Athena Force: Books 1-6

by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann

  The idea that Betsy was involved made perfect sense. Betsy Stone had access to all the students’ files. She would have known what to look for in the event Rainy’s selection as an egg donor had required certain characteristics.

  She needed to find Dr. Reagan’s files. She also needed to find Carl Bradford. He appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth a couple years ago.

  That made him a primary suspect.

  Could he be in hiding?

  The hair on the back of Kayla’s neck suddenly stood on end.

  She stilled, listened, her hand going instinctively to the weapon at her side.

  The whisper of foliage against fabric reached her. She eased up from the step and moved silently in the direction of the corner of the house.

  Kayla flattened against the aged siding. She forced her respiration to calm and listened harder.

  Someone was here. Close.

  Nurse Stone?

  Why would she sneak around in the dark?

  Where would she have left her car?

  Kayla moved along the side of the house, pausing to listen every few seconds. The sound never came again. In fact, she didn’t hear any kind of sound. Not even the crisp night air stirred the barren limbs of the trees surrounding the staff housing area.

  Nothing.

  Keeping her movements stealthy, she eased all the way around the house, listening, watching. Still nothing.

  She made another round of the house, this time looking in the windows. Everything seemed normal.

  When she felt certain she was alone, she moved back to the front of the house and waited in the shadows of the porch.

  Most of the staff members who lived on campus were away for the holidays. It wasn’t impossible that Betsy Stone had taken a trip to wherever her family resided. She didn’t always report in to Christine during the school’s downtime. Kayla would have to question Christine about any family Betsy had and look into that possibility if the woman hadn’t shown by daylight.

  She shook herself, ridding her body of the lingering sensations of not being alone in the dark. Looking at the situation from a rational standpoint, it wasn’t impossible that she was feeling paranoid since Rainy’s murder. She’d worked plenty of investigations in the past, even a couple of murder cases, and hadn’t gotten spooked. But Rainy was more than just a case, she was a lifelong friend. A good friend. Maybe that was the reason Kayla felt under constant scrutiny.

  But that wouldn’t explain the person she’d chased through the cemetery. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like the feeling of being watched. The sensation gave her a new outlook on how suspects felt when she and her partner were on a stakeout. Only, she wasn’t the guilty party here.

  Or was she?

  The idea that Mike might have hired someone to follow her in hopes of pinning some bad rap on her to help him gain custody of their daughter slammed into her brain with all the subtlety of a broad ax.

  What if Mike didn’t just want to see Jazz? What if he wanted her all to himself? Those meager monthly payments could stop and maybe being a single father would make him look less self-serving to his superiors. Getting custody of Jazz might help to mend his damaged reputation. After all, being a father could go a long way in changing people’s opinions about a man.

  He would take Jazz over Kayla’s dead body.

  She shivered.

  There were people who could arrange that very situation.

  Shit. Now she was really dancing to the tune of paranoia.

  Maybe she’d take a walk down to Christine’s anyway. Talk for a few minutes. Ask about any family Betsy Stone might have. Anything to get her mind off Mike and stalkers.

  As she strode along the sidewalk she mentally kicked herself for being such an idiot. She was not afraid of Mike Bridges. She doubted his damaged reputation could be mended if he showed up in front of his commander with a whole gaggle of kids. For all Kayla knew, Jazz might not be his only child.

  Something else she didn’t want to think about.

  She tapped on Christine’s door and waited. The sound of the television filtered through the wall. One of those legal dramas everyone who had time for television loved.

  She rapped again and this time while she waited she surveyed the darkened area around the bungalows. The inky drive that cut in front of the small homes. The thick copse of trees that provided shade during the long, hot summers. In the distance, the dormitory she’d once occupied stood, scarcely visible and tomb-silent in the meager moonlight. If Jazz attended Athena she would stay there. Instantly the memory of midnight snacks and giggles echoed through Kayla’s mind. No matter how closely they were monitored, the Cassandras always managed to have the occasional midnight rendezvous.

  Kayla smiled. Their lives had been so different then. Who would have thought they’d have grown up and lost Rainy. That familiar ache pierced her. Each of them had achieved a level of professional success any woman would find satisfying. And it wasn’t as if their personal lives were any more screwed up than the average person’s in this day and time.

  But they’d felt so special in their Athena days. Like the rest of the world couldn’t touch them. Somehow above it all.

  They’d been wrong. Evil had touched them through Rainy. Whoever had set that evil in motion had to be found and stopped. What if more students had been touched by it? There was just no way to know yet.

  Kayla looked away. She felt torn. Jazz would blossom here. No doubt about that. But would she be safe from men like Dr. Reagan and Dr. Bradford?

  Would she really be safe anywhere?

  Just another worry for a parent.

  She expelled a sigh. Every parent went through these same scenarios, or very similar ones in any event. Protecting her child was priority one.

  She frowned. Why hadn’t Christine answered the door? She tried to peer in a window, but the blinds were closed.

  Kayla pivoted and banged a little harder this time.

