Hide and Seek (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 1)

by Fern Michaels

  Inside the cabin, in the cozy, knotty pine kitchen, Jack stuffed two of the hardboiled eggs into his mouth, one after the other. Then he gulped down a glass of orange juice. With trembling hands he called Nikki, who picked up on the first ring.

  “It’s Jack, Nik.”

  “I know,” came the whispered reply.

  “I thought we had a deal. I gave it up, didn’t look back. Just tell me it wasn’t your idea. If you can tell me that, I can live with this.”

  “It wasn’t my idea, Jack, but I understand the reasoning. I love you too much to put you at risk. In the beginning…It…I was just so happy you were with us. I didn’t look beyond that. I cannot be a part of taking away your life as you knew it.”

  “Without you, Nik, I don’t have a life. I thought we were clear on that.”

  “I’m going to hang up now, Jack. This is ripping my heart to shreds. Call me anytime. Just remember, I love you more than life itself.”

  “Nik, wait…”

  “I want to kill someone,” Harry barked from the doorway.

  “Join the club,” Jack snarled. “Eat those damn eggs and let’s get out of here.”

  An hour later, Jack fixed his gaze on a shiny black Chevy Suburban. “I was hoping this was all a bad dream. Guess not. Get in, Harry, and let’s go home.”

  Chapter 4

  Charles Martin sat at the round table in the newly constructed war room in the old monastery—a room that was reserved for the members of the Sisterhood. His head was in his hands and for the first time in his life, he was second-guessing his latest decision. He wondered if he was losing his edge.

  Maybe he’d had too much caffeine this morning. Just the way he’d had too much yesterday and well into the night. He’d consumed pots and pots of coffee, and could feel his nerve endings twanging. Right now if someone came up behind him and said, “BOO!” he’d probably jump out of his skin.

  His problem, and he knew it was a problem, was that he was dealing with women’s emotions, and it was an alien feeling, well outside his field of expertise. These women of the Sisterhood were like daughters to him and who was he to tamper with their feelings? What gave him the right to make the kind of decision he’d made in regard to the women he’d taken responsibility for?

  They did. They had literally entrusted their lives to his care and agreed to abide by any and all of his decisions, no matter how opposed they were to those decisions. They said they understood that there could be only one person in total, absolute charge.

  Charles raised his head and shook it to try and clear away his morbid thoughts. It was time to enter the lioness’ den and beard them all. He risked a glance out of the window. All of his chicks, minus his two roosters, were sitting poolside fully clothed in athletic gear. They’d just returned from a five-mile hike. They all looked surly, and they appeared to be in intense conversation. He rather thought a revolt was imminent. One look at his beloved, Myra, who was in the pool with Annie, told him he was probably on the money, and Annie looked like she was chewing on lemon rinds. No help there.

  The vibration of the cell phone in his shirt pocket brought him up short. He clicked it on, identified himself and listened. As he continued to listen, a frown built itself between his brows. He found himself clenching his jaw as he paced the confines of the state-of-the-art kitchen.

  His face was grim when he clicked off the special phone and returned it to his pocket. Time to get on with it. Whatever it turned out to be.

  The women looked whipped. He’d put all of them through the wringer. Then he’d done what they referred to as the unthinkable: he’d banished Jack and Harry from the mountain to protect them and the women. And this was just the beginning. At this moment in time with what he was seeing, he wouldn’t want to meet up with any of these women in the dark, and that included Myra. He wasn’t sure but he rather thought he would be sleeping alone tonight and for many more nights to come.

  Few things in life frightened Charles Martin, but the thought of carrying out the huge silver tray with drinks and munchies to the women sent chills up his spine. He sighed as he did his best to paste a smile on his face before he picked up the silver tray.

  Poolside, the women groaned when they saw Charles approaching with his laden tray.

  “Go away, we’re too tired to eat and drink,” they said as one.

  Charles’s voice was cool and firm. “The word tired is no longer in your vocabulary,” he said. “Take your pick, food and drink or a three-mile run.” He set down the tray.

