Fast Track (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 3)

by Fern Michaels

  “What time can you get everyone together? Today is Sunday so it shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t need to remind you, you are all on call 24/7. I’m going to hang up now and make breakfast for my ladies. In the interests of normalcy, life goes on. Call me as soon as you have things set up.”

  “What are you making for breakfast, Charles?” Jack asked in a resigned voice.

  “It’s Sunday. Eggs Benedict. I’m waiting for the chickens to lay the eggs, which should be momentarily. What are you having?”

  “A Pop-Tart.”

  Charles laughed. But his laughter died in his throat the moment he broke the connection. Jack was right. Nellie’s little group was in no way ready for such a mission. His heart heavy, he made his way up the steep stone steps to the main part of the house on the mountaintop.

  “There you are, my darling. I missed you,” Myra Rutledge said as Charles entered the kitchen.

  Charles stared at the love of his life. He smiled the way he always smiled at the first sight of his beloved in the morning. “Did you sleep well?” he asked as he gathered her in his arms. Myra always smelled so wonderful.

  Charles held her a few moments longer than usual, just enough time for Myra to worry. She stepped backward and asked, “What is it, Charles? Did something happen during the night?”

  How well she knew him. He must be losing his edge. There was no point in trying to hedge with Myra. “Yes, my dear, something happened. I thought I would wait and tell all of you at the same time. I promised Eggs Benedict this morning.”

  “Oh, dear, I don’t like the sound of that at all. Of course, wait and tell us all together. I gathered the eggs as soon as I came downstairs. Can I help, darling?” Offering to help Charles in the kitchen wasn’t something Charles appreciated. It was more a standing joke than anything else because Myra was a terrible cook.

  “Are we eating on the terrace? If so, you can set the table. Do you know if the girls are up?”

  “Yes, we’re eating on the terrace. I heard the showers running when I came downstairs. The girls will be down soon. How bad is it, Charles?”

  “It’s not good, Myra.”

  Myra didn’t press the subject. Charles would talk only when he was ready to talk.

  Outside in the brisk mountain air, Myra stretched and looked out at her surroundings. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Beautiful but confining. She as well as the others still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that they were prisoners of a sort. How she missed her farm back in the States. Still, she was lucky she wasn’t in prison and she did have Charles with her. Home was wherever Charles was. The girls missed home, too, especially Nikki, her adopted daughter. Still, if Jack Emery was here, Nikki wouldn’t care if she ever left the mountain.

  In some ways this was paradise and in other ways it was hell on Earth because to leave this beautiful mountaintop in Spain meant a life in prison.

  And to think this all began when her daughter Barbara was killed by a hit-and-run motorist who was untouchable because of his diplomatic immunity. She and her little band of ladies had taken care of the killer vigilante style, and avenged her daughter’s death. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Myra’s gaze went from the colorful flowers on the terrace to the sparkling blue Mediterranean below the mountain and then to the kitchen window where Charles was preparing breakfast for his flock. None of this could have been accomplished without Charles’s expertise and the contacts he had in the covert world. Charles was her protector, her savior. God alone knew how much she loved that man.

  Myra tilted her head to the side when she thought she heard a phone ringing in the kitchen, something that rarely happened. When Charles’s special phone rang it usually meant trouble was brewing somewhere. She turned away to pluck a yellow leaf off one of the plants. When she turned around, Anna de Silva, childhood friend, one of the richest women in the world, and owner of this mountain retreat, greeted her with a huge smile.

  “Another golden day in our lives, right, Myra? I don’t think there’s a spot in the whole world that can compare to this,” Annie said, waving her arms about.

  “Something is going on,” Myra whispered. “Trouble,” she clarified.

  Annie’s eyes popped wide. “When you say trouble, do you mean trouble or do you mean trouble? I didn’t hear the bell ring at the base of the mountain. The cable car is still here. The padre said he would alert us if any strangers appeared in the village so the trouble isn’t coming from there.” She raced to the far side of the terrace to get a better view of the ocean below. “There aren’t any boats down there except for two sailboats. That has to mean the trouble is back home.”

