By Julie Coulter Bellon 

 Chapter One

Kennedy Campbell was being pulled to the bottom of the Malacca Strait, the water around her suffocating her, stealing her air, making lights dance before her eyes as her body strained for the oxygen that wasn’t there.  She kicked as hard as she could, pulling against the heavy burka that was weighing her down, but the fabric clung to her, as if it were always meant to act as her funeral shroud.  The light above her that would guide her to the surface seemed to be fading as if her eyes were slowly closing, and she knew she had to make one last stand to go toward it. 

She twisted her arms around, clawing at her back, trying to find the hooks that held the burka together.  Bubbles snorted from her nose at the effort and her lungs burned.  Fumbling, she arched her back and kicked her legs.  Come on! she silently screamed, but the material held fast.  Sinking downward, Kennedy closed her eyes, surrendering to the heaviness surrounding her.  Open your eyes, Kennedy, she ordered, and lifted her lids in response.  Focus.  Don’t make your parents bury another daughter.

Keeping her eyes on the small pinpoint of light hovering above her, Kennedy wriggled and punched at the heavy cloth enough to finally free her upper body so she could flap her arms in an attempt to rise to the top, to break the surface and breathe the air she’d always taken for granted. There were only seconds to spare before she drowned. With every last ounce of energy she had, she pushed for the light and the life-giving air she knew she would get if she could just reach it. 

When she finally broke through, she gasped, gulping and choking in the muddy water that was desperate to pull her back underneath its waves.  Her lungs felt like they were on fire as she sucked in oxygen mixed with water.  Coughing and sputtering, she was pulled under twice more, the water’s current working against her.  Kennedy couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t get on top of the waves, and the twisted burka was still hampering her efforts to stay afloat.  She felt like she was going to die no matter what she did. 

Her eyes and lungs burned with a fire she’d never felt before and every breath made her cough uncontrollably.  Again and again she tried to get on top of the water so she could get control of her breathing to actually take a breath instead of just sucking water.  Kicking her legs hard, she broke the surface to gulp in another breath, and as she did, she felt something float past her head.  Grabbing for it, she missed the first time, but quickly rolled and caught it on her second try. 

She realized it was a piece of wood and clung to it like the life preserver it was.  Steadying herself with it under her body, she floated for a moment trying to get her bearings and breathe without coughing.  Wiping the water away from her eyes and taking deep gulping breaths, she stared upward at the life-giving moonlight above her that had penetrated the dark waters enough to lead her to the surface. 

She was grateful to be alive.  

She floated there for a few minutes, taking in her surroundings as best she could, and giving her exhausted body a little respite before she tried to get to shore and find her friends.  Looking behind her, she could just barely see the edge of the boat she had been on, sinking beneath the water.  At first, she didn’t see any other swimmers around it, and her heart sank. 

“Jaabir,” she shouted as loudly as she dared, treading water and slowly turning from side to side.  “Jaabir!”

A split-second later she spotted something else floating toward her.  Paddling toward it as best she could, her hopes soared as she realized it was a person.  But just as quickly they sank as she got closer and could see that the person wasn’t moving.  Hoping against hope it wasn’t Jaabir or Samira, she finally reached the floating body, and, while clutching her wood piece with one hand, she turned the body over with the other. 

She flinched back.  It’s wasn’t Jaabir or Samira, but it was a woman Kennedy knew.  She had been with them through the entire journey from Afghanistan, but Kennedy had never learned her name.  She was so quiet, but would give small smiles to Kennedy when the men weren’t looking.  A little sob escaped Kennedy’s lips.  That small smile was still on her face, frozen there in death. 

Kennedy stared at the woman, unsure of what to do.  Trying to stay afloat in the waves while holding onto the woman’s body was difficult.  Kennedy’s burka swirled around her in the water and she felt its constant downward pull.  She was exhausted and shivering and she didn’t know how much longer she could fight.  She had to get to land soon, but she didn’t want to leave the woman in the water.  Alone.  Someone needed to be there with her.  For her.  The way she should have been for Abby before she died.

At the thought of her sister, Kennedy lifted her chin.  “I can do this,” she said, glancing heavenward. 

