“No, not yet. Just general research. And I do some volunteer work at a shelter for battered women.” It was something she had just started, driven by Carolyn’s experience—and her own.

Donald frowned. “That’s fine, of course, but you don’t want to go too far along those lines. One thing I’ve learned”—and now he smiled—“is that rich people have problems just like poor people.”

“That’s certainly true.”

He glanced at a chunky gold Rolex and said, “I have to get back to the mines. But what’s your schedule? Maybe we can get together later, talk over old times when we’re not so rushed.”

“I wish I could. I’d love to see Robin again.” Robin was Donald’s wife. “Actually, she’s out of town—a family emergency.”

O

Jenna took a taxi to the Brearley School, stationed herself outside—and waited. Would she recognize the little girl she had helped deliver on a bed of straw?

She did. Dark hair, almond eyes, the older Laila’s heart-shaped face, some- thing, too, of Jihan Badir. A touch of Malik, of course, but harder to define than mere resemblance: something in the set of the girl’s shoulders, something brave yet vulnerable that reminded Jenna of Malik as he had been a long time ago.

Laila stood apart from a clutch of her schoolmates. A bit of a loner? Nothing to be alarmed about, Jenna-the-psychologist assured herself; she’s still the new girl.

A stretch limousine pulled up. Jenna’s heart leapt. She was sure she would see her brother, catch a glimpse of the face she’d missed for so long. But no, the man who stepped out of the car and greeted Laila wasn’t Malik, only a chauffeur whose thick shoulders and watchful eyes practically shouted “bodyguard.” A few moments later, he and Laila were gone. Jenna stood there, staring at the space where her niece had been, as if to somehow prolong the all-too-fleeting vision.

Well, now you’ve seen her, she told herself, as she finally forced herself to leave.

That will have to be enough.

O

But it wasn’t enough, and a few weeks later, she found another pressing reason—a bit of library research that could have been done by telephone— to go to New York. And once again, she stationed herself outside the school. She would look, nothing more, that’s what she had promised herself. No danger in that, either to her or to anyone else.

After a short wait, she saw Laila talking with several other girls. Good— her niece had made some friends. No chauffeur this time—good again. The little group left the school, walking west. Against all reason, Jenna followed.