Deadly Deals

by Fern Michaels

  "You lucked out. Court's closed. Schools, everything. Listen, guys, thanks. I'm going to stay here and see what else I can do before the girls get here. By the way, they will be going to the Post apartment on their arrival."

  "You want me to stay, Maggie?" Ted asked, hoping she would say no.

  "No. Go home and take care of Mickey and Minnie. You can bring me some warmer clothes when you get back. What about you, Espinosa?"

  "I'm going to catch some z's at Ted's. I'll plan on getting here around noon, weather permitting, if that's okay with you."

  "That'll work." She blew the guys a kiss and started picking at the crumbs in a pizza box. The moment the door closed, she dived into the files stacked up on her desk.

  She felt her eyes start to burn as she stared at first one baby, then another. She rubbed her thumb over the chubby faces of the babies and whispered, "I'm going to get those bastards, and that's a promise. I'm going to make sure you go back to your real parents, so you can grow up in the loving home that was supposed to be yours. I'm going to make sure you little gals get to play Little League and you little guys get to take guitar lessons. I'm going to make it my mission in life to follow your lives. From here on in, I'm Aunt Maggie, and I will not let you down. That's a promise."

  Maggie swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she realized the commitment she had just made to two dozen babies and their adoptive parents. Well, she'd have a lot of help by way of the guys and the vigilantes to make it all come to pass. She crossed her fingers the way she had when she was a little girl and she was making a wish for something. Her expression turned stubborn. Wishes did come true. Sometimes.

  On the mountain, Charles Martin's face was just as stubborn and grim as Maggie's as he pulled sheet after sheet from the fax machine. He scanned them with one eye as he picked out the pertinent data on each sheet, while his other eye was on his cell as he called Avery Snowden and the other operatives, who were standing at the ready to do his bidding.

  Feeling eyes on him, Charles turned to look over his shoulder. His chicks, as he thought of the Sisters, along with Myra and Annie, were standing in the open doorway, fully dressed, coffee cups in hand.

  The time was 4:02. He smiled and motioned with a slight tilt of his head that they were to take their seats at the round table. Just as he finished his last call, the final sheet of paper from Maggie flew out of the fax. He held up his hand for silence even though no one was speaking.

  "This intel just came to me from Maggie. We owe the boys a huge vote of thanks for securing all this valuable information. By the time you reach your destination, all of this," Charles said, pointing to the twenty-inch stack of papers, "will be waiting for you at the Post apartment. What I have here belongs to Adel Newsom. She kept impeccable records, which is good for us. From a quick glance, there appear to be at least two dozen babies whose real parents arranged for a surrogate birth but were reclaimed by the surrogate mothers, then disposed of in a privately arranged adoption, with big bucks changing hands. What a scheme. Consider it. The cost to produce the children, every penny of it, fell on the couples who arranged for the surrogate mothers, with Baron Bell richly rewarded for his efforts.

  "Ms. Newsom did not handle all the surrogates after the birth of the babies. She outsourced some of them and received fees from other lawyers. Quite a bit of money changed hands.

  "There is a bit of a problem, and it is this. For now, we are only going to concern ourselves with the current year. Once this matter is brought to light by all of you, the authorities will step in and go back over the past ten years and bring to light how long this scheme has been in operation. I see no reason at this point in time to disrupt all those children's lives or their current parents' lives, especially at this time of year. Maggie and the Post will be on it. So for now," Charles said, waving a thick stack of papers, "we're just going to work on this year's adoptions. Time will take care of the others.

  "The two surrogates, Donna Davis and Joan Olsen, are being taken to the Post apartment and will be held there by Snowden's people until you get there. The babies will be taken to Maggie's house in Georgetown. Nurses will be on the job, along with Snowden's operatives. As much as the weather is a detriment, it is also a blessing for all of you. Everyone will be too busy with the snow to pay attention to any of you. At least that is my hope."

  "Do we know if Bell and Newsom made it back to town?" Kathryn asked.

