Return to Sender

by Fern Michaels

  Jason said he would provide them with ski masks. They’d disguised themselves with hats and heavy make-up. They barely recognized each other.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Lin said as she scanned the street, looking for Jason’s black Lincoln Navigator. “We look like a couple of Forty-second Street hookers.”

  Mimicking Zsa Zsa Gabor, Sally said, “I think we look divine, dahhhling. Especially these itch-from-hell gloves.”

  “If we get caught, you know we’ll be sent away for a while,” Lin stated matter-of-factly.

  “What? Are you trying to back out?”

  “No, I just want you to be sure you’re in for the long haul. Jason says this will go off without a hitch. I trust him. He hates Nicholas Pemberton as much as I do. He’s not putting his butt on the line just for us, you know?” Lin said.

  “I know. I wonder why.”

  “I don’t really care what his reason is for wanting to ruin Nick as long as he does what I’m paying him to do.”

  “Here he comes,” Sally said. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him not keeping his end of the bargain.”

  The shiny black SUV pulled up to the curb. Lin opened the passenger door to the back, where both women climbed aboard. Lin hated SUVs. She’d take her sporty red Porsche any day of the week.

  Jason Vinery was the total opposite of what Lin expected when she first met him. On the phone he sounded sexy and self-assured. He was very self-assured, but the sexy part had just been her imagination. He stood barely five feet tall. He wore his long brown hair in a ponytail and had two gold hoops in his ears. Lin couldn’t find a part of his exposed arms that weren’t covered in tattoos. She and Sally had both wondered if the tattoos went below the belt. She smiled at the thought.

  “Are you ladies ready to have some fun?” Jason inquired as they sped away from the curb.

  “I’m not sure what we’re about to do could be classified as fun,” Sally observed.

  “You’ll have the time of your life. It’s truly harmless. I promise. I’ve done this a time or two and never once has anyone complained or been hurt. I’ve never been caught, either, but you two already know that. Now, I want to go over our plans one more time.”

  Jason repeated his instructions, reminding them of their roles.

  Entrance to the penthouse apartment located on Madison Avenue could be attained only by invitation. However, as one of the top PIs in the city, Jason knew that anything could be had for a price. When he consulted Lin, she had been shocked at the amount but had readily agreed to it.

  Jason drove to the underground parking garage, where he spoke to the attendant, then left his keys. Once they were out of earshot, Lin spoke up.

  “How do you know that attendant won’t inform someone that an unauthorized vehicle is parking in Nick Pemberton’s reserved spot?”

  “The guy loves money, and he knows how to cover his ass. Trust me. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to use his services. Don’t worry. Let me do the hard part, and you two ladies simply do what we planned. You ready to rock and roll?” Jason asked.

  The women looked at one another.

  “I guess it’s now or never,” Lin said.

  Sally nodded her agreement.

  The trio entered a service elevator located at the back of the underground garage. “This is the elevator the delivery people use. It wouldn’t look right if a pizza was delivered in the main lobby,” Jason said, punching the button that would take them to the penthouse apartment. “Okay, girls, put your masks on. Once we step off the elevator, the security cameras scan the area every fifteen seconds. Remember, look down and walk fast, just the way we timed it. Are we ready?” Jason asked once more before the doors swished open. He wore a white chef’s top, with his hair tucked beneath a white hat. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Lin would have burst out laughing.

  Lin and Sally nodded solemnly.

  Together, the trio walked quickly out of the line of the security cameras.

  “You two stay behind me at all times,” said Jason.

  Both nodded their agreement a second time.

  “We’re ready,” Lin whispered.

  Jason stood as tall as possible, then rang the doorbell to the penthouse. He leaned against the door, hoping to hear footsteps. Nothing. He punched the bell a second time.

  All three heard a loud unpleasant voice shouting as they leaned against the door. “Who is it? The doorman didn’t send anyone up here.”

  Jason looked at the pair behind him. “It’s now or never.”

  Both women stepped back and to the side of Jason, per their instructions. Before anyone could utter a word, the heavy wooden door flew open.

