PROLOGUE

25 years earlier ...

She took her bow with the other dancers, tears pressing against her lids, but she couldn’t let those tears slip down her cheeks. No one could know that this night was different from any other. Too many people were watching her.

As the curtain came down one last time, she ran off the stage into the arms of her husband, her lover, the man with whom she would take the greatest risk of her life. He met the question in her eyes with a reassuring smile.

She wanted to ask if it was all arranged, if the plan was in motion, but she knew it would be unwise to speak. She would end this evening as she had ended all those before it. She went into her dressing room and changed out of her costume. When she was dressed, she said good night to some of the other dancers as she walked toward the exit, careful to keep her voice casual, as if she had not a care in the world. When she and her husband got to their automobile, they remained silent, knowing that the car might be bugged.

It was a short drive to their home. She would miss her house, the garden in the back, the bedroom where she’d made love to her husband, and the nursery, where she’d rocked ...

No. She couldn’t think of that. It was too painful. She had to concentrate on the future when they could finally be free. Her house, her life, everything that she possessed came with strings that were tightening around her neck like a noose, suffocating her with each passing day. It wasn’t herself she feared for the most, but her family, her husband, who even now was being forced to do unconscionable things. They could no longer live a life of secrets.

Her husband took her hand as they walked up to the front door. He slipped his key into the lock and the door swung open. She heard a small click, and horror registered in her mind. She saw the shocked recognition in her husband’s eyes, but it was too late. They were about to die, and they both knew it. Someone had betrayed them.

She prayed for the safety of those she had left behind as an explosion of fire lit up the night, consuming all their dreams with one powerful roar.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day ...

Julia DeMarco felt a shiver run down her spine as she stood high on a bluff overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a beautiful, sunny day in early September and with the Pacific Ocean on one side of the bridge and the San Francisco Bay on the other, the view was breathtaking. She felt like she was on the verge of something exciting and wonderful, just the way every bride should feel. But as she took a deep breath of the fresh, somewhat salty air, her eyes began to water. She told herself the tears had more to do with the afternoon wind than the sadness she’d been wrestling with since her mother had passed away six months ago. This was supposed to be a happy time, a day for looking ahead, not behind. She just wished she felt confident instead of ... uncertain.

A pair of arms came around her waist, and she leaned back against the solid chest of her fiancé, Michael Graffino It seemed like she’d done nothing but lean on Michael the past year. Most men wouldn’t have stuck around, but he had. Now it was time to give him what he wanted, a wedding date. It was the right thing to do. She didn’t know why she was hesitating, except that so many things were changing in her life. Since Michael had proposed to her a year ago, her mother had died, her stepfather had put the family home up for sale, and her younger sister had moved in with her. A part of her just wanted to stop, take a few breaths and think for awhile instead of rushing headlong into another life-changing event. But Michael was pushing for a date, and she was grateful to him for sticking by her, so how could she say no? And why would she want to?

Michael was a good man. Everyone thought so. Her mother had adored him. Julia could still remember the night she’d told her mom about the engagement. Sarah DeMarco hadn’t been out of bed in days, and she hadn’t smiled in many weeks, but that night she’d beamed from ear to ear. She had been so happy to know that her oldest daughter was settling down with the son of one of her best friends. That knowledge had made her last days so much easier.

"We should go, Julia. It’s time to meet the event coordinator."

She turned to face him, thinking again what a nice looking man he was with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and a warm, ready smile. The olive skin of his Italian heritage and the fact that he spent most of his days out on the water, running a charter boat service off Fisherman’s wharf, kept his skin a dark, sunburned red.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, a curious glint in his eye. "You’re staring at me."

"Was I? I’m sorry."

"Don’t be." He paused, then said, "It’s been awhile since you’ve really looked at me."

"I don’t think that’s true. I look at you all the time. So do half the women in San Francisco," she added lightly.

"Yeah, right," he muttered. "Let’s go."

Julia cast one last look at the view, then followed Michael to the museum. The Palace of the Legion of Honor had been built as a replica of the Palais de la Legion d'Honneur in Paris. In the front courtyard, known as the Court of Honor, was one of Rodin’s most famous sculptures, The Thinker. Julia would have liked to stop and ponder the statue as well as the rest of her life, but Michael was a man on a mission, and he urged her toward the front doors.

As they entered the museum, her step faltered. In a few moments, they would sit down with Monica Harvey, the museum’s event coordinator, and Julia would have to pick her wedding date. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t as if she were a young girl, she was twenty-eight years old. It was time to get married, have a family, and Michael wanted lots of kids. He was one of six children, and two of his sisters already had three of their own, so he was eager to catch up.

