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.
But she knew it was true. She knew he’d been driven, some even said possessed, so much that she’d been a little concerned about what would happen, what he would do when his quest was finally over. And last year it had ended, as triumphantly as it could for him. But he seemed to have settled nicely into the life he’d carved for himself by sheer force of will and determination.
Perhaps in the process of his quest, he’d found his true calling. She hoped so.
After that moment’s inner acknowledgment of his success, she went on. “Even when everyone told you there was no case, that she had simply died in surrogate childbirth, you kept on. For nearly twenty years.”
He sat there for a long moment. Alex guessed he was thinking, as was she, of the huge, frightening mess his sister had been devoured by—the mess she and the Cassandras had recently exposed. Since it had directly involved Athena, the Cassandras had vowed not to stop until the truth was uncovered. When it finally had been, the ramifications were so broad she still had trouble taking it all in.
“That was personal,” he said at last.
“So is this,” she said.
“What? Your federal cold case is personal?” He seemed surprised.
“It is. It’s connected to Athena.”
“Isn’t everything you do?”
His tone was wry, but he was grinning. Justin had come to know a great deal about Athena and the kind of women it turned out in the past year and a half. He knew what the school meant to all who attended, and Alex knew he’d come to appreciate the strength of the bond between the graduates and their alma mater.
“Yes,” she said without embarrassment. “But this is different. It’s not just the school. This has to do with the…creator of Athena.”
His brow furrowed. “Allison’s mother?”
He’d met Allison Gracelyn during the unraveling of the mystery surrounding Lab 33 and its genetic experiments, the motive behind Rainy’s murder. Rainy had found out that the lab had used her for an experiment, back when she’d been an Athena student. And when her adult investigation had threatened to expose them, they’d killed her. Alex felt the usual pang the thought of Rainy, and how much she missed her, brought on. But she buried it for now; there was another Athena murder to unravel.
“Yes,” she said. “Marion Gracelyn. Senator Marion Gracelyn.”
His forehead cleared. “Ah. Hence the federal investigation.”
She nodded.
“Didn’t they determine she’d interrupted a burglar?” he asked.
“That’s what they said,” Alex agreed, her voice neutral.
“But you’re not buying it.”
“I never did,” she said. “There was no reason an ordinary burglar would have broken into Athena.”
He considered that for a moment. “Can’t argue with that,” he agreed. “It’s too far out, too isolated, and there wasn’t enough to steal—except maybe some hard-to-fence lab equipment and computers—to make it worthwhile.”
She smiled, grateful he had so quickly seen the facts. His eyes widened, and she thought she heard him suck in a breath.
“Whatever brought on that smile, tell me so I can do it again. And again.”
Alex fought down the heat that threatened to rise in her cheeks. He always managed to do that to her. He was so…blunt, sometimes, about how much he wanted her, and wanted her to feel the same way. It was such a change from Emerson Howland’s cool, unaffected manner.
