The man who was his biological father.

Dayne glanced sideways and saw five cars parked fifteen yards away. The Baxters were headed for those cars, and Dayne wasn't sure what to do. A part of him wanted to jump out, run to them, and introduce himself. He would meet them and hug them and learn the names of the children. And in a matter of minutes he would have the family he'd always wanted.

They were walking closer.., closer.

The tint on his windows would keep them from seeing inside his car; if he didn't want them to spot him, they wouldn't. They were too involved in conversation, and as they came still closer he was able to make out their faces.

One of his sisters had short hair and a businesslike look. From far away it had looked like she was pushing a stroller, but now he could see he was wrong. It was a wheelchair, and inside was a beautiful blonde girl whose eyes and expression looked distant and slow.

Other than Luke and John, the other men had to be the guys married to his sisters; he didn't pay close attention to them. His eyes moved quickly to the shortest of the four women. She had a plain look, a type of wholesome look directors were always 333.

kingsbu ry smalley searching for. She was definitely pushing a stroller, and inside- if Dayne was seeing it right-were two babies. His other two sis ters were drop-dead gorgeous. Both were tall, with big husbands at their sides.

They were still headed straight for him; Dayne gripped the door handle. He could do it; he could approach them and tell them who he was, and John would back him.

John knew the truth. And since they were out here at the back of the parking lot, no one from the media would have to know.

He could make out their expressions now. They were sad- that much was clear.

But they were smiling, touching each other's shoulders, chatting about something, and taking their time. As if they loved being together.

Dayne watched, mesmerized. He belonged with them, didn't he? Wasn't this the time to make himself known, so that forever more he would have a place with them? Even a borrowed place? He opened his car door, put his feet onto the pavement, and was just about to stand up when he heard the sound of a camera.

Instantly he slid his feet back inside, shut the door, and locked it. That's when he saw a man crouched beside a burgundy sedan two rows in front of him. The man had a full-size camera aimed straight at him.

Dayne looked around the lot, dazed. The man was paparazzi; Dayne was sure. But how had he followed him here? He stared the man down, glaring at him, and the answer became obvious.

The man at the rental counter had informed OnStar; through some manner he must've told OnStar he needed to track the ve hicle's whereabouts, maybe under the guise of additional safety or security. Then, for a price no doubt, the rental-agency guy must've alerted the tabloids that Dayne Matthews was parked at the hospital in Bloomington, Indiana.

He wanted to punch the photographer in the face.

But his family was getting away. They were veering toward the parked cars, and most of them had their backs to him now. He took hold of the door handle one more time. Forget the 334.

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paparazzi; they could say what they wanted about him. No one would have to know the identities of the people he was talking to. There was still time to introduce himself, to find out where they were going and join them for the evening.

He tore his eyes from them and spotted the photographer again. The camera was still aimed straight at him. In a practiced manner, he pretended to be looking at something else. If the man knew he was onto him, it would be harder to get away later on.

But what about the Baxters? Dayne shifted back to his family and held his breath. They were opening the doors, getting kids into car seats.

Quick, Matthews ... hey're going to leave!

But then he saw something move near the photographer's car. The man was standing up, watching the Baxters with a curious eye. Obviously he had seen Dayne's interest through the high-powered lens of his camera. And now he wondered if the people getting into the five cars might hold the reason why America's hottest movie star was sitting in a rented SUV in the parking lot of a hospital in Bloomington, Indiana.

And in that moment Dayne did the only thing he could.

He let go.

He took his hand off the door, leaned back in his seat, and watched his family climb into their cars. His earlier thoughts had been right on. If he met his family now, the media would figure it out. The tabloids would hire some crack investigator, and the entire story would make headlines by the end of the month.

Every one of them would have their story smeared across the headlines.

The car doors were closed now, and one at a time they pulled out of their parking spots and drove away. The family he had never known. His family.

Dayne gritted his teeth. He could've killed the photographer, but there would always be another one. Paparazzi went along with the territory. But in that moment he would've given any 335.

kin gsb u r y s m alley thing to undo the fame he'd earned. To be a teacher or a lawyer or a doctor, someone who could meet his family without the whole world knowing.

His eyes stung and he gave a sharp sniff. He'd been independent this long. What did it matter if he never met them, anyway? He'd only just found out about them yesterday.

As dusk was falling over the city, Dayne looked again at the hospital. The photographer might've kept him from his siblings, from the chance of getting to know his family. But he wasn't going to keep him from his birth mother.

He started his car and zipped out of the parking lot. This time he spotted the burgundy sedan easily. The guy was good. He stayed back, with one or two cars between them.

But Dayne had an idea.

Driving at an average speed so the photo hound wouldn't be suspicious, he traveled until he spotted a supermarket stuck in the middle of a strip mall in what looked like the busiest part of town. He parked near the middle of the lot and slipped on his baseball cap. Walking with his face down, he headed into the store. He was too far away to hear the camera, but the clicking sounded in his mind anyway.

Click-click. Click-clicle-click-click.

How could they live with themselves? Human maggots, that's what they were. So he went to a supermarket in Bloomington? Big deal. Dayne swallowed his disgust. He picked up his pace once he got inside and headed straight for the back of the store. The only way it would work was if he could find a side door. He'd used this trick before; most markets had another exit.

He spotted a sign that said Restroorn and headed for it. Sure enough, the bathrooms were down a hallway, and at the end was a single door with an Exit sign over it. He darted outside and found himself in an alleyway. Beyond it was a car dealership, and he headed for it at a slow jog.

