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

by Fern Michaels

Mark’s voice was cheerful when he announced himself and asked, “You weren’t in bed, were you, Jack?”

  “Not yet. What’s up?”

  “I think I’m onto something. I tailed Lizzie Fox just like you told me to. The only thing she did out of the ordinary was to go running along the Tidal Basin.”

  “So she likes to run, so what? With those long legs of hers she’ll get to wherever she’s going before she starts.” Jack laughed at his own witty response.

  “That’s just it, Jack. Your colleague doesn’t believe in exercise. Guess she gets enough of that between the sheets. I saw a profile of her a while back. She said she abhors exercise and eats a lot of oysters. For her libido, I guess. Anyway, she went running. She had a partner.”

  Jack’s tired shoulders straightened. “Anyone I know?”

  “If you don’t know him, you’ve heard of him. Mitch Riley. He’s in charge of the Fibbies. I met him a few times when I worked at the Bureau. Trust me when I tell you the guy is a ring-tailed son of a bitch and not loved by the people who work under him. The guy eats, sleeps and drinks the FBI. He’s married but he cheats like hell on his wife. Everyone in this whole damn town knows it except his wife. At least that’s the rumor. He’s got aspirations of being the next J. Edgar Hoover but that’s never going to happen. He’s got too much baggage. I called a few of my buddies who are still at the Bureau putting in their time, and they told me Riley was in charge of a special task force to find the Ladies of Pinewood. He’s on a short leash these days and unless he comes up with something concrete the task force is going to be shut down. That will go on his record. Failure is not something Riley can deal with. The scuttlebutt is that the quest to arrest the so-called vigilantes is going to be turned over to the CIA. That means someone knows they’ve left the country and it’s no longer domestic but international. That’s where the CIA comes in. The guy’s meaner than cat shit, Jack. Just so you know.”

  “Your point is…”

  “Like I said, he was Lizzie Fox’s running partner,” Mark said triumphantly.

  “No fucking shit!”

  “And there’s more. Guess who was dogging both of them?”

  “Who? You gonna make me drag it out of you, Mark?”

  “Nope. Just saving the best for last. Maggie Spritzer, intrepid newshound reporter.”

  “Tell me this is the truth, Mark. Swear on your mother!” Jack all but squealed.

  “It’s gospel. I got the photos to prove it, too. You owe me, buddy. My bills go out the end of the month so please pay promptly. A big steak dinner would not go unnoticed, either. With, say, a six-pack of Heineken.”

  “You got it! Thanks, Mark.”

  “Anytime, Jack.”

  Jack closed his cell phone and sat down on the edge of the bed. He kicked off his slippers and stared at his bare feet.

  Sleep was now out of the question.

  Jack started to pace the confines of the bedroom Nikki had decorated in different shades of lavender, her favorite color. He sniffed. Even after all this time, the room, the whole house, for that matter, still smelled of Nikki. He looked around at the furnishings. How happy they’d been when they shared this house. His eyes burned unbearably when he thought about the day the deed had arrived in the mail from one of the leading law firms in the city. How like Nikki to think of him when her own life was in jeopardy.

  Maggie. Lizzie. Mitch Riley. What did it all mean? Who the hell were the good guys and who were the bad guys? When no magical answers appeared, Jack hitched up his pajama bottoms and headed downstairs to the kitchen where he opened a beer. He turned on the television on the counter to watch the midnight broadcast of the day’s news. He hooked a foot on one of the chairs to bring it closer, he propped up both feet on the chair and proceeded to let his mind race, his eyes on the little screen on the counter.

  Jack mentally ticked off the things he didn’t understand: Lizzie and Navarro coincidentally showing up at the gym where he was working out. Why? Lizzie said someone was trying to kill her. Probably a gross exaggeration. Navarro just happened to be at the gym at the same time. Why? Jack shrugged as he finished off his beer. He looked at the empty bottle. Did he really want another one? Yep.

