Later that evening, Olivia finished reviewing the draft program for the recital and sent it to Amy to send to the printers. On a whim, she popped over to the DNA site, on the off-chance that there would be new matches. Clicking on the DNA Match results, she sat up straight. There, on the screen was someone named Alex Ellis, who was designated ‘Close Family’ with a high degree of confidence. Holding her breath, she stared at the screen. It’s probably just another member of Carly’s family. A family who wanted nothing to do with Carly or Olivia.
But.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and clicked on the name, wondering what ’Close Family’ meant. First cousin? Grandparent? Aunt?
The information this ‘Alex’ had made public listed her gender as female, her place of birth as Atlanta, her current location as Decatur—only about an hour and a half away. She’d also included her date of birth, and based on that, this woman was eight years older than Olivia.
She checked their ‘Shared Matches.’ They were descended from a line that was not her mother’s. Someone with the surname Romano. Olivia’s breath shallowed.
Of all the DNA matches listed on her account, Alex was the closest. She was a closer match than someone who was listed as a second cousin on her mother’s side. She clicked on a question mark next to the words ‘Close Family.’ A window popped up showing she had a match of eighteen hundred thirty-two centimorgans across forty-two DNA strands, whatever that meant.
Opening another window in her browser, she gnawed her lip. There was so much information available on the internet, surely she could figure this out. Fingers poised over the keys, she thought a moment and typed ‘what does centimorgan mean?’ Lots of results popped up, but basically, from what she could discern, centimorgans were the units of measure used to denote the size of matching DNA segments in autosomal DNA. Autosomal DNA, she read, is inherited from both parents.
After a few more searches, she hit on a centimorgan chart that listed the total centimorgans shared and the potential relationship depending on the number. Her heart raced when she read the numbers. Based on her DNA results, she shared over eighteen hundred centimorgans with Alex.
The chart indicated that a grandparent and grandchild, an aunt or uncle and a niece or nephew, and half siblings share seventeen hundred. Olivia could rule out niece, since she had no sibling. She could also rule out grandmother, because Alex was only eight years older than Olivia. That left aunt—she could be her father’s much younger sister. It also left half-sister.
She rose, too nervous to sit any longer. Could this be it? Could she have at least found someone related to her father? Someone who could tell her who he was, if nothing else? Needing something to do with her hands, she set about making a cup of tea—chamomile—to calm her nerves.
What should she do? Drumming her fingers on the countertop while the kettle heated, her mind darted back and forth. Should she contact Alex? Or should she honor her mother’s wish that her father’s identity remained a secret?
Grabbing the kettle just as it began to whistle, she poured water into the cup, breathing in the scent of chamomile that rose with the steam. Taking the cup back to the kitchen table with her, she eyed the computer screen as if it could tell her what to do.
Making up her mind, she clicked ‘Send a Message.’ She wouldn’t share her suspicions with Alex, only that she saw they were a match. That way if Alex wanted to respond to Olivia, she could. And if she didn’t . . . ?
Olivia would cross that bridge when she came to it.
Zach leaned against his car and waited for Olivia to come out of the studio. She wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t want her leaving the building alone at night, now that she was the target of a vendetta. And with the show only three weeks away, she’d been working long hours at the studio.
Lily’s alibi had checked out. Zach had called the women as soon as he’d left Lily, to eliminate the possibility of her calling and warning them. He’d also requested a warrant for the credit card records but was still waiting on them.
So, either Lily had hired someone or she was telling the truth. Which left three other possibilities—Dan, Chloe, or Christopher. Dan could be a smug bastard, but he wouldn’t stoop to something like this. As for Chloe, in his previous chance encounters with her, she hadn’t seemed too broken up about not getting the role.
As he’d told Olivia, Lily had wasted no time in calling her husband. Before Zach could get back to the station and pick up the phone, Dan had stormed into Zach’s office and slammed the door. Not that that did anything to render their conversation private. The volume of Dan’s curses likely burned the ears of any who stood on the sidewalk outside his office window.
That left one person. Maybe Olivia had been right. Maybe it was Christopher. He’d take a trip to Dillon Academy tomorrow and have a conversation with him, along with school administration.
The light upstairs went off, and a few minutes later, Olivia exited the front door then turned to lock it.
Pushing off the car, he strolled over to meet her. When she saw him, she gasped.
“Jesus! You scared me! What are you doing here?”
“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I’m here to protect you.”
“From what? People sneaking up on me and scaring me to death?” She went hands on hips, a frown marring her brow. The bee stings had healed. The only evidence of the accident, a fading scar on her cheek from the airbag.
“Among other things.”
“Seriously, why are you here?” She adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder.
“To escort you home.”
“But why?”
He just stared at her.