  Cocking her head, she strained to listen.

  Over the sound of the television program she heard…a muffled groan or cry.

  Adrenaline lit like a wildfire in her veins.

  She tried the door.

  Locked.

  Not wanting to waste time picking the lock she reared back and kicked the door in.

  It flew inward, banged against the wall.

  Christine lay on the floor. She reached out toward Kayla then wilted into a heap.

  Kayla rushed to her.

  “Christine, are you—”

  And then she saw the blood.

  Far too much for comfort.

  “I’m calling for help.”

  Not leaving Christine’s side she stabbed the speed dial number for 911 on her cell.

  Once she’d passed along the necessary details she focused her attention on doing what she could for Christine.

  As she attempted to slow the blood spilling from her friend’s abdomen, she wondered aloud, “What the hell happened here?”

  Christine gasped in pain, then stuttered, “I—I—”

  Her eyes looked glassy. Her skin was too cool to the touch.

  Kayla swore silently. Not good. She took the necessary steps for rudimentary treatment of shock, careful to keep her right hand over the wound. Despite her best efforts blood still seeped between her fingers.

  Christine struggled to say something…but her words were nothing more than choked gasps.

  “It’s okay,” Kayla assured. “Just relax. Help is on the way. We’ll figure this out later.”

  Christine’s eyes closed. Her awkward, writhing movements ceased.

  Fear rocketed through Kayla.

  “Stay with me, Christine.”

  As she checked the woman’s vitals with her free hand she did the only other thing she could…she prayed.

  Chapter 8

  At eight o’clock on Friday morning Christine Evans was still holding her own in Intensive Care. The surgeon had said that, if she made it through those first critical hou
rs after the surgery, she would probably survive. But he couldn’t give any assurances.

  The bullet had done some serious damage, and the blood loss was extensive. Basically it was a miracle she was alive at all. Kayla couldn’t help thinking she was hanging on so she could identify whoever had attempted to end her life. She just hoped her friend made it. Burying two friends in one year would simply be too much.

  Kayla had called the Cassandras. A forensics team had swept the crime scene, under her partner’s watchful eye. She wanted to get back over there first thing this morning and go through the steps herself. A murderer just didn’t walk into a person’s home and take a couple of shots without leaving some sort of evidence. All one had to do was look closely.

  Oftentimes a person familiar with the environment would notice things a trained professional wouldn’t. Kayla had been in Christine’s bungalow enough times to know the way things should be. That wasn’t the only place she intended to look. The killer might have been looking for access to students’ files or other sensitive records.

  Since Christine couldn’t tell her what had happened, Kayla had to go on speculation. First she had to rule out robbery, then revenge or an act of passion. Her gut told her that none of those would be the perp’s motive.

  Every instinct she possessed screamed at her that this was about Rainy. About the egg harvesting. But she had to view this like any other case. The fact that she had close personal ties to the school as well as the victim didn’t change things. Standard operating procedure dictated the steps.

  To hell with SOP. As soon as Christine’s doctor made his rounds and gave Kayla an update, she was going directly to Athena Academy. Maybe following instincts wasn’t the course most cops would take, but, in Kayla’s experience, when she didn’t follow her instincts, things usually turned out disastrously.

  Half an hour later the surgeon checked in on his patient and advised Kayla that it would likely be touch and go for a few more days. The coma she was in was a good thing, since it allowed Christine’s body to concentrate solely on healing itself. The doctor explained that many times after catastrophic trauma, a coma would be induced if a patient didn’t lapse into one on her own. Like last night, he couldn’t offer any real assurances other than her chances of recovery were well within the range to offer hope.

  The trip from Phoenix to Athens was spent in deep supplication for her friend’s speedy recovery.

  As she pulled up in front of Christine’s bungalow on the Athena campus, she punched in her partner’s cell number and waited for him to answer.

  “Got any news for me?” It was likely too early to have any feedback on the forensics search, but if the guys found anything other than the blood trail Christine had left in her attempt to get to the phone, Jim Harkey would know it, since he’d been there.

  “Nada.”

  Definitely not what she had wanted to hear. “Dammit.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” he echoed. “Her blood, nothing else. No sign of forced entry, other than what you did to the front door getting in. No indication whatsoever that she’d had company. Nothing. Prelim on the slugs indicates a silencer was used.”

  They wouldn’t be getting any breaks on this one. There would be plenty of prints to run, some of which might belong to the Cassandras who’d visited Christine’s bungalow a few months back, on that fateful night when they’d learned of Rainy’s accident. And there would likely be many others. As principal of the academy, Christine often entertained distinguished guests and parents of potential students as well as staff members. The lack of sound would lessen the probability that anyone saw or heard anything.

  The memory of the invitation Jazz had received shook loose from the far corner of her mind to which she’d banished it. The danger at Athena Academy had moved to a new level. Something else she had to consider as soon as her life calmed down for two minutes.

  Not going to happen, a little voice reminded.

  Probably not. Her life had always been anything but calm. Why would the routine be any different now?

