"…And that concludes our newest presentation, donation courtesy of the St. Louis Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art. Before the conclusion of the ceremony, we'd like to hear a few words from the Robert F. Kennedy National Museum of Art History's director, Miss Peyton Sawyer."

There was polite applause as a pretty, short haired blonde dressed in a trendy pantsuit confidently took her place behind the podium.

"Thank you", she nodded. "Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests. On behalf of everyone here at the Kennedy National Museum of Art History, I thank you all for your participation today and your generous support and patronage everyday. We also applaud the members of the Kennedy family for joining us for the dedication of the museum's newest wing. We proudly unveil this addition to the public in hopes of sharing the love of fine art and its important history. May tradition carry on for many generations to come. Thank you."

Hands clapped and cameras flashed as Peyton was joined at the podium by various VIPs. In the museum's 30 year history, she had been the youngest director to ever assume the position, personally appointed by the board's chairmen. A talented artist herself since childhood, the adopted only daughter of Maine shipping heir, Larry Sawyer, had attended the finest boarding schools and after trading in debutante balls and beauty pageants for summers interning in Washington D.C. on Capitol Hill and semesters studying art in France, she had gone off to college.

Pretty, driven, intelligent and charming, Peyton had done well for herself. Passion for art and an appetite for success had overruled her rebellious years and the outspoken blonde had become a prominent and recognizable figure in the New England political and elite social scenes.

"Miss Sawyer, you have an important message", Claire, the assistant pulled her aside after the dog and pony show."

"Hold all my messages, Claire."

"This can't wait. It's from Mr. Morris and it's urgent."

Peyton's heart jumped.

"Mr. Morris?"

"Yes, ma'am. He has asked that you meet him at the Ritz Carlton for lunch."

Peyton sighed. Members of America's most beloved and famous family were waiting to done with her as well as every journalist in the vicinity, just dying for that all exclusive interview. It was a pivotal moment in her career and life and only one thing would be important enough to make her walk away.

Peyton jumped in her new Lexus and made the drive across the city. She handed her keys to the valet and made her way inside to the dining area. There he was at a private table towards the back. Six feet four inches of black haired, green eyed, clean cut, chiseled muscle looking rather dapper in his new grey suit.

"Killian?"

He stood and hugged her.

"Peyton, I am so glad you could make it. It's good to see you. Thanks for coming. I took the liberty of ordering your usual watercress salad and bottled mineral water."

"Thanks but I'm not very hungry. As much as I love hanging out with you, Claire made this sound very urgent and it damn well better be. I just stood up eight Kennedys and you know how that will go over."

Killian Morris took a deep breath. Worry lines and eye bags creased his handsome face. A successful stock broker, he was the son of two equally successful surgeons. Born in New York's infamous Hamptons, he had grown up in Canada, Scotland, and various wealthy suburbs in the Northeastern United States before attending a prestigious preparatory academy as a star Lacrosse player in Pennsylvania. Popular among his classmates, the Princeton honor graduate who rubbed elbows with celebrities when he wasn't lending his time and voice to various charities, had once been on the national list of the country's 100 most eligible bachelors.

"Peyton, I just found out some rather distressing news."

Peyton's heart sank. For months she had been in the trenches putting her own life on hold to lead a search that always seemed to pose more questions than answers. She had hoped for the best and bravely tried to prepare herself for the worst.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

"As you know, the local police trail has long gone cold and even the FBI wasn't able to turn up anything. Time passes with no new leads and the news media loses interest. It's hard to keep such a story on the front page."

"I know."

"But not knowing is killing me and I miss her more and more every day."

Peyton bit her lip.

"I know the feeling."

"Peyton, I hired a private investigator. Edward Stroman is his name, supposedly one of the best in his field. A former Marine officer and retired CIA agent."

"And?"

Killian closed his eyes.

"He was able to find out a lot more than the cops, the bloodhounds, and the psychic detectives combined. Mr. Stroman was able to, uh, trace her whereabouts."

"He…he knows what happened?"

"He knows the beginning, which is the timeframe when we all last saw her to the un, unfortunate, shall we say, end results."

Peyton felt her legs give out.

"Oh my God…"

"I loved that woman. I never believed in love at first sight until it happened to me. She was so beautiful and witty and smart, so full of life. I'd never met anybody quite like her. She made me feel like the luckiest man on the planet."

"She, she loved you very much, Killian."

He laughed bitterly.

"Did she now?"

"Of course she did. Is she, is…is she…"

"Dead?"

"Killian…"

"No", he looked right at her. "Worse."

Peyton wanted to jump for joy. Her best friend was indeed alive. After months and months with no word, there was finally positive confirmation.

