18. Cross Roads

by Fern Michaels

  Without thinking, Jack picked up the strange phone from the console that all Global offices had and pressed the number two, which would connect him with Bert Navarro. He didn’t even want to think about the damn crazy phone that was so programmed, so futuristic, it made him nuts. Nikki said it was Global’s way of cutting him off from the outside world so he could concentrate on the world of Global Securities. The only thing that counted in this godforsaken place. They’d had so many fights over that, he’d lost track.

  “Navarro.”

  “Emery,” Jack said through clenched teeth. He hated this stupid repartee. “I have here on my desk three resignations. The only reason I think I have them is because my secretary didn’t come in this morning, and I personally checked the fax machine and the e-mails. Harry, Ted, and Espinosa quit. I can’t be sure, but I think they’re all Stateside. Do you know anything about this?”

  The silence lasted almost a full minute before Bert replied. “No, Jack, I didn’t know. Hell, you were at that same briefing I attended. No one quits or leaves Global unless he’s dead, because it’s a perfect place to work. What was their reason for leaving?”

  “There’s nothing on here. And, buddy, just for the record, I hate this fucking job. All Nikki and I do is fight. She slammed me this morning and said she couldn’t take it anymore. To be honest, I don’t know whether she’ll be there when I get home.”

  “That’s pretty funny, Jack, because Kathryn and I had the same fight last night. She actually packed her bags. She wouldn’t look at me this morning. You know what else? I’m with you, I hate this fucking job. I think we were all nuts to sign on to begin with. Are you trying to tell me something here?”

  “I was just going to ask you the same question. Look, I love Nikki. If push comes to shove, and we’re definitely at the shoving stage right now, I’m going with her. Jellicoe can shove this job with all his rules and regs right up his ass for all I care. By the way, have you seen the great man lately?”

  “Not since we walked out of the office after we signed those contracts. I have come to the conclusion, with Kathryn’s help, that I am simply not dedicated enough to work for this organization.”

  Jack snorted. “I want to know why I have been cut off from all my old friends. Since we all work for the same company, why is that? Every goddamn phone either is jammed or isn’t programmed for making calls other than internal ones. I tried going to Internet cafés to get hold of Harry and the others, but the calls won’t connect. Nikki said we’re Hank Jellicoe’s prisoners, and we’re just too stupid to know it.”

  “That’s the same thing Kathryn said,” Bert muttered.

  “Like I said, Bert, if my secretary had arrived on time, I seriously doubt I’d even know about Ted, Espinosa, and Harry. But I do know now. You know what else? I’m going home, but I’m going to stop at that swanky hotel on the hill and see if I can get a call through to the States. I think my best bet will be Maggie. You’re four hours from me, Bert, what are you going to do?”

  “Wait for you to call me back.”

  “I might not be coming back. The only way I can reach you is through this dumb-ass phone I’m talking on now.”

  “I know you, Jack. You already made up your mind. You aren’t coming back. So what’s the plan?”

  “Jesus, Bert, what do you want from me? I’m actually dizzy with the thought that maybe I can get out of here. Okay, okay, I’m going home to talk to Nikki. Unless she agrees to leave right away, today, I’ll come back and call you in, let’s say, two hours. That will give you time to go home and talk to Kathryn. You’re right. I want out. I wish I’d had the guts to do it earlier.”

  “You’re seriously thinking of throwing in the towel because…”

  “Harry had a reason, so did Ted and Espinosa. Leaving wasn’t something they did on a whim; they thought it through. You know them, Bert. They’re all thinkers. I don’t know what those reasons are, but whatever they turn out to be, that’s good enough for me. So, yeah, I’m not just thinking about it, I’m going to do it. I just hope I’m not too late where Nikki is concerned. Listen, I only know this because Nikki said there is a flight out of Heathrow in London at two thirty in the afternoon. Every afternoon, I assume. Obviously, she has or had a plan in place to leave on her own at some point. If we can get a flight out of here in time, and if all goes well and Nikki hasn’t left on her own, we’ll be on that flight. If you don’t hear from me and are planning to leave, meet us at Heathrow. We’ll wait for you until the day after tomorrow. But if you’re not there, we’ll take the two thirty that day to the States. Right now, the only thing that matters to me is Nikki and saving my marriage. You do what you have to do, Bert. I’m going to do what I have to do. See ya, buddy.”