  “Exactly,” Myra said softly.

  “Do you think it has anything to do with our…our little ancillary group?” Annie clapped her hands in glee, her eyes alight with expectation. “A mission! Oh, I can hardly wait!”

  “And to think not too long ago you were vegetating on this mountain and I almost pushed you off it. Now you’ve turned into this…this gung ho, bloodthirsty person.”

  “I prefer ass-kicking vigilante fighting crime the way only a woman can do it,” Annie said, grinning from ear to ear. “I just love, just love getting the bad guys and making them pay. Our way. Oh, Myra, admit it, you love the action, too.”

  Myra laughed. “If I was thirty years younger I might just love, love all that action,” she said, mimicking Annie.

  “Age is merely a number. Most young people think people our age don’t have sex, too. Look at you and Charles!”

  Myra looked around, her face pink. “Annie, for God’s sake, keep your voice down.”

  Annie lowered her voice. “Well, I’m not afraid to admit I could handle sex a couple of times a week. As you can see, there are no prospects up here on this mountain. I’m thinking of venturing forth in my quest for…”

  “For heaven’s sake, Annie, will you be quiet? I don’t need to hear—”

  “Stop being such a prude, Myra. Sex makes the world go round. Just ask the girls. They aren’t getting any, either. We need to do something about that. We aren’t nuns, you know.”

  “I knew I should have pushed you over that mountain that day. Enough!” Myra hissed as the girls descended on the terrace.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Annie chirped. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day? I can’t wait to take a walk and a swim. Charles said he’s going to have a barbecue this evening. Weenies, burgers and ribs.” She babbled on as the others listened indulgently. It was hard not to get caught up in Annie’s enthusiasm. “If Charles allows it, let’s take a sail this afternoon.”

  “Well, scratch that idea, as wonderful as it sounds. Charles is not going to allow it,” the ever-verbal Kathryn Lucas shot back. “I say we gang up on him, head down the mountain and head out to open water and never ever come back.”

  The others gaped at Kathryn as they grappled with the scenario she had just presented.

  Annie looked around the table. “Myra said Charles’s phone rang. That means there is trouble somewhere. I think, girls, we’re about to go on high alert. Code red.”

  “Damn, Annie, how many times did you watch that last espionage movie?” Alexis asked.

  “A lot. I needed to get the verbiage down pat. Lingo is all important in this business. You have to be able to converse with your adversary in a language so he or she understands how serious you are so you get your point across before you belt him in his Adam’s apple therefore rendering him speechless so you can then speak in your own refined lingo. Any questions?” Annie asked breezily.

  Myra sighed. She’d created a monster. “No questions. Just shut up, Annie. Please,” she pleaded as an afterthought.

  “For you, Myra, anything.” Annie shook out her linen napkin with a loud snap.

  Charles opened the back door that led to the terrace. He held it open with his back as he slid a serving cart out onto the flagstone terrace. He tried for a cheerful note but knew he’d failed when the girls stared at him with unblinking intensit
y. He shifted into a neutral zone and said, “First we have breakfast, then we can talk.”

  The rule of thumb at mealtime at the monastery on the mountain was that no business was discussed until coffee was served.

  “Darling, it all looks wonderful,” Myra said. “Whatever would we do without you?” She busied herself pouring their usual Sunday-morning Mimosas.

  “Well, I for one never want to find that out,” Annie said as she dug into her Eggs Benedict. Low-voiced murmurings echoed her delight as Charles poured coffee from an heirloom coffee server.

  Anyone observing the scene would have thought the breakfast meeting was a happy occasion, what with the women making small talk, occasionally laughing at something one of the others said.

