Lethal Justice

by Fern Michaels

  Myra stopped the SUV in front of what was once a carriage house but was now a three car garage. Overhead there was a fully furnished apartment for the chauffeur.

  The buildings were pristine white with ivy climbing the chimneys, and the lawn, the shrubs and flower beds were manicured to perfection.

  Myra pointed to the half-fan windows that were of stained glass. “Annie’s grandmother made all those windows, even though it wasn’t fashionable for ladies to do such things back in those days. Annie said her grandmother refused to do needlework of any kind. That’s what ladies did back then to pass the time. The windows are treasures to be sure. Come along girls, I can’t wait to show you the inside. It’s quite beautiful.”

  It took the girls three trips to carry all their bags and gear into the house. The last trip was for the computer, printer and fax which Alexis set up in less than an hour. She smacked her hands together. “We’re open for business, ladies.”

  Kathryn’s face was gleeful. “Let the games begin.”

  “Now what?” Alexis asked.

  “Now we wait for our quarry to call. In the meantime we can explore the house, the grounds, think about dinner; or we can have Yoko tell us how her date went last night,” Myra said.

  Yoko flopped down on a satin sofa, kicked off her shoes and settled herself. The others sat down in a circle and waited expectantly, unsure what they were going to hear.

  “The evening was…interesting. As you know, Harry is half Chinese and half Japanese like myself. He was raised in Japan, whereas I was raised here in America. He told me all about Japan. We went to a noodle house in Little China. I enjoyed it. It was in someone’s house. Harry said he goes there all the time. At first it was awkward. He wanted to know about my background. I did not tell him everything. I remembered what all of you said, do not tell all. So, I did not. He said I was a mystery woman. I liked that. We had no physical contact. He does a lot of bowing so I had to bow. He is more traditional than I am. He has kissable lips.”

  Kathryn hooted with laughter.

  “That’s it?” Alexis said, surprise ringing in her voice.

  “Yes, that’s it. I was disappointed. I think he feels foolish that I pinned him to the mat. Saving face is very important to people of our culture. He says he is modern but he is not. I would not apologize.”

  “Good for you,” Kathryn said.

  “Yeah,” Alexis said.

  “My dear, sometimes you can collect more flies with honey than vinegar,” Myra said.

  Yoko looked puzzled as she tried to figure out Myra’s meaning.

  Kathryn reared back as a lively discussion followed.

  Yoko just looked more perplexed. In the end, she threw her hands in the air. “I have no wish to live by the old rules. I will probably never go to Japan or China so why should I care about the old ways. America is my home. I want to be like all American women. I do not wish to be subservient to any man. If that is what Mr. Harry Wong expects then he is going to have to find someone else to do his bidding. I asked him if he watched Sex in the City and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  Kathryn burst out laughing. “Kiddo, I’m thinking that might be a good thing. You can bet your boots he’s going to check it out now, though. I’ll take that one step further and wager the next date with Mr. Harry Wong will be an…event. Remember what we said about having to pony up.”

  Yoko just giggled. And giggled.

  Roland Sullivan sat in his customized Porsche in the parking lot staring at the building that housed his suite of offices. He was late but he didn’t care. He felt sick all over. Sick and guilty.

  He’d felt so proud when his youngest son got his little award at school. Especially when the child looked at him, smiled and waved and mouthed the words, “Hi Dad.” Not hi Mom but hi Dad. He cringed when he remembered the surprised look on his wife’s face when he slipped into the seat next to her. He’d tried to take her hand but she’d moved away, almost falling off her chair in her eagerness to separate herself from him.

  Who could blame her? He was a lousy husband, a terrible father. He was, however, rich, an astute businessman, a sneaky adulterer, and the lowest of the low for having framed Sara Whittier for a crime she hadn’t committed.

