8. Hide and Seek

by Fern Michaels

“God rest the man’s soul,” Nellie said, blessing herself. “This town won’t realize what they had until Mitchell Riley tries stepping into Josh’s shoes.”

  “He’s heading home to shower and shave,” Kathryn said. “My best guess is he will be back at the Bureau within ninety minutes, holding court. First, though, he’ll go to his office to make it look good. Two hours tops. After that, the wife is fair game. In my opinion.”

  “Myra, call Charles again to find out where Mrs. Riley and her daughter can be taken so they’re safe,” Jack ordered. “We’re going to have to move fast. If Riley assumes Mr. Carpenter’s duties, Security will be on him and his family like white on rice. Things will be jumbled for the first couple of hours while everyone scurries around trying to figure out what to do. I’m thinking we have three to four hours to get them to safety. What do you think, Judge?”

  Nellie looked grim. “What I think is Mrs. Riley and her daughter will be an afterthought. I’m sad to say, Mr. Riley will be so intent on his own PR and making nice for the cameras he won’t even give his family a second thought. Someone, sooner or later, will ask him what he wants done in regard to his family. Mid-to late morning would be my guess,” Nellie said.

  “Crunch time, people,” Annie said. “Everyone, move in closer.”

  The doors to Nikki Quinn’s old law firm opened promptly at eight o’clock. Outside the main office door a tall, gum-chewing, wig-clad streetwalker, sporting a belly button ring and carrying her life in an oversize bag on her shoulder, paced up and down in stiletto heels. She looked like illegitimate sin packaged in a miniskirt and fishnet stockings. The belly button ring tinkled as she paced.

  Madeline Barrows, Nikki’s longtime office manager, keys in hand, stopped dead in her tracks to gawk at the gum-chewing mannequin wearing ten pounds of pancake makeup and another twenty pounds of costume jewelry. “Are…are you…uh…looking for someone?” Maddie asked carefully.

  Kathryn looked around, wondering if her face would crack wide-open. “Nikki sent me. She needs some information. Quick, get me inside.”

  Maddie’s plump hands fiddled with the keys in the lock. “Okay, okay, what does she need? Look, be careful what you say inside. I’m sure this place is bugged. Better yet, write it down. You look…like…uh…”

  “A slut. I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Kathryn said.

  Upstairs, Maddie ushered Kathryn into her private office. Kathryn raised more than one set of eyebrows along the way. “Write, write,” the plump Maddie said. Kathryn scribbled furiously. Maddie read the note and immediately slid it into the shredder. She held up her hand to signal that Kathryn should wait while she got the information Nikki wanted. When she returned with a tiny scrap of paper, Kathryn stuffed it into her push-up bra that was all push-up with little content.

  More scribbled notes followed.

  Is Nikki okay?

  Yes. She told me to hug you and to thank you and to tell you she thinks about you every day.

  Give her my love and tell her the firm is making money hand over fist.

  I’ll tell her.

  Does this have anything to do with what I heard on…Never mind, I don’t want to know. I remember the day the lady in question came in here. She was white as a sheet. Scared out of her wits. Nikki calmed her down. She never came back. By the way, that’s some outfit you’re wearing. Bet you could cause a three-car traffic jam all on your own. Hurry, I don’t want anyone asking any questions. Be careful.

  You got it.

  Kathryn looked around before she sashayed across the office and out the door to the steps. Maddie walked her down to the door and opened it for her. A battered van swerved into the lot. Kathryn waved and ran as fast as the stilettos would allow. She fell across the seat as the van careened out of the parking lot onto the main road. Her wig askew, Kathryn started to laugh and couldn’t stop. “Guess my work here is done, gentlemen!”

  The two men from Harry’s dojo looked at one another as if to say, “Crazy Americans, what do you expect?”

  In the process, they did ogle her and it did not go unnoticed by Kathryn, who just continued to laugh. A minute later, she whipped the encrypted phone out of the satchel on her shoulder. She rattled off the number of Alice Riley’s track phone. Now, her work was really done. She leaned back and watched the scenery, drinking it up to store as a memory so when she returned to the mountaintop in Spain, she could pull it up and smile.

