picture.

The one Lauren gave him before he moved.

Seeing her face stopped him cold. He took hold of the photo and found his way to the recliner in the corner of his bedroom. For half an hour he held it, looking at her, studying the way her eyes seemed to look straight at him. He'd never really stopped looking for her. But over time it seemed ridiculous to keep trying so hard. He was through officer's training and naval flight school before his father sat him down and put it to him as kindly as he could. "Son, you need to let her go. She doesn't want to be found or you would've come across her by now."

"I'm not looking." His answer was quick, but it wasn't the truth.

"You are. All of life is out there waiting for you." His dad was sitting across from him in the apartment he was renting at the time. He leaned closer, his expression intense. "Some where out there is a woman who will love you and make you happy. If that woman was Lauren Anderson, you'd know."

He didn't want to admit it, but his father's argument made sense. He'd done everything but go door-to-door throughout all of Illinois looking for her. Still, he hated the lack of closure. The last thing he'd told Lauren Anderson was that he'd love her forever. No matter what. Nothing had happened to change that, except the obvious. She'd vanished from his life without a trace, without a single trail to follow.

And yet, here he was, on the night of his engagement party, staring at Lauren's picture and wondering what had happened. When his family first made the move, and it seemed only a matter of days before they could talk to each other, he had believed everything would work out after his senior year. But as months wore on without any way to contact her, he began to suspect his parents.

"You must know how to reach them," he'd say every few days. "Just tell me the number. It's my life. I have to live it the way I want to. And I want Lauren."

But his parents always denied having any of her family's information. "A few weeks separation was all we agreed to," his mother would tell him. "When Angela Anderson calls with their phone number, you'll be the first person to have it."

Shane shook off the memories and looked this watch. The party was starting in five minutes, and Ellen had asked him to be there half an hour early. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the tenth floor. Four floors up, the lift stopped and a family of three stepped inside. They wore bathing suits and had towels draped around their shoulders.

"Headed for the pool." The man raised one eyebrow as if to say it wasn't his idea.

"Sounds like fun."

"What about you?" The guy surveyed him. "Christmas shindig?"

"Engagement party." Shane leaned against the elevator wall. "Mine."

"Hey - " the man reached out and shook his hand - "congratulations."

"Thanks." He smiled at the guy. His wife was busy helping one of the kids with his shoes.

On the eighth floor the family got off. Shane watched them go, and a sudden stab of envy pierced him. He shook it off. What on earth did he have to be envious about? Just as the door was closing, a blonde woman walked past, headed in the same direction as the family. Probably another swimmer . . .

But Shane hesitated, staring. Almost without thinking, he hit the "door open" button. There was something familiar about her. Something he didn't quite understand - not until she looked over her shoulder.

Shane's breath screeched to a halt.

Lauren!

The girl was the mirror image of Lauren! He let go of the button, intending to step out, but the doors started to close. He slid his hand between them, stopping them. But by the time the doors opened again, she was gone. He checked his watch and frowned. This was crazy. He was already late. Still . . . He couldn't leave without knowing.

It was a long shot, but it was possible. Maybe she'd located him through his rank and file, or found him with the help of a private investigator. How many Shane Galanters could possibly live in the Reno, Nevada, area? Maybe she was staying at the hotel. His heart thudded hard against his chest as he darted off the elevator and jogged down the carpeted hallway. A fitness center and a spa were on opposite sides of the corridor. The pool was at the very end, and since she'd been wearing flip-flops he guessed that was the most likely place to find her.

He passed a few kids on his way, and when he reached the pool door, he flung it open. He hurried inside and scanned the deck area. It took seconds to spot her. She was sitting next to a small-framed alderman, watching a couple of older teenage boys in the pool. Was one of them his son? The child he'd never met? Shane clearly wasn't dressed for the pool, and because he'd rushed into the deck area, he suddenly had everyone's attention.

Including hers.

Now that she was looking at him square on, he could see the obvious. It wasn't Lauren. He gave a sheepish nod in her direction, then backed away. He was on the elevator again in less than a minute, his heart still racing. What had he been thinking? His days of searching for Lauren were over. He had Ellen now. He wasn't supposed to still be seeing his childhood love behind the sunglasses of every blonde in Nevada.

But for a moment, he'd been overwhelmed by the idea that the woman was Lauren - and that could mean one of the teenage boys was his. His very own son. He made a fist and banged it twice against the elevator wall. Insanity, Galanter. Pure insanity. He gave up on the idea of having kids years ago. Somewhere out there he had a child, one that was probably being raised by a kind adoptive family. Hadn't he decided that was enough?

He caught his breath and let his arms fall back at his sides. Cold feet, that's all this was. He was marrying a lovely, intelligent girl, someone who would make a wonderful wife. She was articulate and excited about the politics he was passionate for. She didn't want children, either.

That suited him fine. Children would only remind him every day of what he could've had - should've had - with Lauren.

He stepped off the elevator, straightened his suit jacket, and followed the signs to the Hillside Room. Half the guests were already there, mingling around the perimeter of the room. Before he had time to look for her, Ellen was at his side. She wore a conservative blue floor-length evening gown, one that subtly emphasized her figure and complimented her eyes.

"Hi." She eased herself into his arms and smiled at him. Her expression was soft and sexy, her attention his completely. She brought her lips to his and kissed him. It was a kiss slow enough to stir him, but brief enough to keep up the polished look of propriety that was important to both of them. She pulled back a few inches and searched his gaze. Her tone was low and teasing. "Glad you could make it."

"Me too." He refused to think about the blonde at the pool. "You look wonderful. Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay." She flashed him a grin, stepped back and fell in beside him, her arm around his waist. "Come see your mother. She's looking for you."

They crossed the room to a bank of windows on the other side. The view from the tenth floor was stunning. Even under gray skies, the mountains that stretched along the horizon looked spectacular. His mother was by herself, leaning on a handrail and staring out at the view. Ellen kissed his cheek this time. "I'm going to greet some of the guests."

"Okay." He smiled at her as he turned toward his mom.

Her dress was simple and elegant. She looked ten years younger than her age as she glanced at him over her shoulder. He would've expected her to be bubbly and ecstatic that night. It was what she'd always wanted, that he'd marry a girl like Ellen. Instead her expression was shadowed with what looked like doubt and fear.

"Mom, you okay?" He hugged her, and then leaned on the railing next to her. He gave a low chuckle. "You're supposed to be right there with Ellen, remember? The belles of the ball."