  Mitch Riley. Well, damn. Some kind of wild card? Mitch Riley and Lizzie Fox. Was she carrying tales? Was it possible she was a snitch or was it possible that she was working with the Fibbies? If true, what did she get out of it? Was it possible she had tried a federal case and cut some corners? Knowing Lizzie Fox the way he did, he was sure she would never leave herself open to any kind of blackmail. That left only one explanation. The Bureau promised her something. Something she wanted more than her career…

  Jack’s mind flashed back to the day Nikki had told him Lizzie always went to the wall for her clients, did whatever it took, whatever she could legally get away with. The key word here was “legally.” Lizzie did things outside the box but always covered her ass. It was one of the things Nikki liked about her. Nikki had always been an astute judge of character. That almost had to mean Lizzie was one of the good guys. Almost. Sort of. Kind of. Shit!

  On the other hand, maybe Lizzie had a hate on these days for her seven clients because they’d bailed on her and left her holding the bag. She’d taken a lot of abuse from TV reporters during those first days—he’d watched the coverage on the 24-hour news channels nonstop while he was on the mountaintop. Lizzie had done her best to carry it off but you could hear the anger in her voice, see it in the set expression of her face. The worst thing she’d said as far as he could remember was that she was duped.

  Duped?

  The Lizzie Fox he knew would never be duped. No way, no how.

  Could it be that Nikki, or Myra, or maybe even Charles had somehow gotten to Lizzie and this was all part of some master plan? The more he thought about that, the more stupid the idea sounded. Scratch that completely.

  A ripple of fear raced up Jack’s arms. Was it possible Lizzie was onto Judge Easter? If so, did she volunteer that information to the Fibbies? Entirely possible. That would certainly put her on the map in Alphabet City. He shivered when he thought about Judge Cornelia Easter doing a stretch in the federal slammer.

  His head swimming, Jack let his feet bounce down on the floor. He rinsed out his beer bottles before he put them in the recycle bin in the laundry room. It really was time to go to bed. He felt like crying as he made his way up the steps to the room he’d once shared with Nikki.

  Maybe during the night something would come to him in his dreams. Tomorrow was another day. A day that would bring him closer to seeing Nikki again.

  Jack crawled into bed and again wished he had a dog to sleep on the bed with him. A nice, warm, furry body who would look at him with adoring eyes. His last conscious thoughts before drifting off to sleep were that he was going to get a dog sooner rather than later, and first thing in the morning he was going to find a way to talk to Judge Easter. On the sly.

  Chapter 11

  Jack Emery fought his way through the early-morning crowd at the courthouse coffee shop in his quest to find a way to talk to Judge Easter. If he managed to “just happen to be in line” he could say what he had to say and beat feet. There would be many eyes watching, not to mention the security guards; lawyers simply did not fraternize with judges.

  Jack hated this coffee shop because the coffee was awful, the bagels hard as rocks and the cream cheese an inferior brand. By eight-thirty they were always sold out. On more than one occasion he’d left the coffee shop with a bag of stale chips for his breakfast.

  His gaze swept through the lines of lawyers, court reporters and judges waiting to pay for the food and drink that would give them heartburn all day long. He saw Judge Easter, her court-assigned bodyguard next to her with her tray as she waited patiently, money in hand. Jack jostled and elbowed his way until he was just one person away from Myra Rutledge’s longtime friend. He did his best to make eye contact, willing the judge to look his way. All he had going for him at the moment
was clumsiness, so he pretended to stumble and dropped his briefcase. When he bent down to pick it up, he apologized profusely and then whispered, “I need to talk to you, ASAP.”

  The judge looked down at Jack. “Mr. Emery, this is not a good way to start the day. Are you all right?”

  “Right as rain, Judge. Just a misstep,” Jack said, loud enough for the others in line to hear him. “I think I’ll forgo this fine cuisine, find a place to smoke and grab some coffee in the office. Nice talking to you, Judge.”

  “That was brilliant, really brilliant,” Jack mumbled to himself. Old people usually had hearing problems. Did the judge hear him? He hoped so. He looked at his watch. He had fifteen minutes before it was time to report in. Maybe a cigarette would calm his nerves.

