3. Vendetta

by Fern Michaels

  His scream thundered in his ears.

  Epilogue

  The women arrived one by one, each with a bouquet of spring flowers for Myra. As was their custom, they high-fived each other and then hugged Myra and Charles. It was the end of the April showers that would bring all the beautiful May flowers to the countryside. The women’s light-hearted attitudes and spring attire matched the colorful flowers they held in their hands. Lunch today was being served on the terrace, with Myra and Charles presiding.

  Grady and Murphy, fast friends these days, romped and played on the newly mown lawn. Their owners looked on, indulgent expressions on their faces.

  “The good news, girls, is that Julia’s condition is a tad better after that setback she had in February. She can tell us herself how well she’s doing. Her doctor’s last call was more than positive. So, let’s make a toast to Julia and her well-being. And, somehow, Charles managed to get us a batch of soft-shelled crabs, the first of the season. I want a toast now. With gusto, girls!” Myra said. The women obliged, laughing and teasing as they drained their glasses.

  “Where are the guard dogs, Myra?” Isabelle asked.

  “In the barn. They only come out if they sense a threat. Charles and I felt it best to keep them on duty even though we weren’t…ah…active.”

  “Wise move,” Isabelle said.

  Alexis looked at Nikki. “Any news on Jack Emery?”

  Nikki’s hands clenched into fists. “No. I haven’t heard from him. However, he did send me a Christmas card.” She waved her hand over her head. “I’m sure he’s out there somewhere and knows we’re all here. And I’m sure that, in his eyes, we’re up to something. Can we get past Jack and his obsession? If we stay alert and on our toes, he will not pose a problem. If you’re worried I’m going to waffle, get over it, I’m not. I hope we don’t have to have this conversation again.”

  The women eyed one another. Their expressions showed they understood that Nikki was pissed to the teeth. Charles opened the door and walked out on to the terrace carrying a large platter.

  “Ta da! Ladies, you are about to partake of the first soft-shell crabs of the season. Enjoy! By the way, Myra made the salad with our new lettuce from the greenhouse. Everything in the salad is organic. Eat heartily, ladies, because we have serious business to discuss later.”

  When the salad bowl was empty, the last crumb gone from the platter, Charles fired up his pipe and leaned back in his chair to gracefully accept the comments that made him smile. They made small talk, catching up with each other’s activities since New Year’s.

  “The best part is, Julia’s plant now has a trailer stem. With nine new leaves! It’s thriving, just the way Julia is thriving.” The women clapped their hands in approval.

  Julia beamed. “I’ve never been happier and I can’t ever remember when I felt this good.” She looked around the table at the others. “I’m also mindful that I’m an experiment and it can go sour on me. I don’t dwell on it but it’s always there in the back of my mind. When I come back in June, after the last series of treatments, I want to be able to do my share, so I’m asking all of you if you can wait until I get back for the next mission. I don’t mean we shouldn’t pick a name at this time; we should. I’d just like to be able to be part of the team again.”

  The women nodded their agreement.

  Charles tapped his pipe on the railing. “It’s time, ladies.” Chairs were pushed backwards as the women got up, their faces alight with excitement, to follow Charles and Myra indoors. Murphy herded Grady forward, growling lightly when the golden dog dawdled a little too long for his liking.

  Inside the war room, the women took their seats. Their light-hearted mood changed instantly as they stared upward at the scales of justice on the monitor. This time the heavy table was bare except for the shoebox sitting in the middle.

  “Alexis, pick a name,” Myra ordered.

  Alexis sucked in her breath as she reached inside the box to draw the small square of paper. Without looking at it, she handed the slip to Myra.

  Myra unfolded the square and looked around the table before she read off the name. “Nikki!”

  Nikki squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the dizzy light-headedness that threatened to engulf her. Somehow she managed to smile and look excited, but her mind was on Jack Emery.

