Excerpt of It Runs in the Family by Patricia Kay

Emma Madison stared at her computer screen. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The photo on the fan Web site was of a young Zach Trainer, the lead guitarist and founder of the rock band Freight Train. Judging by how young he looked, it had been taken at least twenty years ago, Emma figured.

In the photo, Zach Trainer wasn't alone.

With him was a beautiful girl. He had his arm around her, and she was gazing up at him adoringly.

The caption under the photo read: Zach Trainer and his singer girlfriend Zoe.

Zoe.

Even though it was almost impossible for Emma to believe, the girl couldn't be anyone but Emma's mother. Emma would have recognized her anywhere. The wildly curly red hair. The face. The smile.

Even if Emma had never seen a picture of her mother when she was young, she'd have known her. But Emma had seen pictures. Many of them. And now there was no doubt in her mind. This Zoe in the photo was her mother.

His singer girlfriend?

Emma was stunned. If her mother knew Zach Trainer, why hadn't she ever mentioned it? Freight Train was one of the most famous rock bands in the world. How could she not mention knowing him? Especially as both she and Emma were musicians and talked about music all the time.

A singer?

Yes, Emma knew her mother had sung in church and in her high school chorus. And several years ago, her mother had joined a women's choral group.

But this caption implied that she had sung with Zach Trainer's band. Why had she never told Emma?

Suddenly, Emma's heart accelerated.

Unless...

Omigod.

Her hand shook as she moved the mouse down through the story, trying to find out exactly when the picture had been taken. Suddenly she spied the date about midway through the article. She stared. Swallowed. The picture had been taken the year before she was born.

Now her heart was beating so hard and so fast, it scared her.

Her mind whirled.

Was it possible?

Could Zach Trainer be her father?

She thought about Zach Trainer's almost-black hair. Emma's hair was almost black, too, although hers was curly like her mother's and his was straight.

She thought about his famous gray eyes, which the fan mags were always saying were the color of rain. Emma's eyes were gray, too. And even though no one had ever compared them to the color of rain, that was because no one she knew was given to fanciful images.

And she thought about his musical genius. Emma had always thought she'd inherited her talent and love of music from her mother, who was an accomplished pianist. But maybe Emma's gift — a gift her mother admitted far surpassed her own — had come from another gene pool.

"Zach Trainer," she whispered.

Now she thought about how her mother would never talk about her father. All Emma had ever been told was that her mom had gotten involved with him when she was very young.

"It was a mistake," she'd said. "But I'm not sorry, because I got you out of the whole deal."

She'd always smiled and hugged and kissed Emma after saying that, and Emma knew it was because her mother hadn't wanted her to feel unloved or unwanted.

And Emma never had.

She knew her mother loved her.

And she loved her mother back.

They had a wonderful relationship, except for this one thing. Emma wanted to know her father. She had always felt incomplete. At the very least, she'd wanted to know who he was. But no matter how many times Emma questioned her, her mother would never tell her anything more.

Once, when Emma was sixteen and in that stubborn stage where she wouldn't stop pestering when she wanted something, her mother had lost her temper.

"Emma, stop it! You father doesn't even know you exist, and believe me, if he did, it wouldn't make any difference. Now leave it alone."

What she'd said had hurt Emma, and she'd stopped pestering, but she hadn't forgotten.

How could she?

She had a father, and he was out there somewhere, and he didn't know she existed. Didn't she have a right to know who he was? Where she came from?

Her mother didn't know everything! Maybe he'd be happy to know about Emma.

Now, staring at the picture of Zach Trainer and her mother, Emma knew she had to find out for sure if what she suspected was true.

Turning on her printer, she waited for it to warm up, then printed a copy of the photo.

If it was true, if Zach Trainer was her father, she wanted to meet him face-to-face. If it turned out he didn't want to be a part of her life, fine. But at least she would have tried.

This would take some finesse, though. She couldn't just come right out and ask her mother about him.

"I'll have to find out the truth myself," she murmured. But how? She gazed out the window of her studio apartment. Although it was the middle of March and spring would officially arrive in less than a week, there was still snow on the ground here in central Ohio, and it was cold.

Emma was sick of winter. She'd been wishing she could afford to go to Mexico or even Florida for her spring break the following week.

She bit her lip, and looked at the Freight Train Web site again. At the top, she saw a link for the year's tour schedule. Clicking on that, she scanned the list to see where the band was now and discovered that the entire month of March they would be in Los Angeles where they were cutting a new album.

The band is reuniting with Jock Livingston, the legendary producer, at Direct Hit, the same studio where they recorded their first multiplatinum album....

Direct Hit Studio.

Her excitement mounted.

It only took her a few seconds to decide that Los Angeles would be a great place to spend her spring break. And with any luck at all, she'd find more than sunshine and warm weather.

Maybe she'd also find a father.

"Thank God for these Wednesday nights!" Zoe Madison declared, sinking onto the nearest chair and grinning at her friends. "Now if only they served booze here at Callie's, life would be perfect."

Shawn McFarland, who was Zoe's best friend, laughed. "Perfect, huh? Can I write that down and remind you later that you said it?"

"Perfect tonight," Zoe qualified. "Not perfect, period."

"Oh, I see," Shawn said, elbowing Susan Pickering, another member of their Wednesday night gang, who was sitting next to her.

Susan grimaced. "Personally, I wouldn't mind a drink myself."

"What's wrong?" Zoe asked, forgetting all about her own gripes, which were, after all, just normal.

Susan sighed. "It's same old, same old."

"Sasha?" Shawn asked softly.

Susan nodded.

Every time Susan told them about her younger sister's problems, Zoe counted her blessings. She was so grateful that she'd never had anything serious to worry about with Emma.

"What now?" Shawn probed.

"She got fired from her job at the salon."

"Oh, no," Shawn said.

"Drugs again?" Zoe asked.

Susan nodded. "Maybe, although it could be anything. She stays out too late at night, then can't get up in the morning. Or else she's hungover. Who knows? She says her boss just didn't like her and manufactured an excuse to get rid of her. But that's typical with Sasha. She'll never take responsibility for anything that happens to her. It's always someone else's fault."

Zoe knew someone like that, although she tried not to think about him very often. Not that it was easy when her daughter was a constant reminder.

"She wants to come and stay with me until she finds another job," Susan said. "You're not going to fall for that again, are you?" Zoe said before she could stop herself. The last time Susan had taken Sasha in, Sasha repaid her by having a party in Susan's house when Susan was out of town on a buying trip, and Sasha's so- called "friends" had trashed the place. Of course, that hadn't been Sasha's fault, either, Zoe thought in disgust.

Zoe saw the look Shawn gave her. Shawn was a lot nicer than Zoe. Zoe had no patience with people who kept letting others walk all over them. On the other hand, Zoe didn't have a sister. It was easy to pass judgement when you'd never walked in the other person's shoes, and she, of all people, should know that.

She made a face. "Susan, I'm sorry. This is none of my business."

"No, it's okay," Susan said. "I feel the same way. I told her no."

"So what's she going to do?" Shawn asked. Before Susan could answer, Kristie, the owner's daughter and assistant, approached the table to take their order.

Zoe smiled up at the pretty young woman. Kristie was a sweetie. Next to Emma, Zoe considered her to be the coolest kid she knew.

"How's school going?" she asked.

Kristie smiled. "Great."

"How many hours are you taking this semester?" Shawn asked.