  A tall blond woman wearing a pink silk robe stared at Jason. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Pemberton asked me to…” Jason didn’t have to finish the sentence, because he’d jabbed Chelsea in the neck with a hypodermic needle loaded with liquid Valium. In seconds she collapsed like a pile of bricks.

  Lin grabbed Chelsea’s arms, and Sally took hold of each leg.

  Jason ran ahead of them to open the elevator. The doors parted like the Red Sea.

  Once inside the elevator, Lin let go of Nick’s wife. She looked at Jason, her eyes round as dinner plates. “You think she’s all right?

  Lord, I would hate to hurt her.”

  “Trust me, she’ll be waking up soon enough. I bet you anything you’ll wish she’d stayed out a little longer. Something tells me this is one feisty bitch,” Jason replied.

  Sally laughed. “I’ve got the duct tape and blindfold. I won’t hesitate to use it either.”

  They stood stock-still as the elevator delivered them to the garage level.

  “Girls, you wait here while I get the car. When you see the lights flash on and off, grab her and run like you’ve never run before.

  We’ve got ten seconds. Ready?”

  “Let’s just get this over with,” Lin whispered, still shocked at what they were doing.

  Swiftly, the doors opened, Jason ran out, and then Sally hit the CLOSE button.

  Together, Sally and Lin counted. “One, two, three…eight, nine, ten.”

  Sally hit the OPEN button, grabbed Chelsea’s legs. Lin had both arms secured. With their prisoner swinging like a hammock between them, they ran as soon as they spied Jason’s flashing head lights. His timing was impeccable.

  They tossed Chelsea in the backseat, and both women climbed in after her.

  Careening out of the parking lot, Jason almost hit a pedestrian.

  “Asshole,” he shouted. “Damn New Yorkers never pay attention.”

  Lin looked at Sally and smiled. Sally was the first to speak. She whispered so both could hear her. “So you’re not always the cool cucumber you claim to be.”

  “Hey, I didn’t plan on running over someone,” Vinery shot back.

  “Sorry. I’m just trying to lighten things up,” Sally said.

  “They’re lively enough. Thank you very much,” Lin said in a low voice. “Think she can hear us?”

  “No. Stop worrying. As soon as we dump her off, she’ll probably wake up screaming. Let’s prepare for the worst. I bet her mouth runs like a nasty case of the shits,” said Jason.

  “That’s disgusting,” Sally said with a smile.

  “Yeah, it is,” Lin added.

  “Sorry, girls.”

  The rest of the short drive was silent, all three absorbed in their own thoughts. Each wondering if that night would be their last night of freedom.

  Chapter 7

  Nick heard Chelsea’s loud shouting from the front of the penthouse but didn’t bother trying to find out what her problem was. He was too sick to get out of bed. He’d vomited nonstop the entire afternoon. Only in the past hour had the waves of nausea subsided. Nick wasn’t sure how much more of the chemotherapy treatments he could stand. Dr. Reeves had explained to him that his treatment would be very aggressive, almost deadly in its side effects.

  He�
��d heard a few of the other patients complaining, saying that sometimes they’d prefer death to the horror of the treatments. At the time he’d laughed at them. At the moment, however, he agreed with them completely. He’d lost twelve more pounds according to the doctor. Nick couldn’t remember the last meal he’d kept down; hell, he couldn’t remember his last real meal. He’d been reduced to green and yellow Jell-O and weak chicken broth. He craved a shot of good whiskey, but alcohol wasn’t allowed during the treatments.

  In his weakened state, he felt like less of a man, and he hated the feeling. Depending on others to do the very basic tasks he’d never given much thought to was demeaning. A male nurse helped him shower. Helped him dress. Savile Row was no longer his mode of dress. Ralph Lauren pajamas and cotton socks comprised his daily wardrobe. Nick thought that he was experiencing what it must be like to get old. Though nothing about his body worked right, his mind was as clear and crisp as a waterfall. That was what had him so pissed.