  For the past year he’d been trying to figure out a way to break off his relationship with Arden Gillespie but he couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t strip him bare. When you strayed, you paid, one way or another. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was a hair away from losing his family. He’d been spending more time at home but his wife barely seemed to notice. Somehow during the past few years she had made a life for herself and the children that didn’t include him, even though he was home in his casual clothes and his slippers. His wife slept in the guest room these days. It was the only room in the house that had a lock on the door. A new lock.

  He thought about Arden Gillespie, the woman who had turned his head away from his family. He’d fallen for her so hard he couldn’t see straight. She was like the worst kind of addiction. And he was a man with no will power. If Arden had said “strip down and dance in the middle of Constitution Avenue” he would have done it. So, it was no surprise that when she came up with what she called a foolproof scheme to defraud Sara Whittier’s wealthy elderly clients that he’d gone along with it.

  When that was all over, he knew he’d never dance naked in the middle of Constitution Avenue. His addiction had gone south about the same time. He still saw Arden after hours but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even lust. It was a bodily release, nothing more. The whole thing just made him hate himself more.

  He might have been able to handle the whole adultery thing if it wasn’t for what he’d done to Sara Whittier. Once, he’d tried to find her after his wife in a casual conversation had said she didn’t believe for one minute that Sara would steal from her elderly clients. It was like Sara had dropped off the face of the earth. His wife’s words rang in his hears to this day. “Sara would never do such a thing but I can see Arden Gillespie doing it.” His whole body had turned to jelly at that moment. He still didn’t know if it was the look on his wife’s face or her words that had put the fear of God into him.

  Roland Sullivan wondered if he would ever know.

  Chapter 13

  Nikki rubbed at her aching eyes. She was beyond tired. All she wanted to do was go upstairs and go to bed but Charles insisted she continue with what she was doing. “I think I probably need new reading glasses,” she muttered. “I also need to take a break!”

  A moment later, Charles was kneading her shoulders. “We both need to take a break. Let’s go up to the kitchen for coffee and something to eat. Have you made any headway?”

  Nikki succumbed to the kneading pressure and all but swooned. “Some. Why is it so important to do all this now? Maybe if I understood…” she let the rest of what she was going to say trail off into nothing.

  “From the day we formed the Sisterhood, at Myra’s insistence, I’ve been searching and trying to find a way to…for want of a better word, secure our future should the authorities descend on us. Everything eluded me. There just didn’t seem to be any way for all of us to get away intact. Myra urged me to redouble my efforts, which I did. You know how she is when she gets a bee in her bonnet.

  “Myra has never deviated from her original plan of taking the blame if the authorities closed in on us, but we can’t allow that. I’m sure you agree with that. Either we all get away or we all stay and take the blame—which means prison. Part of my plan is airtight. I have things set in motion but until now I haven’t been able to finalize any of the major points. Mainly a location that will be safe if the unthinkable happens.

  “Our last mission for Isabelle made Myra even more jittery. She was up at all hours, worrying and fretting. It is starting to take a toll on her. She isn’t worried about herself, she is worried about all of you and, of course, me. She’s convinced that those reporters are going to be our undoing. As much as I hate to agree wit
h her, I think she’s right. I don’t think I’m wrong when I say it is becoming more and more dangerous for all of us. It was you, Nikki, who insisted the special agents be called off. Things were in place but at your insistence, we had to call them off.”

  Nikki jerked around. Call them off. Then why are they still stalking Jack? Was Charles lying to her? “Charles, those agents were brutal. Scaring someone is one thing, beating them half to death is something else. I’m sorry but I can’t and won’t go along with something like that.”

  “You knew the risks going into this. You all did. You agreed that we would do whatever was necessary to survive and not get caught. You knew, Nikki. I don’t think you would have been quite as upset if it had been someone other than Jack Emery. In activities such as ours you cannot change horses in midstream. I’m sorry about the cliché.”

  Charles was right and she knew it. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Clichés were running rampant. Still, she had to try. “We all drew the line at murder, Charles. Now, that’s a fact. Ted Robinson had to have his spleen removed. Jack got beaten to within an inch of his life.”

