Книга - Moving Target

Moving Target
Lori A. May


Mills & Boon Silhouette
Francesca Thorn is the FBI's best profiler…and she's needed to target Athena Academy's most dangerous foe. Getting inside the dark mind of a serial blackmailer is easy. The hard part? Working alongside an irritatingly sexy U.S. Army bodyguard who's shadowing her every move. But as she gets dangerously close to revealing the identity of her alma mater's greatest threat, it seems someone will stop at nothing to ensure she remains dead silent. And her only choice is to accept all the help her personal protector can provide.







From: Delphi@oracle.org

To: C_Evans@athena.edu

Re: forensic psychologist, Francesca Thorne

Christine,

As I told you last week, I’ve put Francesca Thorne on our case. If anyone can confirm the links between Arachne, the Queen of Hearts and Marion’s mystery prisoner, it’s Chesca.

The last few Oracle agents I’ve put on Arachne’s trail have encountered dangerous situations. Francesca’s an Athena grad, and I know she can hold her own, but I would feel more at peace with her involvement if she had backup on this investigation. You mentioned your great-nephew during our last call. Is he still between positions after recovering from that bullet he took in the line of duty? He’s just the man Chesca needs.

Would you contact him about going to Boston?

D.


Dear Reader,

It was an honor when Natashya Wilson asked me if I would be interested in contributing to the Athena Force series. As an avid fan of all things Bombshell, I loved the idea behind the characters, conspiracy and cover-ups at the Athena Academy, and I knew I would have a blast getting to know Francesca Thorne up close and personally.

I loved Francesca’s commitment to digging deep into her prey’s psyche and unraveling clues to piece together a profile of motive and opportunity. I’ve always been a fan of forensic psychology, and watching Francesca maneuver her way around obstacles was a thrilling ride for me, one which I hope you will enjoy, as well.

Please stop by www.loriamay.com to say hello and share your thoughts on Francesca and Will’s Athena adventure!

Lori A. May




Moving Target

Lori A. May







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




LORI A. MAY


has never confronted a serial killer, chased a suspect down an alley or broken into an encrypted government computer. Yet she still considers herself a go-getter, thriving on the less dangerous excitement in her own life, created by making things up and putting pen to paper. Her real-life adventures are more likely to include exploring an unfamiliar city, trying new restaurants and experimenting with photography and visual arts. For the latest news and events, plus reviews, contests and more, visit www.loriamay.com.


To my personal support team and cheerleading squad:

Mom, Dad, Zaida and Chris.




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Special thanks to Jay Poynor and Erica Orloff

for their enthusiasm, support and friendship—

and middle-of-the-night e-mails!

To Natashya Wilson

for asking me to join the Athena Force series

and to Stacy Boyd for her editorial eye.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20




Chapter 1


He pulled tight around her throat, choking her.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Francesca Thorne was accustomed to gathering information from criminals in what wasn’t said, whether it was through a look, a nervous tic despite attempts to mask such a giveaway, or simply a change in vocal pitch.

It was what an opponent did not say that aided in the patchwork of piecing together a personality. Her role was simply to watch. Observe. Filter the subtleties of the subconscious into her puzzle-solving mind.

Whereas she would normally calculate facial expressions and measure the pupil dilation of her suspect, waiting for a flinch to reveal so much more than well-selected words, the opportunity had not been given with this particular hunt.

Instead, she had to count on the sound of his breath, the weight of his grasp as he held one arm tightly around her neck, choke-holding her into submission with her back facing him, unable to meet his eyes.

He had snuck up on her.

Though she had returned to the scene to analyze its meaning, determine why the killer had chosen this location for his latest victim, Francesca had not been counting on his presence. Not yet.

His attack had caught her by surprise.

The killer had demonstrated an odd pattern of returning to the scene of his crimes only to enact another, but in between he always committed a murder at a different location. That was his MO. Or at least the first five murders had suggested as much with his leapfrog style.

One location, then another, then back again.

By their calculations, he should have been somewhere else preparing to commit the sixth. She had chosen to come here with the hopes she could piece something together about his selection process, quickly enough to determine where the next crime would take place.

But his MO had changed.

It was inevitable he would switch it up.

Knowing his back-and-forth actions as she now did, he would have been caught sooner or later, with the FBI knowing to stake out his previous playground. And, really, it was just child’s play for him.

“You like taking risks,” she said, holding her voice steady, not allowing even a shred of fear to show as the pressure of his grip grooved over her esophagus. “Yet you refuse to show your face. Slightly passive-aggressive, don’t you think?”

When in close contact with a serial killer, Francesca Thorne—lauded forensic psychologist for the FBI—pulled no punches in calling it as she saw it. That included tempting fate by asking somewhat dangerous questions, or igniting a suspect’s volatile nature. It was a trait for which she was known.

Setting herself up for increased risk was part of the job. The very act of trying to diagnose the criminal mentality meant opening up a whole world of unknown psyche. But it was within that very process that she was able to collect the critical data needed to prove or disprove a profiling theory, much like a forensic scientist would test the boundaries of physical evidence.

In this case, mocking her captor only made sense. Her action would cause a telling reaction on his part.

His breath, moist as he exhaled along her ear where his lips barely slid over the curve of her skin, was calm, masking any trace of anger or excitement.

With his body held snug against hers, she could begin to create an image of his physical presence in her mind. Not the specifics such as eye or hair color, but from his stance she could estimate his height.

From his breadth against her, she could make calculations of his weight.

It was the nonvisual clues he gave, such as his scent, his body temperature, and his reaction to her teasing that would matter most. And with what little headway they had made with this case, these variables would not only help her plan a maneuver away from his grasp, they would also lend a hand in solving the identity of their prey.

She closed her eyes, banning their sense from interrupting her analytical intake. She filtered in a deep breath, letting the combination of scents register within.

Ignoring the aroma of a nearby Laundromat, bypassing the scent of rain in the air, she centered on the slight trace of chicory and breathed it in from the cuff of his sleeve.

The sleeve itself belonged to a blue-collar worker. She could tell by its wear and tear, the threads of cheaply made industrial fabric worn with sweat stains and something dark—oil, perhaps?

She inhaled deeply, pinpointing the smell.

It was oil. Like that used on machinery, perhaps in a factory or even an auto mechanic shop.

Knowing what trace evidence could do for fine-tuning such variables, Francesca made a minuscule movement within her captor’s grasp, aiming to transfer even a hint of the physical evidence to her body. If she made it out of there—when she made it out—the lab would be able to study every fiber of her clothing, each thread where this man had left evidence of his identity.

“It won’t be that easy,” he said, no doubt presuming her maneuvers were an attempt to flee his grasp. “You and I are friends now.”

That was it. The first time his voice made contact with her sense of hearing. She listened to each syllable he projected, to what was being said and how, not once overlooking the quiet beat of a pause between each word he selected.

“Is that what you wanted from them? Friendship?” she asked, opening up dialogue with the man her team had been tracking for several weeks.

It started with one body, as it usually does, but it quickly became obvious someone was on the hunt for more action with the discovery of the second victim.

The most disturbing element to the case was that he was a smart criminal, relatively speaking. He knew how to disguise himself, how to leave little trace of evidence, and thereby bring the forensics team to a standstill, waiting…for him to mess up.

“I am not who you think I am,” he said, his one arm holding tight against her neck. The other arm reached around, wrapping against Francesca’s midsection as though this were a perfectly natural position for him. There was no trembling, no jittery movement. He felt completely at ease clenching his ownership around her body.

“Then tell me,” she said aloud while inside her mind a thousand thoughts scrambled for a plan on how to make her move.

An agent from the Baton Rouge resident office had accompanied her to the crime scene, though he remained at the car guarding the scene from the outset. His presence would do her no good at such a distance. “Tell me who you are. How you see yourself.”

He scoffed at her. “What—you some kind of shrink?”

Francesca registered the curve in vocal pitch, his agitation showing fluctuation in the short response. She had hit a nerve, without trying much at all. His own suggestion was fueling his irritation, based on one simple request for him to explain his assumed persona. And now she would use it against him.

“I like to help people, with their thoughts,” she began, noticing the heat rise from his body.