But her head went under the waves once more, the water’s pull like a relentless whirlpool, sucking them both down. Kennedy opened her eyes underwater, looking into the dead face of the body she was clutching, knowing her strength was almost gone and that their bodies were now a weight that helped the water in its quest to own them both.  She was going to die, just like her quiet, almost-friend in front of her who had wanted nothing more than a better life. 

Kennedy knew if she wanted to live she had to let go, but she wished there was another way.  There wasn’t.  Resigning herself to that fact that she had failed the woman she barely knew just as she had failed her sister, she let the woman go.  Immediately she felt physically lighter. But Kennedy knew that the heaviness that had settled in her heart once again would never go away.  She followed the body to the surface as it moved away from her, finally breaking the waves herself, gasping and retching the moment she did.   

Turning toward land, the choppy water washed over Kennedy time and again, filling her ears, nose, and mouth as she swam toward it.  Concentrate, she told herself.  One stroke at a time. You can’t die. You can’t put Mom and Dad through that.

  With her head bobbing over and under the waves, she put the last drop of her reserves into getting to shore. 

Every part of her body ached, and it took all she had to lift one arm above the other to keep swimming.  It seemed to take forever before the shore was within reach, and as she drew closer, she could see some people huddled near a small bush.  Glad that she wasn’t the only survivor, she dragged herself onshore and collapsed on the rocky sand.  If felt so good to be out of the water, she almost turned her face and kissed the land, but resisted the urge and instead, she laid there for a moment, enjoying the feeling.

She didn’t lay there long before she could hear the footsteps of someone approaching her.  Raising her eyes without raising her head, she could see that the shadow was large enough to be a man, but he quickly crouched low when lights swept over the beach.  Realizing that they could be in danger, Kennedy quickly pulled herself into a crouching position and stayed low as she moved away from the lapping water.  She semi-crawled up the beach, feeling almost overwhelming relief when she recognized the man trying to meet her halfway. Jaabir.  He knelt in the sand when he reached her and held out his hands, taking her by the arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said with a grim smile as he gave her a quick once-over.  “I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“What about your sister and nephew?” she asked, barely able to speak, her voice scratchy from all her coughing and the emotion she felt welling up inside her.  Trying to get herself under control, she concentrated on the man in front of her.  “Did you get them out?”

Jaabir nodded and pointed toward the other two shadows.  “I have them.  But we must get out of here quickly.  They are sweeping the beaches and if we are caught we will be sent to the government facility that does not look kindly on people like us. Or maybe worse.” 

She picked up the bottom of her long burka and waited a moment to see if there would be any more lights looking for movement before they ran quickly toward Jaabir’s relatives.  Kennedy felt a shiver of unease run up her back and she stole a glance behind her.  The inky darkness and sound of water was all she could see and she tried to relax.  When she reached the small shrubs where Jaabir’s sister, Samira, and his nephew, Mosah were sitting, Mosah looked up at her, sneezing and breathing heavily, his clothing obviously just as wet as hers.  Samira huddled next to him, her eyes wide with fear as she unobtrusively resumed wringing out the little boy’s clothing as best she could. She glanced up at Kennedy and Jaabir as they approached her, worry plain on her face. 

Kennedy wanted to ask if Samira were all right, but she didn’t say a word as she drew near to them.  The lights swept close to the beach they were on and Kennedy sat down quickly.  Her adrenaline pumped through her heart one more time, not allowing her to wallow in how bone-tired she was all the way through her body.  Her wet burka felt as if she was dragging an extra forty pounds along with her and she wished she could take it off.  She wasn’t used to its heavy weight.  But as she watched Samira, she realized the woman didn’t see her burka as a burden at all and was using it as a cover to blend into the darkness.  Kennedy tried to mimic her stance, silently gathering the wet oppressive fabric around her to cover her position as well. Samira nodded to her, no words needed at all to express the fear and uncertainty they were both feeling. 

