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“That’s not why I’m calling, but if you can get her here for a film, I’ll give you a bonus. Her too.”

Dayne smiled. That was the beauty of Katy Hart. Money couldn’t attract her to Hollywood, not as long as God was calling her to stay in Bloomington. “Okay, so other than to get my lazy self out of bed, why’d you call, Mitch?”

“Because-” Mitch hesitated-“I received a package this morning from the mail room at the studio. Apparently someone sent it here, hoping I would get it to you.”

“Fan mail?” Dayne rubbed his eyes. Mitch needed another movie. If he was getting people out of bed over fan mail, the guy clearly had too much time on his hands.

“Why don’t you forward it to my agent? Isn’t that how it usually works?”

“Well, this one’s different, Dayne. It’s from Bloomington, and it’s got Private and Confidential written all over it.”

Mitch had his attention. Had Katy put something in the mail to him? And if so, why would she send it to the studio with Mitch’s name on it? “Who’s it from? Any name on it?”

“Yeah. The sender’s a guy named John Baxter.”

Dayne’s head began to spin. Was he dreaming? Was that how he could explain what he’d just heard? He looked at his clock and at the sunshine streaming through his blinds. No, he wasn’t dreaming. It was a new day, and his former director was on the phone telling him that he was holding a piece of mail for him. Mail from John Baxter. But how had he found out? How could anyone have known?

“Dayne … did you hang up?” Mitch was a smart man. His voice made it clear that he had questions about the piece of mail. “Do you know the guy, or what?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dayne was already getting out of bed. “I met him on location last fall.”

“Okay, so do you want me to forward it to your agent? I’m just trying to clear my desk.”

“No!” Dayne’s answer was fast. His heart thudded hard against 297

his chest, and he had to work to sound calm. “Actually, 1 have to run a few errands. I’ll be by to get it in twenty minutes.”

Dayne was dressed and on the road in record time.

His agent and his PI were the only people who knew about his connection with the Baxters, so how could John have figured it out? Katy couldn’t have said anything. She knew he was adopted but nothing else. Not even that his birth family lived in Bloomington.

He drove as fast as he could without being unsafe. Clearly Katy knew nothing about John Baxter’s discovery. Dayne had talked to her briefly after the tornado outbreak. He knew about the Reed family’s house and that everyone else was okay.

That was days ago, so by now the town was probably knee-deep in the cleanup efforts.

Why would John send a letter now?

Dayne reached the studio, parked his car in a tow-away zone, and dashed inside.

How long had he wondered about this moment, dreamed about it? And was it possible the package was some sort of strange coincidence, maybe something from Luke Baxter pertaining to the upcoming trial? Could it be that Luke had asked his father to send the package, and John had written his own name on it by mistake?

Or had his biological father truly found him?

Mitch was sitting at his desk. He looked surprised when Dayne rounded the corner, breathless. “Very nice.” He gave Dayne a once-over, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Sweats and a ragged T-shirt. Bed hair. The paparazzi will have a field day with this look.” He handed Dayne the envelope. “Did you even check the mirror?”

“Very funny.” Dayne took the package. He didn’t care what he looked like. This was a moment he’d wondered about for years.

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He stared at the large envelope. It felt lumpy, as if there was more inside than legal documents. His hands shook so badly he could barely make out the words.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t about to open the package here. He had one more question for Mitch. “When did it get here? Yesterday?”

“No.” Mitch leaned back in his chair and studied Dayne. “Three weeks ago, 1

guess. I’ve been working at another studio, so the mail room held it for me.”

Three weeks! Whatever was inside, John Baxter had sent it the same week Dayne found out about Kelly’s abortion, the week he had never felt more lonely and lost in all his life. He held up the envelope and grinned at the director.

“Thanks, Mitch. I owe you one.”

“Okay, so who’s John Baxt-?”

Dayne was already out the door and down the hall. There was only one place he wanted to go, one place where he could feel alone with whatever was in the envelope. Even if it was only legal papers and maybe cassette tapes from Luke, the package had been sent by his biological father.