The dewy evening air, signaling an early April rain shower was on its way, carried his scent swiftly to her senses, and she was able to detect a rising pulse. “I could be your confidante. Listen to what you have to say. I bet you feel as though no one understands you, but perhaps I could. If you let me.”

It didn’t mean she would like him or appreciate his actions, but Francesca could use her skills in understanding human behavior to at least empathize with him, see what it was that motivated him to strike out against humanity. It was something for which she strived every day, with every criminal she came across.

Her pursuit had begun as a young child, during events she rarely cared to recall. It was those events, however, that prompted her pursuit of understanding why people do the things they do, and led her to study behavioral science.

At first it was simply a curiosity, one she explored through watching others, even as a child. Then she became enthralled by the lessons learned in psychology classes at the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, a prep school that encouraged the study of such scientific interests.

By the time Francesca earned her graduate degree in forensic psychology, profiling personalities had become an obsession. One for which she was quickly recognized within the field, handling seemingly impossible cases for the FBI, even those reaching far beyond her home base in Richmond, Virginia.

“I don’t need a shrink.” His voice, increasingly harsh, told her she needed to make a move. Fast. His agitation would only escalate and there was only so much fire she wanted to tempt within him. He was, after all, a serial killer.

One who baited young women, dragged them out to isolated buildings, beat them, assaulted them and finally killed them.

Above all else, Francesca needed to remember that one obvious trait within a killer’s personality—they liked to kill.

Although her own preference was for capturing her suspects and wielding information about their psyche, to analyze and put them through a tougher sentence than death, she had to admit to having a simpler fantasy as his tongue traced the outer edge of her earlobe.

Though she wanted to put an end to his existence when he said, “Maybe you have something else I want.” There had to be a better way for her to flee his entrapment and bring him down.

Killing was what she studied, not what she did. There had to be something she could do to not only escape his captivity, but also ensure he was stopped from ever committing another crime again.

And then she spoke.

“Maybe you have something I need,” she said, playing on the notion he was a sexual predator and using that to her advantage as she slowly, carefully reached her hand around to settle into the small groove of space between her behind and his crotch.

Earlier, as he attacked her in surprise, the man had quickly removed her handgun from her person and tossed it far from her reach.

But what he didn’t know was about to hurt him.

Under the guise of giving him what he wanted, Francesca began to move her hand over the small bulge in his pants, twisting her gesture until her palm faced the small of her back, and while she listened to his breathing accelerate under her touch, she slowly moved one finger, then the next, into the gap between her flesh and her jeans until she felt it.

“I do, don’t I?” he asked of her.

“You most certainly do,” she cooed to egg him on, as she cautiously slid out the small knife from the sheath buried in the back of her pants. Within a heartbeat, she twisted its edge into him, stabbing the blade into his left hip as she said, “Your DNA.”

Caught off guard by her attack, the suspect stumbled back to let the moment register, but he quickly set off on foot.

As she began the chase after him, slowing only to pick up her discarded handgun, she let out a contained breath, one she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Not familiar with this abandoned dumping ground of rotten buildings and wasteland, Francesca called for help by shooting one bullet into the ground, knowing this would alert the watchdog FBI agent that something had gone terribly wrong.

They had not expected to encounter their suspect today. This was simply an outing to gather mental evidence, its sole purpose to comb the area and turn thoughts inside out, hoping to accumulate enough information to pinpoint where the next victim might be saved.

Then it occurred to her.

Why would the killer come here, switching up his MO if he knew the feds were on the scene? And if he didn’t know he’d be in mixed company, why did he return to this place?

To kill his sixth victim, she thought to herself.

Francesca stopped in her tracks at the realization.

Changing her direction, she ran back to where the criminal had discarded her personal belongings, and combed through the weeds to find her cell phone. As she did, Agent Martin caught up with her location, slightly winded.

“That way,” she cried as she frantically dialed the number for the field office. “He’s run off through there, but I think we may have a body on site.”

Her words filtered through the air as Agent Martin ran off to chase down the unknown suspect. Until now, without a name, a list of potentials or DNA findings, this case had proven frustrating.

Which was exactly why the Baton Rouge team had called in the expertise of Francesca Thorne.

They needed a profile, and that’s what she aimed to provide, but now she also had a knife with his blood on it. A personal identification he had failed to ever leave at the scene of a crime, but which could be added to the file in the hopes of matching it with other physical evidence compiled from the series of events and seal the deal of his conviction.

She quickly informed the field office of their estimated whereabouts, and added, “I’m heading into the vacant building on the south-east side of the lot,” to ensure they would know where to find her.

It was from this very direction the man had come, stepping up behind her as she walked through the gravel along the outside of the building. He must have heard her from inside.

Had she even remotely suspected his presence, she would have taken every precaution to avoid the rumbling sound of loose gravel, but hindsight was a waste of time right now. There could be a sixth victim within the vicinity, and if so Francesca swore to find her.

As she stepped lightly through discarded broken glass, rusted hardware, and rodent feces, Francesca’s attention was momentarily diverted by an incoming call from her cell phone.

She recognized the distinctive ring assigned to the caller and her breath caught, knowing Delphi was attempting to contact her. The mysterious communication leader from Oracle, a secret intel operation for which some Athena Academy grads had been recruited for their unique skills, would not expect Francesca to answer.

Instead, the simple act of hearing Delphi’s call would instruct Francesca to either check her secured e-mail account, or to return the call from a landline. Only in a pinch would the two ever communicate over the cell. Francesca simply wouldn’t trust its promise of privacy.

Though she was curious about the purpose of the call, Francesca maintained her focus on the case at hand. She would contact Delphi after this scene was declared clear, but for now her main purpose was to locate a possible victim—one she hoped was still breathing.

“Thorne?”

Francesca followed the direction of the voice. It was one belonging to Agent Sharland of the Baton Rouge team, which meant her call had been answered swiftly.

“In here. Watch your—” She grinned as Sharland nearly stepped a foot flat into something nasty as he rounded the corner, meeting her inside the decrepit building. “Step.”

His grimace replaced the opportunity to say thanks, as Francesca continued her search for a body.

Within the abandoned building, one formerly used for a textile business if she recalled correctly, there were a number of floors to clear, but within each only a select number of hallways to snake through.

“We got him. Martin’s fine, too,” Sharland said, settling Francesca’s unanswered question. “How about you? You okay?”

“Shhhh. Listen,” she said in a careful whisper. As they stepped along through the concrete landscape, there was something that caught her attention.

It could be the slight chatter of a sewer rat, the nesting of a bird, or it could be something else altogether and Francesca wanted complete silence from her fellow Fed in identifying its whereabouts.

Sharland nodded in acknowledgment of her request as they followed the sound, faintly coming from a shadowed room down the hall.

Through the doorway a small stream of natural evening light shone down against the damp concrete underfoot, and as she cautiously stepped into its illumination, Francesca noticed the small barred window facing the direction of where she had been attacked.

From inside this room, their suspect would have been able to watch her movements, gaining the upper hand in sneaking up on her as she collected intellectual data.

A muted shuffle to the left caused her attention to narrow in on a darkened corner, and as she moved closer to the sound, Francesca breathed a sigh of pained relief.

Agent Sharland expressed what she was thinking that very second. “He must have been distracted by you out there, before he took the time to—”

She cut him off by shaking her head. She knew it was likely true, but there was no need to fill in the details with the young woman lying before them, curled and hunched in a darkened corner, clinging to her beaten life.

Had Francesca Thorne not insisted on visiting the site to analyze the killer’s selection process, victim number six would have been dead.



At the Baton Rouge field office, Martin, Sharland, and several of the other FBI agents were combing through the newfound information, gathering a case against the man they hoped would be prosecuted for a series of murders, and one failed attempt.

The evidence always had the final say in making a charge stick, but with what they’d encountered and the crime that had been stopped in its progress, the killer hadn’t had time to cover his intentions. His DNA would certainly help, as well as the additional trace being collected off Francesca.

She stood still, careful not to disturb the process of collection, while a local team member combed through her hair, and removed all trace of the man’s presence on her body.

“My things?” she asked when the protocol was complete, determined to sign on to her laptop and check her awaiting e-mail.

Delphi had signaled for her attention and though the criminal case against this serial killer was far from over, Francesca’s role in it had come to an end. She could now offer full attention to the call from Oracle.

