Page 6 of Flash Freeze

Late that night

Athena dragged herself into her spartan apartment, lugging a wheeled suitcase behind her, and flicked on the light. She had spent a week in Laredo helping coordinate a multi-agency investigation and was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed. Exhausted from the trip and the long hours it took to bust the smuggling ring, the silence hit her.

No bouncing bundle of joy racing to meet her on dancing paws with excited yips. No melting into Flash’s firm embrace. She missed the hint of sweat that always stirred something inside her, the infectious grin and twinkling whiskey eyes that assured Athena she was loved. This condo might be her official residence, but it wasn’t a home. It never had been.

She slipped off her heels, smoothed her skirt, and sank onto a pristine couch, brushing the fabric with manicured fingers. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered making out with Flash on this couch. Pulling the phone from her purse, she texted her.

I’m home.

When no response came at once, she figured Flash was out on a call or fast asleep. It was after midnight, after all. Athena sighed and studied the four walls of her living room, with its barely used dinette set and kitchen that lacked any personality. Flash’s loft overflowed with character and was always littered with dog toys. In contrast, her condo wasn’t just clean—it was sterile. Maybe it was the pool, the big-screen TV, or, more likely, the gigantic walk-in shower that drew them to the suburbs whenever they had a free day together to spend at the house Flash always called a mansion. She’s so precious.

These days, a million-dollar house on the outskirts of Houston, including the pool and her security system, was a pretty normal price tag. The retreat Athena had purchased with part of her inheritance was a very lovely house, but it wasn’t a mansion—not like the one she’d grown up in.

Moving in together simply wasn’t practical, she reasoned, her spirits sinking further. This place was close to the FBI building. Flash’s loft across town was near her fire station. The retreat in Piney Point Village was too far from either workplace to come home to every night. Flash likes her independence. Our current arrangement is working just fine, she told herself, then frowned at her dark cell screen. It had been almost two weeks since they’d seen each other in person, since Athena had felt the warmth of Flash’s touch, tasted her kiss, or breathed her in. She’d have to wait at least another day.

Athena pulled a bottle of water from her nearly empty fridge and headed to bed. Before turning out the nightstand lamp, she checked her messages one more time. Then, keeping up a tradition they’d begun seven months ago, she typed in something new about herself. After so long, it was getting hard to think of things she hadn’t already told Flash.

Some of my high school friends thought I was a prude. A friend and I double-dated with our boyfriends to senior prom, and I refused to go back to the hotel with them afterward. I told them a good Christian girl doesn’t do that. But honestly, I had no interest in sex then, certainly not with Remy Watkins. See how you’ve loosened me up? G’nite. Love you.

In the dark, the last thing she heard was the wail of a siren speeding past.

Saturday, February 7

Athena clicked off her alarm, feeling as if she’d just closed her eyes. She reached for her phone and smiled.

Hurray! You’re finally back. We had a busy shift, but I’m headed home soon. Come see me when you can. ❤️❤️

You, a prude? Never! The stories I could tell—but won’t. Something you don’t know about me. I’m not wild about Japanese food, especially sushi. I know you like it, so I didn’t want to say anything. Too busy trying to woo you. But knowing you were a virgin when you graduated high school, it’s only fair that I come clean. Don’t buy me sushi. Love you more!

A warm feeling welled in Athena’s chest, and she pressed the phone to it, closing her eyes for a moment’s daydream. Then she texted back.

Have to go to work. Definitely tonight. Make sure you’re rested. She smirked and pushed send. The day was looking up.

Athena selected a winter fog-gray skirt suit paired with a stark black blouse and heels. She frowned when she opened her refrigerator. A quick stop at a drive-through was called for. She’d pick up coffee and a bagel on the way to the office, give Director Smith a briefing on the Laredo operation, catch up on a little paperwork, and then meet Flash for some much-needed R & R.

February. Athena’s pulse raced. Valentine’s Day. What do I do? It would be her and Flash’s first. She’d been out of the game so long she didn’t know what was appropriate. Surely it was too soon for a grand gesture, but she had to get her something. Flash hardly ever wore jewelry. Flowers? Chocolates? A five-star restaurant? Maybe Flash would want to take her out, though. She liked to do that kind of thing.

I’ll ask Cam, she decided as she headed out the door, thinking of her long-time butch friend. She’ll know.

Athena was poised to knock on Director Smith’s door when he opened it, his eyes shooting wide. “Special Agent Bouvier,” he said. “I was just coming to see you.”

Twenty years her senior, the ex-military man with a smoky quartz complexion stood a little taller than Athena and carried more weight. He had earned his place as director of one of the largest FBI field offices in the country, and Athena respected him for all his years in the field.

“Sir, I was stopping by to brief you on—”

“That can wait.” Mr. Smith’s voice was deep and commanding, not unlike James Earl Jones’. It was a voice people listened to.

“Do we have a fresh case?” The prospect energized her.

“Yes, and because of your experience with the Houston Fire Department and arson investigators, I’m assigning it to you and your team. Come,” he said, closing his office door behind him. “HPD Detective Bach and Fire Marshal Zapata are meeting us in the conference room.”

Athena fell into stride beside him. “Sir, if I may ask, what places an HPD and HFD matter under our jurisdiction?”

He shot her a serious glance. “The death of a federal inspector and a possible act of domestic terrorism.”

The last part put Athena on high alert. Her first thought was of Flash. Had she been at that fire?

Mr. Smith opened the conference room door and motioned for Athena to go ahead of him. He was always a gentleman like that. They took seats across from Fire Marshal Zapata, with whom Athena was acquainted, and a younger White man she’d never met. Bach, she presumed, smelled of cigarette smoke and coffee, and looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. He might have been about Flash’s age, thin and carrying the look of someone perpetually overworked. But something in his eyes lit when they landed on her.