  Charles stepped down from his perch above them. “Now that we know who our next candidate is, I have something to share with all of you. I have here in my hands articles from the Asia Times, the Hong Kong Commercial Daily, the Ming Pao Daily News, the Oriental Daily News, and the International Herald Tribune — the English version. I’ll pass the articles around to you but they all pretty much say the same thing, with the exception of the Tribune.

  “It seems Mr. Chai, our former house guest, was picked up by the Hong Kong police. He spun a tale so bizarre sounding, the authorities called in the equivalent of our FBI. Mr. Chai spoke of a group of American women who kidnapped and tortured him. The only person who appears to believe Mr. Chai is his father, who promised deadly retribution in swift order. Mr. Chai named names and offered up descriptions, but the paper didn’t publish them. The Tribune carried it a step further and interviewed Chai’s two friends, Wing Wu and Quon Zheyuan, as well as the La Ling sisters. They scoffed at the story of Chai being abducted. The La Ling sisters said they left the private party with the American women and the three men were passed out cold from too much liquor. The Tribune went on to say something did happen to John Chai, as he had been caned and skinned and was left scarred from head to toe. It should be noted that Wu and Zheyuan have not been seen or heard of since they gave their initial interview. The La Ling sisters have not offered up any further interviews either, and remain behind a walled garden with their parents.”

  “Do the articles mention where Mr. Chai is now and what he’s doing?” Myra asked.

  “Just that he’s in seclusion,” Charles said cheerily. “The Tribune investigated a little further and found out that Mr. Chai had no exit or entry stamps on his passport, which should lead readers to believe that he concocted the story and was caned by a jealous husband in his own country. The Tribune speculated that Chai concocted his story because of a guilty conscience in regard to the tragic accident he had while living in the United States. The Tribune did not mention names. Do any of you have any questions?” When no one posed a question, Charles continued, “In that case, ladies, I think we can close our files on Mr. John Chai.”

  Myra raised her head slightly and then titled it to the side as though she were resting her cheek on something. A gentle smile spread across her face.

  “The case of John Chai has been completed. We will never speak of it again. I suggest we adjourn to the terrace so we can make a toast to another successful mission,” Charles said.

  The seven women nodded their heads solemnly as they filed out of the room.

  John Chai, Barbara Rutledge’s killer, now belonged to the past.

  Don’t miss the other novels in Fern Michaels’

  exciting Sisterhood Series!

  For a look back at Julia’s story,

  turn the page for an excerpt from

  PAYBACK (Zebra, September 2005)

  Prologue

  Myra Rutledge, heiress to a Fortune 500 candy company, looked around her state-of-the-art kitchen, at the pots bubbling on the stove, at the table set for two. Even though it was late afternoon, the sun danced through the stained glass ornaments hanging on the kitchen window creating rainbows on the white walls all around her. The girls — that’s how she thought of Barbara and Nikki — had made the colorful ornaments for her as gifts one year at summer camp.

  She’d adopted Nikki at a young age, but she and Barbara couldn’t have been more alike than if they’d come out of her womb at the same time. Barbara was gone now, killed by a hit and run driver in the District by a man with diplomatic immunity.

  Myra tried her best not to let maudlin thoughts overcome her, but sometimes, like now, at
the end of the day, she thought about her two girls and the dangerous path she’d embarked on. She needed to fortify herself against such thoughts because she knew they weren’t going to go away on their own. A snifter of brandy helped a little. She poured generously, eyes watering at the first massive gulp. She always gulped brandy even though she knew it should be sipped. She took another mighty gulp as she looked at the clock. The girls of the Sisterhood would be arriving before nightfall, to prepare for their second mission. The thought warmed her more than the brandy did. They were like daughters now, and she loved them all.

  She was worried a little about Alexis, though. She’d mentioned her worry to her live-in companion, Charles, the way she mentioned everything that bothered her, and he’d agreed that perhaps Alexis wasn’t quite ready for her mission. If not, they’d open the shoe box, fall back and regroup. It wouldn’t be a problem. With Charles at the helm, it would all go smoothly.