  As Charles sipped and munched and tried to keep up his end of the conversation, his mind raced with what and how he was going to tell the women when they retired to the command center. His latest phone call had disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

  He looked up, aware of the sudden silence at the table. “Yes, my mind is somewhere else. I wasn’t expecting…Well, let’s just say few things in this life can surprise me. This morning I was surprised. So, clean up, ladies, since I did the cooking, and then join me in the command center where I will inform you of some very startling events that have just transpired on the other side of the pond.”

  Nikki Quinn’s eyes challenged Charles, as did Yoko’s.

  “Both of your gentlemen friends are fine, ladies,” Charles said, getting up from the table. “It really is a beautiful day. Did I tell you I plan to barbecue this evening?”

  “Yeah, you said you were going to roast a whole steer,” Kathryn mumbled.

  “Hmmm,” Charles said as he left the terrace.

  “See, see, he didn’t even hear what I said. I’ve never seen Charles so…” Kathryn paused, suddenly at a loss for words.

  “‘Distracted’ is the word you’re looking for. Charles has always been unflappable. He’s the glue that holds us together. I for one find this new Charles a little scary,” Isabelle said.

  “At least we know Harry and Jack are okay. Whatever it is, the problem is back in the States. Maybe we can go home again,” Yoko said wistfully. “I would like to drive by my old flower shop to see what it looks like. Of course I want to see Harry, too. If we go back to the States I might decide to marry him.”

  Alexis hooted with laughter. “How will that work, Yoko, with you living here on top of a mountain in Spain and Harry Wong back in the United States? I seem to recall you saying the same thing the last time we were in the States.”

  The diminutive Yoko fixed her gaze on Alexis. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “Maybe I won’t come back. Assuming, of course, that we even go back to the States.”

  “Then you’ll go to prison,” Kathryn Lucas said coldly. “This is our life now, so get used to it, kiddo.”

  Sensing a mini rebellion Myra slid her chair back from the table. “Girls, let’s all calm down and wait to see what Charles has to say. I’ll take Murphy and Grady for a short walk around the compound. It will be good exercise for the dogs and for me, too.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Kathryn said.

  “What’s bothering you, Kathryn?” Nikki asked.

  “Nothing. Everything. I got up early this morning and went for a walk. While this mountain paradise is all rather wonderful, I don’t know if I can stay here. I know, I know, prison is not an alluring alternative. My clock is ticking, Nikki. I can’t even believe I’m saying this because when my husband died, I swore I would never look at another man, nor would I ever get married. Now, because I can’t have that, I want it more than anything in the world. I don’t know how you do it, Nik. Jack is back in the States, you’re here, you’re engaged. You’re in love. Just tell me how you do it.”

  Nikki gathered up a stack of plates and loaded them onto the serving cart. “Take a good look at me, Kathryn. Do I look like I’m handling it very well? I don’t want to go to prison, that’s my bottom line. I cry myself to sleep at night. I live for Jack’s phone calls just the way Yoko lives for Harry to call her. My only consolation is that we have made a difference. I also tell myself if we didn’t do what we’ve been doing, someone else would. At least we’re in control of our lives. There are people all over the world who know about us, who want our help. I have to be satisfied with that. By the way, my clock is ticking, too.”

  Kathryn licked at her dry lips as she stacked up the coffee cups next to the plates. She nodded. “Maybe I just need to kick someone’s ass.”

  Nikki brushed at her short blond hair. “I don’t know why I say this but I think you just might get a chance to do that. Come on, I’ll hold the door and you push the cart. Alexis and Isabelle can load the dishwasher.”

  The screen door slammed shut with a loud bang. The women in the kitchen whirled around. “Alexis thinks the FBI or maybe the CIA has a lead on us and that’s what has Charles worried. There’s no place to go from here,” Annie said. “I happen to love it here and I have no intention of letting a bunch of people who talk into their sleeves, wear sunglasses even in the dark and are only known by the initials of their organizations take us out of here.”

  “Well, damn, when did you turn into such a scrapper, Annie?” Kathryn demanded.

  “I’m a late bloomer.” Annie looked around to make sure the kitchen was neat and tidy. The dishwasher whirred to life just as Myra entered the kitchen. Both dogs walked around the table before they lay down to take a nap.