  Instead of heading for the elevator, Jack walked down the hall to a door with a huge red EXIT sign overhead. This was the door they usually brought high-profile clients through. At any given time during the day there would be clusters of people outside smoking. Hell, even the judges who still puffed away stood outside with the masses. He’d seen Judge Easter out here a few times swilling the hateful coffee and searing her lungs. Maybe she’d take his hint and come this way.

  Jack wondered if he was making a mistake. If he was, it wouldn’t be the first time. He shouldered through the door and joined the dozen or so smokers. He fired up and leaned against the wall to wait. He had two more puffs on his cigarette left when Judge Easter walked through the door, her bodyguard right behind her. Following protocol, the other smokers moved away. Jack stayed where he was.

  “Good morning again, Mr. Emery. A fine spring morning, don’t you think?”

  She was getting it. Good. “It certainly is, Judge.” Jack looked down at his cigarette. He dropped it to the ground, stepped on it, then picked it up and threw it in the trash container. He fired up a second cigarette. “I’m trying to quit.”

  The judge smiled. “Me, too.”

  Jack drew a deep breath. “I like to run and if you smoke it doesn’t help. I like to run along the Tidal Basin. I’ll tell you, you see everyone out there pounding the ground. I always try to figure out if they smoke or not. You know, by how fast or slow they run or jog. Just yesterday I saw Lizzie Fox and that guy from the FBI, what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Riley. Running side by side. I don’t know if they smoke or not. Probably not. Well, nice talking to you, Judge. Sorry about bumping into you back there in the coffee shop.” Without another word, Jack tossed down his unfinished cigarette, and again stepped on it, picked it up, threw it out and was out of there before any more words could be said.

  As he waited for the elevator, Jack told himself the judge was sharp and intuitive. He was almost certain she had gotten the meaning behind his words. What she would do with the information, he had no clue. He’d given her the warning, the rest was up to her.

  No one had come right out and told him that the judge was actually involved with the women from Pinewood. Not even Nikki. While they all agreed Jack belonged to the group, he knew he was out of the loop on a lot of things, thanks to Charles Martin.

  Jack stepped into the elevator with six other lawyers who were moaning and groaning about their coming day. They were all carrying the hard-as-rocks bagels and cups of the awful swill that passed for coffee.

  For now he needed to concentrate on the day ahead of him. He was thankful he had only this one court appearance, just to oversee how one of his underlings performed for his evaluation report. If things went well, he’d be back in his office in an hour. With any luck, if he managed to clear his desk, he could spend some time thinking about Maggie Spritzer and how she figured into whatever was going on. He might even be able to work in a phone call to Nikki. She needed to know about these latest developments.

  In the end, Jack did none of those things. Within minutes of entering his office, his boss dragged him out of the building and across town to a meeting with four new hires for their understaffed office. The interviews lasted all day with only a twenty-minute lunch break.

  The special encrypted phone in his jacket pocket buzzed twice during the day but he was unable to answer it because he knew he wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation with Nikki. He had to fight with himself not to put his fist through the plate glass door.

  The minute Jack walked into Harry Wong’s dojo, Harry turned his class over to one of his assistants. He walked behind the juice bar in the corner to pour Jack a cup of green tea and one for himself.

  “You here to work out or is this a social call?” Harry asked.

  “Let’s go outside. I need a cigarette.”

  “No, you don’t need a cigarette. I thought you quit.” It was an old argument and neither man had the desire to go at it other than to mouth words.

  “Three cigarettes a week is quitting. I had one and a half today. Just shut up, Harry, and listen to me.”

  Harry concentrated on his calloused bare feet that could kill a man with one well-placed kick. He shifted his mind to another place as he tried to make sense out of what Jack was telling him.

  “What’s it mean, Jack?” he asked when his friend wound down.

  Jack wrinkled his nose as he started to breathe through his mouth. He looked around the dimly lit alley behind the dojo as he inched closer to the door. “This place stinks. You should clean it up, Harry.”

  “Tell it to the landlord. Explain to me what it all means.”