  There was another problem, though, outside of the Sisterhood. Assistant District Attorney Jack Emery, Nikki’s fiancé. Ex-fiancé to be more precise.

  Myra set the glass down on the table and massaged her temples.

  “You’re at it again, eh, Mom?”

  Myra’s head jerked upright as she looked around. One of the stained glass ornaments, a red tulip hanging in the window, was jiggling on its little hook. “Barbara? My dear, sweet girl, I was sitting here thinking about you and Nikki when you were little. I miss you so.”

  “I know, Mom, but I’m always close by. I’m looking at you right now. Don’t worry so much. Things will work out. Trust Nikki.”

  “But Jack…Jack could ruin everything.”

  “Nikki won’t allow it, Mom. I think what you’re doing is super. That first mission of Kathryn’s was really kick ass. Thanks, Mom. I know you’re doing it for me, and I can’t wait till it’s your turn. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Myra looked down into her brandy glass. Was she really talking to her dead daughter? Was her dead daughter actually communicating with her? Or was it the brandy? She finished it off, not wanting to let go of her daughter’s voice.

  “Easy on the sauce, Mom. I’d hate to take away a vision of my mom dancing on the table. I know how rowdy you can get. I’m teasing, Mom.”

  “I know, dear. I’m feeling a little light-headed right now just talking to you. I wish…Oh, Barbara, I wish so many things.”

  “Don’t, Mom. You can’t un-ring the bell. I just want you to know how proud I am of what you and the girls are doing. Sometimes…sometimes you simply have to take charge and make things come out right. Kathryn is a new person these days. You’re right about Alexis, too. She isn’t ready, but Mom, let her be the one to tell you she isn’t ready. Don’t make the decision for her. And, Mom, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I will, dear, I will. I just thank God I have the money to fund this venture. And to think I don’t even like candy.”

  “I hear Charles coming. I’m going upstairs to spend some time with Willie. I love you, Mom.”

  Myra smiled at the mention of Barbara’s tattered teddy bear. “When Nikki moved back here to the farm she started to sleep with Willie so he wouldn’t miss you so much.”

  “I know, Mom. Trust Nikki. And, don’t worry about Jack. Nik has it under control. Love you, Mom.”

  Myra was up and off the chair in the blink of an eye. She ran over to the kitchen window to touch the stained glass ornament that was now still. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  She felt Charles’s hand on her shoulder. She turned around to bury her head in his broad chest. “She was here, Charles. We talked.”

  Charles Martin, ex-MI6 operative who had devoted most of his life to Her Majesty, eyed the brandy bottle and the empty glass. “I’m glad, Myra. I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you check the bedrooms to be sure everything is ready for the girls. Did you buy something special for Kathryn’s dog, Murphy?”

  “Yes, Charles, I did, a chew toy and a box of jumbo biscuits. He’s a wonderful animal, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, Myra, he is.”

  “I love you, Charles. I wish…I wish…never mind. Barbara said…it’s all right, Charles. I’m not dotty. Isn’t that a term you Brits use?”

  “I’m an American now, dear. I say nutsy cuckoo like the rest of you. You are my dear, sweet Myra and I love you with all my heart. Scoot!”

  Myra smiled. She adored flirting with the love of her life. “I’m going. I might have overcooked that mess on the stove, Charles.”

  “I’m throwing it all out, Myra, and starting over. It’s all right, dear. You have other wonderful talents.” He twirled the dish towel and then playfully swatted her backside.

  Myra laughed all the way down the hall and was still laughing as she climbed the steps to the second floor.

  One

  Alexis Thorn frowned as she looked around her small apartment. There was nothing about the tiny place to suggest permanency of any kind. There were no knickknacks, no green plants, no family pictures. It was a place to sleep, a place to come home to at the end of the day, nothing more. How could it be anything else when her name wasn’t even Alexis Thorn? Alexis Thorn was an alias. She’d taken a new name with the help of her lawyer, Nicole Quinn, when she got out of prison for a crime she didn’t commit. She didn’t want to think about why she was living in this run-down apartment but she had to think about it, like it or not.

