Chapter 17

The male member of Brock's security detail had regained his feet. He was angry and embarrassed that a 5-foot-5, 120-pound woman had knocked him on his backside.

"This is same woman we spotted trying to tail you home, Mr. Miller," he said. His voice was slightly slurred by the pain in his jaw. "She is the one driving a car with a false registration."

"I was not attempting to follow anyone home," Zoe said plainly. "I have no need to follow Mr. Miller. I have other ways of locating him if I want to. And you must have run my tag before early July. It takes time to get those things transferred. You can rest assured that no laws were violated."

She turned to face the angry security guard.

"And if you attempt to touch me one more time, you'll find yourself either in the hospital or a jail cell," she stated before turning back to Brock. "My name is Zoe Brewer. I am 23 years old. I believe my father is also your father. I am a deputy sheriff for Los Angeles County. If I wanted to know where you lived I would know where you lived. If I wanted to harm you, well, I think you already know how police officers can make people's lives hell. I simply want to talk to you. If your protection has seen me multiple times, it is not because I am stalking you. From what I've read about you, you seem to be a very nice person. But I have lived in Los Angeles my entire life. I know that what the public sees isn't always the same as reality. I wasn't certain I wanted to approach you. I wanted to make sure you were a person I wanted to know before I actually took a chance on getting to know you. There! Are your fears alleviated?"

Brock found himself smiling at the woman who might be his half-sister. She was feisty, that was for certain. He wondered if perhaps his temper had spawned from his father and not from his mother, as he had always suspected.

The guards were watching Brock's reaction closely. Although it was common for long-lost relatives to pop out of the woodwork with a player hit the big time, Brock Miller was actually earning less money as a baseball player than he was collecting on interest on his court settlement from Lewis County.

"Let's find a spot to sit and talk," he decided. "I hope you understand that I have to be very cautious. I don't disbelieve you. It's just that I have no frame of reference. My mother always told me that we would discuss my father 'when the time was right.' She died before we reached that time."

Zoe let out a long sigh but nodded.

"I do understand," she said. "How about this: I'll give my driver's license to your protection detail. They will know where to find me if I somehow manage to kidnap you. We can sit in a very public place and have what most would consider a very private conversation. On the other hand, I can also understand that you probably don't trust very many people. I certainly wouldn't if I were in your place."

"Are you armed?" the female security guard wondered.

"Not at the moment," Zoe answered. She held open her purse to show there was no handgun inside.

"If you're a cop then you know that's the last place to keep a weapon," the male guard stated. "How about on your person? A professional would carry her weapon in an ankle or thigh holster."

"And I am a professional," Zoe said bluntly. "But today I am unarmed. Short of frisking me, you're just going to have to take my word for it."

She reached into her purse and pulled out her official identification. She didn't pass it to the guards but she did offer up her driver's license.

"How about a surety bond?" Brock joked. He was satisfied that, even if this woman wasn't who she claimed to be, she wasn't there to do him ill.

"I'd have to borrow it from you," Zoe replied with a smile. She paused for a moment. "Brock, that's not why I'm here. I don't want anything from you and I won't accept it if you offer it. I am here to see if we might be related. If we find out we are, then we'll decide if we want to become friends or not. But I'm not here to ask you for a favor or a handout. I guess I should have opened my little gambit with that but I got a little flustered when you started to scream."

"You were flustered?" Brock asked with another smile. "I've gotten six letters – as recently as last week – from a woman who has either been played by a con artist or who is completely whacked out of her gourd. Hell, I'd probably be happier if you were armed. Then again, I saw that you are pretty dangerous even without a gun. You could have snapped my neck or stabbed me or shot me before I could have blinked. I'm interested in what you have say – potentially. So let's go across to the bistro for lunch. We can grab a table outside and these guys can sit close by. We'll chat and see where it goes. But I have to be at the park in a couple of hours so we might have to continue our discussion later."

"Deal," Zoe replied.