“Zach, no one is going to attack me.”
“You’re probably right, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”
She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Whatever.” She strode over to a gray van.
“New car?”
“Rental, until I hear from the insurance company.”
When he thought about what could have happened to her—if the anaphylaxis hadn’t killed her, hitting the telephone pole could have. “I’d be surprised if it wasn’t totaled,” Zach mused. “I’ll see you at your mom’s house,” he said, as she climbed into the driver’s side.
Olivia glanced into her rearview mirror as Zach’s headlights came up behind her.
That he felt the need to escort her home was silly. But something deep down inside her liked it just the same. Her phone rang, and she answered with Bluetooth. “Chief Ryder, I would have thought you of all people would frown on phone calls while driving.”
“Ordinarily I would, so I’ll make it quick. How about a pizza?”
“A what?”
“You know, it’s round, topped with cheese and meat and, if you insist, veggies.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I haven’t eaten, and I’m starved.”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten either. Just a protein bar that had worn off hours ago.
“All right.”
A few minutes later, she pulled into a parking space around the corner from Dominick’s Pizza. Downtown Northridge on a Wednesday night at nine o’clock wasn’t exactly hopping.
Olivia met Zach at the door of the pizzeria, the scent of pepperoni and garlic assailing her senses, making her stomach growl, and eliciting warm memories. Back in the day when she’d had the metabolism of a constantly active teenager, she and Zach had put away more than a few pizzas here.
The place hadn’t changed much in the seventeen years she’d been gone. Still had the same red vinyl barstools, the Formica-topped counter, red-, white-, and green-striped borders, and the red plastic checkerboard tablecloths.
“Don’t let the dated decor fool you. He’s still got the best pizza around.” Zach nodded to the young man behind the counter, as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “How is it you haven’t been in here since you got back?”
She shrugged. “Nothing against Dominick’s, but his carbie, cheesy food isn’t exactly on my menu right now.”
“Sit anywhere. I’ll be right with you,” the young man said.
After selecting a booth near the back, Zach leaned over the table. “Dominick’s grandson, Joey.”
“Grandson?” Pulling the menu from behind the napkin container, Olivia muttered. “God, I’m getting old.”
Zach chuckled. “If you’re getting old, so am I. Why are you looking at the menu? It hasn’t changed in thirty years.”
“Yes, but I never ordered a salad before.” She resumed her scrutiny of the menu.
“Salad? No, no, no. One does not come to Dominick’s, especially after a seventeen-year absence and order lettuce.” Taking the menu from her, he returned it to its slot, just as Joey approached.
“What’ll you have?”
“Two sodas.”
“Diet for me,” Olivia interjected.
Zach visibly shuddered before continuing, “Large, thin-crust pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and mushrooms. Extra cheese.”
Olivia groaned.
“On half,” Zach continued with a smirk and a hand gesture in her direction.
She couldn’t suppress the giggle that rose. “On the other half, I’d like all veggies. Oh, and light cheese.”
“You got it.” Joey turned to place their order.
“You doing okay?” Zach asked.
“Sure.”
“No residuals from the bee stings?”
Olivia folded her sleeve back to reveal the healing welts on her arm and shrugged. “Healing.”
Zach reached across the table and grazed his fingers over the delicate skin of the underside of her forearm then closed them around her wrist. His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes shiny with . . . something. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper.
Unable to escape his penetrating gaze, she held his eyes. Their navy depths filled with concern.
“Not your fault.” She pulled her arm from his grasp.
“I should have done a better job of protecting you.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“That someone would put bees in your car? No. But I could have been more proactive after the other incidents.”
“Zach.” She shook her head. Seeking a change of subject, she blurted, “I have a DNA match.”
“What? You mean with a suspect?”
She stared at him a moment, confused. “Oh. No.” She released a nervous laugh. Of course that would be the first thing he thought. “A match with a relative.”
He shook his head as if clearing it. “I didn’t know you’d submitted your DNA.”
She told him the story, the emotional rollercoaster, the dead ends. “It’s a ‘close family’ relative,’” she used air quotes around the phrase.
After telling him about her research, he set his glass down with a thunk, and he reached for her hand. “Really?” Then he frowned. “How do you feel about that?”
She shrugged. “Cautiously hopeful.” Then she waved a hand in dismissal. “I mean, it could be a cousin, or . . . something, right? And even though the name doesn’t line up, it could be some little-known line of my mom’s.”
“Doesn’t sound like it from what you’ve said. What’s next?”
“Well, I sent her a message. Who knows if she’ll respond. She may be as unreliable about checking her account as I’ve been, or she might not want to connect with me.”
“But it’s a start,” he said, a grin on his face. She could have leaned over the table and planted a kiss on his lips right then and there.
“It’s a start.”