Prologue

The day was grey, even greyer now, Mae Evans thought, as the casket was being lowered into the rocky earth. She pulled her coat tighter to ward off a brisk October wind that was whipping about. The funeral had been sparsely attended, only her immediate family and a handful of close friends and acquaintances. She had expected more, but was actually relieved when only familiar faces made an appearance. Why would anyone care about an eight-three year old alcoholic who had spent the last twenty years drinking himself to death anyway? A million reasons came rushing through her mind.

As the preacher recited a prayer and bestowed some kind words about an old man he had never met, a smile crossed her weathered face. She looked down at her six year old granddaughter, Emma, who squeezed her hand tightly, and then gazed back toward the copper coffin adorned with a wreath of white flowers. She wanted to cry, but Royal Reynolds wouldn’t have liked that, there were no tears in science and he was, above all else, a man of science. He also wasn’t the sort to let anyone too close, and he had grown cranky and callous his last few years, but he cared about Mae, at least before noon, because after twelve his focus was the quart of gin he would consume along with a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

As the preacher finished, he came over and shook her hand. Mae felt like she was in a trance, acknowledging his condolences, but lost in her emotions for this man who had meant so much to her. His passing would have seemed expected to most who had encountered him in the last ten years he had lived in the apartment above her home. He was just a shell of man, but there was always something regal about him she remembered, especially that day he knocked on her door in response to the ad she had placed for a tenant.

He wasn’t as bent that afternoon, but still very gaunt and lean. His face was hardened by his vices, but his deep blue eyes sparkled, like none she had seen before or since. At seventy-three he was twenty years her senior on that July 21st afternoon in 1961. It was easy to recall the day; it was the same day that Gus Grissom became the second American to launch into space. John F. Kennedy had been sworn in as president earlier that year and even in the mist of civil rights uprisings, the country was alive with the possibilities for a brighter future under this charismatic new leader.

As Mae was helped into the back of the spacious Chrysler Newport by her son, Roy, she couldn’t believe it was 1971 and she was still alive or that Royal had lived as long as he did. But she knew the secret that she had been cautioned never to reveal… and that information conflicted inside her like nothing ever had in her sixty-two years.

Taking a deep breath, she felt Emma’s head hit her shoulder as she peered over to see her young eyes close. She leaned toward her and kissed her softly on the head before shutting her own eyes… not to sleep, but to remember.

Royal Reynolds wore a dark suit and blue tie that day. He wasn’t quite the renter she was looking for or had anticipated. Having been recently widowed, she was hoping for a family to move in and breathe some life into a house that felt empty since her husband, Leo had succumbed to Leukemia six months earlier. Her son and daughter had left many years before and were married and raising families of their own. They talked on the porch for a moment and she invited him to sit for a drink. Just the way he conversed, she knew he was well educated, much better than her or anyone within her circle. They drank lemonade and smoked cigarettes and soon she was lost in his intellect and blue eyes.

He moved in that weekend and proved to be great company in the afternoon’s when she returned home from work at the hospital where she was a nurse’s aide. They would sit and have a cocktail and cigarette. She drank Canadian Club and ginger and Royal drank martinis, it was obvious most days that he had had several before her arrival, but back then he seemed to hold his liquor better than recently. He talked and she mostly listened, only because his topics were so much more far reaching and interesting than anything she could contribute, that being said, he never made her feel inferior, in fact he would often stop and prompt her to tell him about her family or what had happened at work that day. He was kind, considerate and always paid his rent promptly on the first of the month.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted as the car stopped abruptly in front of her two-family home. After assuring Roy that she would be alright, she kissed Emma again and made her way inside. She walked over the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle, pouring herself a rye and ginger. Moving into the kitchen to add ice to her cocktail, she wanted to smoke, but she hadn’t had a cigarette in over seven years, so she settled for just the drink. She took several deep swallows until her glass was empty and then made another. She could already feel the effects of the alcohol as she took a seat in the living room. Laying her head back, she began to sip slowly as the second concoction escorted her back to a moment she would have liked to forget.

It was September 1963, when the cold she’d had for a month didn’t seem to be improving. The symptoms lessened, but the cough persisted. Nothing to worry about the doctors at the hospital told her, probably just a virus. It was late November, only two days after the country had been stunned by the assassination of its young president, that Mae was shook by the news that x-rays revealed she had several tumors in her lungs. The doctors confirmed what she already knew, nothing could be done, just go home and wait to die.

It was several days before she could bring herself to tell Royal about her condition. He would need to know so he could make other living arrangements. Although she thought he suspected something was wrong, she also knew he was not predisposed to pry into the affairs of others unless invited.

