Sweet Revenge

by Fern Michaels

  “I could bring you some aspirin,” Maggie said. “Guys never remember to buy aspirin. You’ll probably need some cough medicine, too.”

  OK, so Jack was always right. Well not quite. He hadn’t mentioned the cough medicine. “Got that covered, too. Bought a bottle of both last week, but thanks for the offer.” Ted felt so smug with his quick-witted response that he tilted the recliner back too far and spilled coffee all over himself. Minnie was on him like a shot, licking it up.

  “Are you blowing me off, Robinson?”

  The recliner shot bolt upright as he tried to think of a response. Now that hadn’t come up in any conversations he’d had with Jack. Clearly, he was on his own. He needed to be cool here, play her like a violin — another one of Jack’s tidbits of advice. He thought he would try being cagey.

  “Now, why would you ask me something like that?”

  “I hope you get pneumonia!” Maggie screeched in his ear before she ended the call. Ted looked at the phone, heard the dial tone. He was forced to admit to himself that Maggie Spritzer was first and foremost a reporter. Like she gave a shit about whether he had chicken soup, aspirin or cough medicine. He might be dumb about women but he was smart enough to know that Maggie only wanted to get into his backpack while all he wanted was to get into her pants. He guffawed at his astute insight. Good old Jack would clap him on the back and say something stupid like “Way to go, big guy!” Oh, yeah, good old Jack could say that; his dick wasn’t hanging out to dry. “I hate you, Jack!” Ted muttered.

  He cleaned up the sticky mess on his recliner before he changed his clothes. Just for the hell of it he checked his medicine cabinet. No cough syrup. No aspirin, either. He called the deli on the corner and asked for the soup of the day. Broccoli cheese. Ted groaned as he poured the last of the coffee into a clean cup. “I really do hate you, Jack.”

  Ted walked into his bedroom, which doubled as a home office. He looked around, making a mental note to tidy up one of these days. He sat down, turned on his computer, and went to work. He knew he was on to something but before he could really make sense of anything, he would have to have a little talk with Jack. Maybe a big talk.

  With court dark on Friday, Jack Emery felt surrounded with paperwork as he growled and cursed at his underlings.

  “This isn’t summer camp, people. This is the goddamn District Attorney’s office. Now get your asses in gear and let’s play catch-up here. No one goes home today until this,” he said, pointing to the pile of folders on his desk, “gets squared away. That does not mean we transfer it to someone else’s desk, it means we complete it and file it appropriately. No one goes out to lunch, either. Now move, before I really get mad.”

  When in authority, delegate. He just loved Fridays. He was already looking forward to a long, leisurely lunch all by himself so he could sit and daydream about Nikki and the night they’d spent together. He was shrugging into his already-drenched raincoat that hadn’t had a chance to dry after this morning’s race from the parking lot when he saw Ted Robinson lurking out in the hallway. His mood immediately turned sour.

  “I guess we’re doing lunch, huh? Your turn to buy, Mr. DA,” Ted called from his position in the open doorway.

  Jack reached for his umbrella. There was no sense fighting it. He’d have to do his daydreaming about Nikki later. “People are going to start talking about us if we keep meeting up and eating together all the time.” At Ted’s dumb look he hastened to clarify what he meant. “You know, like we’re gay or something.”

  “What’s the something?”

  “Oh, shit, I don’t know. I was just…Never mind. What do you want this time?” Jack said, trying to hold the umbrella over both their heads.

  A strong gust of wind slammed into them, saving Ted from a reply. Jack’s umbrella sailed upward to join three others as they whipped across the lumbering gray sky.

  The District Attorney and the reporter soldiered on, valiantly fighting the driving wind and rain. When they finally reached Squire’s Pub, both men were soaked to the skin. Inside it was wall to wall with wet people grousing and cursing at the weather. Jack heard someone say this was the worst February in forty years as he made his way to the back of the pub to find a lone booth with a reserved sign on the table.

  “I called ahead. The owner tries to accommodate the DA’s office,” Jack said by way of explanation. Both men slipped into the booth. A waitress appeared almost immediately.