  Kathryn got up, her expression totally blank, and pushed Charles into the pool. “I know, I know, now it’s a five-mile run. It was worth it! Okay, okay, we’re going. It was worth it, Charles,” she said again, starting off at a full trot.

  Myra and Annie peered over the side of the pool. “I’m not running five miles even for you, dear,” Myra told him. “If you say one word, I will push you back under the water. Right now I do not like you, not one little bit.”

  “And I’ll hold you down. I don’t like you, either,” Annie said. She got out of the pool, reached for a handful of chips, and then washed them down with a glass of tart lemonade. “Even my hair hurts. We’re too old for this.”

  “Nonsense, you’re in fine shape,” Charles said, climbing out of the pool. “All you have to do is pace yourself. Your body will tell you when it’s time to quit. It’s not time.”

  Myra stood over Charles and said, “My body told me to quit nine days ago.” She pushed him back into the pool, then joined Annie and reached for the chips. She held up her hand and whispered, “He’s not drowning, is he?”

  Annie grimaced. “I wish. He’s swimming to the other side. With his shoes on. I can’t believe you love that man! He’s cruel! He’s a sadist! He hates us! And don’t forget for one minute what he did to Nikki and Yoko by sending Jack and Harry away.”

  The two women watched as Charles dripped his way back into the house.

  “Trust me, I am not forgetting about that. Right now I’m too tired to go there, Annie. He’s right about one thing, though, and we both know it. If we can’t keep up with the others, what good will we be to them? We have to do our share. You said you wanted to belong to this little group. Well, this is what it’s like. I love him no matter what. Let’s double up on our vitamins.”

  Annie looked around to see if anyone was in sight who could hear her. “Are you sure we’re up to this, Myra? I don’t know what I thought but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. I thought we’d be using our minds. Supervising, if you will. Contributing money, that sort of thing. I have to tell you, dear heart, I am not fond of rolling around in the mud and belly-crawling under barbed wire. We’re old, Myra. That man you love is going to kill us.”

  Myra’s eyes snapped open. “Age is a number. Sixty is not old. Ninety is old. That means we have thirty more good years. Don’t you get it, Annie? Charles wants us to quit. He wants us here so he can hover and protect us. He thinks we can’t keep up with the others. Well, I’m here to tell you he’s wrong. We can…uh…cut it.”

  Annie grappled for a Kathryn line and said, “That’s pure bullshit and you know it. I am so damn tired I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “Get untired right now. Charles is watching us from the door. I can see his shadow. Do you want one of those ugly checkmarks next to your name? He can’t wait for us to fail, so get your tush up off that chair and let’s do our run. Trot? Fast walk? Okay, a slow walk, but we have to do the five miles. Let’s go.”

  Annie heaved herself off the chair and joined Myra. “I hate you!”

  Charles stood at the door and watched the two women. He laughed silently as his beloved and her best friend started off at a slow trot. He felt like cheering and beating his chest. His girl was all woman. Still smiling, he cleaned up the puddle by the door where he was standing.

  In a million years he never would have believed Myra would push him into the pool. Then again, he never would have believed Kathryn would push him into the pool, eithe
r. He made a mental note not to cut either woman any slack.

  The following weeks and months passed slowly. While the sisters labored over French and German verbs, firearms lessons, karate classes and endurance trials, Charles worked at the computer trying to stay as up-to-date as he could with what was going on back in the States.

  He started off each day knowing he’d misled the group he’d taken responsibility for. Each day he tried to justify it to himself. Some days he succeeded. Other days, his gut churned with fear.

  The days of sanctuary were long gone. He, Annie and the padre were pushing the envelope and they all knew it. If the authorities descended on the village, intent on reaching the top of the mountain, the only things the padre and villagers could do were delay the proceedings and ring the bell at the foot of the mountain in warning. The padre had issued Annie a scroll, on ancient parchment that looked authentic, saying he’d granted the inhabitants of the mountain total and complete sanctuary. The padre said the Spanish courts would take over if he and the villagers took a stand and refused to allow any and all strangers access to the mountain. The padre had gone on to say the Spanish courts always favored the priests in these types of matters. Charles, Myra and Annie had talked it over and agreed to trust their safety to the padre and the villagers and to take their chances…and to leave the others out of the loop.

