How was it that finding out the identity of his father had not served to answer any of the thousands of questions Marcus had about himself?  Even things like physical similarity, that the detective had assumed would immediately be apparent, remained hidden from him.  If not for the fact that the information of his paternity had come directly from his mother's mouth, Marcus would easily believe that some colossal mistake had been made.

Detective Taggert's mind raced with thoughts both welcome and unwelcome.  Though his unfocused gaze remained fixed on the charred and pitted depression where the full force of the bomb had done its damage, unbidden images of Mike Corbin dissolving violently into a mangled heap forced their way continually into his mind. 

There crouched before the exact spot of Mike Corbin's death, the handsome young man was totally oblivious to the sidelong curious stares of the other enforcement officers busy at work.

Did he have anything in common with Mike Corbin?  No matter how much thought he gave the matter, Marcus could not find a single common bond between them.  The trite answer would be that he and Mike both shared a love for Marcus' mother.  But that was obviously not true.  Mike Corbin had only stayed in Florence Taggert's life long enough to make small talk and Marcus.

Marcus couldn't conceive of loving a woman and sharing intimacies with her only to turn and walk away when her trust was won.  Even now, though just friends, he felt a bond with his ex-lover Dara Jensen that was apparently stronger than any connection Mike had ever bothered to make.Marcus felt a sense of regret that he had ever been told the truth about his parentage.  Knowing the truth was far worse than anything he had ever imagined.

It took several rings before Marcus became aware of the cell phone pealing shrilly in his pocket.  He stood up from his crouching position and winced a bit as his thigh muscles protested vigorously.  “Yeah.  Taggert,” he answered tersely.

The detective's casual pose disappeared with alacrity.  His six-foot one inch frame stiffened dramatically.  What?  Yeah, thanks for the heads up.  I owe you.”

Marcus headed toward the unmarked police car that he drove.  His long strides made short work of the distance and soon the grim-faced detective was speeding off down the quiet stretch of private road that led to the highway.


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