Dallas, 1994
For a cemetery in the middle of a busy city, Calvary Hill was surprisingly peaceful. Of course, no one had warned the petite woman now walking between the headstones that Texas was quite this hot, but she wasn't too concerned. She could cool off once she got home again. Her eyes skimmed the graves, checking the names against the information on her phone as she walked on, finally reaching the burial plot she had been told was there. Mary Connors.
"Gotcha."
Mary Connors. It was a fairy common name, one of probably dozens in the city of Dallas alone, and yet, there was only one Mary Connors who had been married to Oliver and survived by a son named Richard. It couldn't have been too hard for the woman to have tracked her down, once she knew what she was looking for and where to look. The real question was why. The cemetery wasn't very crowded that day. It was too damned hot to linger very long in the open sun, but the man who was watching her didn't much care about that. What he wanted to know was who she was and why she'd been poking her nose into his background.
He'd already sized her up from where he sat, comfortably cool in his air-conditioned white sedan. Not black. Too damned hot for black. He shoved a hand through his too long hair and reached for his sunglasses. If he wanted to know what she was doing here, he was going to have to get out of the car and ask.
Despite the sun beating down on her head - thank gods for wide brimmed hats - the woman knelt down beside the grave, reaching out to gently trace her fingertips over the carved letters. Both Mary and her husband, Oliver, were buried here, their shared epitaph a loving memorial from the son they had left behind together.
"I know you probably can't hear me, Mary, and I'm just a stranger," she said softly to the sleeping grave. "But Jack's alive. He's safe. He's married to a woman he loves, and you're a grandmother to one little girl and another one on the way. I'm going to try and bring your boys together, Mary."
It was too bad he couldn't hear her from where he was. Her words might have brought him some comfort or at least, eased his suspicions, but he'd find out who she was and what she was doing here soon enough. Adjusting his shades, he paused another moment to watch her. She didn't seem threatening at all. In fact, she seemed reverent the way she was touching his mother's grave, but who was she" He'd never seen her before, and he'd made it his business to know everyone who'd ever been part of his mother's life for a reason. There was only one way to find out, and he preferred the direct approach.
Stepping out from under the shade of the trees, he started toward his mother's grave at an easy pace, so he wouldn't scare her away.
She heard the car door close, and the slow approach of footsteps, but she didn't react to them. After all, it could be anyone. It didn't have to be her contact - she knew she was early. She'd wanted to talk to Mary alone first. Easing back, she rose to her feet, tucking her fingers into her back pockets.
"You have a beautiful family," she told the sleeping grave. "I'm sorry you never got to meet them."
That last remark gave him pause. No one knew about his mother's other family - no one but him. No one was supposed to know. They'd been very careful that no one had ever found out, except those he wanted to know, except those he wanted to find.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked, as he approached, hands at his sides to appear non-threatening.
He was tall and solid - not overly muscular, but solid enough to show he was fit and worked hard to keep himself that way. Blue eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, dark hair that was a little too long to be fashionable, his face at least partially obscured by a matching dark beard. He had a kind face, but one that looked a little too serious.
She turned her head toward the man who had come up beside her, tilting her head back to get a good look at him, and inwardly cursed. This wasn't her contact; this was her mark. She sighed softly, offering him a wide smile.
"Nope, you don't," she answered honestly. "How much did Jeremy give me up for?"
The man chuckled, as if her question amused him. "He didn't. I figured it out for myself. You don't poke your nose into someone's life without someone else noticing. So, what do you want?" he asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans while he awaited her answer, as if that might do less to intimidate her than it would if he crossed his arms.
"Me" Nothing." She shrugged. "You do understand about confidentiality, right?" She flashed him another winning smile, though she was ever so slightly tensed, ready to run or fight if she had to. He definitely had a weight advantage on her.
"So, what are you doing here then? And please don't tell me you're a friend of the family, I am the family," he told her, sliding the sunglasses from his face and calmly folding them in his hand, so that she could see his face and see that he wasn't a threat. At least, not yet.
"You're half of the family," she pointed out, pretty sure he already knew that. "I wouldn't say I'm friends with the other half, but I might get there at some point. I'm more friends with his best friend." She blinked, surprised when he lowered his sunglasses. Those eyes were something else.
Dark brows lowered above intelligent blue eyes that seemed to be weighing her words. He was not even half the family, if truth be told, but he was the only one left who knew the location of her grave.
"It seems almost a shame, their names aren't listed there," he said, with a brief glance at the grave. "But she wanted it that way."
"I think he'd understand." She looked down at the grave a moment longer. "You know ....you look an awful lot like each other." She was having to step carefully around what she could and could not say, not having talked to Jack about making contact yet.
"So I've been told," he said, with the slightest hint of a smile behind the dark beard. He hadn't had a beard when he'd first met one of his mother's other sons. He'd been young and idealistic then, "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" Joseph had called him, just like Jack.