  Without Nicole Quinn she didn’t know where she’d be. Nikki had gotten her a job as a personal shopper to some of Virginia’s older, wealthy residents. It was a far cry from being a high-powered securities broker in her other life, that was for sure. Nikki had helped her with a new identity, too. Who in their right mind would hire a jailbird? No one, that’s who. These days she was Alexis Thorn and she liked it but someday when the time was right, she’d go back to being her real self.

  Today, in just minutes, she had to climb into her little Mini Cooper and head out to McLean, Virginia. There, at Nicole’s adopted mother’s palatial estate, she would join the other members of the Sisterhood. She’d joined a year ago, again, with Nicole Quinn’s help. The Sisterhood wasn’t just any organization. Myra Rutledge had formed the organization after her daughter was run down and killed by a diplomat’s son. With the aid of Nikki’s legal expertise, Myra formed the Sisterhood to help women get the justice and the revenge they deserved, even if it meant going outside the law to get it.

  The Sisterhood consisted of six women, seven if you counted Myra, all recruited by Nikki. They’d gone on one mission so far and it had been successful. At the end of that successful mission, they’d drawn names to see whose case would be next. Alexis’s name — not her real name of course — had been drawn from the cardboard shoe box.

  But she wasn’t ready yet to seek the justice she deserved. She needed more time to wallow in her misery, and to build up her strength and resilience. She didn’t know why that was, it just was. She would have to tell the sisters they needed to choose someone else for the second mission. She knew in her gut she was still too fragile, too broken with her thirteen-month stint in the federal pen. She tugged at her lavender dress, straightening it over her slim hips. The dress was one she’d chosen from her pitiful wardrobe and was a knock-off to boot. It went well with her brown skin and dark hair. She’d chosen the dress because she thought she looked best in pastels. The days were long gone when she didn’t think twice about buying high-end designer clothes. Everything from her past was gone. Every damn thing she cared about. Even her dog.

  Alexis started to shake when she tried to imagine what the other sisters would say when she told them she wasn’t ready for her mission. Kathryn, the most verbal, and the toughest of them all, in her opinion, would narrow her eyes and tell her to grow up and get with the program. Isabelle, who saw things other people didn’t see, meaning, of course, that she was psychic, would shrug and close her eyes, maybe in the hope of conjuring up the reason for Alexis’s pass on the mission.
Julia, a retired plastic surgeon, who had contracted AIDS from her philandering husband, the senator, would stare at her as if she were a speck under a microscope. She’d say, “You need to make those bastards pay for what they did to you and get on with your life because you have a life to get on with.” Yoko would nod and say she understood whether she did or not. Nikki would use logic to try to convince her to take the bull by the horns, and Myra, sweet, gentle woman that she was, would smile wanly and say, “Honey, if you aren’t ready then you aren’t ready and we’ll choose one of the other sisters.” At which point she’d feel like a fool and probably start to cry. The others would look at her with disgust and she’d cry harder. They might even become so disgusted with her they’d try to drum her out of the Sisterhood.

  She’d done so well with Kathryn’s mission. It couldn’t have succeeded without her expertise. She could take nothing and transform it into something wonderful and exciting. She was a master with a makeup brush and she knew it. Costume design was something she loved doing. Nikki said she was a master at that, too. She’d been so proud when Nikki had said that. All the sisters had complimented her. Life after prison. She owed this new life to Nikki and the sisters. And she was happy. So, what the hell was her problem?

  Alexis eyed her suitcase by the front door, and then let her gaze go to what the sisters called her Red Bag of tricks, complete with everything she needed to alter a person’s being. Makeup, spirit gum, latex, costumes, wigs, glasses. She had the talent to take an ordinary person and transform him or her into a movie star. Where she’d come by this particular talent, she had no idea. Everything in the Red Bag had been updated or replenished by Myra.