  Back at the house on Orchard Drive, the women watched the news, hardly daring to breathe. And then Mitch Riley appeared on the wide screen as he was entering the hallowed doors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “Okay, it’s safe to call Alice Riley,” Nikki said.

  “Jack, you make the call and listen to her voice,” Myra said. “If it’s the same person who called you last night, we’ll proceed from there.”

  Jack sucked in his breath and waited, his fingers drumming on top of one of the boxes. He listened intently to the soft voice on the other end of the line. “This is Alice Riley. Can I help you?” Jack closed his eyes, rolling the words around inside his head. He nodded. Nikki grabbed the phone and spoke rapidly.

  “Mrs. Riley, this is Nikki Quinn. Please listen to me very carefully and I want you to trust me. Mrs. Riley, are you there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here. What’s wrong? Why are you calling me? Did something happen to my daughter? Please tell me that’s not why you’re calling,” Alice Riley said, her voice rising shrilly.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your daughter. As far as I know she’s safe. As to why I’m calling, I think you know why, Mrs. Riley. You called Jack Emery last night and delivered boxes of your husband’s files to Saint Theresa’s cemetery. With the director’s passing, your husband is going to be stepping into his shoes. I don’t know if that will be permanent or not but let’s assume it is. Those files are…explosive and can ruin many lives. We have to make them known and that puts you in grave danger. We have to assume that’s why you turned them over to Mr. Emery. I feel confident in saying your husband would not let another soul know he was collecting files like those in the boxes you turned over, and manufacturing evidence to hurt other people. I assume you knew all this when you decided to give up the files. Did you think beyond that, Mrs. Riley?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. He’s a horrible man. When I realized he was going to ruin Judge Easter I knew I had to do something. I’m locked into this marriage and I’m afraid of my husband and what he can do to me. How did you know it was me, Miss Quinn?”

  Nikki drew in her breath and let it out slowly. “I remembered the day you came to my office and how frightened and upset you were. When I heard about the files, I knew it had to be someone who really hated Riley. Your name popped into my mind. You gave me your track phone number and I put it in your file. In other words, dumb luck. Are you going into your shop today?”

  “Yes,” came the whispered reply.

  “What about your daughter?”

  “She’s at a sleepover. My husband knows about it. Normally, I leave the store and pick her up around noon. She loves helping out in the storeroom.”

  “You’re going to change your routine a little. Not enough to raise eyebrows, however. I want you to pick up your daughter and take her to work with you right now. We’ll take it from there.”

  “When you say we’ll take it from there, do you mean…the vigilantes?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Riley, that’s what I mean. I’m trusting you to do exactly what I’m telling you to do. Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, you can trust me. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “You can’t. We’ll be in touch with you. Hurry and do what I asked. I’ll call you again midmorning.”

  “Just so you know, there’s a GPS tracker on my car. My mechanic found it. When I want to go somewhere and not be followed, I take it off. You’re scaring me, Miss Quinn.”

  “I’m sorry about that but you have reason to be scared. We’ll take care of you if you do
exactly what we tell you to do. Right now our primary goal is to get you and your daughter away safely. You are okay with that, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. This is no way to live. It’s been hard for all of us to live this pretend life. I’ll open the shop early as soon as I pick up my daughter. I’ll wait for your call.”

  “Be careful, Mrs. Riley,” Nikki said before she broke the connection.

  Nikki turned to the others. “Mrs. Riley is onboard. What’s our next step?”

  Chapter 23

  Maggie Spritzer slipped on her backpack. Her destination on this fine Saturday morning was the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Her journalism antennae were vibrating, working at full frequency as she opened the door of the apartment, but her cell phone rang before she could close the door. She muttered a few choice words under her breath when she heard Ted’s cell phone ring at the same time in the kitchen. If she answered her own phone, she wouldn’t be able to hear what Ted was saying. Still, she didn’t want to miss whoever was calling her. She flipped open the phone and said, “Spritzer.” She tried to hear what Ted was saying as she listened to the voice in her ear. Stunned at what she was hearing and baffled at the strange tone she was hearing in Ted’s voice, she started to shake. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick?” she sputtered. One of the vigilantes calling her on a Saturday morning! Unbelievable!

