Kayla drew a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh as she appraised her appearance in the mirror in the rather small master bathroom. No matter what she did, her hair was not going to cooperate that night, that important first night of hers and Steve's reunion. Frowning, she worked a particularly difficult area with the hairbrush again before giving up completely and placing the brush on the small cabinet space at the edge of the sink. There was a slight wave in her hair, and wispy locks sometimes stuck out at odd angles, a little annoyance was making a stubborn appearance that night.

Gripping the edge of the sink nervously with both hands, she studied her appearance again. Aside from her slightly mussed hair, she was satisfied with her appearance. She still maintained a good figure for her height and age, her skin was good, and she had kept herself healthy. Her white nightgown was her favorite summer gown, a nylon knee length gown and with one inch straps instead of sleeves, but she found herself wishing she had invested in something more glamorous. Well, she thought to herself, she probably wouldn't have it on long anyway.

Color rose in her cheeks at the thought, and she smiled at her reflection. She could not remember a time in her life when she had been as happy as she was that moment. Steve, the man she thought she had lost a decade ago, was waiting for her just beyond the door, safe and sound and ready to resume their life together. They were being given an unexpected gift; a second chance, and she offered a silent prayer of gratitude.

Deeming herself presentable, she reached for a bottle of honeysuckle scented mist and sprayed it on her neck. It was one of her favorite scents, softer and more subtle than perfume, and was one she felt Steve would appreciate.

As she returned the bottle to the edge of the sink, she noticed that her heartbeat and respiration had suddenly accelerated, as if she was a young and inexperienced girl. Raising her hand, she placed it over her heart to calm the wild flutter, then turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the bedroom.

The bedroom was dark except for the broad beam of moonlight that formed a silvery square on the carpeted floor and illuminated the bare torso of her husband, who stood silently at the window gazing out into the night, and she stood for several moments observing his motionless posture.

Like her, he was in good physical condition, this in spite of his years of captivity. He was leaner than he had been before, but he seemed surprisingly fit, considering his ordeal. She wanted him to have a thorough examination as soon as possible, but until then, she would see to any needs he might have.

Steve still had not moved and seemed intent on something outside, sending a stab of concern through her. "Steve?"

He turned to face her, and she saw his smile in the moonlight. "You look like an angel standing there, all white and beautiful." He reached out his hand toward her, and she went to him, taking his hand in hers.

"No angel, I'm afraid. Just me."

"Same thing," he contradicted with a smile in his voice, then looked out into the darkness again.

Concerned by his interest in the view outside, she peered out the window, but saw nothing except the moon suspended high above the dark trees at the edge f the yard. "Do you see something out there?"

"No. I was just enjoying the moonlight. Until my escape from that hellhole, I hadn't seen the moon at all since before my kidnapping. And then, when I escaped and was on the run, I couldn't take the time to stop and enjoy just looking at it."

Her hand was soft on his upper arm. "It must have been terrible being locked in that place for so long."

"It was," he acknowledged. His arm encircled her, drawing her closer against his chest. "If it wasn't for my memories of you, I don't think I could have kept my sanity." He pressed his cheek against her head. "Being away from you and Stephanie was almost unbearable, but I always knew what I had waiting here at home. Escape was always my goal."

Sensing his need to talk about his experiences with a loved one, someone he trusted completely, she asked, "Were you locked in that room the whole time?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about that, then said, "I'm not sure. I've been standing here thinking about that. I always thought I had been held for maybe five or six years at the absolute most. Even with a misconception of time due to not having a calendar or means to mark the passage of time, it means there are several years of which I have no memory at all."

Kayla studied his serious expression in the soft radiance from the moon, noticing that his face was thoughtful, pensive, even troubled over what was apparently a lapse in memory. Clearly, it was something that was weighing heavily on his mind, and if it bothered him, then it bothered her.

"You haven't mentioned this before," she said, her comment letting him know that she was willing to listen if he needed to talk.

"I know. It's been on my mind off and on since the meeting this afternoon, and I've been wanting to talk with you about it, but there's been a lot going on today. One of those agents asked me the same thing you did just now, and I didn't really have an answer for him either. I was so shocked when Shane told me how much time had actually passed, but at the time I was more overwhelmed by how much of Stephanie's life I had missed than by anything else. All those childhood milestones that parents are supposed to experience together . . . her first words, her first steps, kindergarten, skinned knees and elbows, no front teeth; they're gone forever, and I missed them all." He sighed with regret and disappointment. "The things they stole from me can never be replaced. You have no idea what that feels like."

Kayla's heart clenched with sorrow for the major events in their child's life that he had not been able to witness, and she could only imagine how that would make a parent feel to lose those things forever. "I recorded a lot of those milestones in photographs and on video. I know it can never take the place of actually being there and seeing them as they happened, but maybe it will help that you can at least see them."