  Jack didn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have a bowl of chili, a cheeseburger and a double order of fries. Bring a draft with that.” When Ted started to sneeze, Jack ordered for him, too. He sat back and waited until Ted was comfortable. He knew something was wrong; he could sense it, feel it, smell it. Whatever was about to come out of Ted’s mouth, he knew he wasn’t going to like it. “Well?”

  “I thought we were friends, Jack.”

  “We are. You feeling insecure or something? Where are you going with this, Ted?”

  “You know what, Jack? You need to stop blowing that phony sunshine up my ass or else I’m going to charge you for a sun umbrella.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  Ted snorted, a hateful sound. “Like you don’t know. You’re just renting the house from Nikki Quinn. Yeah, right. I saw you, Jack. I saw Nikki. You were together last night. You’ve been trying to snooker me and I fell for it. I believed you because I thought you were my friend. My mistake, I admit. You’ve been running back to those women, telling them everything I’ve been telling you, right? Don’t make me even madder by denying it. You joined forces with that crew, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Jack?”

  Jack felt so light-headed he thought he was going to pass out right in the booth. Man, that would look super on the evening news. “So I was right, you’ve been following me. Well, Mr. Ace Reporter, ask yourself this. If I was doing what you said I was doing, do you think I’d be stupid enough to lead you to the house? I’m a District Attorney, for Christ’s sake. I would have dumped you and met Nikki somewhere else. You need to get real here, Ted.

  “Yeah, Nikki came to the house to collect the rent. She called me at work and asked me to pick up some dinner. What’s wrong with that? I paid her the rent, she paid for half the dinner, we ate together. She cleaned up. I went to bed and she went to bed. Separate rooms, Ted. She made coffee this morning, offered me a cup, which I declined. End of story.”

  “Bull shit!” Ted said.

  “Sounds like you’re calling me a liar, buddy.”

  “Sounds like you’re blowing that phoney sunshine up my ass again. If the shoe fits, wear it, buddy!” Ted snarled. “You’re in bed with that pack of jackals out at Pinewood.”

  Jack felt his blood run cold. “Hey, I’m good but I’m not that good. I hope you aren’t planning on telling any of this to my main squeeze, Marcey Watts. She’s jealous as hell. By the way, just for the record, Nikki has been seeing some guy named Adam Jester. You might want to check that out, too.”

  Ted leaned back when the waitress placed his food in front of him. He wondered if he’d be able to eat it. His throat felt scratchy. The spicy chili might burn his throat. He dipped the spoon into the bowl. He looked over at Jack, who was already wolfing down his food. “You’re lying,” he said coldly. “This is where the rubber meets the road, Jack. Either you tell me the truth right now or I’m gonna hang you and those women out to dry. Your call.” He was right, the chili was burning his throat.

  Jack raised his head. They were eyeball to eyeball. “I did tell you the truth.”

  Ted slapped some bills on the table as he fought to put on his wet jacket. He didn’t say a word.

  Jack continued to eat the spicy-hot chilli. His eyes burned and then started to water. He couldn’t ever remember feeling as bad as he did at this moment.

  Rosemary Hershey tried to avoid the flooded areas of the parking lot. She should have had more sense than to wear designer shoes with open toes and high heels. And she didn’t have a spare pair of shoes at the
office, either. She was halfway across the lot when she remembered the golf shoes that she had in the trunk of her car. She grimaced at the thought of wearing golf shoes with her Donna Karan outfit. If she didn’t get out of this rain, the pricey suit would be as wet as her shoes and she’d be hiding out in her office in her underwear.

  It was hard going walking into the driving wind and holding an umbrella at the same time. Eventually her problem was solved when the umbrella was wrenched from her hand. She watched in horror as it bounced across the parking lot and landed on top of a green SUV. Now she really was drenched. A howl of outrage escaped her lips as she ran the rest of the way to the front door where she met the mailman dressed in rain garb from head to toe. He held the door for her and Rosemary rushed through, gasping with the effort, rain dripping down her face, her makeup smeared, her hair clinging to her head and the sides of her face in wet strands.