After her personal belongings were returned to her, Francesca took a moment to shake hands with the various agents she had come to know in this recent, but brief assignment.

“We asked for the best,” Sharland said, offering a firm shake and a rare smile. “I’m glad they went one step further.”

“I’m sure your work is just about to begin,” she said, signaling her departure with a casual salute to the brow. Never one for goodbyes, Francesca preferred to keep it simple.

Outside, she crossed the street to a cozy café that advertised a wireless high-speed Internet zone. While waiting for a taxi to take her to the airport where she would catch the earliest flight back to the familiar territory of Richmond, Virginia, Francesca settled into a booth, nursing a cup of black coffee, and then typed in the password to access her e-mail account, ready to view Delphi’s message.

It was a short one, at that. Knowing more information would be awaiting her arrival back home she couldn’t help the curiosity about what activity was calling her into action.

The message simply read assignment for you, which was enough to pique her interest.

To anyone else this would likely seem vague and cryptic.

But Francesca knew all too well what was being asked of her. An assignment from Oracle implied she would be working with highly sensitive information.

More important, Francesca knew, the request was one she would promise to execute and make top priority.




Chapter 2


Within the comfort of her own apartment, surrounded by the familiar, Francesca settled into the window seat with her laptop, taking a moment to peer down at the busy street below her. In the heart of the downtown core, the view afforded her the greatest science experiment of all—watching people in their natural habitat.

After graduate school, and her training with the FBI in Quantico, Francesca was stationed within the Richmond field office to handle some of the toughest profiling cases ever to cross an agent’s desk.

While that usually led her to work with murderers, and she had a knack within the specialty of fingerprinting serial and spree killers, her profiling skills extended to hunting down a variety of cases handed to her. Serial offenders, no matter what the charge, were some of the trickiest individuals out there when it came to the professional world of crime. But it was always the tough ones Francesca thrived on solving, loving that sense of accomplishment that would arrive when a case closed. Even though the success of one case was short-lived with the assignment of another case to crack, those minuscule moments were worth it all, reminders that her work was valued not only within the FBI, but as a productive role in society.

No matter where an assignment took her or how difficult a case she was dealt, it was her modest home retreat where she worked best, enjoying the calm it could bring in between cases, and the quiet it could shed on an overactive mind.

It was something coworkers had commented on far too many times. Francesca’s inability to leave work at work, and save the moments at home as some sort of spa-like sanctuary. Sure, it all sounded great in theory. Turning off the working mind entirely, however, was easier said than done.

This, though, was nothing to complain about, as far as she was concerned. Her mind had a way of mysteriously working, even in her sleep, and putting together the puzzle pieces of profiling cases was something she lived for. It was her passion. Her obsession. Her purpose.

And really, Chesca had so little of a social life outside of her colleagues and keeping in touch with connections made through Athena Academy, that her downtime away from work was…well, mostly focused on work. It was a stark contrast to the socialite home life she was reared in as a child, that’s for sure. But working the big cases had become her life’s carrot. It’s what made her feel whole.

Smart enough to realize life couldn’t be all work and no play, Francesca did her best to make her home environment as comfortable as possible, so that she had the best of both worlds.

It may have been considered a working playground by some, but to her it was a haven away from the office chaos. A place to concentrate. Formulate ideas. Connect the dots. And it was comfy as hell.

Though the domestic environment of her childhood home was of museum quality—harsh lines, stuffy upholsteries, over-the-top everything—Chesca preferred comfort over style when it came to home fashions. Usually this applied to her personal wardrobe as well. What was the point in having a pricy settee that no one would dare touch? Not that she entertained guests often. Which further emphasized the point of making sure her abode was the most comfortable and casual it could be.

The ultrasuede couch was her most beloved furnishing in the small but ample apartment, nearly seeming overstuffed and oversized for the one-bedroom, second-floor unit. But the collection of throws, mixed-and-matched textures of pillows, and a well-placed shag carpet all catered to the sense of feeling swept off her feet.

Perhaps it was the deliberate contrast of her upbringing that led her to prefer comfort, practicality and function. Whether she was working on an all-night caseload, or drifting off to late-night infomercials, it didn’t matter so long as she could put her feet up, let her back slide into cushiony softness, and feel…at home.

Despite her reputation for being career-focused, Francesca was often regarded as a “what you see is what you get” kind of person, her simple lifestyle contrasting with the often-complex cases she’d encounter in her work world.

Alex Forsythe, fellow Athena grad and FBI forensics colleague to Francesca, had often said she admired this trait in her friend, knowing no matter how complicated the world around them could get sometimes, there was nothing better than counting on a good, solid friendship that was as clear as day, and hassle-free.

Which is exactly how Chesca preferred to keep her living situation. Hassle-free. While a substantial section of her urban apartment was dedicated as a workstation, stacked with files, case histories, and tools of the trade, this never cluttered her comfortable environment, or took over the meaning of her home.

Bringing work home, and letting it clutter her life were two very different things, and Chesca always made sure that no matter how tough a case she was working on, she knew when to file something away for the night, and how to file something as “out of sight, out of mind.”

That’s why it was so important to her to feel completely at ease in her no-nonsense style, and let the warm earthy tones of her chosen décor act as a backdrop for her office away from work. Plush decorative pillows, simple but soft fabrics, and a carpet that hugged her bare toes as she paced back and forth mentally dissecting criminal evidence allowed her to relax, focus, and get the job done while casually clad in cotton boxers or her favorite jeans.

The bare bones but earthy warmth of home was often all she needed to zone into whatever her mind needed to tackle.

But there was little peace within her mind as she sat in the window seat today, watching people below, their faces just a glazed blur as her mind reeled around something much more pressing.

The assignment from Oracle.

Since returning from the case in Baton Rouge, Chesca had managed to have a full day to unpack, unwind and await further information from her extracurricular employment.

Delphi had sent a message informing Chesca a courier would soon be delivering further information pertaining to the assignment, and the only additional hint of what was to come was the mention of something very important to Francesca. Something that would hit close to home with the many women associated with Athena Academy and all those who fought to see it succeed.

She would be profiling the notorious blackmailer Arachne, determining whether she was one and the same as the Queen of Hearts assassin.

The name Arachne was enough to raise the blood pressure of just about any of Francesca’s social circle. With her cover blown, it was now understood Arachne was behind the recent student kidnappings in an attempt to bring down the Academy.

Putting a face to the name would be Francesca’s goal, not only as part of her assignment from Oracle, but to finalize the fight her fellow Athenians had been trying to win for far too long.

Quite honestly, it was an honor to have been assigned this case by Oracle. The intel organization could have called on any of its recruits for such an assignment, but for some reason Delphi had made her selection, and Francesca was not only flattered, but personally determined to do whatever it would take to be of assistance.

Francesca wasn’t the only Athena grad to be recruited by the network, though she had little indication of who the others were, what their roles were, or why they were selected. It was rare to hear of a fellow agent’s work, though it wasn’t entirely unheard of.

For everyone’s safety, she presumed the details of the operation had to be kept secret. The one thing all participants knew, though, was the extreme importance of the intelligence gathering it conducted, as it did its part in fighting for justice even when standard institutions such as the FBI, NSA or CIA backed away.

No one really understood how the information was distributed within Oracle. Only that when an agent had carried through with an assignment, a full report was to be given to Delphi, the enigmatic handler of the operation.

Though Francesca had her suspicions from time to time, she didn’t admit to having a clue of who Delphi might be in reality. Of course it was a code name. But if she was meant to know, she would in time.

For the most part, Francesca had let her analytical mind piece together what she imagined the inner workings of the organization to be, but there was little she knew as honest-to-goodness fact, since she rarely had any contact with Delphi, and never personally came into contact with other agents from the organization.

The few times Delphi had requested Chesca check into something, it was taken care of within hours. She knew from the intake process the types of information she would potentially be handling, but until now she had never been assigned a full case. No matter how long it took, or what the case required of her, Francesca swore this assignment deserved her full and immediate attention.

Before agreeing to send the initial case file, Delphi confirmed with Chesca that she would be able to step away from her regular duties at the FBI for a few days, if not more.

There was no question.

