Vendetta

“We’ve decided to give you free rein at the school. Through the records. Through Marion’s notes. Everything.”

Winter choked down the carrot and couldn’t believe what she was being offered. “There are a lot of people connected to the Athena Academy. Important people. Politicians. Military leaders. Philanthropists.”

“We know that.”

“Big philanthropists. People who don’t like their names in the news.”

“That’s right.”

“Information like that isn’t just handed out to anyone.”

“No,” Christine said, “it isn’t. That’s why I insisted on getting you.” She turned the chicken on the stove.

“Why did you insist on me?” Winter sat at the round table in the breakfast nook a few minutes later. The view outside the French doors looked out over a small, elegant English garden.

Christine offered chicken cubes to Winter. “Because you’re good at what you do.”

Winter put the chicken over her salad. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve read your books.” Christine fixed her own salad. She’d also prepared baby corn and placed it over the greens as well.

“Read them before or after you decided to call me?”

“I’ve always read them.” Christine poured sparkling white wine into two glasses.

“Always?” Winter couldn’t help prodding a little. She was shamelessly seeking out ego pampering, but she couldn’t help herself. Her parents, affluent and as distant as ever, couldn’t be bothered. Every day she seemed to have less and less in common with them.

“Yes. I read. I listen to music. I follow sports. And I appreciate artwork. Our young women have been successful in all those fields.”

Winter knew that. She’d recognized names in the media from her days at Athena Academy.

“Athena graduates have also become spies, forensics experts, military officers, attorneys and taken their places in careers that aren’t so easy to track.”

“I make an effort to follow them whenever I can.” Christine took a bite of salad. “You’d be surprised at how many of them actually stay in touch and let me know what they’re doing.”

Ouch. Guilt much? Winter knew she hadn’t been in touch often. There had been occasional Christmas cards, though Christine hadn’t missed a single one.

“If you’ve read my books and followed my career,” Winter warned, “you know that once I start following a story I don’t back off and I don’t take direction well.”

“I know. That’s why David isn’t happy about your involvement.”

Gracelyn Ranch

Outside Phoenix, Arizona

Now

Winter parked her black Lexus SC 430 in front of a large family home that sat off by itself just west of Phoenix proper.

The grounds had been heavily landscaped. Gardeners walked through the immense area with wheelbarrows and other supplies. The grass looked like regulation green on a golf course. A tall security wall ran around the perimeter. Closed-circuit cameras had overlapping fields of vision.

During her career as an investigative journalist who specialized in reconstructing the lives of famous people, Winter had sometimes been around those who lived extravagant lifestyles. She hadn’t been impressed. Her parents owned larger houses than most of those she’d seen.

The Gracelyn family didn’t look as though they lived extravagantly, though. The house and grounds were large, that was true, but they also looked lived in. They weren’t just as showcases.

A young, impeccably dressed houseman came out to the car. Winter remained where she was and allowed him to get the door.

“Ms. Archer?” he asked. There was something about the way that he carried himself that suggested exposure to the military. His blond hair was cut high and tight. “I’m Gary. Mr. Gracelyn is waiting inside for you.”

“Thank you.” Winter stepped from the car. She wore black Capri pants and a burgundy blouse under a thigh-length jacket. She reached back into the car for her computer bag.

“I can get that for you,” Gary offered.

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

“If you’ll leave me your key, I’ll arrange to have the car garaged while you’re here.”

Winter dropped the rental’s keys into Gary’s hand. He pocketed them and took the lead.

“Mr. Gracelyn has arranged for you to use Senator Gracelyn’s home office.” Gary threw open the double doors and revealed the spacious office where Marion Gracelyn had spent a large chunk of her life.

Drawn by her curiosity, Winter stepped into the room and gazed at the walls. Two of them held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. The books didn’t look like they were there for show.

The other two walls held photographs of Marion Gracelyn at various stages of her career. Many of them showed her shaking hands with powerful men and women in political and financial circles. They ran the gamut of her career, from her early days as an assistant district attorney in Phoenix back in the 1960s to her final days as a state senator.

The years were kind to you, Winter thought as she looked at the pictures. In the early pictures, Marion had light brown hair that swept down to her shoulders. It was shorter than most women had worn their hair in those days because Jackie Kennedy’s trend-setting hadn’t spread to everyone yet, and most women hadn’t been in jobs where the upkeep of long hair would have been almost impossible.

She’d had deep brown eyes. Intense eyes, Winter realized, that reminded her immediately of David Gracelyn’s. Marion had been slim in those pictures and the outfits she’d worn made her look beautiful.

Even thirty-odd years later, Marion had been a beautiful woman. She didn’t look like she’d gained an ounce, and even looked fitter than ever in one of the photographs in tennis whites. Her hair was shorter, of course, because the style had changed.

“Ms. Archer,” Gary called from behind her.

Winter turned and found David standing beside the houseman. She hadn’t heard him come up. Then she got irritated because he’d stood there and watched her without saying a word.

David frowned at the houseman as if he resented being ratted out.

“Good morning, Mr. Gracelyn,” Winter said smoothly.

David nodded. “Ms. Archer.” He looked around. “I trust the office will suit?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Winter decided she would only reply to the social amenities and not give him one damn thing more. He could get over whatever was bothering him on his own. He was a big boy.

The problem was, she was aware that he was, too.

He was dressed more casually than she would have expected. He wore only jeans and a casual knit shirt that revealed his broad shoulders and chest and emphasized his narrow waist. He wore sandals instead of shoes. His hair even looked tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

And that started thoughts that Winter didn’t even want to entertain.