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  As she’d suspected, Betsy Stone had been reluctant to have Alex go through the files without Christine’s okay. Alex had had to control her temper and wait for Christine to return from her interview, knowing she’d run out of time.

  Now she tapped on Christine’s door and called out to announce her presence. When Christine called back for her to come in, she pulled the door open and stepped inside, savoring for a brief moment the rush of cool, air-conditioned air. Christine stepped out of the bedroom, where she’d apparently just changed into casual pants and a sleeveless blouse. She looked fit, trim and much younger than her sixty-one years.

  “How was the interview?”

  “Oh, it went well enough. I liked him, but he’s really not cut out for Athena. Very learned, very intelligent, but too ponderous. It takes a quick wit to keep up with the caliber of students we have here. The girls would cut him to ribbons his first day in class.”

  Alex smiled, hating to break Christine’s good mood. “You missed more excitement here. I found a man claiming to be FBI going through files in the infirmary.”

  Christine went still. “An FBI agent was here? At Athena?”

  “So he said. I take it you haven’t heard about any kind of investigation.”

  “No. I would have told you.”

  Alex hadn’t realized she’d been a little tense until she relaxed at Christine’s answer.

  “I’d like permission for Kayla or I to have access to medical files. In case there’s a clue somewhere about Rainy.”

  Christine frowned and walked across the room to pick up the phone. She spoke for a few minutes, then came back.

  “Betsy has my instructions to give you access. I assume it will be Kayla, since you’re leaving early in the morning.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll be back for the funeral.”

  Before packing, Alex called Kayla to ask her to follow up on the files and to tell her about the man in the infirmary. After they hung up, Alex’s thoughts whirled.

  Had the man been sent by the FBI to investigate Athena? Or was he somehow involved in Rainy’s death?

  One thing was certain. If the handsome stranger was really FBI, Alex would soon know it. Because although he’d gotten away, he’d left his fingerprints behind.

  Chapter 6

  T he last thing Alex wanted to do was leave Athena Academy with nothing resolved, but she had no choice. Her gut was screaming she was going in the wrong direction from the time she left Athena all the way to the airport. But she had to get back to work to finish up some cases, and she had to do it now so she could be free to get back to Arizona for Rainy’s yet to be scheduled funeral.

  She suppressed a shudder at the thought as she fastened her seat belt and settled in for the long flight back to D.C. She was grateful she didn’t have to make arrangements, and her heart ached for Marshall, who did. She hoped Kayla would help him. Not that it would be any easier for her.

  She pushed the button on the armrest to lean her seat back.

  She began to think about the work awaiting her. On the letter-bomb case, they needed a mitochondrial DNA analysis to either confirm or eliminate a newly arrested suspect. She needed to finish the report on those carpet fibers she’d matched to a suspect’s vehicle and start the analysis on the wood splinters that had been pulled from the wounds of the murder victim from New Jersey.

  She smothered a yawn and closed her eyes, not expecting to drift off.

  To her surprise, she slept, and only the building pressure in her ears as they began the descent to Dulles Airport woke her.

  She’d gotten lucky and been able to park in the newer daily garage, where it was only a walk of a couple hundred yards to the terminal and she could avoid the shuttle and the moving sidewalks so many tourists couldn’t seem to figure out how to use.

  She was vaguely aware, as always, of the distinctive architecture of the airport terminal, the slanting, curved glass walls that let in so much light and looked so unique from the outside, especially capped by the off-center, concave roof. But she was only vaguely aware of it; she was back in big-city mode that quickly.

  She reached her car in minutes, mentally preparing herself every step of the way for negotiating the traffic.

  When it came time to choose between making the turn to Alexandria to the forty-year-old colonial built by her grandfather that she called home, or to her grandfather’s horse farm in Middleburg, she hesitated. Her plan had been to go straight home, call Emerson, grab some more sleep and head to the office in the morning.

  But she could feel now that she’d had enough sleep on the plane to keep going. And enough that going right to sleep again would be difficult.

  She had to decide now; east to I-495, or down to US-50 and west. There was only ten miles difference in the distance, but the drives were vastly different, one through the crowded streets of the D.C. metro area to Alexandria, the other to the horse country of northern Virginia. The destinations were different, as well, worlds apart in pace, philosophy and mood.

  She turned her back on the city.

  She told herself she wanted to see Lacy again, but deep down she knew what she was doing. She was running for home. She was hurting inside, and she was running for the one place outside Athena where she’d always found comfort. The one person who had always provided it.

  Even when his own heart had been broken at the death of his only son, Alex’s father, in a plane crash, her grandfather had been there for her. He had been even more devastated than either she or her brother; their father had traveled for the family business most of their lives and she felt as if they’d barely known him.

  Sometimes she had felt awkward in the face of her grandfather’s grief, thinking she should be feeling at least as bad, but the hole in her life just hadn’t been as big. It had brought both her and her brother closer to their grandfather, and it had been some time before she had realized that was likely for his sake as much as theirs.