"Thank God! Wait…Killian, what do you mean worse? This is good news, right. Unless, oh no…she's being held against her will? She was sold into a white slavery prostitution ring? I knew it! I knew she was kidnapped! Killian, we have to do something! We have to take this new evidence to the police! Why the hell didn't this Stroman gyy rescue her?"

"It's not that simple."

"Killian!"

"Have you ever been in love, Peyton? I mean, really, really loved someone."

She closed her eyes. Once there had been a beautiful brown haired boy. She had cared for him very deeply. He'd stolen her heart and unfortunately taken it with him when he'd left on his motorcycle. Years had passed but the pain remained fresh. Peyton had buried it deep inside and long ago placed her fragile heart under lock and key.

"Yeah", she whispered.

"Can you imagine the pain of loving another and losing them? Being betrayed."

"Betrayal? Killian, where is all this coming from? If she is alive, then where is she and what happened to her?"

"She left me, Peyton. She left all of us."

"No", Peyton shook her head. "She wouldn't just leave on her own without a word."

"She's in North Carolina."

Peyton frowned.

"North Carolina? What the hell is in North Carolina?"

"She is, Peyton. Apparently she watched one too many episodes of that damned The Simple Life or something."

Peyton had to chuckle as she shook her head.

"No offense, Killian but she'd been my friend way before she was your fiancée. Trust me, there is nothing simple about that girl. I mean, can you see her ringing up groceries or slinging fast food? Or better yet, milking a cow?"

"It's true, Peyton."

"Killian, I wish it were. I'd give anything if she had run away to some quaint southern town to live a quiet life in obscurity because honestly that image is a hell of a lot better than the one that haunts my nightmares, the ones where I imagine her raped and beaten buried in the bottom of some lake. This is hard…loving her, missing her, fearing for her. I know what it's like to grasp at straws. I mean, I was downtown the other day and I saw this girl in this Marc Jacobs skirt with the cute little boots and she had brunette hair and the big Jackie O sunglasses and I swear to God, I…I thought it was her. So I scream out her name and she doesn't answer and she gets in a cab so I get in the one behind her. We go a few miles and when we get out, I'm in my heels late for a meeting at work, instead I'm chasing some random chick for three blocks and when I finally catch her, it's of course not who I think it is. Stuff like that happens to me all the time and it hurts to keep getting disappointed but I'll never give up hope because that's all we have."

"Peyton…"

"Your guy has to be wrong. Maybe he's tailing the wrong girl. There has to be some kind of a mistake…"

"It's no mistake, Peyton."

"Killian…"

He opened his briefcase and handed her a large envelope. Peyton opened it. She was not prepared for the story its contents would tell. It was a stack of pictures, some in color, most in black and white. There she was…in jeans, a tee shirt and and an apron leaving someplace called Deb's Den…walking on docks by a river…browsing a store window.

"Need any more proof?" Killian asked.

"Oh my God", Peyton mouthed.

The pictures didn't lie. It was her alright and she didn't look hurt or hungry or angry or even frightened. On the contrary, she looked very happy. Peyton hadn't seen her smile that bright in years.

"There it is."

Peyton was stunned.

"Have you told anyone yet? What about her parents?"

"No. No one."

"Killian, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know", he sighed, putting a hand over his mouth. "I just don't know anymore, Peyton."

The surprising and distressing news was at best an appetite killer. The two sat and picked at their lunch until it was way past time to leave. Peyton bid Killian good bye and left with a reminder of what they had discussed at the hotel. For the rest of the day on into the night and the wee hours of the next morning, Peyton couldn't peel her eyes away from the very damning photos. The smile, the different wardrobe…it was all so unbelievable. Peyton shook her head as she pulled out another picture. It was a copy of one of the many fliers she had spent hours posting all over town…

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

5 foot, 3 inches, 106 lbs. Brunette Hair, Hazel Green Eyes

Brooke Penelope Davis, 25 years old, last seen on September 7th leaving Jacques' Bistro at approximately 7 p.m. wearing black heels along with a red and black Ann Taylor wrap dress.

$600,000.00 REWARD leading to the whereabouts and safe return of Ms. Davis.

Call 555-1212

There were two pictures on it. One was a close up of her beautiful smiling face, dark hair up, sunglasses perched atop her head. The second photo was a body shot of her in an elegant white pantsuit.

Peyton shook her head. What had made the former beauty queen who seemed to have it all, run away and become the beautiful, elusive stranger in the investigator's photos? Peyton stared at it as well as personal photo albums filled with pictures of the two girls from elementary school onto just months before. They had been best friends all their lives, rarely separated and in the blink of an eye, her other half had vanished without a trace. Now she had been found and still nothing made any sense. It was like the years of friendship had all been one big lie. Why had she just up and left? Who was the real Brooke Davis…and did the answers lie with the ruggedly handsome blonde haired man she was smooching in the photographs?