In his Escalade out in the parking lot, he scanned the area for paparazzi. There were none-too early for them. He set the envelope on the seat beside him, and fifteen minutes later he pulled into Pepperdine University. He parked in the same lot where he and Katy had been when she was considering the role in Dream On.

The lot overlooked the Pacific, and on a clear blue day like this one, there was no better view anywhere. He thought about getting out, walking to the small stone bench thirty yards down the narrow footpath, the one by the duck pond. But that would leave him no way out if paparazzi found him here.

Instead he rolled down his windows and stayed in his Escalade.

He picked up the package and turned it over in his hands slowly, tentatively, as if its contents might explode in his face. And they could, couldn’t they?

Whatever the envelope held, if it

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truly was from John Baxter, his life would be changed from this moment on.

God… You brought this to me. He could feel adrenaline rushing through his veins, feel his brow getting damp. Whatever’s in here, let me react with Your understanding, Your wisdom.

There was an assurance that came with a prayer like that. No matter what lay ahead, God was with him. Because of that, he could handle whatever he was about to find. He slid his thumb under the flap and ripped open the top of the envelope. Now that he was ready to read it, he couldn’t get the contents out fast enough.

Immediately a small album fell onto his lap. What was this? He opened the cover, and the first photo was one of John and Elizabeth Baxter. Just like the one that had been on Luke’s desk in his New York office when Dayne realized they were related.

He turned the page as it hit him what he was holding. John-or someone else-had put together a collection of photographs of the Baxter family, a way of showing him who they were-the people he was related to. He looked at the photos quickly, because he wanted to get back to the envelope. There had to be a card or a letter, some sort of explanation.

He set the album on the seat beside him, then slipped his fingers into the package. The letter was at the bottom, and Dayne pulled it out. No doubt at all, this package wasn’t sent by Luke. It was sent by John Baxter, his biological father. Dayne couldn’t imagine how the man had found him, but it didn’t matter.

He needed to read the letter before he could ask another question.

He unfolded the paper and let his eyes find the beginning. It was dated the same day as the premiere.

Dear Dayne,

This is my final attempt.

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He stopped there and reread the sentence. The letter was John Baxter’s final attempt? What could he possibly mean by that? When had he ever tried to make contact? Dayne’s fingers shook as he found his place again.

The last thing I want to do is cause you grief and frustration-especially now, when so many years have passed since we gave you up for adoption. I guess you’ve talked to your agent, and you know that 1 hired a private investigator. I found out who you were, and I was taken aback. Not that you were a celebrity but that you’d been right here in Bloomington twice.

The details were coming at him like a battery of flying arrows. What was John Baxter talking about? Dayne’s agent? Chris Kane? Had Chris known something about John hiring a private investigator, and if so, how come Chris hadn’t said anything? Dayne blinked and remembered to breathe. Once more he returned to the letter.

My PI told me you know who we are, that you’d come to our town and perhaps even made contact with my wife-your birth mother-before she died. But your agent told me no, that didn’t happen. He said you changed your mind after you arrived in town and that you wanted nothing to do with us.

Anger had begun to build in Dayne, but it became a hot, raging fury in as many seconds as it took him to read that last part again. Chris Kane had talked to John Baxter? told his biological father that he had no interest in meeting the Baxter family? He felt dizzy with rage, and he took hold of the door to steady himself.

John must think he was awful, a pompous celebrity who considered himself too good for regular people like the Baxters. He felt nauseous, but he kept reading.

Dayne, I want you to know I respect that. But I can’t let you go that easily.

Thirty-six years ago 1 had no choice but to let you go.

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Now, though, I feel a loss for every year you weren’t a part of our life.

The words tore at Dayne’s heart. He stopped and held the letter to his chest, his emotions coming at him like a series of battering waves. Anger gave way to an aching loss. His birth father cared about him, just like Elizabeth Baxter had told him. Dayne had avoided them only to protect them, but in the process they’d all lost. His eyes stung, but he refused his tears. Slowly he lowered the letter and found his place once more.

Only one of your siblings knows about you-your sister Ashley. And she doesn’t know your name or what you do for a living. I’ve kept you anonymous. The way your agent asked me to do.

