“Oh, I see. Did you ask any of those questions?”

“No, I have a telephone number, but sometimes I think not knowing is better. I mean, I can make up my own answers.”

Marie smiled. “So, what’s your question, dear?”

Sophia readjusted her legs, curling one under herself as she leaned back into the plushness of the large chair. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded far away. “I guess I just need to talk about it. Derek listens, but he’s protective. He doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Do you think you will?”

Sophia’s lips pressed together and she feigned a smile. “I’ve thought about the possibilities from all directions. If I learn I have this great set of biological parents who have a great life, then I’ll wonder why they didn’t want me to be a part of it. If I learn they didn’t stay together or they’re not good people, then I’ll wonder if dealing with me was part of the cause.”

Marie leaned forward and put her hand on Sophia’s knee. “That’s quite a decision. I’ve known many people who have done things they regret. Perhaps that’s why the woman called, or perhaps she regrets what she did thirty-three years ago; however, I don’t believe you should feel responsible for anything other than who you’ve become.” Marie’s gray eyes shimmered in the firelight. “Sophia, you’re an accomplished, lovely woman. The woman you spoke to should be proud.”

The scene melted as Sophia fought stoically not to cry. “I miss my mom and pop.” With the back of her hand, she brushed a renegade tear away. “Thank you Marie. I suppose the holidays left me feeling lonely.” She reached out and held Marie’s hand. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.”

“You know, we don’t seem that different in age, yet look, Cindy came to you when she had a problem, and now, so did I.” Sophia chuckled. “You’re probably sick of listening to everyone else’s troubles.”

“Not at all. I’m honored you feel comfortable enough to talk.”

“I do, and I think you’re right before—no good comes from digging up the past. I don’t want to know that woman. I’ve been blessed with great parents, a fantastic husband, and good friends. Why push my luck?”

After a delightful afternoon, Marie walked Sophia to the door. Once Marie watched Sophia’s car pull away and the barrier to the outside was closed, Catherine murmured, “Eighteen years; that’s our age difference, and you do not want to learn about the man who donated his DNA to make you—I refuse to consider him any kind of father. He doesn’t deserve any credit for the beautiful woman you are today! The way things are now is much better than bringing memories of that monster into the equation.”

As she walked toward her office, Catherine smiled, her words not audible to anyone, “In time, my dear, I promise, that it’ll be even better.”

Harry finished his report. His case in West Virginia was done. Tomorrow, he’d fly back to Palo Alto. He considered calling Liz and warning her, but as a sneaky grin came to his lips, he decided it would be more fun to surprise her. Since he’d been called away before Christmas, they hadn’t had a chance to celebrate the holiday. With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, he’d try to think of some way for them to enjoy the next one. Harry believed if he gave it a little thought, something would come up.

With a few minutes to spare before leaving the field office, Harry decided to utilize the bureau’s database. It didn’t take him long to back-door his way into his old case. Within seconds, he’d accessed the Rawlings/Nichols files. When he did, he was rewarded with new information. It appeared Anthony Rawlings had continued to stay in contact, as ordered by the FBI. Claire Nichols Rawlings had given birth to a healthy baby girl. For a split second, Harry wondered if the baby had blue or brown eyes. As fast as the thought entered his mind, he pushed it away. That wasn’t his purpose for this walk down memory lane. For the last two months Harry had successfully distanced himself from all things Rawlings/Nichols. He wanted to keep that distance—forever; however, there were a few things that kept eating at him. If he were to truly ever have closure—he needed to resolve some issues.

He accessed the tissue sample analysis for Simon Johnson. Since Rawlings confessed to paying for Simon’s demise, no one had taken the time to verify the Johnson case. Harry wanted to let it go. He wanted Anthony Rawlings to rot in jail for a very long time. Without a doubt, hiring someone to sabotage a plane was a crime, and of that—without a doubt—Rawlings was guilty. Of actually murdering Simon Johnson—Harry wanted to say—yes, Rawlings was responsible—but he couldn’t. Johnson’s body had been so badly burnt, the forensics were difficult.