Emily yanked on the car door handle and stepped out, embarrassed at how bitter she had sounded. She waited for Zander, and they walked the brick-lined path to the front door, where he rang the bell.

A young girl opened it, and Emily caught her breath.

She looks exactly like Tara as a child.

The girl appeared to be nine or ten. Emily hadn’t thought to wonder if Tara had children. Or a husband. It had been shortsighted of her.

“Can we speak to your mom?” she finally managed to ask.

“Moooom!” the girl yelled over her shoulder. Her long, blonde hair was in a single braid, and she wore black jeans with ripped knees.

I have a niece.

The thought hit her like a semitruck, making her lungs seize, the oxygen gone.

Behind the girl the house had high ceilings and white wainscoting. An elegant staircase curved to the second level. The wood floors gleamed.

Footsteps sounded.

The woman who arrived was not Tara, but she looked at Zander and Emily expectantly.

“We’re looking for Terri Yancey,” Zander said. “Is she home?”

The woman’s face shut down. “She’s not feeling well.” Her manner was guarded, and suspicion hovered in her tone. She was twenty years too old to be Tara. “Can I give her a message?”

Emily and Zander exchanged a long look, and he nodded encouragingly. The decision was in her hands.

Should I?

I have a niece.

“Tell Tara her sister Emily is here,” she stated calmly, defying the drumbeat in her chest.

The woman took a half step back, her hand rising to her chest, her mouth in an O.

She knows.

The girl tilted her head, studying Emily with intelligent eyes. “Who?” She looked to the older woman. “Who is she?”

Emily said nothing, and the woman visibly pulled herself together. “Why don’t you come in?” With one hand on the girl’s shoulder, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

Emily caught Zander’s surprised expression. She shrugged at him. They’d come this far, she wasn’t about to stop now.

The woman led them to a formal living room and indicated for them to take a seat. “I’ll get her.” She vanished through the glass double doors, and her footsteps tapped up the arced staircase.

Tara’s daughter—Emily assumed—stayed, her expression watchful. She’d picked up on the unease among the adults.

“I’m Emily. This is Zander.” When the girl didn’t reply, Emily continued. “And you are . . .”

“Bella.”

Was Tara a Twilight fan?

Emily used to be.

“How old are you, Bella?” Zander asked.

“Why are you here?” Bella asked bluntly. “Why is Grandma upset?”

Zander leaned closer to Emily. “She’s definitely related to you,” he whispered.

“You’re being rude.” Bella tossed her braid over her shoulder and raised her chin.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” Zander said. “You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know her—but you will soon.”

Bella wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes at his nonanswer.

Emily lost her breath. The movement was like looking into a mirror. She’d trained herself not to use the eyeroll except around family, but the wrinkling of the nose was too hard a habit to break.

Female voices sounded. People were coming down the staircase. Bella left the room, but her question was audible. “Mom, who are they?”

Then Tara was in the doorway, one hand gripping the jamb for balance, shock opening her mouth. “Emily.” The name was faint.

Tara’s appearance jolted Emily. Her sister was now a brunette with chin-length hair. Emily had seen the brown hair in her license photo, but seeing the dark—and short—hair in person was a shock. As a teen Tara had always made a big deal over her long, blonde hair. Her sister was now bone thin and had deep circles under her eyes. She looked on edge, nervous.

That’s my sister.

All her confusion and questions evaporated. After twenty years they were in the same room. Nothing else matters. Emily stood and rushed across the room, enveloping her sister in her arms, her heart breaking at the sensation of the bones just under her skin. She pulled back to look Tara in the eye and struggled to see through tears. Emily wiped one eye, and Tara did the same.

“I’m sorry,” Tara cried. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated over and over.

Zander watched the reunion, glad Emily had come with him. Once the sisters had gotten past tears, both talked nonstop. Madison. The aunts. Bartonville.

He’d noticed Tara had a slender face on her driver’s license, but in person the woman’s thinness looked unhealthy. She was unsteady on her feet, but that could be from the roller coaster of emotions the women were experiencing. The two finally moved to the couch and continued to talk over each other’s sentences.

“Wendy,” Tara said to the older woman, “can you take Bella in the other room so we can have a bit of privacy?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” the child stated firmly.

“I promise I’ll tell you later.”

“She said she’s your sister. You’ve said you don’t have any family.”

Tara paused and briefly closed her eyes. “It’s a long story. I’ll get to it, I promise.”

The girl shot Emily and Zander suspicious glares but reluctantly left with Wendy. Emily watched her departure, a hungry look in her eye.

The room went silent. Tara’s and Emily’s emotions had crested and fallen, and the awkward moment stretched. Unanswered questions wove between them. Why had Tara left? Why no contact?

They faced each other on the couch, and Tara knotted her hands, twisting and clenching. Emily saw them and separated her own clenched hands.

Zander took pity on the quiet women. “How old is Bella?” he asked. A neutral question.

“She’s nine.”

“She looks like you,” he told Tara, noticing she didn’t wear a wedding ring. “Is her father still around?”

Tara paled. “No. He died in an automobile accident five years ago. Wendy is my mother-in-law, and she took us in after that.” Her voice wavered.

“Tara, I’m so sorry.” Emily touched her sister’s arm. “How horrible for you and Bella.”

“Everyone around me dies.” The statement was flat and lifeless; the emotional woman had vanished.

Zander flinched. “Are you all right?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t know exactly what he referred to . . . her health, her current emotions, her living situation, her dead husband.

She simply looked at him and then turned to Emily. “What happened to your head?” Tara asked, eyeing the bandage under her hair.

“It’s nothing. I whacked it pretty good, and they had to stitch it up. I’m okay.”

Zander wasn’t surprised Emily didn’t go into detail. Especially after Tara had just said everyone around her died.

He decided to outright question Tara. “Why did you visit Chet Carlson?”

Tara blanched. “That’s how you found me.” The whisper high and reedy.

“Why are you hiding?” Emily cut in sharply. “How could you go for twenty years without contacting us? Your family? I lost three members of my family within a week back then!” She waved her hands as she spoke, scaling another emotional peak.

Tara’s face crumpled. “I can’t talk about it.”

A theory percolated, and Zander studied the woman, wondering how to phrase his suspicion.

“Why?” Emily begged. “What is so horrible that you can’t tell us?” She pointed at Zander. “He’s an FBI agent, Tara. He can help with whatever it is.”

Zander wasn’t so sure about that, but Tara was listening, impulses warring on her face, the line of her back tense. She regarded him warily.

“I have a niece,” Emily said softly. “I never knew—Madison never knew. We missed her birth, her chubby baby cheeks, losing her first tooth . . .”

“She’s not yours.” Tara grew fierce. “That is my daughter, and I do everything I can to keep her safe. You are to tell no one that you saw me or her.”

A mama bear had replaced Tara on the sofa.

Emily snapped her mouth shut.

“What did you see that night, Tara?” Zander questioned.

“Nothing. I wasn’t there.” She didn’t ask which night.

Emily started to speak and stopped, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I was at a friend’s. We were drinking. I don’t know anything about what happened to Dad. You already knew this.” She looked Emily in the eye.

“You didn’t answer Zander’s question about Carlson,” Emily said.

“What happened that night has haunted me all my life. I wanted to see that man’s face.”

“Do you believe he killed your father?” asked Zander.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Even though he claims he didn’t do it.”

She’s lying.

“My life has been hell for twenty years,” Tara said. “First Dad’s murder and then Mom’s after I left. The only way I could put it out of my head was with booze. Now I have constant insomnia and can never relax.”