  “I don’t have time for you to arrange for a voice analysis, Ms. Spritzer. This is Isabelle Flanders and I’m closer to you than you know. I want to talk to you. In person. If you call anyone or tell anyone I’ve called you, you don’t get our story. What’s it going to be?”

  “Where? When?” Maggie strained to hear what Ted was saying. It seemed to her that he was parroting her exact words. A cold chill ran down her spine.

  “I’ll get back to you sometime late this morning. Just make sure you’re available. There won’t be a second opportunity. Are we clear on this?”

  “Crystal, Ms. Flanders.” Maggie flipped her cell shut, all the while trying her best to hear Ted’s conversation. In an attempt to appear nonchalant, she dropped her backpack on the floor and started to rummage inside. Ted came out of the kitchen and looked at her with a blank expression. Maggie knew that look. He was onto something he didn’t want her to know about, just as she didn’t want him to know about the phone call she had just received.

  “So, where are you going? I thought we agreed to picnic in the park today,” Ted said, suspicion ringing in his voice.

  Maggie zipped up her backpack and got to her feet. “That was before Josh Carpenter died. I’m going down to the Bureau to see if I can get some human interest interviews and some quotes on Riley, since he’ll be the interim director. We can do a late-afternoon picnic, say around four or five. We can make it dinner with fried chicken. I’ll call you. Where are you going?”

  “You know I always check in with my snitches on Saturdays. I’ll bum around for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll call you.”

  “You know what, Ted, you’re so full of the dark stuff, your eyes are turning brown. Since when do you check in with your snitches on Saturdays? Since when, Ted? Never, that’s when. Who just called you?” She jabbed at Ted’s chest with a stubby finger whose nails were chewed to the quick. Ted stumbled backward.

  “None of your business. Who just called you?”

  “The other guy I’m going to be sleeping with if you don’t tell me who just called you. That look on your face tells me you have a hot lead on something. Does it concern the vigilantes or the FBI? C’mon, Teddy, tell Maggie. Who called you?” she wheedled.

  Ted flipped his roommate the bird as he bounded out of the apartment, Maggie hot on his heels. She longed to tag along behind Ted but she couldn’t take the chance of missing Isabelle Flanders’s phone call. Maybe she was finally going to get her Pulitzer.

  So the vigilantes really were here in DC, if it wasn’t some jokester pulling her journalistic leg. How weird was that? With the whole world watching them, how could those women possibly hope to go undetected? How did they get back into the country, assuming they were out of the country to begin with? And why did they call her? Her, of all people? For her fine journalistic mind? Pure bullshit! It had to be a trap of some kind. Did they think she was some rookie reporter? A black thought hit her full in the face. What if one of the other vigilantes was calling Ted at the same time? To what end? To pit them against each other? If not, then what?

  On the boulevard, Maggie stepped off the curb, hailed a cab and gave the address of the Hoover Building. She leaned back and closed her eyes as she tried to figure out what her next move should be. Within minutes, she knew she’d goofed. She should have followed Ted. She wished now that she hadn’t spilled her guts to Ted during their wild sex romp.

  Mitchell Riley. Lizzie Fox. Judge Easter. The vigilantes. Ted’s reluctance to tell her about his phone call. Jack Emery. Where the hell was Jack Emery, anyway? With his lady love, that’s where—which meant here. Maggie felt proud of her insight, for all the good it was going to do her.

  Maggie’s down-and-dirty instincts kicked in full bore. She tapped the cab driver on the shoulder and said, “I changed my mind. Take me to Kalorama. I’ll give you the address in a minute.” The driver waited for a break in traffic and made an illegal U-turn just as Maggie rattled off Lizzie Fox’s address.

  Lizzie Fox was a place to start. The likelihood of Lizzie cooperating with her was so far-fetched she didn’t even know why she was going to all this trouble, but in the past some very unlikely sources had come through when she least expected it. Always go with your gut, she told herself.