They sat there like that for a few minutes, silently wringing out clothing, trying to gather a little warmth, but the lights were coming closer and it was apparent that they were going to have to move soon.  But which direction to go in?  Jaabir seemed to be having the same thoughts as Kennedy.  He was on her left, carefully watching the road, and Kennedy assumed that he was scouting out the best way for them to escape.  She watched him and thought of going over to help him, but instead, she stayed where she was, mirroring Samira’s movements in wringing out her burka section by section while still covering herself and their hiding place.  Neither woman spoke as they worked.  Being illegally smuggled into a country was bad enough, but when that endeavor goes horribly wrong, it just didn’t seem like there was much to say.

When Kennedy’s burka was as wrung out as it was going to get, she wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to generate some body heat.  Glancing over at Samira, Kennedy could tell she was nervous, the abayah covering her head making her eyes seem even more large and luminous as they darted between her son and Jaabir.  Her front teeth were worrying her bottom lip so hard, Kennedy wondered if she would bite through it.

Realizing she was staring, Kennedy turned her head and watched the water, the memory of her near-drowning fresh in her mind.  Her lungs still felt like a fire raged through them at the thought of it.  She wondered what had happened to the body of the woman she hadn’t brought to shore.  Would someone find her?  Would the current take her very far?  Kennedy closed her eyes, the feeling of failure washing over her, the regret a hard lump in her heart.  It was just as fresh as the day Abby died.  Clenching her fists, she took as deep of a breath as she could.  She wasn’t going to go there.  Not again.

When she opened her eyes, lights were starting to illuminate the spot where their boat had sunk and Kennedy knew that they didn’t have much time left.  They were closing in.  She watched a medium-sized boat circle the wreckage, but even squinting through the darkness Kennedy couldn’t tell if it was a government boat patrolling the area or another illegal one trying to find something salvageable from the downed ship—whether it be people or goods.  Whatever kind of boat it was, she knew they didn’t want to take any chances that they would be found.  She stood up and started toward Jaabir’s position, feeling a little wobbly.  Trying to shake it off, Kennedy took a step back to make sure that Samira and her son weren’t far behind her, but when she started forward again, her legs were still having a hard time responding to her commands.  It was like they were frozen or something, or the muscles had been overloaded and given up.  But whatever reason it was, Kennedy didn’t have time for it.  She pressed on, trying to stay somewhat hidden by the foliage on the side of the road.

Jaabir reached their side and quickly ushered them to a small ditch near the edge of the road.  “I’m going to cross first with the boy.  When I signal that it’s safe, you and Kennedy follow,” he said to Samira.

She nodded and both women watched him reach the other side safely.  He gave a low whistle and Samira started across, but Kennedy heard something that made her stop in her tracks.  Realizing the hum she heard behind them was a truck coming, her stomach twisted with fear and she ducked down where she was, pulling her burka close around her, once again using it as a shield to hide her position. 

“No,” she whisper-shouted to Samira, but Samira flew across the road toward Jaabir and her son.  Kennedy’s breath caught when she saw Samira’s frightened face illuminated in the truck’s headlights.  She could see their shadows as Jaabir and Samira started to run into the field, the little boy between them.  Kennedy watched, helpless.  The truck stopped, and four men jumped out with AK-47s in their hands.  Kennedy knew they had no chance, but couldn’t turn away.  What should I do? 

She heard Samira’s scream as she was held back by one man, while reaching for Jaabir and the boy who were being hustled in the truck by two others. The fourth was scouring the fields with a large sweeping flashlight and Kennedy resisted the urge to run.  She quietly backed up toward the way they had come, hoping she could find some sort of cover, but before she had gone ten feet, she knew that the man with the light had spotted her. 

She turned around, the light in her face as the man came toward her, his gun at the ready.  Kennedy turned and ran for the beach, but tripped over her burka, falling face first in the grass near the road.  The man behind her caught up easily, before he grabbed her and hauled her to her feet.  She was herded into the back of the rickety old truck with Jaabir and his family.  The men were laughing as they jumped back in.  They seemed to be completely at ease and it made Kennedy’s insides boil.  She wanted to do something, but knew that there wasn’t anything she could do.  She was at their mercy.

