by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
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 bought 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.
“And the other part?” she finally asked.
“I feel that part of the reason Emerson is good at what he does, at least from my impression, is that he views the procedures as mechanical. Heart A powers body B and if valve C fails you do procedure D.”
Alex’s eyes widened. Despite having grown up with him, her grandfather’s keen powers of perception still managed to astound her now and then.
“I’m very much afraid he would approach marriage in a similar fashion. And that, I fear, would not be enough for you, Alex.”
Alex released a pent-up sigh. “You know me too well, G.C.”
“You’re not like your mother. Society and its niceties are not of primary importance to you.” He didn’t express an opinion, not really, but it was there in his voice. “You believe life is for living, and while the niceties are fine in their place, if they interfere with the way you wish to live, you quite properly jettison them. For some people, the social rules are their life.”
“And you think Emerson is one of those?”
“I don’t know him well enough to say, but I do know his parents and so suspect it, yes. He hasn’t the fire you do, Alex. And I’m afraid it would result in you scorching him, or him trying to douse you.”
Alex sighed.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but you did ask.”
“No, don’t apologize. You’ve only put into words what I’ve been feeling myself.”
And that night, when she went to bed, she once again found herself thinking of that child who had sworn never to marry unless she found a man just like her grandfather. She’d meant it then, and in some ways it was an ideal she’d never quite surrendered. Her own thought of just the other day arose to haunt her, and she wondered if she’d been right to be half convinced they simply didn’t make men like Charles Forsythe anymore.
But as she felt drowsiness at last begin to steal over her, the image that formed in her mind was of a dark-haired young man with the flare of passionate conviction in his voice, being led away in handcuffs. The image segued smoothly to the chiseled face of FBI Agent Justin Cohen.
Her final thought in the last moments before she slipped into a deep, calm sleep was, Maybe they do still make them, after all.
Chapter 21
Emerson’s reaction when she met him for coffee after work and told him she wanted to break their engagement went a long way toward reassuring her that she’d made the right decision.
She hadn’t expected him to make a scene—a Howland never would, of course—but he took it so calmly that it was almost an insult.
“I see. May I ask when you reached this decision?”
“It’s been coming for some time. But to be fair to you, and to me, I needed to be sure.”
“If I may hazard a guess, this began when your friend was killed?”
“What makes you say that?” she asked. It had probably started before, but Rainy’s death had brought it to a head.
“Because after that you became so distant and impatient.”
The irony of this jabbed at her. “I thought you always said I was expecting too much closeness from you.”
He had the grace to color slightly. “Well, yes, that’s true. I’m merely remarking that the change in you was quite noticeable after you left for Arizona.”
“If one of your dearest friends was murdered, wouldn’t you be changed by it?”
“I suppose so.”
He supposed so? Alex thought incredulously. And she began to feel a sense of startling relief.
“However,” Emerson went on, “I would leave the investigating to the professionals, I wouldn’t feel compelled to take it over myself.”
She managed, barely, not to point out that she was a professional.
Positive—and now thankful—that she had made the right decision, Alex said, “I don’t know what else to say, Emerson. I’m sorry, very sorry, but it’s better to find out now than have to go through a divorce, isn’t it?”
“Quite.”
“It’s just not the right thing for me.”
“I think I know that. I begin to think it wouldn’t be right for me, either.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, but was curious enough to ask, “It wouldn’t?”
“Quite frankly, Alexandra, I didn’t know how much longer I could wait for you to settle down.”
“Settle down?”
“Into a more seemly life for one of your position.”
“Seemly?” she said, aware that she was beginning to sound like a parrot with only the ability to echo.
“Yes. More appropriate to your station in life.”
She bit back the My station?
“More like your mother,” Emerson said.
Ah, there it was at last.
If you’re waiting for me to turn into my mother, you’ll have a long, long wait, she thought. And realized for the first time that that was likely why he’d proposed in the first place, because he assumed she would turn into a younger replica of her mother.
