Come to Me. Linda Winstead Jones

else shows up with their families. Darryl, I mean Dad, well, he’s actually my stepfather but he likes me to call him Dad, he promised he would take me to today’s game, so whatever you do don’t keep him on the phone too long.”

      Sam took a deep breath. If there had ever been any doubt that Jenna was Lizzie’s sister, it had just flown out the window. He quickly dismissed that thought. Many young girls rambled, related to Lizzie or not. “I can see that I called at a bad time. Please tell Mr. Connelly I’ll call him on Monday to discuss his insurance needs.”

      “Yeah, whatever,” Jenna said. “I gotta run. Wish me luck!” With that, the call ended. Sam leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. This was what Lizzie needed, what she’d hired him to do. It wasn’t his business if Lizzie got her heart broken. She’d hired him to find the kid, not guarantee a happy ending. He didn’t see many happy endings in his line of work.

      He stood there for a few minutes, wishing he could make this case go away, wishing he didn’t have to deal with a grown-up Lizzie Porter. Best to get this over with. Before he had time to talk himself out of it, he stalked back into the office, walked straight to Lizzie, grabbed her arm and said, “You want to see this girl you think might be your sister? Let’s go.”

       Chapter 4

      “I can’t meet her like this!” Lizzie said as Sam ushered her out of the building and locked the door behind him.

      “You’re not going to meet her. You’re going to see her from a distance. There’s a soccer game at her school and she’s playing.”

      “How do you know that?” Lizzie asked as Sam took her arm and led her toward the parking lot and his boxy gray car.

      “I’m a private investigator. It’s my job.”

      He sounded so curt! He was probably still annoyed about the “no details” discussion they’d just had. Men could be so sensitive, especially when it came to their lovemaking skills or their manliness. Sam Travers was a star when it came to manliness. She couldn’t even begin to guess about the other, and it would be best if her mind did not go there.

      Sam was silent as he drove, and for once Lizzie was silent, as well. What did Jenna look like? Were there sisterly similarities or was she her own person, distinct and individual? Maybe Jenna wouldn’t even like Lizzie. Maybe she’d think a fully grown sister was lame and unnecessary. Maybe they had nothing in common; maybe they weren’t sisters at all.

      Jenna had a family—maybe even other siblings by now; she didn’t need a sister popping up out of nowhere. Lizzie’s physical reaction to the idea of confronting the girl was much like the one she had when she looked at Sam too closely. Jitters. Squirming. Shaking. Only this wasn’t quite so… pleasant. She was terrified that her plans were about to go very wrong.

      “Turn the car around,” Lizzie said abruptly.

      “We’re almost there.”

      “This is a mistake.” Boy, was it a mistake. Going to Sam’s office, digging into old secrets, thinking she could manufacture a family out of thin air… all mistakes, one after another.

      “Are you still worried about the way you’re dressed?” Sam asked. “Jenna won’t see you, I promise. We’ll stay back and watch, that’ll be it for this time.”

      Lizzie shook her head. “No, the whole thing is a mistake. Dad was right to keep Jenna’s existence a secret. If I meet her I’ll blow it, somehow. I always do. I’ll open my mouth and say something stupid and that’ll be it. Jenna doesn’t need me. She already has a family.”

      Sam didn’t argue, but he didn’t turn around, either. He turned into the parking lot of a very nice private school, one Lizzie knew to be very expensive. Talk about exclusive! The lot was pretty full, so they had to park at the far end. He pulled into a space away from the other cars, turned off the engine and faced her, one casual hand on the steering wheel, his eyes not at all casual.

      “You know that I believe revealing your possible relationship to the girl would be traumatic for her.”

      Lizzie nodded, the move jerky and too fast. “You were right all along,” she said quickly. So let’s get out of here already!

      Sam’s face remained even and calm. Did he never show emotion? Did nothing ruffle his feathers? “I also believe you need to see her, even if from a distance. If you don’t, you’ll regret it later.”

      She didn’t immediately agree or disagree. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was best to get it over with, to get a look at the girl and move on with her life. She was curious, after all. A little curiosity wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “A quick look, then.”

      “Just a look.”

      Staring into Sam’s calm blue eyes made Lizzie feel calmer herself. Everything would be okay. She’d just have a look to prove to herself that Jenna was well cared for and happy. She flung open the passenger door and stepped out of the car before she could change her mind.

      Lizzie was drawn to the sounds of shouting and cheering and the occasional whistle. Sam fell into step beside her, too close, not close enough. She wanted to reach out and take his hand and clutch it, but she didn’t. He’d think she was a total wuss if she clung to him just because she was about to get a long-distance look at the girl who might be her sister.

      The soccer field was well-groomed, and the girls that played upon it were dressed in blue-and-gold or red-and-white uniforms. The metal bleachers held a collection of parents. Most of them watched the game with genuine interest and excitement. A contingent of younger siblings played in the grass beside the bleachers. It was a scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, a healthy slice of family life. If Jenna had a perfect existence, who was she to mess it up?

      Not far from the edge of the parking lot, in the shade of an ancient elm tree, Lizzie stopped. “Which one is she?”

      Sam studied the players for a moment, and then he pointed. “There, in blue and gold. Brown ponytail. Number 8.”

      Lizzie’s eyes were glued to number 8 when the girl took control of the ball and turned. It was difficult to tell from a distance, but did she look a little bit like their dad? Lizzie’s heart thumped. Did she have Charlie Porter’s longish nose and narrow eyes? Jenna had that coltish look girls of her age sometimes had, leggy and thin and awkward, on the edge of turning into a young woman, but yes, there was a definite resemblance.

      Jenna’s brown hair didn’t have quite the same slightly reddish tint Lizzie’s had, but there wasn’t but a shade or two of difference. Not that there weren’t thousands upon thousands of girls and women with the same color hair.

      Lizzie didn’t realize she’d reached for Sam’s hand and grabbed on until he squeezed. She knew she should end the contact, let go and maybe take a step away from the man at her side. But she didn’t.

      “Jenna’s mother passed away four years ago,” Sam said. “She lives with her stepfather, Darryl Connelly, in what can only be called a mansion. She attends this school, plays soccer and takes ballet, and her yearly allowance is probably about the same as my annual salary.”

      “Monica died?” Lizzie had never thought Monica Yates would make a decent mother, but for Jenna to lose her mom so young had to be traumatic. Her stomach knotted. At the age of eight they’d each lost their mother—in very different ways.

      “Heart troubles, difficult surgery.” The explanation was simple, but it was enough.

      “Which one is Connelly?” she asked, her eyes turning to the parents.

      Sam motioned, this time to the bleachers. “Top row, to the right.”

      Unfortunately Connelly was one of the parents who weren’t watching the game. He gave the attractive woman at his side much more of his attention. Lizzie was incensed, for Jenna’s sake. When she’d played softball, her dad had been the loudest, most belligerent parent in attendance.