  Lizzie Fox loved notoriety and getting her picture in the paper. No point in even trying to get close to Judge Easter or Mitch Riley. But, that didn’t rule out Mitch Riley’s wife. “So, Lizzie, I’ve got you in my sights. Let’s see what you cough up for the cause,” Maggie muttered under her breath.

  As the taxi driver tooled along, Maggie perused the papers in her backpack, hoping there was something she’d overlooked that she could use to scare the lawyer. Zip. Nada. Diddly-squat.

  Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled into a neatly tended driveway. “I need you to wait for me,” Maggie said. “I know the meter is running. Just wait for me.”

  Maggie looked at the small meadow of green in front of the house, the weed-free flowerbeds, the colorful pots of spring flowers on the porch. The hanging ferns looked full and green. Maggie took a moment to wonder if the Silver Fox had a gardener or a green thumb. She guffawed at the thought. She jabbed at the doorbell at the side of the door. Inside she could hear a musical chime. She rang the bell three more times before she headed for the back of the house. She waved to the taxi driver to indicate he should continue to wait.

  The backyard had an intricate wooden fence for privacy and was just as neat and tidy as the front of the house. Bright and colorful furniture along with a very fancy grill sat on the patio. A huge matching umbrella shaded the entire area. Everything looked new and unused.

  Maggie marched right up to the kitchen door and rang the bell as she peered into the kitchen. Neat and tidy. Early American décor. Shiny appliances. Ceramic-tile floor. Braided rug by the sink. It was obvious no one was home, but Maggie kept ringing the bell. Behind her she could hear tinkling sounds—wind chimes hanging from the shade trees that bordered the entire yard.

  Was Lizzie Fox a homebody when she shed her legal persona at the end of the day? Maggie wondered if she would ever find out. At the last minute she stuck her card between the storm door and the main door. Like Lizzie Fox was really going to call her.

  Back in the taxi, Maggie rummaged through her papers again as she searched for Mitchell Riley’s home address. She knew the place was close by. It was five minutes to ten when Maggie rattled off the address to the driver.

  The members of the Sisterhood sat around the kitchen table, their eyes on the kitchen clock that hung over the doorway to the dining room. The huge red leather bag stood open in the middle of
the floor. Propped up in the middle of the table was a picture of Alice Riley that had appeared in the Sunday Style section of the Post a year ago.

  “I don’t like this,” Jack growled. He then addressed himself to Alexis. “You can’t possibly make Nikki look like Alice Riley. No way, no how.”

  “Watch me,” Alexis said. Jack watched as Alexis worked her magic on his beloved.

  “Jack, dear, listen to me,” Myra said. “Nikki will look enough like Mrs. Riley when Alexis is finished to pass muster. Yoko will be able to pass for her daughter. Please, you have to trust us. We know what we’re doing.”

  “What if some of Riley’s men show up to take the wife and kid someplace else? It is a possibility we can’t overlook. You keep cutting things way too close to the wire to make me feel comfortable. I hate to remind you, Myra, but if you get caught this time there will not be anyone who can help you like the last time.”

  “We know that, Jack. We need to incapacitate Mr. Riley. Our window of time is very small. Try and relax.”

  Jack nodded, his eyes glued to the clock on the wall. He didn’t like any of this. Right now, right this very minute, Harry’s men were driving Mrs. Riley and her daughter to a safe spot where Charles’s people would take over. Just minutes ago a messenger had delivered a small packet containing the code to Mitchell Riley’s alarm system, the special key to his home office door and the key to the front door of his house. Another of Harry’s men in the guise of a mechanic was scheduled to drive Mrs. Riley’s car to her home. Another car would be right behind to whisk both men back to Harry’s dojo the moment they parked the car in the Riley driveway.` They had all the bases covered, but if one of those bases imploded, the game was over. Jack knew it and the women knew it. And for all that, they were still confident.

  It was 10:15 when Alexis stood back to view her handiwork. Jack felt his jaw drop. His eyebrows shot upward before his gaze went from Nikki and Yoko to the picture on the kitchen table. He had to admit he was hard-pressed to tell the difference.