Brock asked his protection detail to sit at a table near the door – to discourage autograph seekers more than anything else. It was going to be tough enough to get through a conversation with a woman who might be his last living relative without having it interrupted a half dozen times.

Zoe got to the point as soon as they were seated.

"Does the name Robert Brewer mean anything to you?" she asked.

Brock thought for a moment and then shook his head. She produced a picture from her purse and passed it across.

"Do you recognize this woman?" she asked. Brock felt the familiar stab of pain that always lanced through him when he thought about his mother. Unable to speak for a moment, he simply nodded.

He found his voice after taking a sip of iced tea.

"That's my mom," he answered. Zoe gave him a soft smile and tapped the man in the picture.

"That's my dad," she said. "This was taken at his senior prom. He graduated from Lafayette High School a year before you were born."

"The same year as Mom," Brock confirmed.

"I read your biography, it says you were born in May," Zoe continued.

"June," Brock corrected. Zoe looked confused so he explained about emancipation and changing his birthday to match his mother's.

"That makes even more sense," Zoe replied. It was Brock's turn to be puzzled.

"My Dad grew up in Wilkins," she said. "He left there and moved to Hollywood. He wanted to become a famous actor, I suppose. He landed a couple of small roles but things didn't pan out. He married my mother in February and I came along in November. I'll turn 24 in a couple of months."

"So he was already married to your Mom when I was born," Brock pointed out. "Why do you think this man is my father?"

Zoe frowned slightly. She had hoped to tell the story sequentially but she understood Brock's growing anticipation.

"It's actually third-hand information," she related. "My father told my mother and she told me. She didn't mention you by name but I pieced enough things together to realize who she was talking about."

"And what does your father say?" Brock wondered.

"He died when I was seven," Zoe told him. "You would have just turned eight, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Brock replied earnestly. Zoe only shrugged.

"Truthfully, I probably knew him about as well as you did," she admitted. "My Dad didn't land many acting roles but he was in a bunch of movies. He was a stunt man."

"A stunt man?" Brock parroted.

"You know, the guy who takes the bumps in a fight scene or drives the car during a chase," Zoe clarified.

"I know what it is," Brock said. Zoe simply nodded.

"He was always gone," Zoe told him. "He was either on a set or on location somewhere. I would see him two or three days a month, sometimes not that often. From what I understand, I don't really remember much about it, but he was hurt – paralyzed on a shoot for an action film. He developed pneumonia and died about four months later."

"Okay," Brock said. Zoe sighed this time.

"While he was still able, he told my mother about your mother," she said. "At least I'm almost positive it was your mother. He had stopped back in Wilkins for something or another – maybe a class reunion or something – and ran into her, and you, while he was there. He told my Mom that he had tried to get your Mom to move to Hollywood with him when he first came over but I guess her parents didn't like him or something. I don't really know that part."

Brock barely remembered his grandparents – and the memories he did have weren't fond ones.

"Well, that part is certainly accurate," he said. "I don't think there was a man, woman or child on the face of the planet who my grandparents did like. I count myself among the group of disliked."

Zoe smiled slightly and nodded.

"I'm pretty sure that dad contacted your mom when things started to go downhill for him," she continued. "At least that's the impression my mom left me with. Your mom wasn't interested in anything he had to say. Still, he changed his will a week or so before he passed away. He left half of his estate to your mom for your benefit. My mom was pretty unhappy when she learned about it."

Brock tilted his head and pursed his lips. It had to be a pretty insubstantial estate because he didn't recall there ever being much money in the house. In fact, one of the watershed moments of his life was when he realized exactly how much his mom had gone without in order to give him something he wanted. Zoe recognized the look on Brock's face for it was.

"I understand that your mom sent a letter to dad's attorney," she said. "Your mom told him that my dad never had shown interest in being your father while he was living and it seemed pretty stupid to make the attempt once he was dead. She turned the money back to his estate."