The truck rumbled to life and the driver seemed to have a destination in mind as they headed toward the outskirts of the city.  The old truck bumped along the country road, its occupants watching each other as best they could in the darkness.  As soon as the driver and the two guards up front were focused once again on the road and less on them, Jaabir moved closer to Kennedy.  He waited until the two guards in the back with them were laughing together and not watching them as carefully, to sit next to her, pressing close against Kennedy’s side.  He leaned forward so she could hear his whisper.  “I’m so sorry that you are involved in this.” 

He shifted slightly, keeping his eyes on their captors.  “These men aren’t government, they are obviously paid scouts, and they aren’t anyone we want to be with.  I will create a diversion.  You and my sister take the boy and get out of here.”  He glanced up at his sister and she nodded as if she had planned this with him. 

Kennedy nodded.  “You know I will.”  Inching closer to the boy, she waited, hoping the truck wouldn’t speed up, that Jaabir wouldn’t die in his diversion attempt, and that she and Samira would be able to get away. 

The truck slowed to a crawl as it began to bounce its occupants almost uncontrollably like it was going over a string of potholes.  The guards were thrown off balance and Jaabir seized the moment.  Tackling the guard next to him, he grabbed for the gun.  Kennedy heard Samira screaming and impulsively she reached Mosah’s hand as she flew toward the opening at the back of the truck.  Her grip was tight on the little boy, but as she jumped, she heard the screaming abruptly stop as the gunfire exploded.

Kennedy was in mid-air she felt a whoosh of air as the boy next to her crumpled, falling like a stone to the ground.  Kennedy landed with her body crouched over him, breaking the silence with her own scream. “No, no, no, no.” 

Her gut clenched as she leaned over his little form, the red stain on his side evidence that she’d failed to protect him.  The truck was bouncing to a stop and Kennedy couldn’t even muster the urge to protect herself.  The child next to her was watching her, his brown eyes showing his obvious pain as he was bleeding, but he didn’t say a word of complaint, he just let the tears leaking out of his eyes say everything he didn’t.  Kennedy wished she had anything with her that could help him, that she could use to put pressure on his wound, but her own clothing was still wet and probably full of germs. She felt utterly helpless. 

The men were coming. She could hear them and yet, she didn’t run.  She couldn’t leave a little boy to die alone in the middle of a dirt road in Indonesia.  She held his hand and whispered to him, telling him it would be all right.  But inside, she knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Worry creased the flight attendant’s brow as she eased the obviously pregnant woman to the plane’s galley floor and adjusted her own jumpseat headrest underneath the woman’s head. Cushioning the headrest with as many small airline pillows and blankets as she could, she glanced up at Tyler, shaking her head. “We’re still an hour away. We have medical personnel waiting for us when we land in Paris, though.”

Tyler sighed in frustration. He was pretty sure this baby wouldn’t wait an hour.

“What’s wrong?” the young mother demanded, looking up into Tyler’s face. “Is there something wrong with the baby? I thought you said you were a doctor!”

“I am a doctor,” Tyler reassured her, his tone soothing. “My name is Dr. Tyler Winthrop, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you, but it looks like your baby isn’t going to wait for the plane to land.”

A single tear slid down the woman’s cheek as she slumped back, letting her hand go slack. “Will my baby die? I’m not due for another six weeks.”

Tyler squeezed her hand and shook his head for emphasis. “Not if I can help it.”

She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-stained now, but nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t want my baby to die.”

Tyler groaned inwardly at her words. A premature baby might need specialized care that he didn’t have at his disposal, but he planned to be true to his word. He would do everything he could to help. He rolled his sleeves up and turned back to the flight attendant. “I’m going to need more clean towels and whatever medical supplies you have on board. A couple more blankets as well.”

The flight attendant nodded and left. Tyler looked down into the eyes of his patient, seeing naked fear there but also trust that he would make this right, to heal her and help her. It was an all-too-familiar sight, and he looked away, telling himself that these circumstances were different. Still, this was a dangerous situation—nothing could change that—and so many factors could affect the outcome. He ran his hand through his short

brown hair and drew in a deep breath. Scrunching down onto the floor and trying to maneuver his long legs into a comfortable position beside his patient made Tyler even more acutely aware of the small space they were afforded in the back of the plane. But if he were to look at the silver lining of the situation, everything would be within arm’s reach. He grabbed a clean towel from the cart parked beside him and wiped a small bead of perspiration away from the woman’s forehead. “Tell me your name.”