"Oh, baby," he breathed into her hair, a wave of emotion moistening his eye. "I'd love to see them. When this is settled and we can get back to a normal life, we'll watch them together, and you and Stephanie can tell me all about all those years that I missed."

"Sounds like a plan. And there is still her senior prom. You'll get to be there for that."

"And scare the hell out of her date," he added, with amusement in his voice.

She laughed. "That too. And when the time comes, you'll be here to walk her down the aisle and share her father-daughter dance. You missed a lot of her childhood, but there are many more memories you'll have." She snuggled close against him, her forehead pressed against the right side of his neck while her hand rested directly over the familiar dagger tattoo on his left pectoral. It was one of her favorite positions, one she had missed terribly in his absence. Absently, her fingertip traced the outline of the tattoo. It was a reminder of his other life, a harder life before he had met her, but it was as much a part of him as the patch.

He held her close, his hand moving slowly up and down her bare arm in an affectionate way, the way he had done years ago, and he marveled at how quickly they had settled back into the familiar and comfortable gestures they had used to please the other.

Kayla broke the silence that had settled over them, her breath warm against his skin. "Did Shane offer any thoughts on what might have caused your memory loss during that time?"

"No. I think I kind of withdrew for a while after he told me, and he just left me alone for a while to deal with it." He paused again, thoughtfully. "I've always had a good memory. Even when I was a small child, before Jack was born, I remember a lot of things that happened back then. Not many pleasant memories, but I do remember them. But no matter how hard I try, I can't account for those early years right after my kidnapping. I don't even know how I got there. It's all a blank."

"What's the first thing you remember?"

He pondered the question for several moments, a deep frown of concentration on his brow. "I can't be sure. I just remember bits and pieces of things that are so vague and disjointed that I'm not even sure if they're dreams or if they really happened. I can't put them in order or make any sense out of them. Things like being on a bed and someone in a white coat and mask leaning over me -"

Kayla lifted her head from his chest to look into his face. "A doctor?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Or a mad scientist," he added, a lame attempt at humor that he didn't really feel. "I think I remember waking up at one point on a respirator, but that could have happened before the kidnapping, when I was in the hospital. I just can't be sure. It just feels so strange that there are not just a few days or weeks that I can't remember, but entire years. How the hell could that happen?"

Kayla could think of only one thing. "Could they have kept you drugged during that time?" she asked. "That would certainly explain the vagueness of the memories you do have from that time."

"I thought about that. I don't know. If they did, why for so long? And why did they suddenly stop?"

"They never drugged you during the later years?"

"No." He shrugged. "Well, there were a couple of times when I tried to escape and was shot with that damn tranquilizer gun. But when I woke up from that, the effects didn't linger. I never had that crazy fuzzy memory or memory lapses like before."

"I wish I had some answers for you," she said. "Without an examination during that time, it's impossible to determine what kind of drugs they might have used. Different drugs affect people differently, and since Vaughn used something related to the I.S.A. to give the illusion of death, your memory loss could be an after effect of whatever they used. Shane made it seem very dangerous."

"Yeah, he did," Steve agreed.

"Maybe him or Roman will be able to track down what they used on you."

Turning away from the window, he cradled her face in both his hands so he could look into her eyes with earnest curiosity. "You thought I was dead, Sweetness. You buried a coffin you thought I was in, and all this time you thought you were a widow. During that same time, I assumed everyone knew I had been kidnapped, and I drew my strength from my memories of you and the belief that back home, you were still looking for me, that eventually someone might find me."

"Steve . . ." she whispered sadly.

"No," he interrupted. "I don't tell you these things for sympathy or anything. I don't care about all that now. I understand now why no one was looking. Shane told me you hadn't remarried, but I was so afraid I'd get home and find that you had fallen in love with someone else, and there would be no room for me . . . ." His voice trailed.

"That could never happen," Kayla told him, firmly. With his hands still cradling her face, she brought her arms up inside his and pushed back a stray lock of hair, then rested her hands on his bearded cheeks. "I love you, Steve. I never stopped loving you. I did go out with other men because I did believe I was a widow, but my heart was never really in it. If my family pressured me, I told them that men my age came with too much excess baggage that I didn't want to deal with and I suppose it might be true to some degree, but the real truth is that it didn't feel right. I didn't understand it, but it was as if my heart knew you were still out there somewhere, even though my eyes had seen your dead body and my mind accepted it." She smiled though the tears that glistened in her eyes. "And here you are, and I'm happier than I ever thought I could be again. It's as if I've come back to life along with you."

For several moments, they gazed at one another in the moonlight, then Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, softly and tenderly at first, then gradually progressing to urgency and desperate need.

"Oh, Sweetness," he breathed when they parted.

"You're shaking," she said, surprised by the trembling she felt beneath her hands.

"I know," he said, breathlessly. "It's been 15 years . . . I feel like a school boy having his first time."

"I know exactly what you mean," she whispered.

He drew her into his arms again, and for a while, there was no one else in their world except the two of them.