"Liz was right. This place is cool," Michael said.

Julia nodded in agreement. Her younger sister, Liz, had been the one to suggest the museum. It was a pricey location, but Julia had inherited some money from her mother that would pay for most of the wedding.

"The offices are downstairs," Michael added. "Let’s go."

Julia drew in a deep breath as the moment of truth came rushing towards her. "I need to stop in the restroom. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be right there."

When Michael left, Julia walked over to get a drink of water from a nearby fountain. She was sweating and her heart was practically jumping out of her chest. What on earth was the matter with her? She’d never felt so panicky in her life.

It was all the changes, she told herself again. Her emotions were too close to the surface. But she could do this. They were only picking a date. She wasn’t going to say ‘I do’ this afternoon. That would be months from now, when she was ready, really ready.

Feeling better, she headed downstairs, passing by several intriguing exhibits along the way. Maybe they could stop and take a peek on the way out.

"Mrs. Harvey is finishing up another appointment," Michael told her as she joined him. "She’ll be about ten minutes. I need to make a call. Can you hold down the fort?"

"Sure," she agreed as he left the office. She smiled at a young woman sitting behind a desk, then took a seat on the couch. Barely a minute had passed before she jumped to her feet, too restless to sit and wait. "I think I’ll take a quick look at the exhibit."

"I’ll tell Mrs. Harvey where you are."

"Thanks." Julia walked down the hall and entered the exhibit, looking for some kind of distraction, anything that would take her mind off the wedding. It didn’t take long to find it. The exhibit featured historic photographs from the past century. Within seconds she was caught up in a journey through time. The photographs were captivating. She couldn’t look away. And she didn’t want to look away – especially when she came to the picture of the little girl.

Captioned, "The Coldest War of All", the black and white photograph showed a girl of no more than three or four years old, standing behind the gate of an orphanage in Moscow. The photo had been taken by someone named Charles Manning, the same man who appeared to have taken many of the pictures in the exhibit.

Taking a step closer, Julia studied the picture in detail. She wasn’t as interested in the Russian scene as she was in the girl. The child wore a heavy dark coat, pale thick stockings and a black woolen cap over her curly blonde hair. The expression in her eyes begged for someone -- whoever was taking the picture perhaps -- to let her out, to set her free, to help her.

Julia couldn’t look away. The girl’s features, the oval shape of her face, the tiny freckle at the corner of her eyebrow, the slope of her small, upturned nose, seemed familiar. She noticed how the child’s pudgy fingers clung to the bars of the gate. It was odd, but she could almost feel that cold steel beneath her own fingers. Her breath quickened. She’d seen this picture before, but where? A vague memory danced just out of reach.

Her gaze moved to the silver chain hanging around the girl’s neck and the small charm dangling from it. It looked like a swan, a white swan, just like the one her mother had given to her when she was a little girl. Her heart thudded in her chest, and the panicky feeling she’d experienced earlier, returned.

"Julia?"

She started at the sound of Michael’s voice. She’d almost forgotten about him.

"Mrs. Harvey is waiting for us," he said as he crossed the room. "What are you doing in here?"

"Looking at the photos. Doesn’t that girl seem familiar to you?"

Michael gave the photo a quick glance. "I don’t know. Maybe. Does it matter?"

She could see it didn’t matter to him. Michael wasn’t much for history or anything academic. He was a working class, hometown guy, who liked living in the city where he’d been born. He wasn’t interested in travel. He’d rather save his money for buying a house. "I have a necklace just like the one the little girl is wearing," she added. "Isn’t that odd?"

"Why would it be odd? It doesn’t look unusual to me."

Of course it didn’t. There were probably a million girls who had that same necklace.

"Julia," Michael said again, more impatiently this time. "Are you stalling? Is something wrong? Do you not want to get married here?"

She looked into his earnest brown eyes and wondered how she could possibly tell him it wasn’t the "here" part that was worrying her, it was the "married" part. He didn’t deserve to get caught up in her jitters. He was right She was stalling, looking for something else to think about. She needed to focus on the present and on the future -- her future with Michael.

"I’m sorry," she said. "I’m ready to talk to the coordinator now." Hopefully, she’d be ready for the rest of it before the actual wedding.

As she turned to follow Michael out of the room, she couldn’t help taking one last look at the picture. The girl’s eyes called out to her -- eyes that looked so much like her own. But that little girl in the photograph didn’t have anything to do with her – did she?

* * *

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