“Amber,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think another contraction is coming.”

“Okay, just look at me. We’re going to breathe together. Do as I do.” He offered his hand to her. “Just squeeze my hand, and we’ll get through this.” As the contraction began to take hold, Tyler was grateful at how quickly the breathing techniques came back to him. It had been a long time since he’d helped someone through childbirth.

She clasped his hand firmly as the contraction gained strength and copied his breathing as she tried to get through the pain. When it was over, she sank back against the pile of pillows and blankets behind her. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her breathing was ragged now, and her face registered the pain she’d just been through.

“You can do this,” he reassured her. He looked over his shoulder, surprised that the flight attendant was taking so long with the supplies. “Where is your husband?” he asked, trying to keep Amber talking.

“He’s meeting me in Paris,” Amber said forlornly. “I thought I’d be okay to fly since I had six more weeks left.” She started to cry. “I should have stayed home and come after the baby was born.”

“Amber, I need you to concentrate on your baby. Stay calm and use all your strength,” he said gently and squeezed her hand again. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a girl,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “We just can’t decide on a name.”

The flight attendant poked her head back in, her arms full of towels and a box of medical supplies. “How are we doing? Is there any way at all to hold off until the plane lands?” Her eyebrows were raised in a question as she set everything down on the cart.

Tyler couldn’t answer her because another contraction had started and from the intensity with which Amber was squeezing his hand, he knew this one was stronger. He once again showed her the breathing technique and continued breathing with her until it was over. “It won’t be long now,” he finally said. “This baby isn’t waiting.” He grabbed some of the extra blankets and other supplies the flight attendant had brought and quickly got himself organized. “Amber, are you ready?”

Amber nodded weakly. “I think so.”

When Tyler opened the first-aid box and laid out what he would need, he looked up at Amber. “Okay, this is it.” Amber was wide-eyed and panicked. “Remember what I said—gather all your strength, and concentrate on your little girl.” She nodded and closed her eyes, but in a few moments the contraction was upon her, and she was pushing

while Tyler counted. All indications were that the baby was in the right position and that everything was textbook, but from his experience, that didn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong. He leaned down, trying to meet her eyes so she could focus on him. “You’re so close, Amber, just a few more pushes. I know you can do this. You’re just about to meet your baby.”

She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “I can’t do it,” she mumbled. “I can’t do it anymore.”

A second flight attendant joined them, looking at Amber sympathetically. “I came to tell you that the plane is getting ready to land now. The ambulance is waiting to take you to the hospital, and your husband is waiting there. Just hold on until then.”

Amber seemed to rally a bit at her words. “My husband is waiting?”

The attendant nodded. Amber took a deep breath and slowly let it out. After one more push, Tyler was holding the smallest baby he’d ever seen. He cleared her mouth as best he could, then gently compressed her tiny chest. When that didn’t seem to do anything, he tried blowing little puffs of air into her mouth while rubbing her with one of the towels, his heart pounding as they waited for her first cries.

“She’s not crying,” Amber choked out. “Is she . . . ?”

Tyler rubbed a little more vigorously, and after a few long seconds the baby let out a weak cry. He smiled and continued his ministrations, and before long, the baby was letting out a wail. He knew that it was critical for premature babies to stay warm, so he laid the baby on her mother’s stomach, then covered both of them with a blanket. “Amber, meet your daughter.”

The baby continued to wail, and he could hear applause from the passengers at the front of the plane. Looking at mother and daughter, he could barely contain the emotion that rose within him. It had been so long since he had been present when life was just beginning. Usually he was there to witness life drawing to a close, as the dying called out

for their mothers and he stood by, helpless, unable to do anything more for them. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he turned away from the sight of mother and daughter to clean up a little, busying himself with getting Amber and the baby ready for the plane to land.

With the flight attendants’ help, Amber and the baby were ready for the jolt of landing and prepared for transport. The paramedics seemed to miraculously appear just minutes after landing and took over the patients’ care. Before they whisked mother and daughter away, Amber reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe my baby’s life to

you.”