  The others looked at Myra as she squared her shoulders for the trip down the steps to the catacombs where, thanks to Isabelle’s architectural expertise, there was an exact replica of the command center back at Myra’s farmhouse in McLean, Virginia.

  The first thing the women noticed was that all the plasma television screens were blank except the one that showed Lady Justice balancing a set of scales.

  Nikki, typical lawyer, correctly interpreted the blank plasma screens: whatever was going on in the world that was newsworthy wasn’t as important as what was going to be said in this room. She leaned back and waited for Charles to speak. She wished her heart wasn’t fluttering so madly in her chest. She didn’t have to look at the others to know they were feeling the same way. Get on with it, Charles, her mind shrieked.

  Charles walked over to stand under the plasma screen showing Lady Justice. He cleared his throat. When he was sure he had their attention he said, “It seems that the chief justice of the United States Supreme Court, Pearl Barnes, sought out Judge Easter and threatened to blow us and, of course, Nellie and the others, out of the water unless we help her. It appears that for the past twenty or so years, Justice Barnes has been doing much the same thing we’ve been doing—breaking the law. To be specific, she’s been running an underground railroad leading women and children to safety. Her ex–son-in-law has threatened to expose her and she needs our help. Neither Nellie nor I know if Justice Barnes was making an idle threat to expose all of us—Nellie and her new recruits in particular—or if she is scared out of her wits.

  “That information was in my first call from Nellie. Nellie then made a second phone call to me. Justice Barnes left a note in her mailbox that said seventeen women and children are stranded at the second-to-last stop on her underground railroad somewhere in Oregon. There is no way for Justice Barnes to move them out to the next leg of the journey since she is under such scrutiny. The evil ex–son-in-law, Tyler Hughes, works for a very prestigious think tank in Washington. His threat to Justice Barnes concerns a vote in a very important decision. It is not known how many people besides Hughes know about the underground railroad.

  “In a few minutes we’ll be having a conference meeting via satellite with Nellie and the others. Now you can talk, ladies.”

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  Chapter 1

  Her name was Erin Powell, and she was almost perfect. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, generous, and had a megawatt smile. Almost perfect because there wa
s no such thing as “perfect.” Or so said her mother. She was also considered the best of the best. She knew it, and so did the man standing in front of her. The others…They knew it, too, but would never admit it out loud. She’d told herself so many times over the years that no man would ever admit a woman could best him in anything.

  Special Agent Erin Powell had graduated first in her class at the FBI Academy. She’d taken first place in the gun trials, first place in the endurance trials, first place in the triathalon, first place in everything. She didn’t get any special medals or awards. What she got were scorn, snide remarks, and a gallon of grease to put on her sneakers to outrun all the lascivious agents hot on her trail. She knew the male agents had a pool going on as to who would get into her bed first. Like that was ever going to happen.

  Erin Powell wasn’t the name on her birth certificate. Her mother had named her Honey Sweet because she was such a little honey when she was born, all pink and beautiful, just the way a baby was supposed to be. And the reason her mother thought she was perfect was because she had all her toes and fingers, not to mention a full crop of curly hair. A trifecta for a newborn. Her parents were true romantics. She’d changed her name to Erin the day she turned twenty-one because even then she knew she wanted to be an FBI agent. Who in their right mind would ever take an agent seriously with a name like Honey Sweet? No one, that’s who.

  She’d done everything she could to join in, to try to belong, simply to fit in, but she was met with belligerence and hostility—forget those sensitivity classes. She’d even gone so far as to attend a retirement party with her colleagues and somehow managed to drink them under the table and still remain standing, much to their chagrin. She’d been sick for four days afterward, and to this day never drank more than one glass of wine. That, she’d heard through the grapevine, was the biggest thing that they held against her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. From that point on, she’d focused on her career and tuned them all out. She told herself over and over, at least a million times, that she didn’t want them watching her back. She’d watch her own back, thank you very much.