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  She hurried back to the library and curled up on the end of the sofa, leaving his preferred wing-chair recliner to her grandfather.

  She loved this room with its hunter-green walls and rich-wood trim, precisely because it was the one place in this house where her grandfather’s taste had reigned supreme. He had refused to let her grandmother “frill it up,” as he put it, and banned any and all floral prints, functionless knickknacks, and curvy, delicate furniture. If it was in this room it served a purpose, whether a simple function like the carved jade pen cup, or the more intangible function of pleasing the eye or the hand by form or weight or being pleasant to the touch.

  When he came in and handed her a teacup, she could tell by the aroma alone that he’d added her preferred honey and lemon.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. The first sip warmed her throughout, and she let out a long breath, relaxing at last. But not for long, she knew, because it was time. Time to tell him the story that had ripped at the very foundation of her life. She knew it would do the same to him, but he had to know. Especially since that story may well have led to whatever had happened to her tonight.

  As she had with Kayla, she asked him to just let her get it out. He nodded and she began. His expression gradually became more solemn, then severe, but as Kayla had, he only interrupted her a couple of times for clarification.

  She mentioned Justin and was surprised when he recognized the name as the boy who had been caught at Athena so long ago. And her grandfather was surprised in turn when she told him Justin was now an FBI agent, had managed to get assigned to the Phoenix office, she suspected mainly to keep an eye on Athena.

  And she pointed out that apparently Justin had been right all along.

  “Vision, determination, passion and perseverance,” he said. “Good qualities for a man. Or a woman.”

  He said nothing more, and she picked up where she’d left off. It seemed to take forever. When she was done, he asked another couple of questions, about things she only then realized she’d forgotten to include.

  For a long time silence reigned in the elegant, masculine library. Alex stayed quiet, knowing by the way her grandfather had steepled his hands before him and the slightly unfocused look in his eyes that he was pondering, processing. That brilliant mind was at work, and she was content to simply sit and wait for the result.

  She hadn’t told him about her own fears, that her own reported appendectomy might have been a sham like Rainy’s. She wasn’t sure he even remembered that it had happened. It had been so long ago and he’d been out of the country at the time. And there didn’t seem to be any point in burdening him with her fears when she wasn’t yet certain there was any truth to them. She would see a doctor for more than just a post-accident checkup, have whatever tests were necessary, and then she would know. Then and only then would she add that into the confused mix. Or, if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to.

  She sipped at her tea, a second cup her grandfather had prepared when she’d needed a break in her long discourse. It was well after midnight now, she noticed with surprise when she glanced at the heavy, cherry-framed clock above the mantle. She should be more tired than she was. She wondered with a little shiver if it had anything to do with whatever had happened to her just before the crash.

  “All right,” her grandfather said abruptly, and she immediately focused on him. “We have a string of mostly circumstantial evidence, some logical extrapolations, two confirmed deaths and three incidents or attacks on Athenan women that may or may not be connected. Out of that, we have a theory that, while it fits, may not be the only explanation for what has happened.”

  Leave it to him to sum it up in a mere fifty words, Alex thought. “That about covers it, yes,” she said.

  “So, what is wrong with the other explanations?”

  “They require we accept a lot of coincidences.”

  “To play devil’s advocate for a moment, isn’t it a bit much to presume all these things are connected, part of some sort of conspiracy?”

  “Yes,” she said. It was nothing she hadn’t thought of before. But in his life her grandfather had dealt with stranger things, with those rare genuine conspiracies of one sort or another that had spanned the globe, and she knew he was merely probing all the possibilities, not passing judgment.

  “Before we accept this theory,” he said, “there is one very large piece of information missing.”

  She knew there were gaps, but nothing that seemed so huge to her. “What’s that?”

  “The reason. The final goal. If it’s true that babies were produced, from eggs harvested specifically from an Athenan woman…why? For what purpose?”

  Alex went still. His questions smoked in her mind as if branded. Why indeed?

  “We didn’t take it that far,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We were so focused on the outrage of what had been done to Rainy, and wondering if she had a child out there, and if so how we would find it, that…we never took it to that logical conclusion.”

  “The range of possibilities is somewhat limited by the nature of what you’ve learned,” he said.

  “One is that someone is stealing eggs to produce babies for some kind of gain. Black market, perhaps?”

  He nodded. “It’s a possibility. Probably the most logical one. It’s a big business, sad to say.”

  “Very sad. But…why Athena? Why Rainy?”

  “I can only surmise the same answer applies to both. They chose Athena because that’s where the best and brightest were, and they chose her because of her stellar attributes, even among those best and brightest.”

  It made sense. “I suppose if you’re going to sell babies, you might as well sell good ones,” Alex said, her voice sizzling with sickened contempt.

  “It does make one wonder about the father, does it not?” her grandfather asked.

  The father. She hadn’t even thought of that. What man had been chosen as good enough to father the children of the finest example Athena had to offer? The whole thing smacked of something dark and twisted and evil, and Alex had to suppress a violent shudder.

  “I wonder if he knows,” she said when she was back under control once more.