  Charles stared at the screen in front of him as he called up his e-mails. Each morning since he’d come here he’d gotten an e-mail like the one he was now looking at. It was from a fellow covert operator named Pappy Kolar, who ran an operation much like his own. Pappy, his cover blown, had been relocated to a mountaintop in North Carolina. Those in the know said the people at NORAD had set it up. While all the e-mails were important, there was only one that Charles printed out—the one that was encrypted and from Pappy.

  Charles studied the e-mail. So far, so good. In four months’ time, the assistant director of the FBI still had no clues as to the disappearance of the seven vigilantes. The sender went on to say there was speculation that the CIA would be taking over the special task force within days. Charles frowned. There was only one explanation for that decision. The authorities now thought he and the so-called vigilantes had left the country, hence the CIA. A black mark for the FBI, since they were domestic. More bad press. The word ineffectual came to mind when he thought of the Fibbies.

  The second e-mail, one he wasn’t expecting, caused him to suck in his breath. He printed it out and read it. He felt the first stirring of alarm. Think, Charles. Tell the women or not tell them? Sooner rather than later, Jack and Harry would be on the encrypted phone. Unless…unless he rendered Nikki’s and Yoko’s phones inoperable. But, did he want to do that? Prior to coming here to Spain he would have made a snap decision and walked away.

  “You aren’t God, Charles. It has to be their decision.”

  Charles whirled around. He would know that soft, gentle voice anywhere. His voice was hushed, a bare whisper. “Barbara?”

  “Yes, Charles, it’s me.”

  Charles grappled for something to say. This was the first time his dead daughter had spoken to him since they were in Pinewood. Myra said she conversed with Barbara on a regular basis. “Why now, dear child?”

  “You haven’t needed me lately. I want to help if I can.”

  “From the other side?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want me to do, dear girl?”

  “The right thing, Charles. Whatever you do, don’t turn Mom into your enemy.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Too bad you didn’t hear the conversation I just heard on that five-mile walk.”

  Charles combed his hair with nervous fingers. “Should I go after them and bring them back in the golf cart?”

  “I don’t think I would do that. It’s time for you to make nice. Bye, Charles.” His daughter’s tinkling laugh seemed to ricochet around the empty room.

  Charles was a deer caught in the headlights. He whirled around as his whole body started to tremble. He tried to steady himself as he looked down at the printed e-mail in his hand.

  His darling daughter was right. This wasn’t his decision to make. He squared his shoulders as he made his way to the terrace to wait for the women he loved with all his heart.

  Chapter 5

  Jack Emery leaned back in his swivel chair, propped his feet on the desk and rubbed at his tired, aching eyes. He made a mental note to make an appointment to get his eyes checked to see if he needed reading glasses. A real no-brainer there.

  Since his return to DC from Spain via Montana four months ago, he’d settled into a routine of sorts. The end of the day was the worst for him emotionally. This was when he had to pack up his briefcase, leave the building, go to his car and head out to Georgetown, where he was living in Nikki’s house, thanks to a quitclaim deed she’d had the foresight to draft up. He now owned the pricey, high-end piece of real estate.

  His mind drifted to what he was going to eat for dinner. Leftover pizza or leftover Chinese? Or maybe some toast with the dried-up orange and wrinkled apple he’d seen in the fridge this morning when he’d used up the last of the cream for his coffee.

  He hated shopping in supermarkets. Hated it with a passion. Nikki had always done the shopping and the cooking. Christ, how he missed her.

  His eyes were burning, so he closed them, felt the tears on his lashes. He rubbed at them mercilessly. When he finally opened them he saw Harry Wong standing in front of his desk.

  “Jesus, Harry, you have to stop doing that. You move like a damn cat and never make a sound. How the hell did you get into the building, anyway?”