  “Do you want to take the mail, Miss Hershey? It’s light today.”

  “Do I look like I want to take the mail? No, I don’t want the mail. Give it to the receptionist,” she said coldly. She was halfway across the lobby when she remembered the type of things she was getting in the mail. “Never mind, give it to me!”

  As she squished and dripped her way down the hall to her office, Rosemary pawed through the mail. She sucked in her breath when she saw another plain white envelope. This one had been sent from Springfield.

  In the office, Rosemary slammed the door shut and kicked off her ruined shoes. She dumped the light load of mail and her purse on Bobby’s clean desk before she wiggled out of her wet coat. Then she proceeded to dry her face and hair with wads of paper towels. She felt cold, wet and clammy. She hissed to the emptiness around her, “I’m pissed to the teeth and I didn’t even open the goddamn envelope yet!”

  She sucked in her breath as she ripped at the white envelope. Another picture. A recent Polaroid. Tommy. For one wild second, she felt like her eyeballs were on fire. Where did that name come from? Yesterday she hadn’t known the boy’s name. Diane and Tommy. She sat down, the Polaroid shot clasped in her hand. She reached for her glasses to see the picture better. It showed a sturdy little boy holding some sort of toy. He looked well nourished, well dressed. She peered closely at the background to see if she could tell where the picture was taken. There was nothing to see except a kitchen table with a pile of school books and a window over the sink.

  Trembling all over, Rosemary chewed on her lower lip. Had this picture come from the grandmother? Or had it come from someone else who had a close association with Isabelle Flanders? Not Bobby, she was sure of that. Who did that leave besides Isabelle? That stupid reporter! Where did the grandmother and the boy live? If she’d ever known, she couldn’t remember now. Her eyes burned with hatred as she slid the picture into one of Bobby’s desk drawers. She wasn’t about to cave in to someone’s blackmail scheme, because that’s what this was all about. She was sure of it.

  Rosemary started to pace her office. If she went on the prowl for information now, how was she going to design a horse farm? She had to decide what her priorities were.

  She opened the door to her office and called over to the secretary she’d shared with Bobby.

  “Call a staff meeting right now.”

  She would have her two associates and the promising intern start on the design. If it came out of her office, she reasoned, it was hers.

  Twelve

  The room was dark, the new day beyond the window darker still. Two hours to go till dawn. Myra squinted at the red numerals on the digital clock on the nightstand.

  “Oh, Charles, don’t tell me you’re getting up already.” Myra struggled from her warm cocoon to prop herself up on one elbow. Alarm was in her voice. “Is anything wrong, dear?”

  “No, no, go back to sleep, Myra. Today is a very busy day. I want to get an early start and you know we don’t want the girls asking questions about my activities today.”

  Myra rubbed at her eyes, trying to fully wake up. “Yes, of course. I’ll join you downstairs. Tea this morning, Charles. Later, when the girls get up, I’ll make coffee. Do you still think you’ll be home this evening?”

  “That’s my plan. We have it all under control, Myra. I’m on a tight schedule so I can’t dilly-dally. The Prime Minister has carved ten minutes out of his busy schedule to speak with me and I must be on time.” His eyes twinkled when he turned on the lamp on his side of the big sleigh bed. “His aide told me he has brought along a personal message from my dear friend.”

  “Oh, Charles, how exciting! A personal message from the Queen! That has to be akin to being invited to the President’s personal quarters for a sit down.” Myra swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her robe. She quickly adjusted the thermostat before heading for the bathroom. Charles was already in the shower and he was singing. She smiled but couldn’t make out the words. Probably some cowboy ditty. Charles had always loved the American cowboys of the Wild West and had watched every movie ever made, some more than once. One year she’d given him a pearl-handled six gun and holster for Christmas. He’d worn it for weeks, practicing his draw until the novelty had worn off. She knew the gun and the holster were still two of his favorite possessions. Dear, sweet Charles. She loved him so much she ached at times with the feeling. Sir Charles, knighted by the Queen herself. Myra smiled. Imagine taking a shower next to royalty. She laughed then, a sound of pure mirth as she stepped into her own shower, remembering the time she’d bought him a faux crown studded with paste jewels and told him he had to wear it in the shower. They had laughed for hours over that scene. Charles was such a good sport.