Even if Chesca didn’t have a lengthy stockpile of comp days to her credit, there was no way she’d turn down a full assignment from Oracle. Especially one pertaining to the ongoing battle between Arachne and the Athena Academy. Between her curiosity and her thirst to handle something unique and pressing to the intel organization, this elite opportunity was what she craved. What she had trained for. And despite not knowing the full details of where it would take her yet, for now, Francesca knew her help was needed.

Oracle needed her. The Athena Academy needed her.

She was proud of her experience at the Academy. Grateful for the opportunity afforded her, providing for her the chance to truly work to be the best she could be, both as a young, eager student in her younger days and all the way into her blossoming career.

Thinking back on what an incredible gift the education at Athena Academy was to her, and countless other talented and uniquely gifted young women, Francesca couldn’t help but smile over the memories. They also gave her opportunity to think fondly of her time spent long ago, growing up in the company of others who had as much drive, as much conviction, as she herself possessed. Others she considered dear friends.

Despite having years of positive memories to reflect on, Francesca knew all too well the serious and unfortunate occurrences Athena and her graduates had been subjected to recently, not the least of them happening during the past year or so.

Athena Academy may have been regarded as home to many, but to some…it was something to fight against. Maybe there was something to that old cliché, about people fearing the unknown or the simple things that just weren’t understood by the masses.

The Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women had been born to create opportunities, and contribute something positive to society, and yet there were those who couldn’t help but try to destroy what others helped build.

It saddened Chesca. How a handful of unscrupulous individuals had worked to tarnish the very place she called home, the respectable names she considered family.

Thinking of that home, the place where she’d felt most at ease in her childhood, and in becoming the woman she was today, Francesca had the urge to touch base with the one Athena sister for whom this assignment held the most urgency.

“Allison. It’s been a long time,” she said, grateful to hear the familiar voice over the phone.

Though she wouldn’t confess to the Oracle assignment, and knew very little of what it entailed as of yet, Francesca wanted to speak to the daughter of Marion Gracelyn, founder of Athena Academy.

More than a decade had passed since Marion’s death, but it was only last year that her daughter Allison, along with forensic scientist Alex Forsythe, had discovered Marion was being blackmailed at the time of her murder. Allison had already been through so much with the murder of her best friend Rainy, that Francesca felt the need to reach out to her fellow Athenian.

“Chesca? Don’t tell me you’re actually at home for once.”

She smiled at Allison’s friendly tone and good spirits. With what she’d gone through, well…some wouldn’t be able to handle such tragedies with Allison’s grace and courage. She was truly someone to admire.

“Not home for long, I’m afraid. But I had to hear your voice. See how you are.”

“I know with you it won’t be what I say, but how I say it, so let me make sure I get my intonation correct when I tell you it’s nice to hear your voice, too,” Allison said. “Do I pass?”

“Flying colors,” she said, though already fast-forwarding her thoughts to less amusing concerns.

Not knowing completely what Allison knew about the full assignment given to Chesca, she had to tread lightly on the subject. Thus, she approached her question at an angle. “I understand you’ve been in contact with Beth. Any chance you reclaimed my books for me?”

Allison laughed. The more recent reputation of Bethany James might have been one of professional gambler, but even back in the days at Athena Academy, young Beth knew how to run a poker table. A natural loner, likely due to her upbringing on the streets by a hustling—but loving—father whose lifespan was cut short by an enraged murderer, poker was one of the few social activities Beth would participate in at the Academy.

While Francesca, too, was one who preferred to keep to herself most of the time, the opportunity to play alongside Beth offered up a glimpse into her character, where her true personality was most revealed, and for this Francesca took every chance to get to know her elusive classmate. Even if it meant losing several coveted books to the power player, such as one of Chesca’s favorites on quantum physics.

They were the same age, challenged by the same rigorous program at Athena, but Francesca Thorne and Bethany James were very different, at least to outside eyes.

Beth came from the high-risk life of street gambling, and Francesca emerged from a blue-blood battlefield where money was the root of anything worth caring about. Well, at least in the eyes of her parents. Francesca never fit the mold when it came to that, and she still felt the ramifications to this day from her disappointed mother and father.

Yet on some level, there was a common denominator between those two teenage girls. Both highly intelligent, both focused on striving for their personal best, there was something more that bonded the two of them. They had lost someone dear to them at an early age. And now, they had experienced the same feeling of loss again with the continued revelations surrounding the murder of Senator Marion Gracelyn, a mentor with a passion for the empowerment of women who was sadly removed from this earth, all too soon. And for all the wrong reasons.

“That Beth. She nailed you a few times, didn’t she? Good thing we put an end to that,” Allison said, reminding Chesca of the many times Beth had been busted for her poker nights.

“You think you put an end to it,” Chesca clarified, “but you know she’s an unstoppable force.”

“Aren’t we all?” Allison asked, her tone letting Chesca know she spoke through a smile.

It was true. A force to be reckoned with. That was how graduates were now proudly referring to themselves amongst one another, pleased with the many varied accomplishments each individual class had to offer the world.

Of course, not all Athena grads turned to a profession of law enforcement or politics, as evident with the gambler Bethany James and reporter Tory Patton, to name a few.

One thing all graduates had in common, though, was their intent to fight for justice in one way or another, and when it came to vindicating one of their own, there was no force like that of the Athena Force.

“Then let me ask you,” Francesca said, refocused on the original intent of the phone call. “Do you think the person blackmailing Giambi is the same person who was blackmailing your mother?”

Through her quick glance at the files Delphi had sent over for Francesca’s return to Richmond, she’d already pinpointed a few flags to follow up on.

Salvatore Giambi, owner of the Sapphire Star Casino in Monaco, had recently come forward to the FBI citing his involvement with the Queen of Hearts. While she had plenty of information from Delphi, and could obviously follow up on this incident through files at the Richmond office, she needed to hear the opinion of Marion’s daughter.

“It seems worth pursuing. Beth did some snooping while at one of Giambi’s gambling parties. You may want to check in with her for more details. Anyway, he had been making regular payments into a Puerto Isla bank account, but no one has made a withdrawal in three years.” As Allison paused, Chesca listened to the quiet air over the telephone wires.

“Allison? How are you holding up?” While the assignment would become the number one priority for Francesca, she didn’t want to overlook the sensitivity required when discussing Marion’s death with Allison.

Though rarely emotional, and definitely hard to peg most times, Allison had to be facing unimaginable demons. A person cannot rise above such trauma without feeling conflicted along the way.

“You know me,” Allison said, and though Chesca wanted to laugh, feeling like she didn’t know Allison half as well as some of her other Athenian sisters, she knew this was not the time to be argumentative. This was Allison’s way of letting her know she’d rather not get into a deep discussion about it. “You know where to find me, if you need help in an official capacity—or otherwise for that matter.”

A skilled NSA programmer and mathematician, Allison Gracelyn would no doubt come in handy at some point down the road, and despite her mysterious personality she was always upfront about her support for her fellow Athenians.

“I do, and I’m sure I will,” Chesca said, accepting the conversation as over.

After their pleasant, but brief, goodbyes Chesca continued to study the files revealing Salvatore Giambi’s activities and began to prepare her mind for taking on the assignment. The request from Delphi was to assemble a profile on the blackmailer Arachne, and to determine whether she was one and the same as the Queen of Hearts assassin.

Having kept up with the inside investigation of Marion’s death through the Athena Academy Web site, as well as through occasional conversations with former classmates, Chesca had already heard a bit about each of these personas.

Though she hadn’t personally dived into the investigation until now, she had given a good deal of thought as to why anyone would want to put a stop to the existence of the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, and ultimately Marion Gracelyn.

At the time of the academy’s creation, there was a tremendous outcry from politicians, government forces and pretty much any outlet for power, as there was concern such an institution would cause havoc to so-called traditions and standards of training. Though anyone who knew Marion would have known her intentions were simply to offer keen young women the same advantages, and the same opportunities, as men in what was at the time a male-dominated world.

Even now, despite every “equal opportunity employer” claiming to level the playing field, Chesca knew all too well the reality that women had to work that much harder to gain the same respect, the same foot in the door, when it came to so-called equality.

That’s why she’d focused so hard on her academics, fought off youthful urges to socialize when every one of her college classmates were headed out for a night of fun. To get anywhere in this world, Francesca Thorne knew she had to channel her drive, passion and motivation into one focused fusion of settling for nothing less than excellence.