  Jack felt like he was walking on air as he galloped out of the office and down the two flights of stairs of the impressive building that belonged to Global Securities. He zipped through the door and jogged to the nearest Internet café, where he paid for Internet service and fired off an e-mail to Maggie Spritzer at the Post in Washington, D.C. The message was short and sweet. Watch the skies, we’re coming home. He hit the SEND button and wanted to cry when the message wouldn’t go through. He deleted the message and left the café. “Screw you, Jellicoe!” Please let her be there when I get home, he said silently over and over as he walked the short distance to the house he shared with Nikki, the house owned by Global. Not for the first time, he wondered if the house was bugged. Nikki said it was, but she couldn’t find the bugs.

  Jack blasted through the front door, shouting Nikki’s name as he made his way through the thirteen-thousand-square-foot house, which was twelve thousand square feet too big for him and Nikki.

  Nikki appeared at a set of French doors. Jack never came home in the middle of the morning. “What’s wrong?” she said, alarm ringing in her voice.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong, but something is going on that is giving me the heebie-jeebies. What I do know is we’re going home. And we’re going NOW. Do you want to pack, or are you ready to go as you are? There’s not one damn thing I want to take with me. There’s a flight out of here in ninety minutes. We might get lucky and snag seats.”

  “Oh, Jack, are you sure? I thought this day would never come. I hate it here, Jack. I hate Global. I hate this house. I hate this country. But I do love you. I’m ready. There’s nothing I want to take from here, either,” she said breathlessly as she reached for her purse, which was hanging on a hook by the front door. She checked to make sure her passport was inside. It was. “Where’s your passport, Jack?”

  Jack held the door for his wife as he patted the inside of his jacket. “I say we drive and leave the car at the airport. I’ll lock it and mail the keys back to this office.”

  “Oh, my God! Are you sure we’re going to be able to leave? What if we can’t get a flight?” Nikki fretted.

  Jack settled himself behind the wheel of a top-of-the-line Mercedes Benz and turned the key. Without missing a beat as he backed up the car, he said, “We are taking the next flight out of here, and I don’t give a shit where it’s going. You okay with that, Nik?”

  “Better than okay,” Nikki said, squeezing her husband’s arm. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Jack took his eyes off the road, mouthed the word “bug,” and said, “We’ll have all the time in the world to talk on the plane. It’s a long flight.”

  That was good enough for Nikki. She squeezed his arm again and tried to inch closer, but the console in the middle kept her at bay. “Oh, Jack, I am so happy. Every day since we got here and all those other stopover places, I have prayed that we could go home. I know we’re going to have to pay back the money. I don’t care about that. I’ll waitress, I’ll clean people’s houses, I’ll work three jobs, I don’t care.”

  “It’s not going to come to that, Nik. I can still practice law, and for all you know, your license was reinstated in the time we’ve been gone. Our lives from here on in will be whatever we mak
e of them. I hope Bert makes his flight. I told him we’d meet up in London at Heathrow. Whoever gets there first waits for the other one.”

  “Is…is this mutiny, Jack?” Nikki whispered. Jack nodded, his face grim.

  Jack concentrated on the road and the dust clouds that were everywhere. God, how he hated this place. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Never in his life had he made such a rash, wildly impetuous move as this one. He’d always considered himself a stable, think-it-through kind of guy. And here he was, throwing in the towel, tossing money down the tubes, and heading back to safe, familiar shores with a relief so profound that no words could describe it.

  As the powerful Mercedes bounced along the rutted road, Nikki’s hold on Jack’s arm grew tighter. By the time they were two miles from the airport her hold on Jack’s arm was leaving bruises, but he didn’t care. His own grip on the steering wheel was viselike.