  Charles Forsythe, unlike many of his generation, had embraced the electronic age with delight, realizing early on that it would enable him to work—which in his case meant overseeing the Forsythe fortune—from his beloved farm. He still maintained an office in Washington, owned a flat in London, had held on to the house Alex was now living in—making her Alexandra from Alexandria, as her too-witty brother had often pointed out—and had a condo on the West Coast. But the farm was his true home.

  Her grandmother, who also had died when Alex was a child, had been strictly citified and was the only reason her grandfather had built the elegant, well-situated Alexandria house. But her grandfather had been a country boy at heart, and that heart was here in Virginia horse country.

  She thought of calling ahead to make sure he was still up, but decided against it. He was a night owl and rarely went to bed before midnight, so nine would be nothing. Besides, she enjoyed the idea of surprising him.

  She set the cruise control on her Lexus SUV for the long, straight stretch of Route 50, glad to be back in her own car. And glad that she’d chosen to do this. It wouldn’t be much longer to get to the city tomorrow from the farm than it would be from Alexandria, and she’d relax more here. She had never, she admitted reluctantly now, felt completely at home in the big house on the edge of the Belle Haven country club on the west bank of the Potomac. It was lovely, the setting beautiful, but it had never felt like home.

  Not her home, anyway. And it wasn’t simply that her grandmother had had a taste for floral wallpaper and curtains that she didn’t share. She’d decided recently that it must just be that she was so often only there to sleep. If she had a normal job, with normal hours, she would have spent more time there and it would have become a home to her, instead of just the place she happened to kick her shoes off.

  She got off the main road, making the turns from there with the automatic ease that comes from long familiarity. With each turn her eagerness grew; this had definitely been the right decision.

  Forsythe Farms was marked with a small, unado
rned sign that could easily be missed. Its simplicity belied the fact that one of the nation’s wealthiest men lived there. Long a billionaire, her grandfather believed in putting his money only in things he firmly believed in or had a passion for. Even the house in upscale Alexandria was worth under a million—although he could have afforded many times that—because he didn’t believe in flaunting what he had. He lived quite comfortably, in the manner necessary for his position, but nowhere near what he could have afforded.

  She made the turn onto the drive, pressing the series of numbers and then the release button on her specially-designed personal remote to open the power gate that crossed the drive a few yards in from the road.

  There were only two other openers for this gate in existence, her grandfather’s and her brother’s. Any other attempt to open the gate would set off an alarm. Each opener had a different code, to make breaking in more difficult should one be lost or stolen.

  There was also a small button on the back side that would deactivate the device and send an alarm. In that way it could also be used as a duress sign if necessary. It was hardly standard FBI issue, but for a Forsythe, it was the kind of security you grew up with. Kidnapping was a possibility all the Forsythes lived with from the day they were born.

  The gate also triggered a signal at the house. Her grandfather would know now she was coming—assuming he wasn’t expecting Ben, as well—but the surprise would still be fresh enough when she got to the house.

  She drove through the gate, watching in her rearview mirror to be sure no one tried to get through behind her. When it was secure, she continued up the winding drive. She knew the drive well, drove it easily even in the dark. She could picture the gently rolling landscape, dotted with hickory, ash and maple trees, divided by rail fences. If it was daylight, she’d be able to see the yearlings on the right, the mares and the latest crop of foals on the left. She missed the frolicking of the gangly-legged babies in the rich grass more than anything.

  She pulled up near the garage of the sprawling, ranch-style house. She could see a light on in her grandfather’s study, the big, book-lined room with the bay window that looked out over the paddocks and the main barn.

  He answered the door himself, and she guessed he’d sent the staff to bed already. Things started early around here, and it was the sort of thing he would think of even though he himself ran on much less sleep than he expected of his employees. The casual thoughtfulness was the sort of thing that made his people intensely loyal.

  It was the sort of thing he’d hammered into his grandchildren, as well. It had taken, completely, with her. Ben was another story. He seemed determined to set new records for urbane uselessness.

  “I’m delighted to see you, my dear,” her grandfather said as he ushered her inside. “Surprised, but delighted.” He glanced at her small suitcase, noted the tags still fastened to the handle. “You just flew in?”

  She nodded. He paused in the entry, taking a look at her for the first time under the light of the elegant but subtle foyer chandelier.

  “You come with me,” he ordered.

  She followed meekly. One didn’t argue with Charles Bennington Forsythe. So when he led her to his study, gestured her into a chair, went to the small bar in the far corner and poured an inch of rich amber liquid into a small snifter, she took it without resistance.

  The unmistakable aroma of amaretto hit her nose and made her breathe deeply. Leave it to him to know exactly what she needed. She swirled it, breathed in some more, and then at last took a small sip. The sweetness coated her tongue, the heat warmed her all the way down, and at last she sank back in the rich green leather wingback chair and let her weary body relax.

  For a long, silent moment her grandfather studied her. Then, his voice soft and gentle, he said, “There are no words to ease your pain, Alex, so I won’t try. I will simply say I’m sorry, and that not just you but the world is the poorer for Lorraine’s loss.”