  “Hey, I work for the police department. See this badge! It says I can come up here to see you anytime I want. I wanted. I’m here to take you out to dinner. One of those big, juicy porterhouse steaks, a twice-baked potato and a big salad with everything but lettuce in it. A couple of beers and then I’ll even drive your sorry ass home. What say you, oh mighty District Attorney?”

  “Best offer I had all day. You paying?”

  “Unless you want to open up that wallet of yours and let the mothballs out. Yoko isn’t answering her phone, Jack.” Harry waited expectantly to hear what Jack had to say.

  “The last time I talked to Nikki was three days ago and then it was hello and good-bye.”

  “Does it mean what I think it means, they’re weaning themselves away from us?”

  Jack’s feet dropped to the floor. He rolled down his shirtsleeves, buttoned the cuffs and slipped into his jacket. The end of the day also meant he could remove his tie, which he did. He stuffed it in his pocket and followed Harry out to the hall and the elevator.

  “Squire’s Pub okay, Jack?”

  “Yeah. You okay, Harry?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not okay. I want to kill someone. Give me any shit and you might go to the top of my list.”

  Jack stepped out of the elevator. “Take your best shot, Harry. Right now I don’t give a good roaring fuck about anything and that includes you. Put me out of my misery if that will make you feel better.”

  Harry sailed through the revolving door. “I’m too tired. I just needed to vent.”

  “Well, vent somewhere else, okay?”

  The walk to the Squire’s Pub was made in silence for the most part, each man busy with his own miserable thoughts. If either one of them had been up to speed they would have observed the parade of people following them as they tried to be invisible.

  Ten minutes later, they shouldered their way through the bar area—Jack clapping some colleagues on the back and shaking hands with others—before heading to the back of the pub. The owner had established a smoking room there for his regular customers, with a state-of-the-art exhaust system, after a hard-won, long legal battle, with favors called in from every corner of the Beltway.

  Jack preferred the back room because it was usually empty; smokers were rare these days. It was a great room to hide in to avoid the crowds in
the main part of the pub, to actually hear what your companion was saying, and for some reason the service in the back room was far superior.

  They settled into a booth and Jack raised his hand to the waitress. Two bottles of Heineken appeared as if by magic. He drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop as he gave his order.

  Harry rattled off his order and then tipped his beer bottle toward Jack’s. “What should we toast, Jack?”

  Jack was saved from a reply when the cell phone in his jacket pocket started to vibrate, since the ringer was turned off. He whipped it out, his eyes hopeful.

  Harry slumped back in his seat when he saw the frown on Jack’s face. He listened intently.

  “Jack Emery.” As Jack listened the frown deepened between his brows. “I think the Justice Department would have something to say about a meeting. You’re the enemy, Lizzie. I can’t be seen with you.” He listened again, aware that Harry was eyeballing him. He kept his voice to a whisper, not that anyone appeared to be listening, but you never knew who was who these days. Suddenly Jack laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. The great Lizzie Fox needs my help! Get lost!” The cell phone clicked shut and went back in his pocket. It started to vibrate almost immediately. Jack ignored it and eventually the cell phone ceased.

  “Guess you heard, huh?” Jack asked Harry.

  “Well, yeah. I couldn’t help but hear your end of the conversation. What’s she up to?”

  Jack looked around the back room to see who was there. A lobbyist with someone who wasn’t his wife, chowing down on a steak. Two paralegals he recognized, puffing away as they talked intently, probably discussing their boyfriends. Four lawyers swigging Amstel Light from the bottle, their eyes already glassy. He strained then to see into the back of the room, at which point he almost fell out of the booth. Judge Cornelia Easter, a cigarette in one hand, a tumbler of bourbon in the other, looked right at him and wiggled her cigarette in his direction. Jack nodded and then slumped down in his seat. “Don’t look now but that’s Judge Easter in the back of the room. I didn’t want to stare, but I think she’s sitting with Judge Stephens. That’s as in, ‘Hang ’em High Stephens.’”