She had attempted to steel herself as she broke the news, but the truth was she didn’t want to die, she was only fifty-five, but the life in her was rapidly slipping away. As the tears streamed down her face, Royal sat down his martini and got up from his chair and put both arms around her. It was an act that she’d always cherish; for it was the only time in their ten years together that he had ever touched her.

Mae often wondered why this scholarly, cultured man had entered her life. It was at that moment, sobbing into his pressed white shirt that she knew. He was there to save her.

Abruptly she was shocked back from her mental reminiscence by the sound of breaking glass. Her tumbler had slipped from her hand and shattered on the hardwood floor. No matter, there was no time for a nap, she had to get moving; there were promises to keep and secrets to protect.

Chapter 1

Present Day, Dallas Texas – The Holiday Inn room located adjacent the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport was convenient, comfortable and non-descript. Erin Corbett had spent lots of time on the road and in hotel rooms the last eight years, but this trip had proved to be the most satisfying of her young life.

Thirty days from today she would start her new job as associate for the international law firm of Thompson, Minick and Price. The company with offices in Atlanta, Washington, New York, Tallahassee, Austin, Huston and Dallas, employed 429 people including 157 partners and 208 associates. Their fast-growing practice was built on solving challenging business problems and resolving unique legal issues in the areas of corporate and securities, energy and commodities, international property, real estate, tax and technology. The opportunities had made her giddy with the possibilities, even if the starting salary of 125 thousand was a little more than half as much she had made the previous year.

Everything was perfect right up until the CNN report being aired on the flat screen television opposite the king sized bed had caught her attention.

She had just emerged from a hot bath and was putting on lotion when the news report hastened her to the edge of the bed. While she sipped from a glass of the congratulatory Pierre Jouier champagne couriered over by her new employer, the anchor continued his account as she sat glued to his every word…

As was first reported the private plane carrying four former top research scientists from the New Jersey based pharmaceutical giant, Rizeroph Laboratories, has exploded on take off from Newark airport. The men who recently split from Rizeroph and formed their own company were said to be heading to a medical conference in Geneva, Switzerland. All on board were killed including Kirby Edwards, a recent noble prize winner and former Upstate New York resident who was described by a Rizeroph spokesman as a research savant. At only thirty years old he has already been credited with many breakthrough discoveries in the war on cancer. His loss will certainly be felt by all in the scientific community who are battling this disease. The other men…

The rest of the newscast slipped through her psyche as she focused on the picture of Kirby Edwards that accompanied the photos of the other three men lost in the crash. He looked leaner and much more handsome than the chubby, blond, ruddy complexioned high-school valedictorian she remembered. Almost a dozen years removed from graduation, she had to admit that without their special circumstance, his passing wouldn’t have produced a blip on her emotional radar screen. High school was hardly a time she remembered fondly and with the exception of Kirby there was only one other person who she really gave a damn about.

Rising from the bed, she gulped down the rest of her expensive bubbly and positioned herself in front of the full length mirror located in the corner of the room. Dropping the towel she had been wrapped in, she gazed at her long five foot nine form, a ritual she performed numerous times a day. Focusing on her breasts, she pinched her nipples until they were erect and perky.

She smiled as Kirby entered her mind. If he could only see her today, her situation was totally different, although she felt that she hadn’t changed all that much. Her Irish skin was still smooth and silky white. A mane of crimped reddish highlighted brown shoulder length hair complemented her steely blue eyes, slightly freckled upturned nose and dentally enhanced perfect white teeth. Her body had been honed by years of crunches and kick-boxing classes. Despite only a month away from her thirtieth birthday, she still looked great she surmised as she picked up her glass and refilled it, before turning off the television.

She tilted back her head until she could feel her hair caress her naked upper back as the carbonated wine slid down her throat. The good fight had been fought and she was a winner. Everything she had dreamed about was coming true, she had made it, had survived… it was much more than Kirby had she thought. He had started with every advantage and now he was gone. It made her sad, but she wasn’t quite sure why as her mind sprinted back to her own bright future in order to ward off the melancholy mood creeping in.

Turning toward the light entering her fourth floor room she realized the drapes were open and she was readily visible from several of the surrounding buildings should anyone care to be looking in. Walking toward the sliding glass doors she walked out on her balcony and leaned over the rail.

In the parking lot below she saw a man removing his luggage. She watched until he glanced up and his eyes froze on her. She offered him a slight wave and a flash of her enticing smile. He didn’t move. He just keep staring like she was an aberration who wouldn’t notice him if he stayed motionless. Flipping her hair to one side, she turned and headed back into the room, laughing as she threw herself on the bed thinking that she hoped he enjoyed the show, because tomorrow night, a thousand miles away, men will be parting with their hard earned cash to see what he had just viewed for free.