Once in the lot, he spotted a restaurant a few shops down to the left. The walk took three minutes and a tired-looking cabbie 336 REUNION.

was parked just outside. Dayne was careful to keep his face down, not that it mattered so much now. People weren't expecting to see Dayne Matthews walking down the boulevard in Bloomington, indiana.

He tapped on the cabbie's window.

The man jumped, startled. He folded a newspaper that had been on his lap and gestured to the backseat. Dayne climbed inside and shut the door. The entire scene felt more intense than anything he'd ever filmed.

"Where to?" The guy was in his sixties, probably retired and looking for a little extra income. He didn't even turn around. The hospital. The one near the university The driver gave him a wary look in the rearview mirror. 'You must be new around here."

Yes, sir."

"That's the only hospital in town."

Dayne stayed slightly slumped during the ride and gave the driver a ten-dollar bill when he dropped him off near the entrance. 'Keep the change."

He started to walk off, but the driver called out. 'Hey... you need another ride when you're done here?"

"Yeah." The old guy didn't recognize him. Probably didn't get out much. Dayne looked both ways, scanning the parking lot and the lobby area. No sign of the burgundy sedan or the photographer. "I don't know how long I'll be."

The cabbie shrugged. "I ain't got nothing going. I'll be here unless I get another call."

"Great."

Dayne headed into the hospital and tugged on his hat, keeping it low over his eyes. It was warm out, but he wore his sweatshirt, the one with the hood that bunched up around his neck. He stopped at the front desk and asked about Elizabeth Baxter.

"Elizabeth Baxter ..." The woman was young, in her mid-twenties. She searched a computer screen and then seemed to find it. "She's on the third floor. In room 318."

337.

kingsb u ry s m alle y Dayne's knees shook, but he stayed calm, his words relaxed. "Does she.., are there any other visitors here?"

The woman was chewing gum. She worked it for a few seconds. 'Let me call the nursing station on that floor." Taking her time, she punched a series of numbers into the phone by her elbow, spoke to someone in hushed tones, and hung up.

"She's by herself, sleeping by the sounds of it."

He took a few steps toward a bank of elevators nearby. "So it's okay if I go up?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and angled her head. "Why do you look so familiar?"

Before any realization could dawn on her, Dayne gave her a sad smile. "I've been up here a lot. I'm Elizabeth's son." The words felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn't blink.

"Oh." She gave a knowing nod. "That must be it." She pointed to the elevators.

"Yes, go right up. Family can stop in anytime."

Her words stayed with Dayne for the next few minutes. "Family can stop in anytime....famil),.., fa,nil.y ..."

He stepped out of the elevator onto the third floor and kept his face low again.

It was one thing to claim to be Elizabeth's son. But the people working directly with her would know he wasn't Luke Baxter, even if they did look alike. He wanted to get in before anyone asked any questions.

The nursing desk was empty, and he crept past, careful not to make any noise as he walked. Up ahead he saw her door: room 318. His heart was pounding so hard he wondered if he should stop and get a grip. But he couldn't; he had no time. It wouldn't be long before the photographer would figure out he'd been ditched, and then it would only make sense that he'd return to the hospital.

Dayne held his breath, knocked twice on her door, and waited. No response.

Slowly, carefully, he opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

He was in. The lights were off except for a soft bar light above her bed. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, and then he saw' her. She was 338 REUNION.

sound asleep, hooked to machines and an IV, and making gentle snoring sounds.

Without taking a step in her direction, he stared at the woman in the bed, and he knew: It was the same woman as in the pictures. The pictures on Luke Baxter's desk, and the picture he'd kept in storage all these years.

His birth mother was a few feet away, and he didn't know what to do next.

Mesmerized, he walked toward her, stood over her, and searched her face. They shared the same cheekbones, the same brow structure. But she was way too thin, and her hair didn't look right. Probably the effects of chemo.

He took the chair next to her bed, keeping his back to the door. At that instant someone walked in, and Dayne's heart stopped. "Oh, it's you, Luke." A big nurse strode around the bed, checked the IV bag, and wrote something on a chart.

"Everything going okay?"

"About the same." His heart stumbled back into a racing rhythm.

"Good." She patted him on the shoulder as she passed by. "You're a good son, Luke."

He hesitated but only for a second. "Thanks."

Then the woman was gone.

Dayne hung his head on the rail that separated him from Elizabeth and let the adrenaline rush pass. What had he just done? Pretended to be Luke? Surely someone would hear about that, make a comment that Luke had been by, when really Luke was out somewhere with his family.

He had to hurry, had to make the most of the moment while he still could.

It was time to wake her up, but what would he call her? How could he explain why he was here, especially if she was half asleep? He felt for a latch near the railing and released it. Then he slid closer and gave her arm a gentle nudge.

"Elizabeth?"

339.

king sbu ry s malle y She turned her head and mumbled words he couldn't under stand.

"Elizabeth?" He shook her a little more this time. Any minute he expected the other Baxters to return, or worse, the photogra pher to burst into the room and start snapping pictures. He leaned closer. "Wake up, Elizabeth. I'm your son.

I've come to meet you. I'm your-"

She blinked a few times and squinted at him.

"Hi." His voice cracked and he couldn't speak. They had so much to talk about, so many years to make up for. However many minutes he had now, by her side, they would never be enough. She was very sick; that much was clear. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, this would not only be their first ;,'isit.

It would be their last.

340.

341.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

ELIZABETH HEARD THE VOICE, heard it calling her name.

But when she opened her eyes, she knew she had to be dream ing. The face just inches from hers was as familiar as it was for eign. Sort of a mix between John and Luke, but at the same time neither of them.

She squinted at him and tried to make out what he was saying. "Elizabeth... can you hear me?"

"Yes." She coughed and tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't let her. "Help me, please."