It was that internal focus which elicited her recruitment by Oracle. It was that passion which would propel her to uncover the truth about Arachne and compile a profile that would lead to solving this bit of tragic Athenian history.

There was nothing about this profiling assignment that caused worry or concern for Francesca. She knew her skills, recognized her strengths and knew when to let others assist her, and with the personal nature of this case, she knew she’d do whatever it took to get the information Delphi requested of her.

That included doing something she did not particularly look forward to. Making a trip to Boston.

Though a beautiful and historic city, and no doubt the best place to start off her investigation, seeing that both Giambi and this Queen of Hearts character hailed from there, the city was also home to a few other unscrupulous individuals.

The Thorne family.

Though it made her stomach cry out in knots when thinking of going back to her own hometown—something she hadn’t done in some time, thankfully—Chesca knew she had to do whatever she was called to do. That included accepting that uncomfortable feeling of treading on home turf.

With her simple style and no-nonsense knack for packing, Chesca did a once-over to make sure she had everything she would need for the next few days. A basic wardrobe, the Oracle case files, and the reservation number for the car rental she had arranged just hours ago.

Looking at the concise travel ensemble, it all seemed straightforward enough. But Chesca knew there was nothing simple about returning to the blueblood neighborhoods in which she’d been raised prior to Athena Academy. Not when it was that very hometown she was so pleased to outrun in her youth. Thankfully, since this was an investigation into the criminal underbelly, Chesca would likely be trekking around a few locales less than familiar to her family’s grassy estate.

Not that the Thorne family was innocent when it came to committing social crimes of their own. Infidelities, stock-trading tricks and business activities that sometimes seemed less than level in the eyes of their daughter, Chesca knew her father Dorian and mother Abigail were less than perfect.

Yet despite their various affairs, sexual and otherwise, the Thorne family had a stellar reputation amongst the silver-platter crowd, one that irked the very soul of Francesca. How is it, she often wondered, that people with such power choose to abuse it and use it for their own personal gain?

That was often the case, though, she knew. For blueblood parents or high-stakes criminals, the game was always the same. Those who sought out personal power and couldn’t care less about who got in their way. This was the world she was going back to, the one she’d so gratefully left years ago.

The only thing that triumphed over the sick feeling in her gut was knowing that when it came to solving cases, sometimes the best place to start was the beginning. And, as far as she could tell, for Giambi and the Queen of Hearts, their history began in Boston.

As she locked her apartment door behind her, Chesca breathed a sigh of anxiety and trepidation. “Then Boston, here I come. Oh, there’s no place like home.”




Chapter 3


Despite the ease of travel an air ticket would afford her, Francesca had elected to rent a car for the nine-or ten-hour drive to Boston from Richmond.

She wanted the maximum freedom and convenience of swift maneuverability, knowing wherever the case led her, she would be able to get moving from one destination to the next in no time, without the hassle created by waiting to board planes.

She loved driving. The open road, complemented by the ability to process thoughts along the way, offered an opportunity to digest some of the case file information Delphi had sent over, and provided Chesca the chance to think through some of the history of this situation.

Sitting between strangers on an overly crowded popular flight was no place for her to analyze sensitive information. But the opportunity to travel through a few landmark destinations like Washington, Jersey, and Connecticut in the sporty, bright-red Ford Edge she’d rented, was perfect for letting her mind wrap around the beginnings of this puzzle.

Or at least of this particular piece of the puzzle.

Sadly, the Athena Academy and those who supported its existence and purpose were the target of many unfortunate events. For decades, attempts had been made to bring down the Academy, and some of those activities had left bitter results, such as the murder of founder Marion Gracelyn, and that of Rainy Miller Carrington.

But little could be done to dent the conviction of the Athena Force. Nearly two years ago, three graduates had successfully foiled a plot to assassinate Gabriel Monihan, the current president and also, Chesca mused, the significant other of Athenian Diana Lockworth. Though they kept their relationship out of the limelight, they were an incredible match for one another. Chesca and her fellow Athena sisters were truly pleased for Diana and Gabe.

Love like that was hard to find, Chesca knew, never having quite found that perfect someone for herself, but still believing it was possible. Against her parents’ wishes, though, she knew whoever sparked her inner romantic would definitely not be someone whose sole purpose was carrying on socialite affairs and uniting for the basic premise of carrying forward historic family names.

Chesca wanted a relationship like Gabe and Diana’s. She was envious of what they had, but that didn’t equate with jealousy. She was happy for them, and the genuine item they had become. Their relationship was real, something they could count on.

Thankfully the assassination plot on Gabe was shut down so his political career was secured, and his romantic affair with Diana was able to blossom.

It was those moments of happiness for her fellow graduates that Chesca loved to hear about. Between cherished memories of her youthful days at the Academy, and the inspiring careers and personal successes of her friends, there were some truly great moments to celebrate.

The darker moments, like this ongoing struggle with Arachne, were the moments that fueled the drive and passion of Athena’s graduates, the moments where their skills and expertise were best put to use.

As was the case last year, with Alex and Allison solving Marion Gracelyn’s murder and discovering that she had been blackmailed. The truth about Arachne would be found out, with both the Oracle network and Athena women not willing to let anything further happen to bring down what they all held so dear to their hearts.

Throughout the drive, Francesca was able to piece together some of the basic background information on the affairs conducted between Arachne and Giambi.

Between the case file she received from Oracle and the conversation she’d had with Allison, Chesca knew they were each much bigger players in this game than any of them would have originally anticipated.

The ongoing hunt for justice regarding this matter was fortunately being handled by those Chesca could trust. Beth James, gambler extraordinaire, had recently uncovered the connection between Arachne and Giambi, and as Chesca reached her halfway point, she decided to take Allison’s suggestion and dialed a distant friend to exchange information.

“Going back to your roots, are you?” Beth joked after the initial pleasantries of connecting with her former classmate.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. But, Boston seems to be where the action is, and thus that’s where I’m headed.”

Beth laughed with a familiar chuckle. “So no family dinners, I take it?”

“You know who I consider my real family,” Chesca said.

“Hear, hear. So, what do you want to run by me?”

Chesca was pleased to be able to connect with Bethany. Though she was a skilled blackjack player and a high-stakes poker natural, she donned a disguise each time she played, and kept her identity safe from casino bigwigs. Those who were aware of how well she made her living, however, kept a keen eye out and rooted for whatever persona Beth presented in any televised games.

It was a rush, imagining the sort of life Beth must lead, though Chesca knew all too well there was a good deal of personal vendetta involved. With Beth’s father dying the way he did, at the hands of someone who had been dealt a bad hand, it had become Beth’s personal crusade to bring down known cheaters, but she’d never herself succumbed to the dangerous lifestyle that no doubt tempted far too many a player in Vegas.

“Giambi and Arachne,” Chesca said, getting to the point. “Who’s blackmailing who?” It was half asked in earnest and half as a mockery of what these foolish criminals imagined they could get away with.

“You know the meat,” Beth said. “Giambi’s been making some hefty deposits to a bank account in Puerto Isla on a monthly basis for years. Quite the coincidence he’s also been spared by the IRS, don’t you think?”

Opening the driver’s side window just enough to let in some air on the damp spring afternoon, Chesca turned the volume up a notch on her earpiece. She didn’t want to miss anything Beth had to offer.

“And, I have it on good authority,” Chesca said with a smile, “Giambi came forward to the FBI to cover his assets.”

“You got it. But, Chesca, listen up.” And she did. As her friend took on a more solemn tone, she wanted to pay extra attention to any helpful bits of information. “He needed to do so for serious protection. Whoever was sent to attack him was doing a pretty good job. His car was blown up, for one thing, and that wasn’t the only attempt made on his life. So,” Beth warned, “whatever you’re up to, make sure you watch your back.”

“Will do. And Beth, am I right in this? Giambi referred to his blackmailer as the Queen of Hearts?”

“You’re right,” Beth offered, letting Chesca in on a bit more of Giambi’s background. “He was suspected of trying to firebomb an Arizona prisoner back in 1968, but walked away from the charges. It’s not impossible that prisoner was the Queen of Hearts and Arachne.”

To take down some notes and give Beth her undivided attention, Chesca took an off ramp to stop for a moment in a safe location. “But Giambi had bigger problems.”