I guess I’m writing so you’ll know we have no ulterior motive. Your agent said a lot of people want things from you-money or connections or fame. I can tell you sincerely that the only thing we want with you, Dayne, is to give you a hug and tell you we love you.

The sobs welled up within him, floods of them, but still he held them back. His agent had no right to make this decision for him, no right to tell John Baxter that Dayne couldn’t be bothered with their family because they might want something-money or fame. The idea was appalling. Only by God’s divine intervention had this final attempt from John Baxter even made it to him. Dayne was reaching the end of the letter, and despite the hurt inside him, he finished it.

Every day since I found out about you, I’ve wondered and thought of you. No matter if you want to keep your distance from us, I’ll still think of you, my oldest son, and long for a relationship with you. I know that your adoptive parents were killed on the mission field. I’m sorry, Dayne. So sorry. You smile well for the cameras, but there’s a lot more they don’t catch. I can see it in 302

your eyes-because they are the eyes of our younger son, Luke. The eyes I see when I look in the mirror.

I’m sending a small collection of photographs. The names and ages of your siblings and nieces and nephews are on the back of each picture. As you read this and as you look at the pictures, please consider meeting us. Or at least meeting me-even just once.

If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know this is a closed door and that you don’t want contact with us. That’s what your agent has already told me, and I will respect that. But I’m hoping to change your mind, Dayne. I’m praying about it.

Having never met you, I love you. Please consider my letter.

In His light, John Baxter

At the bottom of the page were several phone numbers.

Dayne stared at them, stared at the words his birth fathe written.

And the tears came then.

Alone in the empty parking lot, Dayne hung his head ag the wheel of his SUV and wept for all that he’d lost, for a fame had cost him. They weren’t hopeless tears; rather they tears drenched in rage. John Baxter had hired his own pi investigator, and the only real contact information he’d given besides Dayne’s identity was the name of his agent.

Chris Kane.

Dayne thought about John Baxter, grieving the loss c wife, hearing from his PI that maybe Dayne had met her, or have Chris tell him he hadn’t. That Dayne had changei mind. That he wanted nothing to do with them. Was that his life had amounted to? Some sort of puppet show contr by his agent?

He gritted his teeth, and in a rough single motion he dra his hands over his wet cheeks. Enough crying. Before he c look carefully at the photos or read the letter again or try to tact John Baxter, he needed to make a phone call. He will out his cell phone and pushed a few buttons.

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Chris Kane answered on the first ring. “Hey, Dayne … what’s up?”

Dayne clenched his jaw. “John Baxter … ring a bell?”

His agent missed a beat but then forced a laugh. “I was going to tell you about that.”

“Sure you were.” Dayne kept his tone even, kept the anger to himself. “When did you talk to him, Chris? How long ago?”

“Well, let’s see.” His agent exhaled hard, as if he were working his brain for the detail. “A month, maybe two.” Another laugh. “I meant to tell you back then, Dayne. I mean, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with the guy. You were in Bloomington after all, so you could’ve met him if you wanted to, right?”

“That wasn’t your decision.” Dayne closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged his brow. How could this be happening? How could his agent have told John Baxter those things? He never should’ve involved his agent in the search for his birth family; then none of this would’ve happened. He took a slow breath. “I’ll contact John Baxter if 1 want to.”

“Contact him?” Worry crept into Chris’s tone. “You’re not serious, are you? Who knows what the guy wants from you. You’re a celebrity. You don’t just call up people like John Baxter and make contact.”

Dayne was glad the conversation was happening over the phone. Otherwise he would’ve punched the guy, and overall that wouldn’t be the best proof of his newfound faith. “Look, I’m busy, Chris. I have a call to make.”

The agent sighed again, heavier this time. “Really think about this, Dayne.

You’re not like everyone else… you don’t just look up your birth parents and go knocking on their door.” He sounded nervous. “You’re not mad, are you?” Chris tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. “I’m just looking out for you. If I don’t look out for your image, who will? I mean, if I don’t-“