Justine Davis - Flashback

“Afraid enough to kill?”

Even as she said it, Alex shook her head ruefully. Of all people, she knew better than to question that.

“Just how bad was the opposition to Athena?”

“Startling,” G.C. said. “Or at least it seemed that way to me.”

“But you thought it was a good idea to begin with,” she pointed out.

“Yes. I’d wished there was something like it from the time you were five years old and I realized what we had on our hands.”

She blinked. “What you had on your hands?”

G.C. gave her the amused and proud smile that had warmed and encouraged her throughout her life. He’d made the absence of her late father so much more bearable, even through his own pain at having lost his beloved son.

“A girl who refused to see or set any limits,” he said, “no matter what anyone said.”

He didn’t say it, he never would, but Alex knew he meant her mother, who had seemingly spent her life trying to rein in her rambunctious, redheaded daughter. Girls don’t do that was the phrase she remembered hearing most. She’d have been crippled by it if she hadn’t been so stubbornly resistant, and if it hadn’t been for G.C. countering her mother’s negativity with his own brand of high-powered encouragement.

And, she had to admit, her brother, Ben, and his teasing that had goaded her on—intentionally, she later realized—to greater heights. If not for these things, she might have succumbed and become one of those women she had little use for, because they had little use.

Women like, sadly, her mother.

She jerked her mind out of that well-worn rut and back to the matter at hand. “What kind of opposition? From what quarters?”

Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, G.C. steepled his hands in front of him and rested his chin on his forefingers. It was his pondering position, and as a child who adored her grandfather, Alex had long ago adopted it herself. She saw his eyes go distant, unfocused, knew he was remembering.

“Athena was truly Marion’s brainchild,” he said. “Her views on women’s rights were well-known. So, many were surprised when she opposed opening U.S. military academies to women. But she knew what they’d be facing, that they’d have to fight so much harder than the men at those institutions did.”

Alex nodded. “And it was hard enough for the men, without adding intimidation, harassment and the just plain not being wanted that women would face into the mix. I understand all that. But didn’t a ‘separate but equal’ sort of solution placate those opposed?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But we found that many simply opposed women being prepared for any part in what was then a man’s world. Some almost violently so.”

“And one perhaps murderously so?” Alex said softly.

G.C. sighed. “It certainly seems possible.”

“Even probable.” Alex shook her head. “Although it’s hard for me to believe anybody could hate us that much.”

“I’m not sure it’s about hatred,” G.C. said, “as much as hanging on to a tradition, a way of life that’s all they know.”

“So was the Civil War,” Alex pointed out in a wry tone.

G.C. smiled at her as if she were an exceptionally clever student. “Point taken.”

Turning her attention back to the letter, she held up the last page.

“What’s with this?” she asked, pointing at the drawing in the lower left corner.

“I don’t know,” G.C. said, the tone of his voice telling her that he had spent more than a little time trying to figure out the meaning of the hand-drawn graphic that was almost cartoonish, yet at the same time quite ominous.

Only, she told herself, because it was a spider. A big, fat one, crouched in the middle of a web made small by the looming body of the arachnid.

“All I can tell you,” Charles said, “is that Marion was not a doodler.”

Alex looked at the drawing again. “So…this isn’t a casual scribble. It means something.”

“It did to her,” he confirmed.

Which meant it did to Alex, as well. Marion Gracelyn was Athena; it wouldn’t exist without her vision and effort. And anything that threatened Athena or anything connected to it threatened Alex, because Athena was irrevocably entwined in her life and her heart.

As was the case for all the Cassandras. They’d renewed their promises to each other and to Athena in the aftermath of the investigation that had begun with Rainy Carrington’s murder. She hadn’t expected to have the call come again so soon, but apparently it had. And she would respond.

Any and every Cassandra would always rally to Athena.

“So, what do you know about working cold cases?”

Justin Cohen blinked, then drew back slightly as he stared at Alex across the table and the remnants of their lunch. He was in town from Phoenix for a week of seminars he’d been sent to attend, but their schedules were so chaotic that moments like this when they both had a few minutes of free time were pounced upon somewhat rabidly.

“Probably not as much as you do?” he suggested, sounding puzzled at the unexpected question. “I mean, you’re the forensics expert, and forensics is where more cold cases are broken than just about anywhere else.”

Alex stirred her glass of iced lemonade with the straw. “I’ve gone over and over what’s there, in our files. Nothing that led to a suspect at the time, but plenty to nail him once he’s found.”

His eyes—those stunning blue-green eyes whose image she’d been carrying around in her head since she was a teenager—narrowed.

“So you’re talking about a specific case, not just cold cases in general.” He didn’t make it a question, but she answered that way, anyway.

“Yes.”

“And a federal case, if we have a file on it.”

“Yes. Federal because of who was involved.”

“How cold a case is it, dare I ask?”

“A chilly decade or so,” she answered.

“Hmm. Well, I’ve heard of worse. It’s becoming more common as the technology advances. A guy I went through the academy with broke a thirty-five-year-old kidnapping case a couple of years ago.”

“How?”

“DNA,” Justin said. “But that was just the end result. He spent months before that talking to a lot of people, some of them old enough or sick enough that he had a lot of work to do sorting out what information was reliable. And going through every bit of paperwork and evidence with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. Over and over and over again. Until he found the guy to match the DNA to.”

Alex’s mouth quirked. “I was afraid of that.”

“You?” Justin scoffed in disbelief. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

The response warmed her, but still she told him silently, Oh, yes I am. I’m afraid of you, how you make me feel.

She knew her reaction was over the top, but the logical side of her mind kept insisting she was nurturing a childish fantasy she should have long outgrown.

The Dark Angel.

The memory of Athena’s midnight intruder, the boy the Cassandras had dubbed with that incredibly romantic nickname, kept getting in the way of her looking honestly at the man he’d become, who had so quickly become part of her life—mostly because he simply refused not to be.

But that boy, so passionately dedicated to finding out the truth about his sister Kelly’s death back when Alex was still in school, had fired all their imaginations and been so deeply etched into her mind that…

It suddenly struck her that he knew more about cold cases than she did on a very personal level.

“You never gave up on your sister’s case,” she said. “You became an agent because of it.”

He never liked talking about the reason he’d joined the FBI. She never doubted the death of his sister was the reason, but that kind of obsession was too Mulder-ish, he’d joked.