  “That’s just it, Harry, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to call Nikki but she isn’t answering the phone she swore to answer 24/7. I’ve been dicking around with the idea of calling Charles but I wanted to run it by you. I don’t want to do anything unless we’re both in agreement. Just so you know, on my way over here I made up my mind that I’m not going to do another goddamn thing in regard to those women, and that includes Nikki, unless and until Charles tells us everything. Everything, Harry.”

  “That works for me. Do it.”

  Jack waffled. “It’s not that easy. It’s a given that he isn’t going to tell me anything on this superspy cell phone. My gut tells me to threaten him and I’m not sure that’s a wise move.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  “You know why, Harry? I’m scared, that’s why.” Jack fired up his fourth cigarette of the day. Harry knocked it out of his hand. Jack withdrew another one from the pack and lit up. Smoke spiraled upward. “Nellie Easter is a federal judge. Mitch Riley is FBI. I have no clue what the hell Lizzie Fox is. The CIA is waiting in the wings. Do you really think either one of us is a match for all of that?”

  “Nope.”

  Harry’s bare feet scuffed at the dirt on the ground. Jack looked down at the trenches the man’s bare feet were digging. His toes must be like daggers, Jack thought inanely.

  “They’re coming here. That has to mean they aren’t scared. What’s that say about us, Jack? Think about it.”

  “It means they know what’s going on, whereas we are in the dark. If I knew what the hell was going on I might not be so apprehensive. We’re flying blind here, Harry.”

  “What can we do?”

  The hole in the dirt was now deep enough that it was up to Harry’s ankle. The man of no nerves wasn’t so steady right now.

  “Well, for starters we could pay Lizzie Fox a visit. If we knew where she lived, that is. Mark might be able to come up with an address. Or, we could start following Maggie Spritzer since she seems to have the inside track right now. The woman is like a bulldog. Or, we could take out Mitch Riley. Barring that, we could sweat him if we could find a way to do it.”

  Harry started on a second hole, digging with just his big toe. “Seems like a lot of maybes and ifs to me, Jack. Jesus, I hate that Martin guy. He’s the one we should take out,” he grumbled.

  “I’m going to call Mark to meet us here. Maybe we can hatch a plan that takes in all the parties in this little drama.”

  “What about the judge?”

  “Yeah, she’s the wild card here but I know in my
gut she’s in this up to those bushy eyebrows of hers. Five will get you ten she’s going to be the one to host this little get-together. Don’t ask me how she’ll do it because I don’t know. Charles is the brains of that outfit. He’s got it worked out nine ways to Sunday. You gonna fill those holes back up, Harry?”

  “What holes?”

  Jack rolled his eyes. He fished for the special phone in his pocket. He pressed buttons until the number he wanted came up. He hit speed dial. He closed his eyes, a vision of Charles in the war room looking down at the number. The voice from the other side of the world was crisp, clear and very British sounding.

  “It’s rather late for a call, isn’t it, Jack?”

  Jack sucked in his breath. What happened to Hello…How are you?…What can I do for you?

  “Shank of the evening, Charles. I’m here at Harry’s dojo. We want to know what the hell is going on. Now in case you wonder why I’m asking you this question at this hour of the evening, let me tell you what has been transpiring.” Jack quickly related his findings, leaving out Mark Lane’s name. “I want to know what’s going on, Charles. For all I know, Harry and I are sitting ducks. I want the poop on the judge, too. And while I have you on the phone, Charles, I want to know why Harry and I have been kept out of the loop. I thought we had an understanding. Now it looks like you used us and then dumped us because we weren’t of any use to you on top of that mountain. I’m pissed, Charles, and so is Harry. No, scratch that, we’re really pissed. Another thing, what the hell am I supposed to do with that house in Montana?”

  “Enjoy the house, Jack. This is not a good time to explain everything to you. It was important that you didn’t know what was going on so that…” He paused for a moment and then went on. “Nikki will fill you in when she gets there. Trust me.”

  Jack glowered at Harry, who now had two holes in the ground that were up to midcalf. “Those days are long gone, Charles. I gave you your chance and you flunked the test. Harry and I will do what we have to do. Nice talking to you, Charles,” he snarled. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the special phone shut.