Tyler smiled. “You did a great job,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine, and your baby is beautiful. Good luck.” She smiled at his words, and with one last squeeze of his hand they were gone.

Turning to a nearby flight attendant, he asked if she would mind bringing him his carry-on bag, since it had an extra shirt in it and the one he was wearing was ruined. When she returned with the bag a few moments later, he quickly changed, then made his way back to his seat. As he passed by, several people were anxious to give him a pat on the

back and another round of applause. He smiled politely and bent to gather his things. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he felt happy, but tired, and ready to get to his hotel.

As he gathered the items he’d brought on the plane, he realized with dismay that his laptop bag was missing. He carefully went through his belongings, looked in the overhead compartment, and searched all around and underneath his seat to no avail. The bag was nowhere to be found. All of his papers, his computer files, and his books were gone. One book in particular that had been in the case held special meaning for him, and he cringed to think it could be missing.

He scanned the plane, trying to locate the flight attendant who had brought him his shirt, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. A knot was starting to form in the pit of his stomach. That laptop case had his entire life on it. He made his way to the exit, where the pilot and a few of the crew were still standing.

“Thanks for all your help, doc,” the pilot said. “I hear it was a girl.”

Tyler nodded. “It was. I’m glad we were so close to landing so the baby could get to a hospital.”

“Well, you kept your head in the crisis, but I guess that comes with the territory of being a baby doctor.”

“I’m actually a trauma surgeon. I just finished my second tour of duty in Iraq.”

The smile died on the pilot’s face. He was quiet for a moment, and the crew exchanged a few quick glances. “I’m glad you made it home safe, then. What are you doing in Paris?”

“Meeting my father for a little vacation.” Tyler cleared his throat. “Sir, I seemed to have lost my bag with my laptop in it. I’m sure someone mistakenly took it for theirs, but I would really like to get it back as soon as possible. I was going to ask the flight attendant about it, but she seems to be gone already.”

The pilot furrowed his brow. “I’ll look into it for you, but you should file a report with the airline. I’m sure they’re going to want to speak to you about the baby’s birth anyway.”

Tyler groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. All he wanted to do was get to his hotel, maybe eat some French food, and take a hot shower. Looking back at the pilot, he pasted a smile on his face, thanked him, and moved toward the exit to report his loss and gather the rest of his luggage. He had mixed emotions as he walked through the terminal teeming with people anxious to reach their destinations. He watched a businessman hurry past him, barely aware of his surroundings as he spoke on a cell phone, and Tyler felt a twinge of jealousy. He used to be like that. He’d had a direction and purpose before and during his deployment to Iraq. But everything was different now. He no longer knew where he was going, yet helping the woman on the plane had given him a taste of the confidence he thought he’d lost. So despite the frustration of losing his laptop bag, he felt a glimmer of hope that his time in Paris could help him gain some perspective on where his life might be headed now that his tour of duty in Iraq was over. He suspected his dad had been thinking along the same lines when he’d invited Tyler to join him here in Paris. Time would tell, but Tyler was hopeful.

        * * *

It felt like hours since Tyler had entered the small room along with several other people to report lost luggage and lost belongings. He watched the stress in the face of the harried woman behind the desk as people raised their voices to her. The knot in his stomach tightened as the crowd seemed to feed off of the anger of others, loudly voicing

their opinions of airlines that had lost their luggage. The young woman tried to calm each person down, but Tyler could see the fatigue on her face. When the man in front of him started shouting and waving his hands close to the woman’s face, Tyler had had enough. He stepped in, touching the angry man’s arm. “Sir, you need to calm down.”

He sized Tyler up, looking like he wanted to continue the argument, but changed his mind as Tyler moved closer to him. The man dropped his gaze to the floor before mumbling an apology. Tyler moved to the front of the line and gave the clerk a smile.

“Merci beaucoup,” she said, returning his smile, obviously a little surprised by his actions.

Tyler knew a smattering of French and replied with what he hoped was “you’re welcome.” “Je vous en prie,” he told her.