It wasn't a far stretch for Brock to imagine his mother writing the letter. She was fiercely independent.

"If mom didn't go with him to Hollywood, it wasn't because her parents didn't want her to," he said firmly. "It was because she didn't want to go. I think my mom might be the only person in the world my grandparents were smart enough not to try to bully. Anyway, enough of ancient history. Your mom can probably tell us if we have the same father or not. If she doesn't know for certain, DNA will give us the answer. I'm more interested in learning a bit about you."

"Mom won't be able to help," Zoe said softly. Brock saw the same look on her face that sometimes crossed his countenance: utter sadness.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss," he said.

Zoe looked up with wet eyes and smiled sadly.

"It's still a little raw for me," she admitted. "She died last winter. She worked at a pharmacy in Glendale. Two meth-heads got pissy because they couldn't buy any more Sudafed. They shot the place up. I'd been a cop for less than six weeks when my mother was murdered."

Brock shook his head solemnly. The sudden loss of the only person in the world who cared for you was devastating no matter what age you were when it happened.

"That's why the car registration came back to my mother," she added. "She had it leased. I was the executor of her estate, so I had to wait until everything was probated before I could pay off the lease and transfer it to my name."

She paused briefly.

"So if it does turn out that we're brother and sister, I guess we're the last family either of us has," she said.

Brock hated to end the conversation but he had a baseball game in a few hours. He was already going to have to skip going home and head straight to the stadium.

"Do you want to come to the game tonight?" he asked. "I mean, I don't know your work schedule or anything but we might have some time to visit afterward."

"I'd like to but I can't," Zoe said. "I work the 4-to-12 shift this month and Saturdays are all hands on deck. In fact, we're both going to have to run. I know you're heading east for 10 days right after the game tomorrow. I don't have vacation yet. I'm still probationary for another two months. I usually have Sundays and Mondays off, though."

"I'm off the Monday we get back from Milwaukee," Brock pointed out. "Let's swap information and we'll see if we can get to know a little bit about the other via e-mail or something. I know it sucks but I don't really see any other option."

"Me either," Zoe said. "Still, I pretty well know most of your life story. Mine's pretty boring and I've already hit the high points. It would be nice to know that there is someone in the world who might be related to me. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can come up with the numbers of a reputable DNA lab. Even if we decide we don't want to hang out very much, it will be nice to know."

"It will," Brock agreed as they parted company. "And Zoe, I'm glad you made contact even if you did scare the crap out me."

"Hey, I'm a cop, remember," she joked. "I would have protected you even from myself. I am truly sorry if my arrival has steered your security team away from whoever is threatening you."

Meredith was the only member of his entourage still in Los Angeles, so Brock looked for her along the third base line. As usual, when he wanted to talk about something, she was nowhere to be found.

Al noticed Brock's distraction immediately though and pulled him aside after batting practice.

"What's up, Rook?" he asked.

Brock let out a sigh.

"I found out this afternoon that I might have a half-sister," Brock replied. It was just about the last response Al had expected. Most relatives come out of the woodwork as soon as any amount of money landed on the table.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"I guess so," Brock told him.

"I thought, well, I didn't think you knew much about your dad," Al said with uncustomary diplomacy. It wasn't a big deal in his neighborhood in New York City. In fact, most of the people he grew up around could have had doubts about their parentage.

"I don't," Brock said. "Or at least I didn't. I still might not. This woman approached me today. She had a picture of my mom with her dad. I guess they dated in high school or something. Her dad moved down here after graduation. I don't know if he knew my mom was pregnant or what. He was a stunt man for the movies. He died about 15 years ago after an accident. Zoe, that's her name by the way, Zoe Brewer. Anyway, she got the information from her mother who supposedly got it from her father. She didn't know for certain but she said she pieced together enough clues to figure out it was me they were talking about."

Al nodded slowly. He wanted to formulate his response carefully. If the woman did turn out to be related, a harsh retort could cause a lot of harm to the friendship he had developed with Brock. With a sigh, he asked what he needed to ask.