  “In my business, Nikki, it’s called collateral damage. At the risk of repeating myself, you all agreed when you turned security over to me. It’s my job to keep you all safe. There is no way on this earth that I will allow Myra to go to prison. Or the rest of you, for that matter. I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re all kept safe. That’s something you have to live with.

  “Now let’s go upstairs and relax with a nice cup of hazelnut coffee and a thick ham sandwich.”

  Nikki wasn’t about to leave it alone. “Why Barcelona?” she demanded.

  “Because of the law of sanctuary. I plan to discuss all of it at our next meeting. We have Myra to thank for coming up with the idea. Anna de Silva is going to deed the monastery to Myra. Spanish law forbids an outright sale. It’s the only way, Nikki. It may never happen but a plan has to be in place. None of us would be safe here in our own country. In short, Nikki, there are no other options.”

  Nikki knew he was right about that, too. No options meant no options. End of discussion.

  “What else is bothering you, my dear?” Charles asked as he waited for the bookshelf to slide back into place.

  “I don’t know how I or any of the others will like living in a foreign land. Foreign lands are places to visit, not to live. I’ll make the sandwiches and you do the coffee.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Charles said cheerfully. “I suggest we eat on the terrace. The fresh air will clear away the cobwebs in our heads. Look at it this way, Nikki. You’ll all be together. You know what Myra always says: home is where your stuff is. I tend to agree.”

  Nikki sliced ham, her thoughts jumbled. “That sounds like a plan, too,” she said. She watched as Charles settled things on a silver platter. Place mats, silverware, sugar, cream, linen napkins and plates. As she spread mustard, Charles walked outdoors to clean off the table and wipe down the chairs. Tears burned behind her lids. What would any of them do without Charles? More than likely, they’d all fall apart.

  Nikki cut the sandwiches in two and placed them on the bone china plates. She wondered why they weren’t eating off paper plates. Then she remembered Charles saying paper and plastic plates were for picnics. As long as she didn’t have to do the dishes, she didn’t really care what kind of dishes she used.

  Nikki followed Charles out to the terrace. “How pretty the terrace looks with all the flowers. They all seem to be blooming at the same time. Spring is wonderful, isn’t it, Charles?” Nikki settled herself and then burst out laughing. “I feel like I’m sitting right in the middle of a box of Crayolas. I think every color in the box is right here on the terrace.”

  Charles smiled as he bit into his sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully. “Are you feeling better, Nikki?”

  Nikki pondered the question. “Maybe it’s the lawyer in me but I don’t like uncertainty. The first thing we learned in law school was never ask a question you don’t know the answer to. It’s that kind of feeling. I understand where you’re coming from, Charles. Because of the uncertainty, you have to make plans for our safety whether we like it or not. Of late, there seems to be more tension, more fear, less confidence. Mistakes are bound to happen. We aren’t perfect.”

  Nikki pushed her plate away. “Charles, how did you walk away from your old life? How did you leave that life behind? Maybe if I understand that part of it, I can come to terms with what might happen.”

  Charles dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin before he reached for the silver coffee pot and poured. “In my case, it was death versus life. I didn’t see that I had any choice. I was fortunate that other people helped me escape to your fine shores. I didn’t allow myself to look back. I had many black days in my life but those early days were the blackest. I was glad to be alive. Myra helped. There were days when I thought I couldn’t handle it without her help. In my case, I had no warning, no time to prepare. In short, my dear, in the beginning, it was a crippling experience. That’s why I’m doing my best now in case something goes awry so that we will all be able to handle it. Think of it as a safeguard, my dear.”

  Nikki stared across the terrace at a beautiful crimson petunia plant that was as big as a bushel basket. She wished life was as beautiful as the plant she was looking at. She closed her eyes and minutes later was sound asleep in the warm spring sunshine.

  Charles quietly gathered up the remains of their lunch. Before he left the terrace, he opened the large striped umbrella so that Nikki wasn’t in the direct sun. Only then did he allow his shoulders to droop.

