Flashback. Justine Davis

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      An image flashed through her mind of a dinner her grandfather had hosted a couple weeks ago, at the gracious Alexandria home he’d built for his late wife, Alex’s grandmother. Alex lived in the house now, as much as she lived anywhere other than her job and the farm.

      But she’d absented herself that night, intentionally; she didn’t have the clearance required to be present given the guest list and some of the topics that would be discussed. It had been a small gathering inside, but the number of secret service men outside spoke volumes about the attendees.

      No, in this town Forsythe was not a name to take lightly. The name was a weight Alex was always aware of, although she preferred her grandfather’s style to her mother’s more pretentious, self-aware version.

      “No,” she admitted, with a grinning, inward salute to G.C., the man who’d so quietly built the Forsythe name into what it was, “it’s not. But I thought perhaps it was the FBI on my ID card that convinced you.”

      “We try to cooperate with all federal agencies,” he said stiffly, “but although you’re an agent, you did say your visit was…unofficial.”

      Which, Alex nearly said aloud, was akin to having a reporter say you’re off the record. “It’s personal,” she acknowledged.

      “You writing a book or something?”

      “A book?”

      “About the founding of that school of yours?”

      Not a bad idea for a cover, actually, Alex thought. “Everyone else in this town seems to be,” she said.

      “Yeah.” An inelegant snort accompanied the tone of disdain. “So, if your question is did I support the senator’s plan, the answer is no. It was too late. We’d already been forced to open up the established academies to women. I didn’t see the point.”

      Alex went back to her earlier question. “And now?”

      “Hasn’t done any harm,” he said, and to his credit there was a minimal amount of grudgingness in his voice.

      But still, Alex thought, faint praise. She’d be upset if she didn’t know the truth. Athena tracked alumni well after graduation, and she’d seen the figures comparing their success to that of women who hadn’t had the advantage of an Athena education. The difference was nothing less than remarkable. Athenas consistently went higher faster than any others, living proof of the validity of Marion Gracelyn’s vision.

      But part of that vision had also been maintaining a low profile. Drawing less attention was one of the reasons Athena was a college prep—grades seven to twelve—and not a university. Athena’s goal was to empower women, not gain glory for itself. It didn’t rely on fund-raisers or tax dollars, and so didn’t need a high profile to curry favor and cash. Which explained why many still didn’t know of its existence, or that the difference they were seeing in the number of women raising the glass ceiling and earning influential positions these days was because many of them were Athena graduates.

      Alex thanked the general, noted he didn’t try to crush her hand as she stood and shook his, and moved him down toward the bottom of her list.

      She didn’t take him off it. She wasn’t taking anybody off at this early stage.

      Her afternoon appointment netted her an endorsement from a senator she wouldn’t have expected it from. Patrick Rankin, Junior Senator from New Hampshire, told her that he’d only opposed the school for political reasons, that he himself had always thought it would work.

      This was a surprise, because the man was an ally of senate lion Eldon Waterton, who had been an Arizona senator since long before Marion was elected. Waterton had opposed her on nearly every matter, although he’d stayed out of the Athena issue.

      G.C. had always suspected that it was because he had a granddaughter he hoped might attend someday. Politicians, he grumbled, were all for standing on principle for everybody else.

      As Alex barely managed not to gape at Rankin, he went on to say that he was glad he’d been proven right, that Athena women were shining in all fields. He seemed a bit too curious about why she was asking, but she also couldn’t help but notice that his statements were peppered with comments that revealed a certain admiration for Senator Gracelyn. Or perhaps it was simply courtesy to a fellow senator.

      She moved him farther down the list as well.

      Not that I won’t put you all back on top if necessary, she said to herself later as she wearily kicked off her shoes in the foyer of the Alexandria house.

      The second her bare feet touched the floor the phone rang. She considered not answering since she was so tired, but a glance at the caller ID told her it was Justin. She was answering before she even realized it.

      “How’d it go today?”

      “Just got home. I’m afraid I haven’t had the proper appreciation for you field guys,” she said.

      “Well, that’s certainly true.” She could almost see him grinning, could almost see the dimple that slashed into his right cheek when he did.

      “People complicate things. Forensics, physical evidence, is…not simpler, but cleaner somehow.”

      “It doesn’t lie.”

      “Exactly. And it doesn’t try to hide. If you can’t find it, you’re just not looking hard enough, or in the right place.”

      “Welcome to my world,” he said. “You sound a bit weary of it all.”

      “I am,” she admitted. “Exhausted.”

      “People will do that do you,” he said, sounding annoyingly chipper. “But since you have the grace to admit that you’ve underestimated us field grunts, I’m going to reciprocate.”

      “Reciprocate?” she asked, puzzled.

      The door chimes rang—they were loud, to be heard throughout the large house—and drowned out whatever his answer had been.

      “Hang on,” she said, “there’s someone at the door.”

      “I know.”

      “You know?”

      Boy, I am tired, and apparently confused as well. He’s not even making sense to me, she thought as she walked back to the front door, glad she hadn’t sat down yet; she wasn’t sure she could have gotten up again.

      “I know,” he repeated as she peered through the security peephole.

      “Oh.”

      She felt beyond silly. Not even the fish-eye lens of the peephole could totally distort Justin’s dark good looks. She pulled the door open to the sight of him standing on the porch, cell phone in one hand and a large bag in the other.

      “Cute,” she said, disconnecting.

      “I thought so.”

      His smile was irresistible. “Not that it’s not good to see you,” she said, accepting the kiss he planted somewhere СКАЧАТЬ