She handed him a small stack of papers. “Welcome to France.”

For just a moment, Tyler really did feel welcome. But when the older lady behind him snorted her impatience at being made to wait a second longer, the moment was gone. He nodded as he moved aside, giving one last grin to the woman who was helping him. Clutching the papers, he sat down to fill them out. When he had finally written down

all of his contact information in case the laptop was found or the airline had any questions for him, he hauled the rest of his luggage to the curb and hailed one of the waiting taxis to take him to the Hotel de Crillon, where his father was staying.

As the driver wound through the streets of Paris, Tyler laid his head back, just letting the sights slip by him. It still felt strange not to be in uniform. Blowing out a breath, he sat up straight and looked out the window as the car slowed down. The driver had pulled up to an elaborate hotel that seemed to once have been a palace. Tyler raised his eyebrows. This was luxury! Leaning forward, he paid the driver and then retrieved his luggage. As he walked into the lavish lobby, the gilded raised ceilings made him feel as if he were visiting royalty. An impeccably dressed man behind the front desk greeted him with

polite aloofness. “Welcome to the Hotel de Crillon,” he said, his accent barely noticeable. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Tyler Winthrop. I believe my reservation is under the name Craig Winthrop.”

He typed the name into his computer, staring at the screen. “Ah, yes, you are on the fifth floor, monsieur.” He lifted his hand, and Tyler was surprised when he rang a small bell and a bellhop with a classic red uniform appeared. “Fifth floor, please,” he said to the young man.

“Room 5118.” The bellhop nodded and took Tyler’s bags. “Enjoy your stay,” the concierge said as Tyler followed the bellhop down the hall to the elevator.

Tyler nodded. “Thank you.” After a short elevator ride, the bellhop opened a door at the far end of the hallway, holding out his hand for Tyler to enter the suite first. As Tyler stepped over the threshold, he stopped for a moment, just taking in his surroundings. It was probably the most luxurious place he’d ever seen, a stark contrast to the cot and

tents he’d recently left behind. Walking through the sitting room, he took in the dark wood paneling, elegant draperies, and plush carpeting. “This is amazing,” Tyler muttered to himself. He moved into the bathroom and was impressed with the huge bathtub surrounded by windows that boasted a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. “Wow,”was all Tyler could think to say.

He walked back into the sitting room where the bellhop waited patiently. Tyler thanked him and gave him a tip, firmly shutting the door behind him. He went to the first bedroom on the left and saw that his luggage had been neatly placed next to the canopied bed.

Peeking into the second bedroom, he saw his father’s watch, his pen, and some paper on the ornate end table. Nodding, Tyler determined that his father must still be at a business meeting. He had planned to wrap up all company business items today so he and Tyler could focus on enjoying Paris together without business getting in the way. It must have taken longer than he thought.

He took advantage of the time he had and took a long, hot shower, letting the steaming water run until he felt he couldn’t stand the heat anymore. It had been a long time since he’d had hot water anytime he wanted it and for as long as he wanted it. Tyler considered taking a short nap after his shower, but thought better of it, deciding he didn’t want to risk a nightmare. Instead he called room service and ordered lunch, intending to eat just enough to tide him over until his father returned. As he glanced at the end table once more, it struck him as strange that his father hadn’t left a note as to when Tyler could expect him back. It wasn’t like him. He shrugged. He knew there was nothing to be done but wait.

As he waited for lunch to arrive, he flipped idly through the hotel’s tourist packet on the small sitting table near the door. A flyer announcing a special exhibit at the Musée d’Orsay—“An Artist’s Peace: A Retrospective of the Works of Picasso and the Influence of Pacifism”—caught his eye. The small pictures accompanying the announcement showed several of Picasso’s paintings and piqued Tyler’s interest. Given his recent experiences, an exhibit about peace was just what he needed. As soon as his father returned he would suggest that the museum be their first stop in Paris.

A knock on the door signaled that lunch had arrived. Tyler strode across the suite and opened the door wide so the waiter could wheel in the table. After thanking and tipping the waiter, he opened the large lid from the silver platter and gaped at the arrangement of lunch items.

