Chapter 7

A plump, matronly woman sat behind a large oak partners desk that dominated the room. She rose and walked around the desk and extended her hand. “Ms. O’Flynn, I’m Jennifer Smythe.” A warm smile wreathed her face. “Nice to finally meet you.”

She was at least six inches shorter than Athena, and every time she shifted, her chin-length, glossy chestnut curls bounced around her chubby cheeks. She resembled a suburban soccer mom more than a hard-edged, cutthroat city lawyer, but her clear brown eyes behind thick glasses shone with an alertness hinting at a keen intelligence.

Athena shook the woman’s hand. “Hello, Ms. Smythe.”

“Please call me Jennifer.”

The office was tastefully decorated, with a stunning panoramic view visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up most of one wall. The distant mountains gleamed with a fresh mantle of snow. Ships chugged across the glistening waters of English Bay, streams of dark smoke trailing from their tall stacks.

Athena’s workspace at Schuster & Corbin had a single, narrow window providing a view of the foothills and distant mountains if she stood on her chair and peered between two neighboring buildings. “Nice view. I don’t know how you get any work done. I’d spend all day looking out the window.” Her face heated. She was babbling, a trait that showed up when she was nervous. “From your firm’s name, I assume this is a family business. Do your sons work with you?”

Jennifer’s smile was warm. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Laughter bubbled in her voice. “Smythe & Sons is a small concession to the vagaries of modern business. Clients feel more confident when they think men are running the show.” She chuckled. “There actually are sons involved…I have two boys of my own, but they’re thirteen and ten. They’re smart, but they haven’t passed the Bar yet.”

In spite of her wariness, Athena found herself liking the woman. Her warm, easygoing charm was hard to resist.

“Please sit down.” Jennifer gestured toward a comfortable-looking leather chair situated in front of the lawyer’s desk. Returning to her own chair behind the massive desk, she rested her clasped hands on the gleaming desktop. “Thank you for coming.” She pierced Athena with a sharp look. “My secretary told me you were reluctant to meet with me. Would you mind telling me why that is?”

Athena smoothed her damp palms on her skirt, but she remained silent. Until she knew for certain what was going on, she was hesitant to reveal too much.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to answer that.” Jennifer nodded. “I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll go from there. You legally changed your name, and you moved around a lot.” Her eyes narrowed. “The private investigator I hired is one of the best. He had a hard time tracking you down.”

Athena squeezed her hands until her fingers ached, hiding their shaking. The craving for a shot of vodka roared through her like a ravenous bear demanding to be fed. Leave. Now. Get up and walk out. Run to the nearest bar and order a double, maybe even two.

She blocked out the insistent voice in her brain. If she walked out, she’d always wonder what the lawyer wanted. Digging deep for strength, fighting to think through her insatiable thirst for alcohol, she schooled her face into a neutral expression and made a point of studying her watch. “Why am I here? I’m on a tight timeline. I have to be back in Calgary tonight.”

“Of course.” Jennifer nodded, and her curls danced. “I understand your reticence, but both I and my client are grateful you came here today.” Her easygoing friendliness vanished, replaced by an all-business demeanor. She tugged open her desk drawer, slid out a thick file folder, and set the file on her desk. “Before we begin, I’ll require proof of your identity…a driver’s license, birth certificate, passport…anything like that.”

Swallowing over the rising lump in her throat, Athena groped in her purse and tugged out her wallet. Slipping her driver’s license from the leather slot, she handed the identification card to the other woman.

The lawyer studied the license. “Your legal name is now Athena Reynolds?”

Athena nodded.

“But your birth name was Margaret Anne O’Flynn?”

Again, Athena nodded, like a bobble-head doll. Admitting the truth went against everything she’d believed all these years, but what was the point of hiding her identity? The lawyer knew who she was.

“What year were you born?”

The questions, requesting minor and unthreatening details, flowed one after the other, and Athena relaxed. Maybe the meeting wouldn’t be so awful, but she still hadn’t learned why the lawyer had sent her the letter.

“How long did you live on Shelter Island?”

Athena jerked alert. “How…?” She coughed and tried again. “How did you—” Of course. The lawyer had searched the news databases and found the old stories. She knew everything.

Jennifer Smythe met her startled look with a knowing one of her own. “That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come here today.”

The walls of the large office closed in around Athena. She struggled to swallow, her throat rough as if filled with sand. Man, she needed a drink. Real bad. Really, really bad. “This…this was a mistake.” She shot to her feet.

Jennifer stood. “Margaret…Athena, wait, please. Give me a chance to explain.”

Athena blocked out the woman’s pleas. There had to be a bar close by, somewhere dark and quiet where no one knew who she was, and she could lose herself in the bottom of a bottle. She lunged across the room, flung open the door, and walked into a wall of solid male flesh.

“Athena, or should I call you Margaret?” Russ’s voice rumbled in the smooth, velvety tones he’d used earlier, but underlying anger sharpened the words, so they cut like a knife. “Where are you going?” Gone was his bone-melting engaging grin, replaced by a cold sneer. “Are you taking your loot and running, Maggie?”

She was speechless at his unfounded animosity. Her gaze locked with his, and she shivered at the iciness in their hazel depths.

“Mr. Crawford. I wasn’t aware you’d arrived,” sputtered an obviously flustered Jennifer Smythe. “I was just confirming a few details with Ms. Reynolds.”

“Crawford? Your last name’s Crawford?” Athena reeled. The lawyer’s next words receded in a drone of meaningless sounds. Her breath rasped through a throat that threatened to close. The blood drained from her head, and the room spun in circles. Her legs wobbled, and she sagged.

Russ cursed and gripped her by the arms, holding her steady as he guided her across the room to a chair.

Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the padded chair, her mind whirling. The lawyer had called Russ Mr. Crawford. Was he connected to Angus Crawford? Of course, he was. One thing she’d learned over the years—there was no such thing as a coincidence. She gripped the sides of the chair and held on, fighting to breathe, two thoughts paramount—this meeting was a big mistake. She should have ignored that damn letter.

Her second thought—Oh man, she needed a drink.