“You mean give up my work completely, and concentrate on social events, being the famous physician’s wife, entertaining your colleagues perhaps, nights at the ballet or opera, with some charity work on the side?”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile of the kind you gave a child when it finally understood the lesson.
Alex sat
there silently for a long moment, marveling how a man she’d known for so long, a man she had actually agreed to marry, could possibly know so little about her.
Of course, to be fair, she hadn’t realized how far apart they were herself. Hadn’t realized they were not just poles apart, but solar systems.
“Tell me something, Emerson,” she said finally, “did the age difference between us ever bother you?”
“Not particularly, why?”
“So you don’t feel twelve years between spouses is too much?”
“Not at all, once you’re past a certain age.”
“Good,” she said, standing up and tossing money for her coffee on the table, seeing paying her own bill now as the seal on her new freedom. “Then you’ll have no problem and can marry the woman you really want. She’s only eleven years older than you are.”
His regal brow furrowed. “Who on earth are you talking about?”
She grimaced. “My mother.”
Alex walked out of the coffee shop and felt lighter than she had in months, as if she’d cut the last cord holding her to the world she’d never really wanted to be part of.
Only two things to juggle now, she thought as she got into her car. My job, and what happened to Rainy. And, she amended firmly, not necessarily in that order.
She’d hate to lose her job over this, but if she had to make a decision between it and pursuing the investigation into what had been done to Rainy and how it had led to her death—and the now very real possibility that there might be a child of Rainy’s out there somewhere—then she knew which way she would choose. Luckily, she could afford to.
She frowned. Yes, she could afford to. But she wouldn’t have the option if she were living solely on her rather paltry—relatively speaking—FBI Forensic Scientist II salary. The other Cassandras weren’t all so lucky. Oh, Tory was of course, but she had a career no one would ever expect her to give up and that could help in almost any case. And Josie was wedded to her career. But Darcy was obviously struggling, and Kayla didn’t make a huge salary as a small-town police lieutenant. Sam she wasn’t sure about. She had no idea how much the CIA paid.
If they paid by the IQ, Sam should be making more than the director, she thought with a wry smile.
It hit her then, how to solve several problems, including her own dilemma, one that she’d been wrestling with more frequently as her thirtieth birthday and control over her trust fund came closer and closer. Up until now, all she’d known was that she wasn’t about to throw away those millions the way Ben was doing. She’d planned on turning a large portion of it over to her grandfather’s financial planner; the man had managed to build G.C.’s fortune even through various economic downturns. She’d planned on buying a house of her own, eventually, although she was home so little she was in no rush. And of course she would donate back to Athena, she’d already planned that. Beyond those things, her wants were few.
She finally got the chance to pull out into the traffic on the street. She smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in so long it felt strange to be doing it. But she had made more than one decision this afternoon. And she liked them both.
She would take part of that multimillion dollar trust fund of hers and put it in a new fund for any of the Cassandras to draw on as needed. She knew she’d run into a brick wall if she ever tried to give any of her Athena sisters money, but this would be different. A sort of community kitty, mainly to handle any emergencies like this mess with Rainy, or heaven knew she could imagine them all having to go rescue Sam some day. But it would be a lot easier if none of them had to worry about money to do it. The traveling on Rainy’s case alone was costing all the Cassandras money, and if there was a fund for that kind of thing, it would be one less thing for them all to worry about.
The more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it. She would bring it up with G.C. tonight at the house, she thought. He’d said he would still be there. He could advise her on the feasibility of it. And she thought he would like the whole idea, as well.
The next morning Alex arrived at work revved and ready, excited about her new plan, and about her release from what she could now clearly see would have been a disastrous marriage. G.C. had approved both, which meant a lot to her.
“You’re finding your way, my dear, and I believe it’s the right path,” he had said. “I’m proud of you.”
Nothing could have made her happier than hearing that from him.
On the other hand, her ears were still ringing from her mother’s reaction.
“You what?” Veronica Forsythe had shouted.
“I called it off, Mother.”
“The wedding? Impossible.”
“Quite possible.”
“You will change your mind, immediately.”
“No, I will not. Ever.”