  "At the moment, we know nothing about either one of them. We have people watching Bell's home and office as well as Newsom's home and office. I don't know why I say this, but I doubt we'll see activity once it gets light out. Having said that, Bell will brazen it out. Newsom, from what Maggie tells me, could very well cut and run."

  "We need them both," Nikki said as she stared down at the pictures of the babies the others were passing around. "This is one punishment I am really looking forward to."

  The other Sisters agreed with Nikki.

  "Are we going to allow Baron Bell to follow through with his Christmas party at the White House?" Isabelle asked, an innocent smile on her face.

  The Sisters hooted with laughter, to Charles's dismay. Then he remembered the discussion they'd had around midnight. He allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Absolutely," was his response.

  "I just have one question," Alexis said. "Will my Red Bag have everything I asked for?"

  This time Charles offered up a full smile. "And then some!"

  Yoko got up and poured fresh coffee for everyone just as Charles's phone pinged to life. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to his end of the conversation. They knew immediately that Adel Newsom had just shown up at Baron Bell's office. Not only had she shown up, she'd eluded the night guard and managed to get into Bell's office.

  "Either Adel Newsom is a very resourceful lady, or she's one desperate lawyer. My money is on the latter," Kathryn said.

  Three hundred miles away, Adel Newsom let herself into Baron Bell's office. She congratulated herself on her sneakiness in having made a wax impression of his office keys while Bell slept after a rousing evening of sex. She hoped that she would never have to have sex in a bathtub again. Ever.

  Newsom waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the office before she made her way to her coconspirator's desk. She pushed the chair aside, dropped to her knees, and slid the sheet of hard plastic to the side, revealing the false floor. She moved the panel aside, too, and tried the knob of the safe. No such luck that it was open. She managed to get to her feet and rushed into the old-fashioned bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and took out a can of shaving cream. What looked like an expiration date on the bottom of the can was really the code to the safe. She ran the numbers through her brain until she was sure she had them down pat. She ran back to the desk and again dropped to her knees. Four turns to the right at 5, three turns to the left at 44, two turns to the right on 26. Turn until safe opens. The safe didn't open.

  Newsom rocked back on her heels and tried again, this time her hand steadier. The safe still wouldn't open. She cursed as she heaved herself to her feet again and walked back into the bathroom. This time she brought the shaving cream can back with her. She tried every variation of the numbers she could think of. The safe's heavy steel door refused to budge. She cursed ripely. The son of a bitch must have changed the combination. She wanted to cry, but she was too angry.

  In the end, all she could do was put things back where she'd found them. She returned the shaving cream can to the medicine cabinet. She bumped into the ugly safe standing in Bell's office, the obvious safe, which he was so proud of. Well, she knew that combination by heart. Her hands were rock steady when she twirled the knob. It took all her strength to open the heavy door. She knew there was nothing of importance in this particular safe other than old files. It contained a small wad of cash in case anyone ever had the audacity to break in and force Baron to open the safe. Baron had once told her he kept eleven hundred dollars in the safe
because it sounded like the amount someone would expect to find. She grabbed the money and shoved it into her purse. She closed the safe and looked around, listening for any sound from outside that would indicate the guard was making his rounds. The building was totally silent, eerie actually.

  If nothing else, she at least had enough cash to check into a hotel.

  In the small reception area, Newsom looked around. Petty cash. The thought came to her out of nowhere. Lightning quick, she was poking through Harriet's desk drawer, and there it was, the small box that held petty cash and Baron's corporate card. She had no idea how much she was dumping into her purse; she just upended the little box. The corporate American Express card went into her pocket. She could hoard the cash and use the card until such time as she thought she might get caught, or until Baron or Harriet reported the card as stolen. Her gut instinct was that Baron wouldn't open that can of worms.