  Twenty minutes later, Myra was dressed, her pearls around her neck but without makeup, joined Charles in the kitchen for her first cup of tea of the day. She eyed the stack of papers on the kitchen table that Charles was busily stuffing into his briefcase. He noticed the worry in Myra’s eyes.

  “We have to do this, dear. It’s called planning for the future in case things go awry. After today, we can forget all about it until such time. We may never need to act on today’s activities, but things will be in place. It’s as foolproof as it can be, Myra.”

  “I know that. But what if…”

  “If the other players don’t do their part? That’s a chance we have to take. Right now, that simply is not on my radar screen. I don’t want it to be on yours either. How do you like this breakfast blend of tea?”

  “It’s fine. I think lemon spoils it, though. You’re just making conversation, Charles, so I won’t worry.”

  “How astute of you, dear. I really must go. I’m catching the first shuttle to New York. I’ll be back in Washington before noon. You can call me on the cell if it’s an emergency. Otherwise, I’ll see you this evening. Come on now, stiff upper lip.”

  Myra held up her face for Charles’s kiss. “I miss you already. Go!”

  She looked down at the tea in her cup after the door closed behind Charles. When she was certain he couldn’t see what she was doing, she dumped the tea in the sink and got out a good old American Lipton tea bag.

  With nothing to do until the girls woke up, Myra treated herself to a cigarette. She coughed and sputtered but she kept puffing away until a blue haze filled the kitchen. She’d long ago given up the ugly habit, but once in a while she smoked a cigarette to remind her of why she’d given them up in the first place. Charles called it self-torture.

  The other reason was that she was nervous, wondering if the plans she and Charles were putting into place would come back to bite her on the rear end, as Kathryn would put it. Only Kathryn hadn’t said rear end; she’d been a lot more graphic. And as Charles said, if nothing ever came of their plans, so much the better.

  Everything always came down to Charles. Without him, the Sisterhood couldn’t function. It was his expertise, his worldwide connections, his reputation, that had gotten them this far. Without a doubt, Charles was the marvel in marvelous. The really wonderful part was that he loved doing what h
e was doing for her and the girls. He was, as he put it, back in the game. The game of espionage and covert operations that he’d had to retire from when his cover was blown years ago. He had been spirited away to the States with a little help from MI6 and the Queen. Charles had told her it was done all the time, on both sides of the pond.

  Myra got up to fix herself a second cup of tea, wondering what time the girls would be getting up. The girls, meaning Alexis and Kathryn. Isabelle was staying in the District and Nikki had gone home late the previous afternoon. She hadn’t seen Yoko in three days. She made a mental note to call her and then remembered that Yoko had called them last night just as she and Charles were getting ready for bed. She’d said she would be here in time for breakfast, which would be shortly. She should give some thought to breakfast. She hated cooking and somehow managed to either overcook, undercook or burn whatever she tried to make. Charles, however, was a gourmet chef, among his many other accomplishments. Maybe, if she waited long enough, Kathryn or Alexis would come downstairs and volunteer.

  Myra sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. Then she felt a wet nose on her arm. Murphy. Another wet nose. Grady. She smiled as she petted both dogs and then let them out just as Yoko drove through the gate. Shivering, with her arms crossed over her chest, Myra waited in the doorway for Yoko to get out of her car and do a little dance for the dogs. They thought she wanted to play. She ran after them, zigzagging this way and that to the dogs’ delight. Once, she’d been afraid of them, but that was a long time ago.

  Winded, Yoko ran to the door, hugged Myra and then slipped out of her coat. She found two dog biscuits in one of the pockets and held them out to the dogs, who took them daintily and then ran back upstairs.

  “Can I make you some tea, Yoko?”

  “No, thank you. Where is everyone?”