  “Another good question.” He looked thoughtful again. “I wonder,” he began, then stopped.

  Alex’s mouth twisted. “That’s all I’ve been doing for days. You wonder what?”

  “I wonder if Athena is the only place they did this?”

  That was another one that hadn’t occurred to her. She thought about it for a moment. “I suppose they could have done it elsewhere. Any private boarding school could be a target, I guess.”

  “And Athena is hardly an easy target.”

  “No. Unless they had someone inside.”

  “Who could be Betsy Stone.”

  Or, as they’d discussed, Betsy could have been an unwitting pawn herself. Kayla would find out, one way or another.

  When the silence stretched out for several minutes, he stood up. “It’s time for you to rest.”

  She doubted she would sleep, not with all this tumbling around in her mind.

  “I know it’s difficult, my dear. Athena is as much a part of your life as mine, albeit in a different way. An attack on it is an attack on our very foundation. You must comfort yourself with the knowledge that this will not stand.”

  He said it with such confidence, such certainty, that Alex felt a slight relaxing of the huge knot of tension she’d been carrying around inside.

  “You go to bed. I have some calls to make.” Alex hesitated. “I’ll report anything of relevance or interest to you in the morning,” he promised, and at last she agreed.

  She went upstairs pondering the marvel that was her grandfather. How many men his age could fly nearly seven thousand miles, fly some more, deal with a car accident, stay up later listening to and digesting an incredible story, process it and then make phone calls that would no doubt start the process of bringing the world—Athena, in this
case—back into proper alignment?

  Not many, she would guess. Not many half his age could do it.

  Justin Cohen popped into her head. Now there was a driven man.

  As she at last climbed into bed, she found herself thinking it was rather amazing that he had been so certain he was right at the tender age of fifteen. Certain enough to fight for his belief for nearly two decades.

  Vision, determination, passion and perseverance.

  Her grandfather’s words echoed in her mind as she adjusted her pillow and let her head sink into it.

  There it was again, she thought drowsily. That word. Passion.

  Something Emerson seemed to lack.

  And Justin had in abundance.

  Chapter 20

  A lex sat in Dr. Deanna Jorgenson’s office, ordering herself not to get up and pace. So far it had worked, but she didn’t know how long she could hold out. She knew the doctor had a lot of tests to go over—she’d spent an entire day undergoing them, after all, from X rays to ultrasounds to scans she wasn’t even sure she knew the right name of, applied to every part of her. And the doctor had already pushed hard to get the results all back to her by today, so Alex couldn’t complain about the wait, not really.

  But that didn’t stop her from feeling antsy now, wanting to get up and move.

  You’re waiting for news that could change your entire life, destroy your entire vision of your future, she told herself. No wonder you’re on edge.

  She had tried to concentrate on the mechanics of what she’d done today, had asked questions about each procedure, how it was done, what it would or could show. All to keep herself from thinking about the end result of it all. True, she wanted to know, but she also didn’t want to know because of what it might do to her plans for the rest of her life, even those she hadn’t made yet.

  It wasn’t a conscious decision to give up her quest to stay calm that had her leaping to her feet, rather she was already there and then surrendered to the need. She walked over to the window and looked down from the eleventh floor vantage point to the busy street below. This building was in a prime D.C. location.

  Dr. Jorgenson had her own practice, but took referrals from the Bureau, and often did other work for them. She also managed to effectively walk the fine line between doctor-patient confidentiality when seeing an agent on a personal health matter, and reporting back when seeing them on an official Bureau referral.

  Besides, Alex trusted her. And right now, that meant a lot. More than it ever had before. She’d never been so wary about who to trust before.

  She heard the sound of the door behind her and spun around. Dr. Jorgenson, a petite woman with a bob of ash-blond hair touched with silver at the temples, walked into the room with a stack of folders and large envelopes of the kind that usually held X rays or other films. She plopped them down on the desk, sat down in her office chair and turned to look at Alex with a smile.

  “Well, Alex, I could drag all these out and show them to you, and read you all the reports, but it would be rather pointless. With the exception of that cut on your forehead, and the safety belt bruise on your shoulder, you’re in very good health.”

  Alex frowned. “I am?”

  “Well, that’s hardly the reaction I would hope for after giving a patient a clean bill of health.”

  “No, it’s just…why did I nearly pass out the night of the accident?”

  The doctor tapped a finger on the stack of documents and test results. “I could find no physical reason for that. At least, not a biological cause. Likely it was a combination of jet lag and stress, as you first suspected. Don’t underestimate the effect they can have.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Alex would have gladly accepted that explanation. But these circumstances were hardly ordinary.

  “Dr. Jorgenson, I told you about my two friends,” she began.

  “I know. Believe me, I looked for anything suspicious that might explain what had happened to you. Even, as you requested, any sign of a mechanical device. It would have shown up on one of the scans. There was nothing, Alex.”

  Alex leaned back in the chair. She’d hoped for a simple explanation, but as with everything else that had happened since Rainy’s call had brought the Cassandras back together, there was no such thing.