  She saw the Santa suit hanging on the door and had the insane urge to rip it to shreds. She probably would have, but she heard a sound from the hallway and saw the shadow of the guard outside the glass door leading into the reception area. She ducked behind the reception desk, hardly daring to breathe. She almost fainted when she heard the antique doorknob rattle. She let her breath out in a long sigh as the steps she'd heard moved away. It was a short hallway, so either he was going up to the next floor or down to the one below this one.

  Within minutes she was up, out the door, and running toward the exit that would take her down to the basement, where she could make her way out to the street.

  The minute the frigid air hit her, Newsom realized how cold and wet and hungry she was. Her head down, she trudged forward, fighting the swirling snow that was still battering the District. Numb with cold, she stumbled into the first all-night eatery she came to. She looked around to see tired sanitation workers with hot mugs of steaming coffee warming their hands. She walked over to one of the empty booths and sat down. When the coffee appeared without being ordered, Newsom viewed it as nectar of the gods. She ordered pancakes and bacon with a glass of orange juice. When the tired waitress moved off, Newsom leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  She knew without a doubt she was in some deep doo-doo, and it was only going to get worse. She needed a plan. A plan that would work for her and screw Baron Bell. The urge to cry again was so strong that she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to taste her own blood.

  Sometimes life was a real bitch.

  Chapter 10

  The Sisters peered out the huge bay window as they dressed for their trip down the mountain. In the end, by popular vote, it was decided that while Annie and Myra would double up on a snowmobile, as per Charles's plan, the others would ski to the bottom. The Sisters agreed with Nikki's point that snowshoes would take too much time and rob them of their stamina. Since they were all accomplished skiers, even Yoko, Charles was outnumbered, something that seemed to be happening to him more and more of late. He took the decision with good grace, however, and trekked with the Sisters out to the utility shed that housed the snowmobile and all the ski equipment.

  Skis and poles were handed out, along with boots, as Annie fired up the snowmobile and cruised out to the snow-covered apron in front of the cavernous shed that held all manner of seasonal equipment needed to reside on the mountain.

  A bit of confusion ensued as the girls squabbled over the boots and whose was whose. Finally, the matter was settled, boots were snug on their feet, their snow goggles in place. Annie, Myra, and Charles watched them make their way to the ski trail at the edge of the mountain.

  Snow flurries that had been sparse were by then heavier and swirling in all directions. The worry in Charles's eyes did not go unobserved by Myra and Annie. Myra patted his arm and said, "Not to worry, dear. The girls are excellent skiers. They'll watch over Yoko, as she is the novice of the group." She walked over to her snowmobile. "I think we're ready, Annie," she said.

  Annie hung back for a moment. "Ah, Charles, I think I know what I want for Christmas this year. I was wondering if it would be possible to have it in place when we come back from our mission. I realize the timing might be a tad off, but you did say you had people coming to the mountain today to work on the cable car."

  "And that would be...what?"

  Annie told him.

  Charles didn't think anything could surprise him at this point in his life, but Annie's request made him blink. "Well, I...are--"

  "I don't need a dissertation, Charles. A yes or no will suffice. I'll even settle for a maybe. Well?"

  "I...uh...uh..."

  "I'm going to take that as a yes," Annie snapped as she lowered her snow goggles and moved toward the snowmobile, her back ramrod straight, which meant her Christmas present better damn well be in place when she got back, or there would be hell to pay.

  Before Annie cranked the gears and revved the engine, Myra said, "I heard that, Annie! Are you out of your mind?"

  "Actually, Myra, my mind is just fine and clicking away on all cylinders. It's your mind I'm worried about. Now, hang on and keep quiet. One more peep out of you, and I'm going to strangle you with your own pearls. I have to concentrate on getting us to the bottom of the mountain. In case you haven't noticed, because you were too busy minding my business, it's snowing harder, which means there is virtually no visibility. You getting it, Myra?"

  Myra thought about responding to the question but opted not to, since she had no desire to be strangled by her own pearls. She wrapped her arms around Annie's waist and closed her mouth so tight, she thought her jaw was going to crack.

