Vendetta. Meredith Fletcher

Evans’s desk. The woman was the principal of Athena Academy and had been all those years ago as well. Newspaper stories about past graduates of the academy covered the walls. Christine Evans had been part of a lot of successes. Winter took quiet pleasure in seeing that at least one of those articles concerned her career.

      “If you trusted me,” Winter said to David, “you wouldn’t be here.”

      A trace of irritation tightened his eyes. He turned to face her more squarely, silhouetted against the window filled with bright March sunshine. He crossed his arms over his chest and forced a smile.

      “I’d hardly call my presence a declaration of distrust,” David said.

      “That,” Winter told him, “is because you’re not sitting where I am.”

      The look of irritation tightened into a grimace. David took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “It’s better if we wait to discuss this matter until Christine arrives.”

      “The matter that Christine called me out here for?” Winter asked. “Or the fact that you don’t trust me to do whatever it is she’s going to ask me to do?”

      “All of it.” David pushed back his shirtsleeve and compared the time on his watch with the wall clock. “She should have been here by now.”

      Winter surveyed David, reading him effortlessly. Years of experience with interviewing politicians, murderers, good cops and bad ones had honed her natural skills.

      David Gracelyn was nervous, agitated and angry. He kept his jacket on, like a knight refusing to shed his armor in a room where he should have been totally comfortable.

      It’s not me that he’s concerned with, Winter decided. That meant it had to be Christine Evans. She had been one of the best friends David’s mother had ever known. She’d practically been a second mother to Allison, and Winter was certain she’d been around David a lot as well.

      “Look,” Winter said, “if it helps, I don’t know why Christine called me out here. I heard about the kidnappings that took place on the campus a few weeks ago, but I’d heard that had all been resolved.” She was fishing, of course, and she figured that he probably knew it. But there was also a chance that he would offer some clue.

      The kidnapping story had been covered by a number of news services, mostly because of Athena Academy’s reputation and partly because kidnappings of teenage girls generally did hit the news.

      “No. It’s not about the kidnappings.” David took a breath. “Not exactly.”

      And what did that mean?

      Winter waited, thinking maybe he would open up about whatever it was. But he didn’t. Winter had been curious ever since she’d gotten Christine Evans’s cryptic call yesterday. That was Winter’s nature: always curious. That was part of the special skill set that made her an investigative journalist.

      Christine’s short conversation had drawn Winter back to Athena Academy. She couldn’t help wondering if Christine had withheld information just to enhance Winter’s curiosity. It was possible. During her stay at Athena, Christine had gotten to know Winter well.

      After a moment, she reached down into her purse and took out her iPAQ Pocket PC. She turned on the PDA, then opened up a Microsoft Word document she’d been working on during the plane trip into Phoenix.

      “What are you doing?” David asked. Suspicion dripped in his words.

      “Working.” Winter didn’t look up. She wrote with the stylus, watching as her script was transformed to type a heartbeat later.

      “You shouldn’t be writing any of this down.”

      “I’m not writing this down. I’m working on another project. I figured since the conversation wasn’t exactly pleasant that I could get something worthwhile done.”

      A frown turned down David’s full lips. Winter couldn’t help noticing that they were very attractive lips.

      “And what would I be writing down?” She couldn’t help needling him. Pompousness of any sort always drew out her claws.

      He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “In some circles you’re known to be quite creative with your writing. You…infer a lot.”

      Winter bridled at that. “I infer a lot because there’s a lot people try to hide from me. Generally they’re not good enough at it. That’s why my publishers allow me to infer as much as I do. Because I get it right.”

      “The school has had enough problems lately,” David said. “They don’t need old ones stirred up.”

      “What old ones?”

      Again, he didn’t answer. She didn’t expect that he would, but she wanted him to know that he couldn’t talk to her like she was brainless. Talking made him vulnerable. Not her.

      The Athena Academy had been in the news lately. Before the kidnappings, Lorraine Miller—another Athena graduate—had been murdered. Her death had at first been ruled an accident, but subsequent investigation had revealed that as a lie.

      Then there were the rumors about genetic testing, political cover-ups, and international incidents that had persisted. Pieces of a much larger story had surfaced from time to time in the news.

      Winter had seen the stories and guessed at the overall larger picture, but she’d stayed away. Mostly out of respect, but she’d also been busy working on other projects. Her writing career occupied most of her time these days, and there was always something she needed to do.

      She’d practically had to move heaven and earth to be here today. Just so David Gracelyn could look down his nose at you and make you think that maybe you never did get over that crush you had on him.

      Winter let out a long, slow breath. She so didn’t need this. She’d only come because Christine Evans had asked her to.

      “I’m here as a favor to Christine,” Winter told him, deciding to let him off the hook, “not to cause problems.”

      David shot her a look of disapproval. “That’s not exactly what Henry Carlson would say, is it?”

      Anger quivered through Winter then. It was one thing to question her motives, but attacking her work was another matter entirely. She was good at what she did. She enjoyed her work. Her writing defined her.

      “What happened to Henry Carlson and his family is regrettable,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t my fault.”

      “A lot of other people don’t see it that way.”

      “People have skeletons in their closets. I didn’t put them there.”

      “Maybe not, but you sure as hell don’t seem hesitant about trotting them out when you find them.”

      Winter thought about that. She’d had a choice about revealing everything she’d discovered in the Carlson matter, of course. Her publisher had even had a choice in deciding whether to go to press with the book. In the end, they both decided to go forward with what she’d found out. In their minds, revealing the truth served the greater good.

      “What I relayed in my book had been whispered about in Hollywood for years,” Winter told him. “Victoria Chase, Carlson’s maternal grandmother, had been suspected of being a Nazi sympathizer.”

      “Those documents you found seriously hurt Carlson’s international corporate image. Wall Street bailed on him as soon as word about your book hit the streets.”

      Winter knew that. She still felt badly about how it had gone. But Henry Carlson and BriteFutures Pharmaceuticals were rich enough to afford a fickle stock market for a time. In the end, Carlson was a success because he was a good businessman. His grandmother’s twin careers of Hollywood diva and German spy wouldn’t change that.

      “I’m not here to defend that book, Counselor.” Winter returned her attention to the iPAQ. To her way of