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Hi, back again. This chapter separated by times/locations. Enjoy! And honestly, people, you know you wanna review. I see my story traffic so I know you're reading---just tell me what you liked! Or not! Which reminds me, special thanks to britney628 and DimitrisDuchess for sticking to my work like a magnet to WALL-E. (God, do I ramble on.) I look forward to you guys' reviews the most. Anyway. The search begins...

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"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent into Paris; please place your tray in the upright and locked position."

Lauren did as advised. She couldn't have eaten her food anyway. Her stomach had already been overtaken by nervous jitters---either that or it was airsickness. She amused herself with the thought that plane food could also have been a leading cause. Lab rats wouldn't eat that stuff.

Looking out the window, Lauren watched in awe as the clouds opened and the city was revealed---a thousand specks and the Eiffel Tower. She had only ever been here once before in her life, to visit her grandmother, and that had been when she was under her parents' guidance and too young to remember.

"Please fasten your seat belts for the descent."

Here goes nothing, she thought, pulling the strap tight and turning her iPod back on.

So I started out

For God knows where.

I guess I'll know

When I get there.

I'm learnin' to fly,

Around the clouds;

What goes up,

Must come down....

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Allie padded in from the kitchen, still in semi-frantic mode. "Okay, I just got off the phone with the police."

"Wha---the police?" Martin was frantic, too, but in more of a 'my-wife-is-about-to-kill-someone' way. "Allie, if you told her not to go, then that's where she is. You can bet on it." He stood very still, hoping she'd learn by example and stop pacing. "There's no reason to call the cops on her, for God's sake."

"But we don't know that's where she is!"

He leveled her with a meaningful gaze. "I do." A silent beat passed. "And so do you, Al. Think about it."

Allie did actually look as if she were mulling it over.

"She's in Paris," Martin concluded. "We can't do anything about that now. But I know Lauren, and I know she's okay. So go call the police station back and tell 'em their help isn't neccesary. All right?"

There was a sigh, more fidgeting and an eye roll before she conceded. "All right."

She left the room, disappearing back into the kitchen. "And don't let me see you come back in here with a S.W.A.T. team!" Martin called after her.

But once she was gone, he shot a nervous glance toward the door, muttering, "Kid, you better know what you're doing."

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"Did you get the file on that kid?"

Officer Holden walked into the deputy's office and sat down to await a response.

Deputy Gerald hung up the phone first. "No need. The family called back to recind. They know where she is."

"Well yeah, Frank, but if a call was made you know as well as I do that we should still check it out. What's this kid's background?"

The deputy removed his glasses then, emphasizing his solemn gaze. "That's why I'm still concerned," he nodded. "It's Lauren Evans. The Romanov girl."

Holden pretended he hadn't heard, and got up to leave. He stopped, though, hovering by the doorway, and could find only one thing to say.

"Better tell the officials...to keep an eye on this."

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Lauren had no idea what she was doing. That was clear to her after twenty minutes of walking around Parc du Champs de Mars asking people "Parles-vous Anglais?" Which had an annoying habit of not working.

Thanks to her mother, Lauren didn't know her own grandmother's address. Of course, it was due to her mother that she was here at all.

Mindlessly she began fiddling with the charm around her neck. It was typical Lauren fashion to charge headfirst into deep water without a life jacket, and she'd be the first to admit it. Reluctantly.

One more, she told herself. I'll ask one more person, and then I'll just give up for the day and find a room somewhere.

There was a moment of courage-building, a deep breath, and then she reached out and tapped a passing thirtysomething woman on the shoulder.

"Uh, pardon moi," she said. "Parles-vous Anglais?"

"No Anglais," the woman insisted. Lauren deflated a bit. But then the woman said something in a heavy accent that sounded suspiciously like a name.

Lauren's eyebrows crinkled in concentration. "Can you repeat that?"

The woman blinked.

"Repeat? You know, say again?"

Out of pure chance, the woman repeated the name, hoping that would satisfy Lauren's American nagging.

She knew that name. It sounded...familiar.

"Where can I find him?"

The woman pointed to a cafè across the street, eager to go.

And now so was Lauren. Muttering a quick "Merci," she folded her arms, and with a renewed sense of purpose, marched across the road.

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Wonder who it is? ;D (I'm not giving anything away.) Plus now we know that the govt. is onto this... Should mention that I don't own the song "Learning To Fly" by Tom Petty. Hope you're likin' it---tell me if/what you did! Next one very soon.