  Myra thought the high-pitched whine of the snowmobile ricocheting across the mountain was equal to a dozen chain saws felling monster trees. She knew that when Annie finally brought the machine to a halt, her ears would ring for hours. She did marvel at how Annie handled the powerful machine and knew she couldn't do it half as well. As Kathryn would say, Annie had it going on, which meant that she, Myra Rutledge, did not have it going on. She felt irritated at the thought that she wasn't measuring up in the girls' eyes.

  And then there was silence as their conveyance came to an abrupt halt. Annie hopped off and tied her helmet to one end of the steering mechanism. "Hustle, Myra. We beat the girls! We need to break off some of these pine branches to cover the machine until someone takes it back up the mountain. You can talk now if you want to."

  "You remind me of the Gestapo, Annie. Guess what? I have nothing to say," Myra said as she hung her helmet next to Annie's. She immediately went to a low-hanging pine and snapped off a tiny branch. She flicked the snow at Annie and took a perverse delight in seeing her old friend falter. "Sorry," she said sweetly.

  "My ass you're sorry, Myra. You did that on purpose. I forgive you because you are such a poop. There are times, like right now, that I don't want to admit I know you. So there," Annie sniped.

  Wounded to the quick, Myra felt tears spring to her eyes. "I am sorry, Annie. But a pole! What will the girls think?"

  "Myra! It was their idea! I heard them talking, so I eavesdropped. When you eavesdrop, that's when you hear the good stuff. I'm just making it happen. We aren't getting enough exercise. And I need to brush up on my dancing for when I meet up with Tee to go dancing. I just thought of something. I'll call Charles later and ask if he can light up the pole from the inside. Incandescent. That kind of thing. This is exciting, isn't it, Myra?"

  Myra was so excited, she could barely contain herself. Not. She sighed. "Annie, pole dancing isn't dancing. Dancing is waltzing and fox-trotting. Don't you remember all those dance classes and recitals we had to attend? We didn't have incandescent lights then. All I can see is you getting a broken or fractured hip."

  "Why do you always rain on my parade?" Annie broke off enough branches from a dead pine and dragged them over to the snowmobile. After carefully arranging them, she decided that anyone who was not looking for a snowmobile would not know that there was one beneath. "That should do it! There is dancing, and
then there is dancing. I'm talking about limbering up. Moving all your body parts, not just your feet. For your information, there is a tutorial on the Net for pole dancing. I have to say, I think it will be challenging, but I think I can do it. You, now, that's another story."

  "What is it with you, Annie? You're not the same person you used to be. How did all this happen?" Myra asked fretfully as she envisioned herself being urged by the others to give pole dancing a shot.

  "I'm alive, Myra. I want to experience everything life has to offer. Just wait till we get our pardons. You watch my dust then."

  "Oh, Annie, I don't see that happening anytime soon. If you're counting on that happening...what will you do if it doesn't happen?"

  "It's going to happen, Myra, and it's going to happen soon. I'm ready to go out into the world under my own steam. I am going to blaze a trail that will scorch the earth. You are way too negative for me. I can see it now. You and Charles will go back to the farm, and from time to time, maybe once a week or so, you'll have dinner with Nellie and Elias or Pearl, if she can find a way to sneak back into town. You might go riding a few afternoons a week. You and Charles will undoubtedly go into town to dinner on the weekends. I suppose you might take up gardening or something equally silly. Maybe finger painting. Think about it, Myra. What are you going to do with all the rest of the hours? Watch TV? Wait to hear from the girls, who will be so busy with their own new lives, they won't have time for you or me? That sounds pretty damn deadly to me."

  Myra had to agree that it did sound deadly. Even though she didn't want to ask Annie what she would do if a pardon was forthcoming, she found herself saying, "And what are you going to be doing, Countess de Silva?"

  "Well, I can't go home to the family homestead, since I more or less turned it over to Joseph Espinosa's family, and no, I do not regret that for one moment. My mountain in Spain has a tenant, but I imagine once we vacate Big Pine Mountain, Pappy might return with his family.