  Shiploads of merchandise waited for his decision—Gerald couldn’t seem to do anything right. Nick planned to relieve him of his duties as soon as he returned to the office. Rosa called him daily with reports. Pemberton Transport was by no means in trouble, but a few more months of backlogged shipments, and it would show. Nick needed what little energy he had to fight this belittling disease.

  His cell phone rang. Since it was in the bed next to him, he answered. “Hello.”

  “Is this Nicholas Pemberton?”

  “Who wants to know?” he shot back. Nick smiled, thinking he sounded more like himself than he had in days.

  “It doesn’t matter who wants to know. If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll listen, because I’m only going to say this once.”

  “Who is this?” Nick demanded.

  “You’re not very smart, are you?”

  Nick took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

  “Listen very carefully. I have your wife. She is alive and well. She’ll be returned to you that way if you follow these instructions exactly.”

  Nick burst out laughing. “Is this some kind of a joke? Because if it’s not, then keep the bitch. Do whatever you want with her.” Nick punched the END button, grateful for the laugh.

  The phone rang again. Nick answered.

  “This isn’t a joke. If you look around your penthouse, you’ll find Mrs. Pemberton is nowhere to be found. She is wearing a beautiful pink silk gown.”

  “Hold on.” Weak, Nick managed to hobble to the hallway. “Chelsea, where are you?” He waited for an answer. Nothing. He’d try another tactic, one sure to send her running to his room. “Chelsea dear, I promise to open all your charge accounts first thing in the morning.” Still nothing. He spoke into the cell phone. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. Now, I want you to listen and listen good. I’ve repeated myself one too many times already. This is what you have to do if you want to see your wife alive.”

  Nick listened to the ridiculous instructions. He was tempted to hang up but figured he needed Chelsea around just in case the nurse didn’t show up. If not for that, he would have told the caller, who obviously thought he gave a hoot about his wife, to buzz off.

  Chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, he congratulated himself on the performance he had put on over the years to give whoever this was the impression that he gave a damn about Chelsea rather than wishing with his entire being that she would just die. But since, for the moment, she was still useful to him, he took great care to remember all the details.

  Lin pushed the beat-up wheelchair slowly, as though it took every ounce of energy she possessed. Lucky for them, Chelsea was still out cold. Just in case she started to rouse, Jason had given her a second shot, but with less Valium. It was in her pocket, in a zip-lock bag. Sally walked alongside her down Madison Avenue. They both looked like homeless hookers. They were receiving stares from everyone, though none of the well-dressed New Yorkers would look her or Sally directly in the eye. Lin could have cared less. She was disguised with a hat and more piled-on make-up. She knew there was no chance of running into Will or Nick. They knew for a fact that Nick was home, safely tucked in bed.

  Jason had carefully outlined their route. From Madison Avenue they would walk to Herald Square, where they would take either the N, Q, or R train to Times Square. From there they would catch the number 1 train straight to Harlem. Once there, they were to deliver Chelsea to the steps at the offices of former president Bill Clinton. Re porters from the New York Post and the Times would be waiting.

  “What are you thinking?” Sally asked.

  “You really want to know?”

  “I asked you, so I guess I do,” Sally insisted.

  “I’m thinking it’s not going to be so easy pushing her through the subway.” Lin laughed. “Seriously, I’m nervous. If this works, I’m going to laugh my ass off. If it doesn’t, I was thinking what I would say to Will to explain all…this.”

  “Stop worrying. We’re not going to get caught, and if Will does find out, you’ll deal with it, just like you’ve dealt with problems in the past. Don’t borrow trouble, Lin.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Lin shoved the chair over a metal grate on the sidewalk, thankful Chelsea was thin.

  People scattered around Herald Square like ants at a picnic. Lin and Sally maneuvered the wheelchair down the steep flight of steps leading underground to the N, Q, and R trains. Once on the platform, they waited along with dozens of others for their train. They barely had time to wheel Chelsea onto the train before the electronic doors closed. Ten minutes later they arrived at Times Square.

