Darby? Eight years ago? That must have been a good seven years since he'd left. Mary couldn't have been more than a little girl then, when their mother had high-tailed and run away. "Your mum shoulda known better than throw her lot in with a man like Jon Darby. " He almost growled. He'd respected his mother, or rather, he'd respected the sharp back-handers she'd dealt out. She should have known what a man Jon Darby was, he had reputation enough. Whatever had forced her hand- Fisher wasn't about to think his mother would take up with a man like that willing- she was more than able to look after herself. But leaving her youngest to fend for herself was intolerable. "Come with me."
He lead her up to his office, and gestured her into one of the worn, but comfortable, chairs. He sat down himself, on the edge of his desk, facing her. "No family to worry about you, either?" He asked, "No big sister to watch out for you, or something?"