“Right. According to him, in his confession of sorts, he admitted the prisoner was his blackmailer and he tried to kill her, but that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

Chesca’s pen was writing as fast as her friend could speak. Amongst the details Beth shared with Chesca, one thing stood out amongst the rest. “Giambi suspects his blackmailer may have been a CIA agent.”

Making a mental note to run this information by Delphi, Chesca was reeling.

If what Giambi confessed was true—though Chesca had known more than one criminal to say anything to get a safe haven—this mercenary, this Queen of Hearts, could have been intrinsic to the many attempts against Athena Academy.

Was it really possible one individual could have so much power, so many connections, as to be involved in such a conspiracy?

Chesca let the thoughts formulate in her head as steady traffic flowed by her on the expressway. She was parked securely off to the side, tucked into a carpool parking lot away from the chaos of the road, but the rumble of the cars couldn’t compete with the traffic in her mind.

What a history of corruption, Chesca thought.

For Giambi to try and kill his rival way back in 1968 meant their relationship went back even further. And he was still running from his blackmailer. Chesca had that gut feeling deep within her that whoever was capable of taunting someone for so many years would be capable of so much more.

She was beginning to get a sense of what she was up against.

But she was never one to tremble in the face of evil. Chesca had seen evil minds at work before, and this wouldn’t be the last she would encounter in her career.

“Thanks for the info, Beth. You’ve been a great help.”

As Bethany James wished her success in her investigation, Chesca returned to the road, eager to get her game on in uncovering the truth about Arachne and the Queen of Hearts. She’d put an end to the question: Are they one and the same?

It would only be a matter of hours until she arrived in Boston. There was so much to do, so many things to sort out. She took a moment to just breathe the air filtering through her window, letting the damp cool spring air refresh her senses.

It seemed any road trips Chesca embarked on were work-related, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to just take off from work, abandon all sense of responsibility, and travel the countryside with her hair in the wind, music blaring, and nowhere in particular to go.

She laughed, thinking it was impossible for her hair to blow in the wind, with the very short, and very—thankfully—low-muss, no-fuss closely cropped style she preferred. Not one to primp and spend hours of time in front of the mirror in the morning, she had long ago let go of the notion that there was a style to her dark brown hair. The look had grown on her to the point that she became annoyed when even an inch grew in before she had time to make a stop at the barber down the street from her apartment. A barber, for sure, when she discovered she could get the same cut there for a third of the price at one of the fancier salons in the downtown core.

And that whole notion of shooing off responsibility? A road trip might be something she would enjoy, but Chesca was never one to leave work that far behind her.

Perhaps it was the hard-core academic training she’d received prior to joining the Athena Academy. Or perhaps it was the discipline she’d honed while studying amongst the nation’s best. But Chesca prided herself on her ability to focus, set her goals, and go after them with the voraciousness on which her reputation had been built.

Really, she had only ever had one slight pitfall in her academic career, and that had nothing to do with learning or taking on a scholarly challenge. But it had everything to do with why the Academy had recruited her at that time.

That memory had already crossed her mind more than once since receiving this assignment from Oracle.

Returning to her hometown of Boston caused her stomach to turn with mild anxiety, and it wasn’t only her scandalous family that caused her to react as such.

There were other memories there that Chesca preferred to keep in the past. But the past had a funny way of catching up with the present, Chesca knew all too well.

Despite making every attempt to have a normal childhood amongst a family focused on greed, popularity and materialistic gain, Chesca didn’t have it quite so easy as her schoolmates might have thought.

Never would she deny that she’d had every opportunity afforded to her that money could buy, and for most of what her parents could provide for her, she was extremely grateful. She knew well enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she was fully aware she had it pretty darn good compared to some of her schoolmates.

Between being raised by emotionally vacant parents and not having any siblings to count on around home, Chesca had been unprepared for some of the social life she experienced outside of the formal dinners and fancy parties of the Thorne residence. It was difficult for her to connect with “normal” kids, whose families led happy lives and weren’t the subject of gossip for every other parent in the school district.

But that was nothing compared to what she’d endured in fifth grade. Nothing could have prepared her for that.

One of the few friends Chesca had made on the playground was kidnapped, raped and killed.

It stung the core of Francesca, not understanding how something like that could happen with school officials, guardians, and passersby being unaware.

Not only was it a blow to lose a friend to such a tragedy, there was no explaining how the criminal had hidden his identity so well from others.

The murderer was a schoolteacher.

One who had previously had respect and been highly regarded amongst the community. He let them down. He let Chesca down. She had enjoyed his manner of teaching, felt he had a great sense of humor and camaraderie with the students, and worst of all—she’d felt safe with him.

In fifth grade, to be such an age, and lose so much faith and trust in adults, in teachers… Chesca was traumatized.

How could someone like that be revealed as a pedophile who had killed more than once?

The counseling sessions began, then multiplied. No matter how many times a shrink tried to help Chesca heal those wounds, however, there was nothing anyone could do to take away the hate and disappointment she felt toward society.

Even now, so many years after the fact, Francesca Thorne could not make sense of what it was that drove some people to do such horrific things. As a child, it wounded her. But it also propelled her. To survive. To never let anyone get so close to her under such false pretenses.

To pay attention.

To observe and notice hints of personality traits that may subtly indicate something was at work other than what was at face value.

Though she hated admitting it, that unfortunate incident might well have been the foundation of how and why she grew a passion for digging deep into profiling people. It was part of her nature, perhaps, because she felt it had to be, from a very young age.

The old adage that from tragedy rises good, may have had some merit. Perhaps, had it not been for her personal experiences as a child, Chesca might not have taken such a keen interest in human behavior, psychology and social sciences.

Perhaps, had it not been for her own personal experience, she would not have taken her work to heart and excelled to the point that the teachers at Athena Academy noticed her gift almost immediately.

No matter what it was that had led her to the Academy, Chesca was grateful. And being reminded of her roots, the vast differences between her upbringing in a socially corrupt environment and in the nurturing environment of the Academy, was enough to fuel her senses and give her the push to settle the score made against that in which she believed.

She would find out the truth behind Arachne.

She would uncover the mystery of whether Giambi’s CIA blackmailer was the same woman who was doing everything in her power to destroy the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women.

She would ignore, as much as possible, the reminders of her home life while here in this city, and focus on her task at hand.

Was Arachne also known to some as the Queen of Hearts?

Chesca vowed to find out the truth.

For Oracle. For her fellow Athenians.

For herself.

This was not a social visit. This was about work.

And though her upbringing would argue otherwise, her stay in Boston was going to be anything but a tea party.




Chapter 4


After checking into the hotel, Francesca had quickly set up an appointment at Boston University before calling it a night. The drive had worn her out physically, but her mind was circling through the wee hours of the darkness as she contemplated the magnitude of this assignment. Then again, some of her best work was accomplished when in sleeping mode, letting her mind relax into a state of purity, where facts filtered and formed patterns, leaving her with a refreshed feeling of alertness upon waking.

During that next morning, Chesca made a list of things she wanted to accomplish, and she got right on the phone to start the wheels turning.

In a modest briefing with Delphi, they caught one another up on where Chesca was and what her initial plan of attack would be. Delphi agreed to dig up information on the possible connection between their blackmailer and the CIA.

Though she didn’t know exactly how Delphi found access to such highly sensitive government information, Chesca was assured she would have CIA files couriered to her when it was safe to do so. In the meantime, Chesca had an appointment set up to get the case rolling and she felt confident in her to-do list.

Once she had the hotel room feeling as close to home as possible for the next day or so, sorting out her work items from her wardrobe, Chesca set out again in the sporty Ford Edge to make the first stop in her investigation.

Despite being on familiar ground, Chesca couldn’t help but notice how much the city had evolved since she’d lived here as a child. She rarely found the time or made the effort to come back for a visit, except for the odd “required” social gathering she made appearances at as the sole offspring of the Thorne family.

Now, seeing the city as though she were a stranger visiting from a far-off land, Chesca felt bittersweet about her return. Focusing on the details of this assignment would be her saving grace and keep her from dwelling too much on the past.

Her first stop was the Computer Science Department of the Charles River Campus, where she would see if she could evoke some fond memories of someone who may have had the goods to be recruited by the CIA.