  Kayla gave Jim her agenda for the morning and promised to check back in with him in a couple of hours. She emerged from the car, dragging on her jacket in deference to the cool morning air. She had a feeling the temps wouldn’t reach the fifties as the weatherman had suggested. Christmas was scarcely more than a week away so she had no room to complain. The winter had been relatively mild thus far.

  Christmas. Man, she had to get a tree up. Jazz was counting on decorating this weekend.

  Then the significance of the day broadsided her.

  Friday.

  They had dinner with Mike tonight.

  Another round of hot curses spilled past her lips. Just her luck. She needed an evening with him like she needed a root canal.

  Kayla unlocked the padlock her partner had placed on Christine’s damaged door and then ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape.

  The smell of coagulated blood hit her nostrils the moment she entered the living room. She would never get used to that odor. Her fingers located the switch and flipped on the overhead light.

  It wasn’t easy coming back to the scene of a crime that involved a friend or loved one, but Kayla had to look things over for herself. Jim was a damn good cop, the forensics guys the best, but she had to do this. Had to be certain nothing was missed.

  She moved through Christine’s bungalow twice, taking her time, surveying from ceiling to floor and all places in between. One of her instructors at the police academy had reiterated over and over again how it was the little things that solved most crimes.

  In the kitchen she hesitated before moving on. Knowing full well the forensics techs had already done so she opened the dishwasher and peeked inside. Empty.

  She closed the appliance and leaned against the counter, took a moment to survey the small, galley-style kitchen one last time. A dish towel lay on the counter directly across from her position. Hanging from the overhead cabinet was a rack that held a half dozen or so stemmed wineglasses. But the rack and the glasses weren’t what captured her attention. It was the tiny reddish speck on the white counter next to the dish towel.

  Kayla crossed the narrow expanse of tile to peer down at the speck. She looked from the speck to the array of wineglasses hanging above it. She withdrew a plastic glove from her jacket pocket and slipped it onto her right hand. Careful not to touch the rim of the glasses, she tilted each one and sniffed. At least two had not gone through the dishwasher. The scent of wine still lingered in the bowls. The fleck of red lay directly beneath one.

  Next she picked up the towel and sniffed. Aside from the scent all towels had after lying on the counter a day or so, the distinct aroma of wine was unmistakable.

  If Christine’s guest had been invited in and they’d shared some wine—tests performed at the E.R. indicated she’d had at least one glass—then it was no wonder there were no signs of forced entry. Her shooter hadn’t been a foe. He, or she, had been a friend.

  Playing devil’s advocate, Kayla stood back and surveyed the small area of counter. It was possible Christine had had wine alone or with someone else prior to the shooter’s visit.

  But why would she store unwashed wineglasses? Why simply dab them out with a dry dish towel and stick them back in the rack?

  Okay. If she’d had wine last night, where was the opened bottle? It wasn’t listed on the forensics inventory her partner had rattled off to her.

  She opened the refrigerator. No wine. It wasn’t anywhere else in the house because she’d already walked through twice.

  No way. This would be too easy. She pivoted and crouched down in front of the sink cabinet. Sure enough, behind those innocuous-looking oak doors stood a half-empty bottle of red wine.

  Kayla shook her head slowly from side to side. She snagged her cell phone from her belt and entered Jim’s number. Whoever had shot Christine had some brass ones, that was for sure. While she’d lain there struggling on the living room floor, her shooter had painst
akingly cleared away the signs of his presence—except for the wine. What had stopped him? Maybe Kayla’s knock on the door.

  Or maybe Kayla was wrong. The wine could have been something Christine had opened days ago, but not likely. Anyone who drank wine knew that it wouldn’t last more than a few days at room temperature after being opened. Not even red, when it was best served at room temp.

  She explained to her partner that she needed one of the techs to stop back by and pick up the wine and glasses. She didn’t want to risk contaminating the evidence by trying to haul it in herself. Though whoever had done this had likely wiped the bottle as well as the glasses in an effort to clear away any prints, there was always the chance at least a partial would be found. Not to mention DNA evidence left behind on the rims of the glasses.

  Prints and DNA were pretty much useless without a suspect to compare them with, but Kayla would take any evidence she could get. One way or another she was going to bring down whoever was responsible for this.

  If she were a betting woman, she would wager that the culprit behind Christine’s shooting was someone who wanted to stop the investigation into Rainy’s murder.

  The idea that it could have been Betsy Stone entered her mind. That was one lady she needed to get her hands on. That she was conveniently away when this kind of thing went down was just that…too convenient.

  Since Kayla couldn’t ask Christine about the AWOL nurse, she’d ask Rebecca, the vice principal. Kayla needed to bring her up to speed on the investigation anyway. They hadn’t talked much last night. Both had been too worried about Christine.

  But there were things that had to be done today.

  Locating Betsy Stone was the first in a long list.

  When Kayla arrived at the administrative offices another brick wall jumped out in front of her.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded, too stunned to fully assimilate the vice principal’s words.