  Myra Rutledge, a.k.a., Anna de Sliva, sat at the huge oak table finishing the breakfast Alexis had prepared. Toast, coffee and grapefruit.

  Kathryn, with the appetite of her profession, grumbled. “Tomorrow I hope we have home fries, scrambled eggs, bacon and a ton of toast. I hate grapefruit. I don’t just hate it, I really hate it.”

  Alexis clapped her hands. “That’s great, Kathryn, because tomorrow it’s your turn to cook. I for one am going to look forward to a hearty breakfast. In my defense, we didn’t bring much food with us if you recall. Isabelle is bringing the grocery order later this morning. I ordered tons of food.”

  The women bantered back and forth, their eyes on the kitchen clock. Would the firm of Sullivan and Gillespie respond to Myra’s invitation promptly at nine o’clock or not?

  Myra looked at Kathryn. “You know exactly what to say, don’t you, dear?”

  “I do, Myra. As little as possible. I will be clipped, cold, professional. I got it covered. I rehearsed all night in my dreams. What are we having for lunch?”

  “The same thing we had for breakfast unless Isabelle gets here early. If your next question is what’s for dinner, I don’t know yet. Everything depends on Isabelle,” Alexis said.

  It was two minutes to nine when Yoko got up from the table to clear it. “Would anyone care for more coffee?” All the women held out their cups. Yoko emptied the pot, handed it to Alexis to make fresh coffee while she stacked the dish washer.

  With only three seconds to go till nine o’clock, the women removed their gaze from the clock and transferred it to the portable phone next to Kathryn’s coffee cup.

  Even though they were expecting it, the ringing phone startled them all. Kathryn held up three fingers and didn’t click on the phone until the end of the third ring.

  Kathryn’s voice verged on frosty when she said, “de Silva residence. This is Ellen Mark-ham.”

  “This is Roland Sullivan, Miss Markham. I’m responding to Miss de Silva’s inquiry. We will be faxing our proposal in a few moments unless you tell me otherwise. We will of course follow up with a hard copy.”

  “That will be satisfactory. Miss de Silva can see you tomorrow at two o’clock. Miss de Silva has been conducting interviews for the past ten days. Your firm, because you are the smallest, will be Miss de Silva’s last interview in her quest for new representat
ion. Miss de Silva will announce her decision in twenty-four hours. Shall I pencil you in for two o’clock, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Yes. Two o’clock will be fine.”

  “Will Miss Gillespie be with you?”

  “Yes, Miss Gillespie will be with me. She is my partner, Miss Markham.”

  “Two o’clock, Mr. Sullivan. Do not be late. Miss de Silva takes points off for tardiness.” Kathryn wiggled her eyebrows as she ended the call.

  “Perfect,” Myra said.

  “Yeah, perfect,” Alexis said. “Don’t get cocky, those two are snakes.”

  “Yeah, but this time, we’re in control. We’re holding the cards, Alexis. This is going to work. Don’t go jinxing us now. How about some more coffee while we talk about what we’re going to have for dinner?”

  Alexis grinned but not before she wadded up the dish towel and threw it at Kathryn.

  Back in the District at the firm of Sullivan and Gillespie, Roland Sullivan wiped at the perspiration on his brow. “The woman sounds like a holy terror. I don’t think I ever heard such a cold voice in my life. If that woman is one of the layers we have to penetrate to get to de Silva, we might as well forget it right now. She had no trouble telling me we were last on the list to be interviewed because we are the smallest firm. She said they’ve been interviewing for the past ten days. Our appointment is tomorrow at two o’clock. She also cautioned me not to be late because de Silva takes points off for tardiness.”

  Arden Gillespie eyed her lover and partner with a calculating eye. “Darling, don’t underestimate our combined power. You can be incredibly charming when you want to be. You did charm me. And I know how to treat women. I can sweet talk anyone and that includes women.”