  “Promise me, Jack, that you will never, ever take me to a zoo where they have camels. Promise me you will never, ever show me a picture of this country. Because if you do, I will have to kill you. Do you hear me, Jack?”

  “Yes, Nikki, I hear you, and I promise. I’m thinking this is kind of like those pumpkins from way back. I hate all things pumpkin.”

  In spite of herself, Nikki laughed. “Can’t you speed it up, Jack?”

  “And break an axle and have to hoof the last mile? I-don’t-think-so. I can see the airport. We’re almost there. No luggage might pose a problem.”

  “I don’t see why,” Nikki said. “Well, I do see why, but I’m sure we can talk our way through it. After all, you’re Global’s top dog here in this hellhole. All you have to do is throw your weight around. You can do that, can’t you, Jack?”

  Jack correctly interpreted the anxiety level in his wife’s voice and just nodded. The truth was, he had no idea what to expect when he got to the airport. He knew for a fact there was a contingent of Global’s field agents on duty because he had personally deployed them. All of the agents worked under him. But as everyone in the Global Securities network knew, there was only one real boss, and that was Hank Jellicoe, who had all the power centers of this country under lock and key. He nodded again, more to reassure himself than Nikki.

  “You know what, I’m just going to leave the car out front and have one of the guys take it back to the house. That way I won’t have to worry about the keys.”

  “Sounds good. We’re here, Jack.”

  “Yeah, we’re here! We have thirty-three minutes till the flight boards. Let’s just hope we can get out of here.”

  Chapter 8

  Isabelle Flanders bolted upright, her body flushing, her head pounding. Her eyes were wild as she looked around the room she had been sleeping in for the past year and a half. It was ostentatious, but she hadn’t decorated it, and it wasn’t to her taste. Too much furniture—costly furniture—too many statues and knickknacks. The architect in her liked clean, straight lines, no clutter. It was obvious to her trained eye that whoever had decorated the entire house did not have a budget, and money had been no object. At least that’s what Stu had told her. The bottom line was that she hated the place and everything in it.

  Her head continued to pound as Isabelle swung her legs over the side of the bed and made her way to the shower. Maybe, just maybe, she could head off what she knew was coming. It had been years since she’d had one of what she called her spells. Back when her life had been turned upside down by an employee who’d blamed her for a deadly car accident and went on to steal her business, her fiancé, her money, and her life. She’d lost her architect’s license and been one step away from killing herself when Nikki Quinn came into her life and somehow, with her help and that of the other vigilantes, she became whole again, and the awful spells or visions, as the others called them, stopped. And now the visions were with her again, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Stress, one doctor had said. Another said it was a gift and to enjoy the experience. There were more doctors who said the same thing, only using different words. She knew they thought she was crazy, and sometimes she thought she was, too. Until something happened that proved she really did see what she saw in her visions.

  Isabelle looked into the vanity mirror and wondered who the person staring at her was. Panic rivered through her. She stepped back and turned on the shower. If she didn’t turn on the exhaust fan, the mirror would steam up, and she wouldn’t see anything.

  She knew she was in the shower because she could feel the water from the thirty-seven jets pummeling her head and body, but she was somewhere else, fully clothed, watching Jack Emery looking at a stack of papers on his desk. Sand was blowing from all directions, almost blinding her. She desperately wanted to talk to Jack, but there was sand in her mouth. Ted, Harry, and Joe Espinosa’s names were on the papers. She blinked and blinked again because she was now in Harry’s dojo. No, that was wrong, she was outside Harry’s dojo and everyone was talking at once—Myra, Maggie, and Annie—but she couldn’t hear what they were saying because it was raining, and the rain was getting inside her ears. Yoko, sweet Yoko, was holding out rice cakes no one wanted, and she had tears in her eyes. She looked down at the newspaper on the picnic table. It was the Post, Maggie’s paper, the very paper Annie owned. She squinted and saw the date. Today’s date. She tried to make her tongue work, but no words came out. She flapped her arms and hands, but no one seemed to notice. She tried screaming. At the top of her lungs. She heard no sound.