  She supposed she should be glad that Dr. Jorgenson had taken her somewhat odd requests so matter-of-factly, not questioning but just doing. Perhaps she’d had stranger ones, over the years of dealing with the FBI.

  “Now, about your other concern,” Dr. Jorgenson said, and Alex sat up straight once more.

  “Yes?” She waited, barely breathing.

  “Your appendix truly has been removed.”

  There’s the first hurdle, Alex thought.

  “And, your reproductive organs seem perfectly healthy. No sign of abnormal scarring, and an appropriate number of random egg follicle scars for your age.”

  Alex drew in a long, deep breath and let it out, her body sagging into the chair in relief. Her future righted itself, and the thought of children of her own out there, somewhere, unknown to her and she unknown to them, receded.

  “Thank you, Dr. Jorgenson. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. It’s always better to deliver good news.” She tapped again on the stack of data. “But if you have any symptoms recur, anything even vaguely like you had that night, I want you to get in touch with me immediately. Don’t brush it off. All right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Alex said dutifully.

  When she finally left the office, she felt a new lightness that was almost heady in its intensity.

  She was all right. Whatever had happened to Rainy, it hadn’t happened to her. There would be children, if she wanted them.

  Nothing could ease the pain of losing Rainy, and nothing could stop her from finding out the truth about what had happened to her, but for right now, Alex was nearly giddy with relief.

  Instead of driving all the way back to the lab at Quantico as she’d originally planned, she called and let them know she’d just finished at the doctor’s and was going home. She knew she was pushing the limits of her boss’s patience, but one more day wouldn’t break him. Besides, she’d pushed so hard since she’d come back from Arizona that she’d nearly cleared up her backlog already, so he had little reason to complain.

  When she arrived at the house, she was surprised to find her grandfather there.

  “I hope you don’t mind, my dear.”

  “Of course not,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “It’s your house, after all. I was just surprised.”

  “I had business in the city, and it will continue into tomorrow, so I thought I’d come here and make sure that you were all right. You’ve just come from your appointment?”

  “I’m glad you’re here. You can help me celebrate.”

  “Celebrate? It was good news at the doctor, then?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. In excellent health in fact,” she said. “Barring any recurrence of symptoms, I’m free to go about my business.”

  “Excellent,” he said, as if he’d expected no less. But the way his gaze lingered on her for a moment told her he’d been more concerned than he’d let on.

  “Can I fix you some dinner tonight?”

  “I thought we might play in the kitchen together,” he suggested. “We used to do that rather well.”

  She grinned. “Yes, we did.”

  “I picked up some ground sirloin and ricotta.”

  “Ah. Do I smell lasagna?”

  “Indeed you do,” he agreed.

  They fell into old routines easily, and as they worked a memory came back to her, an image of her ten-year-old self, working in the kitchen at the farm with her grandfather, solemnly telling him that unless she found a man just like him she was never going to get married.

  Emerson Howland might be of the same social strata but he was nothing like Charles Forsythe.

  Later, over a slice of celebratory cheesecake her grandfather had bo
ught in anticipation of good medical news, Alex toyed with the glass that held her last sip of wine. And then, without even realizing it was on her mind or that she’d been about to say the words, she asked, “G.C.? What do you think of Emerson?”

  He focused on her in an instant, and she felt as if his gaze was burning through her, analyzing why she had asked this particular question at this particular time.

  “You’re certain you want my answer to that?”

  She hesitated, but that in itself made her realize she needed to hear what he had to say. “Yes.”

  “What do I think of him as a person, or as your fiancé?” he asked.

  “Both,” she said, still thinking perhaps she should have let this one lie. But she’d asked, so the least she could do was listen to the answer.

  “I think he’s a fine doctor, and likely a good man. He’s bright, responsible and dedicated. He does good work that helps people.”

  “Is that the ‘as a person’ answer?” she asked, with some trepidation.

  “In part, it’s both. In fact, he’s the kind of man I’m sure most men would be happy to see their granddaughters end up with.”

  She did not ask the obvious, did not question that “most,” knowing he would get to it in his own time. It took him a few moments, but he did.

  “But most men are not fortunate enough to have you as a granddaughter.”

  “You’re saying…the thought of us together doesn’t make you happy?”

  “Whether it makes me happy isn’t the issue. Your happiness is my main concern here. Which is why I’m giving you my opinion, now that you’ve asked. If you hadn’t, I would never have spoken about it.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re an adult, Alex. Entitled to make your own decisions, without being preached to by your elders, no matter if they have your best interests at heart.”

  “You’ve never preached,” Alex said. Her mother, on the other hand…

  But if her grandfather had an opinion about his daughter-in-law, and Alex was sure he did, he kept it to himself, as he had for thirty years. The closest he’d ever come to admitting he didn’t care for his only son’s choice of a wife had come after that son’s death, when Alex had begged to come live with him. He’d told her then that he understood why she asked, but that her place was with her mother. He’d promised her she would have as much time with him at the farm as could be managed. Then he had rearranged his entire life to accommodate her frequent visits.