"Are you sure it isn't a scam of some sort?" he wondered. He knew there were times when Brock felt alone in the world. The thought of having a family member might cause him to ignore danger signs.

"No, I'm not sure of anything right now," Brock said truthfully. "But it's a pretty elaborate scam if it is. She's a sheriff's deputy. My security guys called to verify that much. We're going to investigate reputable DNA labs over the next few weeks."

Brock gave a half-smile.

"She kicked the crap out of one of my security guys when he grabbed her from behind," he said with a chuckle. "I mean, she literally knocked him on his ass. And those guys are no joke. It's just a lot to take in at one time. I wish I had time to call my second family before I got here but it took me too long to figure out what I thought of the whole situation."

"What do you think?" Al prodded gently.

"Damned if I know," Brock answered with a full laugh this time. "I mean, if it's true, it might be cool to have a little sister. She seemed really nice and I could see us getting along pretty well. If it turns out she misunderstood the clues, I hope I'm not too disappointed."

"Just make sure she doesn't have an ulterior motive," Al advised. "And you might consider having Cynthia Lu run a full background check on her."

Brock looked at the clock when he arrived home. He knew it was past three a.m. in the east so he couldn't call Jen. Melanie and Tara were probably asleep, too. Chastity was in Miami, back at work with the national team. Emmy wouldn't return to Los Angeles for another two weeks. Merie had proven to be a remarkably unreliable friend and Brock wasn't sure where he stood with Sam. Randi was God knew where, somewhere in the middle of her 45-date summer tour.

He doubted any of them would mind being awakened by the news Brock wanted to share but he figured Susan was probably the only one who hadn't been asleep for hours. She was probably the one who could give him the best insight on the matter, since she remembered his mother almost as well as he did. So he dialed her number.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry for calling so late. I hope I didn't wake you."

"I was in bed but not asleep yet," Susan replied. "What's up?"

Brock wasn't sure how to begin the conversation.

"I ran into someone today," he started. "Uh, do you remember the picture I showed you when you guys were up here?"

"Of course," Susan said, concern evident in her voice. "Brock, are you OK?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Well, sort of fine. Look, Suze, she said she was my sister."

"Your what?" Susan asked, her voice rising with alarm.

"She said she's my sister," Brock repeated. "Well, half-sister anyway. She said we have the same father."

"Is she right?" Susan wondered.

"I don't know," Brock admitted. "Possibly. She had a picture of my mom and her dad from high school. I was born less than a year after mom graduated. It sort of makes sense."

"Did you meet him?" Susan inquired. "What's he like?"

"Dead," Brock answered. "He died even before mom did. She said he was hurt on a movie set. Zoe's mom is dead, too. I'm just not sure what to think right now."

"This was the woman who was sending you those awful letters," Susan said.

"No," Brock cut in. "At least I don't think it was her. She's a cop here in L.A."

"Really," Susan said. "So she's older than you? That doesn't make much sense."

"She's younger," Brock clarified. "She's your age. You and she are about six months apart. She's still a trainee with the sheriff's department. I didn't really get the chance to talk to her much. She had to get to work and so did I."

Susan was still in bed, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't certain how she felt about a relative of Brock's coming forward. She was smart enough to know that one of the reasons he had stayed so close to her, Tara, Jen and Mel was because he really had no one else to be close to. A sister might cause their relationships, already difficult in terms of distance, to change further.

"Do you plan to see her again?" Susan asked.

"Of course," Brock insisted. "I'm on another road trip next week but we're planning to get together when I get back."

"I guess that's good," Susan relented.

"You guess?" Brock asked, anger seeping into his voice. "Susan, I have managed to get myself fed and where I've needed to be without you guys for a while now. I've somehow managed to keep from setting myself on fire or falling into the clutches of evil, scheming women who want to separate me from my money. I don't need you to protect me from the big, bad world any more than you need me to protect you from it."