Do you think my father would raise a daughter who wasn’t prepared for anything and everything? Do you think he didn’t teach me to defend myself?”
“You use the Taser often?” Sam snapped.
“This was my first time. First time to use a Taser on a real person, that is. Naturally I’ve practiced on targets and such. Well, once I practiced. I can shoot, of course, but I really prefer a nonlethal form of self-defense.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Her dad hadn’t made any secret of the fact that when Sam had taken down the shooter who’d killed a young cop and wounded two others, it had been a life-changing event. There were those—in the department and out—who thought Sam had acted too quickly and with unnecessary finality, that he should’ve tried to take the guy alive. No one had said anything so outrageous until they’d found out the shooter was barely seventeen, as if the victim would be less dead if the shooter was older. That one night, that one shot, had ended Sam’s time on the force. Apparently it had also eventually ended his marriage. “I didn’t mean…” she began, but Sam shrugged her off and changed the subject.
“We also need to talk about your situation,” he said. He sounded a little tired. “Before I go any further, are you sure…”
“I wouldn’t have hired you if I wasn’t sure,” Lizzie interrupted. “Why are you being so difficult? Isn’t this what you do? Don’t you find people for a living? Do you always try to talk clients out of hiring you?”
“If Charlie had wanted you to know about this child, he would’ve told you years ago.”
Lizzie shook a stern finger in Sam’s direction. “Don’t mention his name to me right now. I’m so annoyed with my father, I swear if he was here right now I’d… I’d…”
“Shoot him with your Taser?”
“Maybe,” Lizzie snapped. “He certainly deserves a good shock. He lied to me. You’re not supposed to lie to the people you love. You’re not supposed to keep secrets from your family. I have a sister, a sister I knew nothing about. Jenna is the only blood relative I have, outside my mother, and he kept her from me. Now I’m supposed to forgive him just because he’s dead?”
“There is some doubt about whether or not the girl is actually…”
“Until and unless you prove otherwise, I consider Jenna my sister. If there’s even the smallest chance that’s the case, I have to approach the situation as if there’s no doubt at all.”
Sam looked decidedly uncomfortable, and he changed the subject. “How is your mother, by the way?”
“How the hell should I know?” Lizzie turned and headed for the kitchen, angry that stinging tears had filled her eyes. “I haven’t seen her in two years, haven’t spoken to her since I called to tell her Dad had died. We don’t have what you would call a healthy mother-daughter relationship.” Too much information, too fast. “Can I get you some coffee? Maybe some soup?”
“No, thanks,” Sam said, but he followed her into the kitchen.
Sam walked to the kitchen table, where an almost-empty bowl of soup sat. “I interrupted your dinner.”
“I was finished,” Lizzie said, fiddling with the coffeepot so she wouldn’t have to face him and reveal her tears. He knew she was still fighting her emotions because she didn’t tell him what kind of coffee she was making, which mug she would choose and why, what kind of coffee she’d had that morning, and so on and so on.
He reached out and lifted the thin metal picture frame which lay facedown on the table, righting it to reveal the image of his old partner, his old friend. Lizzie must be really upset with Charlie to put his picture down this way. Sam figured now was probably not the time to tell Lizzie that he’d known about Jenna’s existence for years.
That wasn’t what Lizzie wanted to hear, not just yet. Hell, not ever.
Lizzie was so much like her father. Charlie had said almost exactly the same words, years ago. If there’s the smallest chance the child might be mine, I can’t turn my back on her. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Monica Yates had had other plans.
“I’m making decaf,” Lizzie said, her voice noticeably more steady than before. She’d chased away the tears, buried her emotion deep. “Since you’re still here and I don’t want to be rude and drink in front of you, would you like a cup?”
“Sure,” he said absently, righting Charlie’s picture. It wasn’t fitting for the man to be facedown on his own kitchen table.
For a moment Lizzie watched while the coffeemaker sputtered and spewed, and then she turned to face Sam, dry-eyed and chin held high. While he hadn’t been watching, the young girl he remembered had turned into a beautiful woman. The years hadn’t entirely erased the quirks and the awkwardness, but those traits had been softened. She’d bloomed. She’d matured. If she wasn’t Charlie’s little girl and if they’d met under different circumstances… Who was he kidding? Lizzie Porter was seriously off-limits. She was a client, and that was the beginning and the end.
“If you’re going to continue to try to change my mind, then walk away now and I’ll hire someone else,” she said, stubborn as she’d been as a teenager. “I’ve wasted enough time. I’m not going to waste another minute arguing with you or anyone else.”
He couldn’t allow her to hire another investigator. Half the P.I.s in town were hacks who were unqualified, dishonest or both. Besides, in the current position he had some control over what she learned, when and how. Sam was torn between what Charlie had obviously wanted and what Lizzie wanted—needed—to know. She was going to find out the truth, sooner or later, and like it or not, the news would come from him. Before he broke the news to her he wanted to know exactly what sort of situation Jenna was in. Charlie’s secrets, Lizzie’s pain, Jenna’s needs. He was going to have to weigh them all. “That won’t be necessary.”
“When will you get started?”
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“I suppose you’ll do a search on the Internet first. I tried, but I have no patience and it was so slow, and there was nothing on a Monica Yates that I thought might be the Monica I was looking for, and besides, I assume you have access to files and sites that I can’t touch with a ten-foot pole.” She gave him a smile that was slightly strained. “I wonder if Jenna lives very far away or if she’s still in Alabama. For all I know she’s on the other side of the world. It doesn’t matter. I want to see her.”
“Leave the details to me.” Sam didn’t think now was the time to tell Lizzie that her newly discovered sister lived not fifteen minutes from this very house.
Lizzie snatched her bowl of soup from the table, dumped the remains of her sad supper into the garbage disposal, rinsed the bowl and stuck it in the dishwasher. She didn’t lean on people; it wasn’t her way. So why was she tempted to fall into Sam’s strong arms and melt into him? Why did she want to make him part of her world?
Old fantasies died hard, apparently.
He remained silent while she finished cleaning up and then poured two cups of coffee. She remembered that Sam took his black, or at least he had years ago. She liked lots of sugar and cream in her coffee. When she placed the two cups at the kitchen table, where Sam sat as if he belonged there, she sighed, sat and said, “You’re