Allison had mentioned the apparent computer skills their suspect possessed, and thus Chesca had set up an appointment with the current department head.

While it was unlikely she would find anyone on campus that actually knew their suspect personally, given the time frame they were dealing with, it was worth a shot. And, wasn’t that what student records were for? If the computer science nerds couldn’t dig up history, no one else would have a clue.

Driving along Storrow Drive, Chesca took a moment to glance at the familiar territory and fight off her recurring historical demons.

This was not her personal alma mater but she’d always had a fondness for the institution. It was, in America, the first university to open all its curricula to women, and in some ways that reminded her of the mission of Athena Academy.

Though the views along the banks of the Charles River reminded her more of her playful youth.

In the summer after graduating from Athena Academy, Chesca had a few weeks to spend at home in Boston prior to attending an internship program in Quantico.

It was before she had actually set foot on her own college campus, and rather than witness the social niceties around the Thorne residence, Chesca found solace on a patio of one of the many coffeehouses on Commonwealth Avenue, and watched students go about their fevered summertime activities.

It was the perfect opportunity to spy on people her age, watch them flirt in hot-weather flings, shop for seasonal trends, and just be in the moment. It was also the closest Chesca got to living that life.

Though vicariously so, it was her way of participating in the excitement. In reality the patio table she sat at was often covered in texts and notebooks, even in the heat of summer. Of course it was her choice to bury her nose in books, but there was the odd time, like driving into the campus on this beautiful spring day, that occasionally made her nostalgic for a youth she hadn’t entertained.

While her youngest years were of the quieter, more studious sort, Chesca made some quality friends to share her teen years while attending Athena Academy. And despite what most of them would like others to believe, it wasn’t all academics and exams.

Those girls, though dignified in their behavior, knew how to have a good time amongst themselves. They enjoyed their wonderful and massive backyard, and when all else failed, they easily made up a myth or two about mysterious men shadowing the landscapes of the academic grounds.

Chesca laughed at her ability to so easily reminisce as of late. As she drove into the access for Cummington Street, she thought of how great it had been to speak with a handful of Athena graduates these past few days, despite the circumstances that had prompted such communications. To her, the women were more than friends. They were more than school buddies. They were her family.

Locating the parking lot just off Granby she had found with the help of an online mapping Web site, Chesca parked in the best place to get to the Math-Computer Science building.

When she got out of the candy-apple-red Ford Edge, she took a moment to smooth down its nearly metallic exterior, as though it were her own prized possession, but Chesca’s attention was soon diverted. To the southeast of campus, on the opposite side of the Massachusetts Turnpike, was the legendary Fenway Park. Though she had never been to a game, Chesca recognized its iconic status in proving that sometimes the underdog could indeed come out on top.

With spring training wrapped up and games starting, she could sense the smell of ballpark franks in the air as she waited for traffic to slow and a crosswalk to give the go-ahead for her to cross Commonwealth. Then, she walked along the pathway to the corner of Hinsdale and Cummington and took in the sights around her.

Being on campus almost made her wish she were back in school again, but that moment of nostalgia quickly disappeared as she remembered the all-night cramming sessions, bad cafeteria food and essay upon essay year after year.

Making the entrance into her location, Chesca quickly found the office and was pleasantly greeted with a smile.

“Miss Thorne?” the receptionist asked, upon Chesca’s entrance.

The large, ornate grandfather clock informed her she was right on time for her appointment, and she was grateful she hadn’t dilly-dallied too much down memory lane. Just one stop would have Chesca late for her meeting with the head of the Computer Science department.

She nodded in affirmation, then the neatly dressed woman said, “This way please,” and Chesca followed her through a bookcase-lined hallway to the corner office, which smelled of aged wood.

Though the department wasn’t nearly as old as the rest of the campus, its furnishings were consistent with aged academia, creating a sense of immediate respect within Chesca, as though she had just entered the quiet calm of a historic library.

The receptionist tapped on the door as she opened it and escorted Chesca through as she announced, “Mr. Brighton, your eleven o’clock, sir.”

“Have a seat, Miss…”

“Thorne. Francesca Thorne. Thank you for seeing me,” she said, holding out a firm hand.

She took a seat directly across from his finely crafted desk, polished to an immaculate shine. Though it was hard not to peer around at her surroundings, taking in all that his office showed of his personality, Chesca concentrated on the middle-aged man in front of her as he spoke.

“I’m not sure I can help you with your request, Miss Thorne. From what you said over the phone, you’re talking about a student who may have attended BU some time ago, if at all.”

His salt-and-pepper hair was close-cut, though evidently slicked with some sort of gloss, its highlights lighting up under the glow of his desk lamp, as he rocked back and forth in the aged leather chair.

“This person—woman—would have been memorable, Mr. Brighton. As I briefly mentioned, she would have possessed incredible computer skills, enough for her to be recruited by the CIA. I’m certain she would have exhibited other traits,” she said, hoping to imply more than her words said, “that such an organization would have found…useful.”

The department head nodded along, as though he understood every word Chesca said, but she could tell he was still having some trouble piecing it together.

The fact of the matter was, this college student would have had to possess a great deal more than computer savvy to be attractive to the CIA.

Granted, at that time computers weren’t as prevalent as they were today and someone knowing the inner workings of how to use and manipulate a variety of systems would have, indeed, presented a nice package to the government.

“I will add,” she continued, “that this woman is suspected of being quite a dealer in blackmail, and as such she may have developed that talent years ago.”

“Ah, well. I have only been the department head going on about twenty-five years, so thankfully I never experienced anything like that myself,” he said.

Taking his time with his words, Mr. Brighton clearly was thinking of something more than what he was saying. Francesca would simply have to wait for his thoughts to come to fruition and give her an indication of whether or not she had reached a dead end.

“I might like to mention,” he said after some time had passed between them. “It was quite odd for my predecessor to leave when he did. By policy, he had another decade left in him. Yet, something caused him to leave the academic world early, though I’m not certain if it is even relevant.”

Though she had not mentioned her professional affiliation, and didn’t feel it necessary to do so even now, Chesca made sure that when she twisted in her seated position, the inner pocket of her jacket flashed just the edge of her FBI badge. “Would you be able to point me in his direction?”

“I’ll have my secretary give you his address,” he said, as she suspected he would.

Mr. Brighton need not know whether or not this was official bureau business, and without her explaining it further, she suspected he wouldn’t voluntarily open up that discussion himself. Sometimes, Chesca knew, it was the unsaid that got things done, more so than the use of words.

“Thank you, Mr. Brighton. I understand your predecessor would have left well after this woman was gone from campus, if she were ever here at all, but it’s worth looking into.”

As he got up to shake her hand, once again offering his slightly callused but warm palm, he nodded.

“I suppose he’ll tell you himself, if he sees reason to, so there’s no harm in me mentioning this.” His tone captivated Chesca and she made sure to drown out the sound of a nearby photocopier rallying to distract her senses with its repetitive output of paper. “Those last years he put in were indeed a struggle for him. Believe me, I worked day and night beside him, being mentored along the way. Something within him had changed. Whatever it was, it was eating at him long before he decided to call it quits.”

Through his forced smile, Chesca could see pain, maybe even regret. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Brighton. As you’ve said, he’ll likely bring that up himself if it’s relevant.”

Not yet letting go of her hand, the slightly robust man, equal in her height, made sure to meet Chesca’s eyes.

“Do understand, Miss Thorne, I respect that man. He never so much as hinted at any personal problems he may have experienced, and I never asked. I would prefer if you do not mention this little conversation we have had.”

“Certainly, sir. Not to worry.”

Following his lead out of the office and down the hallway back to the reception area, Chesca caught the scent of something earthy percolating. The receptionist was preparing a tea set complete with cookies and fruit.

“Give Miss Thorne the contact information for Mr. Schneider,” Brighton instructed of his attentive receptionist, then added, “I’ll take my tea now.”

Knowing that was her cue to receive the information quickly and make her way out of the office, Chesca respectfully thanked each of them for their time and made a polite exit so that Brighton could get on with his evidently important and likely ritualistic tea service.

As she crossed Commonwealth Avenue to head back to the parking lot off Granby, Chesca momentarily checked her watch. She had been less than an hour with Brighton. Not bad. With the majority of the day left to her disposal she would be able to get a number of leads taken care of, and hopefully make some diligent progress on her assignment.