There was a large salad with tomatoes and cucumbers, some pâté, rare beefsteak with green beans, a slice of camembert with fresh baguettes, and a fancy little French cake that, if he recalled correctly, was a Paris-Brest. It smelled heavenly. He sampled each part of the lunch before placing the rest in the room’s mini-fridge for later. Unable to resist, he grabbed the little French cake and moved toward the balcony. The sun was already high in the sky as the heat of the day had fallen over Paris.

A light breeze ruffled the curtains on the balcony door, and Tyler could hear distant sounds of laughter coming from below. He stepped out and took a deep breath, reveling in the smells, the fresh air, and the fact that he wasn’t breathing sand.

His stomach still grumbled a bit in protest after the light lunch, but he didn’t want to eat his first full meal in Paris without his dad. He knew his father was looking forward to a nice sit-down meal as well, since he’d mentioned that Tyler’s flight would get in just in time for a late lunch for the two of them. With a sigh, he glanced at his watch, then wandered into his father’s room to check once more that he hadn’t missed a note. After a thorough check of the room, he was certain that the only two items in the room, besides his father’s luggage, were the watch and the pen on the desk. He thought it a little odd that his dad had left these items behind—he couldn’t recall seeing the watch withoutit being strapped to his father’s wrist, and he was hardly ever without the personalized, engraved pen. Just as he put his father’s things in his pockets, the phone rang, and he reached down to pick it up. “You have a message that has been delivered, monsieur,” the concierge’s voice said in his ear. “Would you like it brought up to you?”

“I’ll come down and get it,” Tyler said. He was restless and wanted to get out of the room anyway. Most likely the message was from his father to figure out when and where they could meet. “Thank you. I’ll be right down.” He hung up and made sure he had his room key and his wallet before he shut the door behind him and headed downstairs.

He stopped at the concierge’s desk and gave his name once again. The concierge returned with two envelopes. “Both envelopes were delivered by messenger just moments ago.” He gave Tyler a polite smile, smoothed his suit jacket, then turned to answer a ringing telephone.

Tyler nodded and thanked him before stepping away to read his message. He ripped open the envelope to find a single piece of paper. “Tyler, you need to go home. Return to the United States and wait for me there. I can’t explain right now. Please do as I ask.” Tyler furrowed his brow. That didn’t make sense. Why would his father invite him here only to send him home? The note was cryptic and very unlike his father. Something seemed off. He looked around, making sure he was alone, before opening the other envelope that was addressed to his father. He hoped it contained something that would help him make heads or tails of the situation, but all it contained was a slip of paper with the name “Jacques DuBois” written on it and a phone number. What was going on? He walked back to the desk. “When my father left the hotel, was he with anyone?” he asked the clerk.

“I didn’t see him leave,” the clerk told him. “Sorry.”

He looked down at Tyler’s hands, and Tyler drew them closer to his leg so it wasn’t readily apparent that he had opened both envelopes. “Do you know who left the second envelope for my father?” Tyler asked.

The clerk shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Tyler mulled the situation over for a moment, trying to decide on a plan of action, then said, “I’m going out. May I leave a message for my father in case he returns before I get back?”

The man nodded and gave Tyler a piece of paper, pen, and an envelope. Tyler quickly scrawled that he was going to wait for his father in Paris until he could speak to him personally and that he would be at the Musée d’Orsay if he returned to the hotel and wanted to join him. Tyler handed the note to the clerk and stepped back. Other guests were waiting, and the clerk looked apologetically at Tyler as he moved toward them.

“Thank you,” Tyler called, as he walked toward the front door. The flyer announcing the special exhibit on Picasso at the Musee d’Orsay gave him an idea for passing the time at least, until he could talk to his dad. His conscience pricked him, though, as he thought about his father’s note. Should he try to get a flight out of Paris and head home as his father had asked? There had to be a good reason for his request. Tyler went through the front door, shielding his eyes from the sun as he stepped onto the Parisian street. No, he decided. I’m here, and I really need to talk to my dad. With luck, he’ll be at the hotel when I get back, or we can meet up at the museum. Pushing the note deeper into his pocket, he started down the street.

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