  Tears stung her eyelids. Her grandfather always seemed to know the right words to say. And it was true, Rainy was a loss to more than just her friends and family. The things she would now never do, the children she would never raise to be as strong and smart and good as she had been….

  She blinked rapidly, took another sip of the liqueur to fortify herself. She was tired, had just managed to relax, but she knew she had to gear up again. Realized now the real reason behind what had seemed at the time a casual decision to come here rather than go home to that big, empty house. While she had wanted the comforting presence of her grandfather, there was another reason to come here.

  “G.C.?”

  “Yes?”

  She took a deep breath, then made the plunge. “Something was going on with Rainy. I’m not convinced the crash was an accident.”

  Charles, who had been lounging in his matching wing chair, straightened. He set down his own glass and turned his full attention on her, leaning forward.

  “What have you found?”

  Bless you, G.C.

  Quickly, she gave him the rundown of the facts they’d discovered, wanting to hear his own impressions before she gave him their suspicions. She was open about some of the information coming from Kayla. Although he knew they hadn’t spoken in a very long time, he said nothing, clearly recognizing the priority here just as they had.

  When she was done, he leaned back, propping his elbows on the arms of the leather chair, steepling his elegant fingers in front of him. It was a habit she’d adopted as a child to try and be as like him as she could, a habit that long ago she’d learned meant he was thinking and was not to be disturbed. She sat back herself and took a last sip of the amaretto while she waited for whatever conclusion he would reach. She wondered if he remembered her own supposed appendectomy all those years ago, but said nothing. Her situation would simply have to wait.

  “I’m not an investigator,” he began.

  Alex waved off the disclaimer. “You have the best mind I’ve ever known.”

  “Thank you, my dear girl. I knew there was a reason I adored you.”

  Despite her frame of mind, one corner of her mouth quirked upward. For her grandfather did adore her, and she knew it. She’d always known it. It went a long way toward making up for the aloofness of her mother and the absence of her long dead father.

  “So. While there could be an innocent explanation for each one of these things, if your gut is telling you otherwise, listen to it.”

  Alex let out a long breath, not realizing until now how much she had needed to hear that. She didn’t think it had been audible, but her grandfather smiled.

  “You have the best mind I’ve ever known,” he said.

  A rush of emotion filled her. “G.C., what would I have done without you?” she asked, her voice tight.

  “You would have managed. You’ve always been as tough as you had to be.”

  “I come from tough stock,” she said. She imitated his most dignified and impressive tone of voice. “‘Forsythes helped build this country.’”

  “Well, we did,” he said sternly, then ruined the effect by chuckling at his own pomposity, as he always did. “And now you’re helping keep it safe,” he added.

  “I do my bit. As much as one can do from a lab,” she said, still fighting down strong emotions.

  “Which is a great deal, these days. Many cases are won and lost on your turf. Speaking of which, how is that new lab working out?”

  “Not bad, for a mere hundred and thirty mil,” she said, already feeling more under control.

  This was something she could talk about. The new FBI lab at the academy in Quantico was beyond cutting edge, and a quantum leap above their crowded old quarters in the downtown D.C. building, giving them half a million square feet, three times the space they’d had before.

  “The first few months were a learning curve, but we’re pretty well settled in now.”

  “At least you’re in a lab that’s designed to be a lab,” he said.

  “You mean inst
ead of a converted set of offices? Yes. And with the labs separate from the offices and everything else, it’s made integrity of evidence and chain-of-custody much easier to maintain. Not to mention having separate setups for microscopy, wet chemistry, biological sciences and all the rest.”

  “It’s farther for you.”

  “But a nicer drive.” She eyed him for a moment. “Thank you for the distraction. I’m okay now.”

  Charles Forsythe didn’t deny or dissemble, and she appreciated that. “I’m glad I was here to do it. I’m off to Tokyo next week, you know.”

  “I’d forgotten. I’m very glad you’re still here.”

  He looked at her intently. “What are you going to do?”

  She knew he was no longer talking about the new FBI lab, or her commute.

  “Keep going,” she said. “We owe it to Rainy.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Alex opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. And thought. Her grandfather was, after all, on the Athena board of directors. True, he was an absentee member, but still privy to the inner workings.

  Not to mention that he’d been involved in the development of the school from the beginning, when it was merely an idea. He’d been involved with planning Athena before Rainy had begun school there and had had her now possibly fictional attack of appendicitis.

  “Do you remember anything unusual, anything from way back, happening at Athena?”

  “Like what?”

  That she couldn’t help with. “I’m not sure.” She shrugged, hating the vagueness of what she was feeling. “Anything that would give anybody a grudge against Athena, or someone from Athena?”

  “You mean beyond the usual resentment of a frightened sexist, male or female?”

  “Yes. Anyone who might want to do more than just stew about whatever his beef is.”

  Again he steepled his hands in front of him. Silence reigned. He thought for a very long time before slowly shaking his head.