  Isabelle sucked in her breath when she saw herself seated on an airplane. She was safe; she was going home. The picture in her mind raced forward as she watched Jack and Nikki clutch at one another. Nikki was crying, and Jack was trying to comfort her. All she could hear were the words we’re going home over and over again. Home.

  Isabelle moved then because the water had turned cool. She reached up to adjust the hot water faucet, then sat down on the marble bench inside the massive shower, which could hold a dozen people. The terrible, pounding headache was gone, but she was shaking and shivering, the warm water cascading over her naked body, doing nothing to warm her. She was cold to the bone.

  Somehow, she managed to get out of the shower into the fog of steam that had engulfed the bathroom. She reached for where she thought the bath sheet was, found it, and wrapped it around her. Then she ran out the French doors to the terrace, where the sun was scorching hot. She took a deep breath before she curled up on a gaily colored chaise. More deep breaths. Still more deep breaths. And then she was okay. She felt the blazing heat but didn’t move. She needed to think. Think hard. If only she had someone to talk to, to confide in. If only.

  God, how she missed the others. She’d give anything, anything, to be back on the mountain with Annie, Myra, and the others. She wished now that President Connor had never pardoned any of them. At least she’d been happy back then. It wasn’t that she was exactly unhappy here in Paraguay. She still couldn’t believe she was here, living under Hank Jellicoe’s roof and obeying his rules. She’d been a fool to follow Stu. But it had seemed like the thing to do at the time. How wrong she’d been. At least she had the good sense not to get married. That alone left her a free agent. But she wasn’t really free, and she knew it full well. The eyes and ears of Hank Jellicoe’s people were all around her. When she complained about the spying, the reports on everything she said or did, Stu just said, “That’s the way it is. Accept it because it’s for your own safety.”

  Stu had been away more these last months than he was home. In truth, she was always relieved when she saw him packing for a trip to God only knew where. In the beginning she had cried when Stu said she couldn’t leave to go home to visit. Then she’d started to scheme and plot behind the scenes. Once she got the lay of the land and learned how the household worked, she’d gone to work behind closed doors. She was an architect, for God’s sake. How hard could it be to doctor up a passport? It had taken her three months to fine-tune everything. She was good to go if she had the guts to attempt the
move. If she wanted any confirmation, today’s vision was all she needed to spur her on. With Stu on the move, all she had to contend with were her handlers and the household help. The truth was, her handlers of late had become rather lax in their watchfulness, something she hoped would work to her advantage. Why she needed handlers or watchers was something she still hadn’t figured out after all this time. Stu telling her it was for her own safety was a crock, and he knew she knew it. She didn’t believe for a minute when she hounded him unmercifully saying they were just being careful since she was in a foreign country and was an American citizen.

  Yeah, well, this place and Stu, too, came with an expiration date and, as far as she was concerned, that date had arrived. The thought left her light-headed.

  Isabelle got up and left the terrace. Inside, she drew the sheer curtains covering the French doors and headed to a walk-in closet that was as big as a two-bedroom apartment in the Watergate. She walked among the racks of clothing she rarely wore and finally selected a white dress that would show off her tan, high-heeled sandals, and a perky little hat with a brim of the kind all the ladies in town wore as they shopped. Today, she would be the lady in white. When she boarded the flight to wherever it was going, she would be a lady in lime green, an outfit she’d never worn. She quickly ripped off the tags, ran to the bathroom, and flushed them. She folded the clothing neatly and tightly to fit into the white straw bag that she always carried. A small green-and-white clutch on a slender chain and no bigger than an oversize wallet went into the bottom of the straw bag, along with matching sandals. A strawberry blond wig followed. She was glad now that she’d had her hair cut short just a week ago; less hair to stuff under the wig, which was long and straight. She was sure Alexis would approve.