For a cemetery in the middle of a busy city, Calvary Hill was surprisingly peaceful. Of course, no one had warned the petite woman now walking between the headstones that Texas was quite this hot, but she wasn't too concerned. She could cool off once she got home again. Her eyes skimmed the graves, checking the names against the information on her phone as she walked on, finally reaching the burial plot she had been told was there. Mary Connors.
"Gotcha."
Mary Connors. It was a fairy common name, one of probably dozens in the city of Dallas alone, and yet, there was only one Mary Connors who had been married to Oliver and survived by a son named Richard. It couldn't have been too hard for the woman to have tracked her down, once she knew what she was looking for and where to look. The real question was why. The cemetery wasn't very crowded that day. It was too damned hot to linger very long in the open sun, but the man who was watching her didn't much care about that. What he wanted to know was who she was and why she'd been poking her nose into his background.
He'd already sized her up from where he sat, comfortably cool in his air-conditioned white sedan. Not black. Too damned hot for black. He shoved a hand through his too long hair and reached for his sunglasses. If he wanted to know what she was doing here, he was going to have to get out of the car and ask.
Despite the sun beating down on her head - thank gods for wide brimmed hats - the woman knelt down beside the grave, reaching out to gently trace her fingertips over the carved letters. Both Mary and her husband, Oliver, were buried here, their shared epitaph a loving memorial from the son they had left behind together.
"I know you probably can't hear me, Mary, and I'm just a stranger," she said softly to the sleeping grave. "But Jack's alive. He's safe. He's married to a woman he loves, and you're a grandmother to one little girl and another one on the way. I'm going to try and bring your boys together, Mary."
It was too bad he couldn't hear her from where he was. Her words might have brought him some comfort or at least, eased his suspicions, but he'd find out who she was and what she was doing here soon enough. Adjusting his shades, he paused another moment to watch her. She didn't seem threatening at all. In fact, she seemed reverent the way she was touching his mother's grave, but who was she" He'd never seen her before, and he'd made it his business to know everyone who'd ever been part of his mother's life for a reason. There was only one way to find out, and he preferred the direct approach.
Stepping out from under the shade of the trees, he started toward his mother's grave at an easy pace, so he wouldn't scare her away.
She heard the car door close, and the slow approach of footsteps, but she didn't react to them. After all, it could be anyone. It didn't have to be her contact - she knew she was early. She'd wanted to talk to Mary alone first. Easing back, she rose to her feet, tucking her fingers into her back pockets.
"You have a beautiful family," she told the sleeping grave. "I'm sorry you never got to meet them."
That last remark gave him pause. No one knew about his mother's other family - no one but him. No one was supposed to know. They'd been very careful that no one had ever found out, except those he wanted to know, except those he wanted to find.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked, as he approached, hands at his sides to appear non-threatening.
He was tall and solid - not overly muscular, but solid enough to show he was fit and worked hard to keep himself that way. Blue eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, dark hair that was a little too long to be fashionable, his face at least partially obscured by a matching dark beard. He had a kind face, but one that looked a little too serious.
She turned her head toward the man who had come up beside her, tilting her head back to get a good look at him, and inwardly cursed. This wasn't her contact; this was her mark. She sighed softly, offering him a wide smile.
"Nope, you don't," she answered honestly. "How much did Jeremy give me up for?"
The man chuckled, as if her question amused him. "He didn't. I figured it out for myself. You don't poke your nose into someone's life without someone else noticing. So, what do you want?" he asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans while he awaited her answer, as if that might do less to intimidate her than it would if he crossed his arms.
"Me" Nothing." She shrugged. "You do understand about confidentiality, right?" She flashed him another winning smile, though she was ever so slightly tensed, ready to run or fight if she had to. He definitely had a weight advantage on her.
"So, what are you doing here then? And please don't tell me you're a friend of the family, I am the family," he told her, sliding the sunglasses from his face and calmly folding them in his hand, so that she could see his face and see that he wasn't a threat. At least, not yet.
"You're half of the family," she pointed out, pretty sure he already knew that. "I wouldn't say I'm friends with the other half, but I might get there at some point. I'm more friends with his best friend." She blinked, surprised when he lowered his sunglasses. Those eyes were something else.
Dark brows lowered above intelligent blue eyes that seemed to be weighing her words. He was not even half the family, if truth be told, but he was the only one left who knew the location of her grave.
"It seems almost a shame, their names aren't listed there," he said, with a brief glance at the grave. "But she wanted it that way."
"I think he'd understand." She looked down at the grave a moment longer. "You know ....you look an awful lot like each other." She was having to step carefully around what she could and could not say, not having talked to Jack about making contact yet.
"So I've been told," he said, with the slightest hint of a smile behind the dark beard. He hadn't had a beard when he'd first met one of his mother's other sons. He'd been young and idealistic then, "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" Joseph had called him, just like Jack.