  “Let’s hurry. The number one train doesn’t come as often as the others, according to Jason,” said Lin as she pushed Chelsea, who, thank God, appeared to be ill and just sleeping.

  Sally ran ahead to locate the track for the train to Harlem.

  Through the throngs of people ahead of her, Lin caught a glimpse of Sally waving her hands in the air. She’d located the train. Lin elbowed and shoved her way through the passengers emerging from the incoming trains. She was out of breath when she caught up with Sally.

  “This way,” Sally shouted.

  Lin pushed Chelsea onto the train, thankful they were on the last leg of the journey. When the doors finally closed, Lin, who was out of breath and sweating like a mule, spoke up. “I think we’ve both lost our minds.”

  “Just wait until tomorrow, when this hits the papers!”

  “Yes, but we don’t know if that’ll happen. Jason didn’t make any promises, only that he would ‘leak’ the story to those reporters. What they choose to do with the information is up to them and their respective newspapers.” Lin wasn’t sure if she wanted to see tonight’s stunt plastered on the front page of a newspaper.

  Mentally chastising herself, she knew she had to focus on the ultimate goal: ruin Nicholas Pemberton’s reputation, no matter what it took. This stunt was only the beginning. Lin prayed for forgiveness. Daily. At the rate she was going, she’d soon be asking by the hour.

  The subway cars traveled so fast that Lin had a death grip on one of the metal poles that paralleled the seats. With her other hand she clung to one handle of the wheelchair, while Sally gripped the other. It was all she could do to maintain her balance.

  The train came to an abrupt stop, announcing their arrival in Harlem. Hustling Chelsea in the wheelchair was easier this time around. It was late, and there weren’t that many people hanging around, waiting to travel to and from Harlem.

  “Let’s get a taxi. Jason said there would be several waiting.”

  True to his word, there was a line of taxis waiting as they emerged from the subway.

  Sally found a van that was equipped to hold the wheelchair. Lin had worried about this, wondering how they were going to manage the chair and Chelsea. Things were running as smooth as silk.

  “Where to, ladies?” the taxi driver inquired. “I ain’t so sure yous should be out in this part of town at this time of night. W
hile it ain’t as bad as it used to be, it ain’t too safe.”

  “We want to go to President Clinton’s office,” Lin said quickly.

  The whites of the driver’s eyes glowed like shiny pearls as he gazed at them through his rearview mirror. “You for real? I can tell ya this. It ain’t open.”

  “We’re meeting someone,” Sally offered.

  “Well, then let’s not keep your folks waitin’.” The driver shifted the van into drive and sped away from the curb as though he were in a NASCAR race.

  When they managed to get both the wheelchair and Chelsea out of the van, Sally paid the driver, giving him a hefty tip, with the promise of more to come if he would agree to wait for them three blocks from Clinton’s office. The driver agreed. Crazy women, some one had to look out for them. And it was easy money. His wife was going to be so happy.

  Winded as she pushed the wheelchair uphill, Lin stopped to catch her breath. “Five minutes, and that’s it. I refuse to stay here any longer than that. Just so you know.”

  “What makes you think I want to hang around here any longer than we have to? Come on, let’s get her to the steps like we promised. From there the reporters can take over,” Sally said. “If they even show,” she added.

  Once they’d adjusted the locks on the wheelchair, they waited exactly five minutes. As soon as they saw two men with camera equipment walking toward them, they hurried down the steps and ran the three blocks to where the handicapped taxi waited. They jumped inside the van, telling the driver to take them back to Madison Avenue.

  “You girls sure are a long way from home. I can tell by them accents. But don’t worry. I didn’t see a thing that ya did. No, sirree, I did not see a thing.”

  Lin creased her brow. She whispered in Sally’s ear, “Do you think he’ll report what he saw?”

  “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not going to look like we do now. Remember?”

  “True.”

  For the next twenty minutes, both women were silent. When the van reached their destination, Sally crammed another wad of money in the man’s hand before hurrying to catch up with Lin, who’d taken off the second they came to a stop.