“How dare you?” Her mother’s shock had quickly turned to outrage.
“I dare,” Alex said steadily, “because it’s my life. Because it would have been a disastrous mistake, for both Emerson and me. Because half the reason I said yes in the first place was to do something right in your eyes.”
And because there’s somebody else who makes my senses hum in a way Emerson never could, she added silently, the image of Justin vivid in her mind.
“Don’t be a fool, Alexandra. Emerson is the catch of the decade.”
“I’m sure he will be, for someone.” Unexpectedly amused at the idea of Emerson as a stepfather, she added, “I’m sure he’d appreciate you inviting him over to commiserate about your foolish daughter.”
“Foolish and very imprudent,” Veronica said. “As you always have been.”
And proud of it, Alex muttered to herself. “Call him, Mother. He’d love to help you pick me apart.”
And having done her part, she’d hung up, the old axiom about being able to chose your friends but being stuck with your family echoing in her head. And then she turned her attention back to other matters.
On her way in this morning she had made calls to Kayla and Darcy, to find out if anything had turned up in their investigations so far. Reaching only Kayla’s voice mail and Darcy’s answering machine, she left messages for both of them, indicating she had something to talk about, but making clear it had nothing, unfortunately, to do with the case.
She’d had little time to pursue that since she’d been home, and that was bothering her. She knew her boss—who had apparently already been here and had dumped another batch of cases on her desk—would give her that long-suffering, pained look if she asked for more time off, but she’d think of something, even if it meant flying cross-country every weekend. And in between she’d give her work here her focused attention, using the mental discipline she’d first learned at Athena.
She opened the first file, a child kidnap and murder case from Minnesota. She winced anew at the photographs. She’d vowed that, if she was ever able to look at the horrific evidence of what human beings could do to each other without feeling that instinctive recoil, she would quit.
She reviewed the evidence list. Thorough, she thought with approval. Sometimes those small agencies didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing, but it appeared whoever had done the crime scene here knew what he was doing.
She’d already examined the hairs, of three different textures and colors. One they had identified as the victim’s, which had been simple. The other two were unknowns but were likely from the suspects. At least, that’s what the submitting agency thought. She hoped it would make their investigation easier when she told them the different colored hairs were actually from the same person, that their potential suspect had two-toned hair. Or had at the time of the murder, anyway.
The exam on the splinters of wood, found in the victim’s hands, was going to take longer. She could only tell them so much, such as the species, without something to compare it to. According to the reports, the child’s body had been found in a Dumpster, far from any trees, and they hadn’t found the murder scene yet. But if she
could tell them if it was maple or elm or ash or whatever, it might narrow down their search. Anything to help put the monster who had done this to a child away forever. She would start—
“This is more like it.”
The deep voice from her doorway startled her.
“Much better than chasing each other all over, isn’t it?”
Alex stared, unable to quite believe Justin Cohen was standing in her doorway.
He looked different in his deep-blue business suit, even though his position, lounging with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, reminded her of the man she’d seen in Arizona. The suit made his eyes seem more blue, less green, but they were still striking. And in that instant, perhaps because she’d so recently seen Emerson, she saw the gaping difference between the two men. Emerson had little passion in him, Justin had enough for three men.
He stepped into the tiny office and closed the door behind him. Alex lifted a brow. It went up farther when he pulled over the single spare chair in the room, reversed it and straddled it. She wondered if he just wanted the back to lean on, or if he wanted it between them as armor of sorts. The way their previous encounters had gone, it could be either, she thought.
“You were just in the neighborhood?” she asked.
“I had a conference at headquarters, and thought I’d come by to see the new lab. They encourage us all to do that, you know,” he pointed out reasonably.
She did know. And agents from all over were often in and out of the D.C. office for various reasons. She wondered if perhaps they had crossed paths sometime before and she just didn’t realize it, because she wouldn’t have known who he was. It had taken her long enough to realize it as it was.
As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I don’t think we’ve run into each other here before.”
“Maybe we have,” she said, “and just don’t remember.”
