Come to Me. Linda Winstead JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      For Kira Sinclair and Kimberly Lang. I’m so honoured and thrilled to be around to see you both succeed, and to celebrate your accomplishments. I know there will be many more.

       Chapter 1

      “You weren’t at the funeral,” Lizzie blurted. It was an awkward way to start a conversation with a man she hadn’t seen in nearly eight years, but she had a bad habit of saying whatever popped into her head. It was a trait that had gotten her into trouble more than once in her twenty-four years.

      Sitting on the other side of a massive, polished walnut desk, Sam’s sharply featured face revealed no emotion as he said, “I was out of town and didn’t find out about your dad’s accident until days after the funeral. I’m so sorry. He was a good man and a good cop. Did you get the card?”

      “Yes. Thanks for the thought.” The card had arrived nearly four months ago—a week after the funeral—and she’d almost thrown it out in a childish fit. Since Sam had been away, she supposed he could be forgiven for missing the funeral. It wasn’t as if she’d gone to any trouble to hunt him down and share the news. She’d been in shock, at the time.

      In a completely perverse manner, Lizzie wished this man she’d once had a heart-wrenching teenage crush on had gotten bald or fat or horribly wrinkled in the years they’d been strangers. She wished she could write off her memory of him as the perfect specimen of a man as childish fiction. She wished she could laugh at her stubborn and unwanted habit of comparing every man she met to this one.

      Instead, Sam Travers, once her father’s partner with the Birmingham police force and currently a successful private investigator, carried the years well. Too well. He was as perfectly handsome as she remembered. His dark hair, cut fairly short but gently mussed, was as thick as ever, and his eyes were even bluer than she remembered. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his now-thirty-two-year-old body, and the only wrinkles she could see were very faint lines around his fantastically blue eyes, lines that only made him more attractive. He wore a perfectly fitted suit these days, instead of the uniform or jeans and T-shirts she remembered, and she was dying to ask him how he’d gotten the small, almost invisible scar on his right cheek—but she didn’t.

      Lizzie squirmed in her chair, uneasy and questioning her decision to be here. When planning her wardrobe for the day she’d purposely dressed down, determined not to make herself attractive for a man who didn’t deserve such efforts. Now she realized she should’ve gone to someone else. Sam looked a little harder than she remembered. He wouldn’t understand. This would never work!

      The problem was she didn’t trust anyone else. Not with this.

      “I have a sister,” she said, carefully placing the letters she’d found in her father’s papers on Sam’s desk and, after a brief pause, pushing them toward him with both hands. “Half sister, that is. I should say probably a half sister. If you read the letters, you’ll see there’s some question about that, though Dad seemed pretty sure. Her name is Jenna. According to these letters she’d be twelve years old now.”

      Sam glanced at the short stack of envelopes but didn’t pick them up. “I’m sure finding out that you might have a half sister was a shock. What exactly do you want me to do?”

      “Find her,” Lizzie said sharply, perturbed that Sam hadn’t figured out that part of it for himself. Some private investigator he was! The word from her father’s old cop buddies was that Sam was the best, a fixer of momentous problems, a man for whom no case was too difficult. He took on the toughest court assignments as well as private cases, and had built what had once been a one-man business into a well-respected agency.

      “And?” he queried, tapping one long finger on the top letter in an annoying and strangely sensual rhythm.

      Lizzie shook her head, annoyed—mostly with herself. “And what? Just find her!”

      Sam’s face remained emotionless, as if he were totally unaffected by her outburst, but there was a hint of something in his eyes that might’ve been irritation. Sam and her father had been partners for almost three years, the new kid and the veteran striking up a deep friendship in spite of their age and lifestyle differences. There had been plenty of fishing trips and cookouts in those three years, birthday parties and football Saturdays. For those three years, Sam had almost been family. Lizzie remembered him being handsome and funny and one of the good guys. She remembered how he’d casually winked at her on occasion, the same way he probably winked at every other female who crossed his path. She didn’t remember him being so steely.

      He leaned back in his chair