Or so she thought.

Chesca slowed her steps when she approached the rental car.

She could hardly believe it, given the short amount of time she had spent in the campus building.

From her stance directly in front of the car, it was clear someone had keyed the body on each side. Lines tracing the length of the automobile were etched deeply into the no longer fresh red paint.

When she noticed the tires were also gashed and flattened, she scooted down to the pavement and checked the undercarriage for anything to suggest further foul play.

Satisfied, but with more damage than she would have liked to have seen, Chesca let out a heavy sigh. Her day would evidently not be as cut-and-dried as she had hoped.

Now, added to her tasks, she would have to replace the rental car—and apologize profusely to the company, though fortunately she had insured the car against such predicaments—and due to the nature of the damage, it seemed Chesca would also be making a friendly stop at the local police precinct.

Once the quick and necessary phone calls were made to each, Chesca took a moment to sit on a concrete parking slab and rest her head in her hands, digging her elbows into her lap.

As she sat there, letting her temper at this inconvenience subside, she allowed a few moments to pass before she was able to admit the inevitable.

This was no coincidence.

It was not random.

Someone was trying to send a message.

As she carefully scanned the area, taking note of the passersby and being on the lookout for anything suspicious, Chesca hated the sinking feeling in her gut.

Despite only getting started, she knew without a doubt she couldn’t hide this bit of information from Delphi. She would have to disclose what had happened, seeing how she had been warned more than once of the sensitivity of this case and the potential for risk.

Bethany had done her part in advising Chesca to watch her back, and now Chesca knew it was something she needed to seriously keep in mind. Those who had secrets to keep would do just about anything to keep them.

While Chesca was handy with a pistol and trained in martial arts, she wasn’t cocky enough to assume she could handle anything and everything without at least clueing in her counterparts. It was her responsibility to Oracle to keep the agency abreast of how the case was going, whether there was reason to be alarmed or not.

Knowing her commitment to the case, Chesca sent a quick text message to Delphi informing her of the incident. She hoped to goodness it didn’t come off as too quick for a mishap to happen, that something like this wouldn’t have happened to someone else. But Chesca shook her head, reminding herself no matter who was on this case, if someone wanted to shut it down, they wouldn’t be picky about their target.

It was rare for Chesca to get a call back on her cell phone, but within minutes Delphi was on the line. “You may want to consider finding another place to stay,” the enigmatic voice said, no doubt using a disposable and untraceable mobile. “Double-check the hotel, but not until you have backup.”

“Backup?” Chesca echoed, thinking she hadn’t meant to come off as so needy.

With the nature of her job being mostly mental, Chesca had become accustomed to working on her own for the majority of a case, especially during the legwork. Only when she was out on the prowl for a suspect would she have someone tag along with her.

Then, as she thought about it, reflecting on all that she had learned about Giambi, Arachne and the Queen of Hearts personae, Chesca knew she had to swallow her pride. She was, in fact, working on a case that had already seen enough violence and danger in recent months, and she knew when to give in and just follow orders.

“No arguing. In the meantime,” Delphi said, “keep me posted as to any other updates, so I can make sure to send the courier to the right place at a good time, okay?”

“Not a problem. May I ask, though, who this backup will be?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it just yet,” Delphi said. “What are your plans now? What’s your destination?”

Chesca thought about it.

By the time the car company sent a representative to take care of this and exchange her car, and the police showed up to take a report, Chesca would be losing some much needed time. But she knew there was one thing she could handle without a babysitter.

“I’ll be speaking with Schneider. Brighton gave me a lead on his predecessor in computer sciences,” Chesca said, giving Delphi his address. “Then I’ll be making a stop to chat with the local cops, if that makes sense to you.”

Delphi agreed. “That should finish off your day. You’ll have your partner by tomorrow. You have any idea where you’ll be staying tonight?”

Chesca gritted her teeth.

She didn’t want to argue with Delphi. As per her request, she wouldn’t be returning to the hotel room until she could clear it with the assistance of whoever Oracle would be sending her way. And there was little point in checking into another hotel if the risk would be just about the same in Delphi’s eyes.

She hated the idea of it.

It made her skin itch.

But what choice did she have?

“Yeah,” Chesca said, grudgingly, before sharing the all-too-familiar address. Though she wasn’t looking forward to the unplanned visit, Chesca knew one place with more security than Fort Knox to its credit. It would be the safest location for the short term. “I’ll be staying with my parents.”




Chapter 5


She should have known there was no way to avoid the inevitable.

Despite ignoring a serious handful of recent messages from her mother, Chesca kept trying to convince herself she didn’t return the calls simply due to her busy nature at work, being assigned to the case in Baton Rouge, this, that…and just about every excuse in the book.

They were all excuses. She was just trying to avoid the same old conversation.

Though now that she was in her hometown, and clearly in need of a safe place to stay, there was no use in pretending she could get around a family visit. Sad that a forced opportunity had to be created to bring her back in touch with the Thorne mansion.

If Chesca had it her way, there would have been an abundance of reasons she would want to revisit her youthful home. But, sometimes life didn’t work out how we wanted.

“I have been leaving you message after message, young lady. The least you could have done was let me know you were all right and not lying dead somewhere in the street.” The stern voice of Abigail Thorne was coated in the same superficial sweetness Chesca had come to know as a child.

Even when being scorned by her mother’s words, the actual tone came off as welcoming praise. The words “I am very disappointed in you” could have easily been exchanged with “this pâté de foie gras is positively sinful” on more than one occasion. It was an effect of her mother’s Chesca had come to loathe, but expect.

No matter if she was being disciplined or praised, neither parent in the Thorne family fluctuated their tone with emotion. It wasn’t their way, her mother would say, as though that was something to be proud of.

While Chesca said, “I was on a case, Mother. I’m calling you now, aren’t I?” She double-checked the address Brighton had given her. She had found the location easily enough, with her memory never fully removed from the familiarity of her hometown landscape.

The rental car had been substituted within thirty minutes, which pleased Chesca. She didn’t quite know what to expect, or how the company would take it considering the condition of the car she was trading back to them. Luckily, they were accommodating, swift with courteous service, and shrugged off the incident as all in a day’s work.

The street cops who checked out the damaged rental were just as quick. A simple report was all that was needed, and anything further Chesca wanted to inquire about would be best handled at the precinct, so overall she lost very little time in her day after such an inconvenience.

She had to keep reminding herself that hers was not the first car that had been tampered with in the history of Athena women digging into the mystery of Arachne. And it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“Never mind that, Francesca. I’m terribly disappointed,” her mother carried on. “You missed the brunch I hosted for the foundation stewards. Though I wonder if it is too much to ask that you do not miss the annual gala?”

Chesca let out a groan, wanting to kick herself for not remembering. Along with extra sunshine, April brought the annual Thorne Family Foundation fund-raising gala. She should have known she’d be the recipient of a not-so-gentle reminder of the upcoming event.

It was a pet project of Abigail’s, touted to support whichever newsworthy charity struck her short-lived interest.

Each year there was somehow a more tragic or endearing cause the foundation rallied for, though the lack of sincerity behind the project always left Chesca feeling disenchanted. She knew it was just an excuse for her mother to host pretentious social gatherings and wave around her clout amongst fellow blue bloods.

She also knew she had an unspoken responsibility to attend at least two events per year, representing the next generation of Thornes. Unspoken, but never forgotten in the eyes of her parents.

Francesca had been a disappointment to socialites Abigail and Dorian. Her parents were of discerning blood, she was often told, who had risen to a certain status amongst their well-to-do crowd. It simply wasn’t anything Chesca wanted to be a part of. And the notion that she wouldn’t be carrying on some of the most well-established family traditions was interpreted as a slap in the face, especially to her father.

It was no secret her parents had hoped for a male child, someone to be a proper heir to the family legacies and leave a healthy dose of offspring as namesakes. Unwilling to be matched up using the sole criteria of money, Chesca simply didn’t know how to play by the family rules.

Once her parents accepted this fact, however, they made it quite simple for everyone to get along. Francesca was to put on her party face at least twice annually, to pay respects to the community as part of the Thorne family, and in return she would have her pick of extracurricular activities and academics to choose from.





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