Cross Roads Part 6

"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 flus.h.i.+ng, 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 fiance, 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 ma.s.sive shower, which could hold a dozen people. The terrible, pounding headache was gone, but she was shaking and s.h.i.+vering, 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.

G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d's sake. How hard could it be to doctor up a pa.s.sport? 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.

Back in her bathroom, Isabelle opened an ornate container of body powder and ran her fingers through it until she found the small package of latex she'd hidden there months earlier. Just enough of it to her nose, chin, and cheeks, and she would no longer look like Isabelle Flanders. The new name on her pa.s.sport said she was Consuela Cardoza from Brazil. She was so glad now that she had paid attention to Alexis when she disguised them back on the mountain. She remembered Alexis's words, "Less is more, so be careful or it will look obvious. You just want a subtle change."

Back inside the walk-in closet, Isabelle dropped the latex into the straw bag.

She ran back and forth, adding, taking out, making sure the straw bag didn't appear heavier than normal. She took one last jittery look at the pa.s.sport that she had labored over for months. If there was a flaw anywhere, she couldn't see it. She carefully folded enough local currency, the equivalent of a thousand American dollars, and slipped the pa.s.sport back into the clutch along with enough cash for bribes and to get her Stateside. She stuffed another wad in her bra.

According to the locals, cash was king in this country, enough to make the recipient look the other way. She felt like a spy and decided she rather liked the feeling. If only the Sisters could see her now. She felt her eyes starting to fill up. Soon.

As she dressed, Isabelle wondered whom she would draw today to follow her. She hoped it would be Marta, the small dumpy woman with the bad feet who tended to sleep standing up while Isabelle shopped. More often than not, Isabelle had to wake Marta from her siesta to tell her she was ready to go home. She pulled the cord beside the bed, and, within seconds, a young girl of sixteen or so poked her head in the door. "I'm going shopping. Have someone fetch the car and bring it to the front. Who is going with me today?"

"Marta is the only one here today. She said you went shopping yesterday, and today is to rest. That is why no one else is here but me, and I cannot leave the house unattended. She said today is to rest," she repeated stubbornly.

"I changed my mind," Isabelle snapped. "Tell her to get in the car or stay home. I really don't care. Tell cook I would like roast chicken for dinner and to serve at eight o'clock. I plan to shop until I drop. I will bring you something pretty for being so helpful."

The girl's eyes sparkled. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you for being so kind to me."

The last thing Isabelle did, before leaving the bedroom she hoped she would never have to see again, was to take two bottles of ice-cold water out of the minibar. She cracked one open and dropped in two twenty-milligram Valium tablets. By the time they reached the shopping district, Marta would have consumed the entire bottle of water and hopefully would sleep for six or seven hours in the backseat while Isabelle made her getaway.

Isabelle, her insides quaking, strode through the house like the mistress she was. Outside, a gleaming silver Mercedes sat in the hot sun, the engine running, Marta in the backseat. In the beginning, when she had first arrived, she'd been a.s.signed a chauffeur. That lasted all of two days before she put her foot down and said she would drive herself. In the end, she had to agree to bring Marta or someone like her. Following that incident, it had only taken her one week to realize she was being watched 24/7.

She'd had a rousing fight with Stu, and things went steadily downhill after that. But she'd stayed on because she couldn't see any other available options. It wasn't until months later, after a horrible fight when she threatened to leave, that Stu told her she was there for the length of the contract. She'd cried for hours, days, weeks. When she couldn't cry anymore, she spent endless hours wondering what the other Sisters would do in her place. The scenarios ran from the sublime to the ridiculous. That was when she finally, finally, realized she was going to have to go it alone and figure out a way to get back to the States. Life was a b.i.t.c.h sometimes.

Behind the wheel, Isabelle found herself watching the rearview mirror every few seconds to see if anyone was following her, and listening to Marta grumble and whine. There were times, and this was one of those times, when she wondered if Marta was as stupid as she seemed. "I told you I saw a dress I liked in a magazine, and I want to see if I can find it. I don't care if it takes me all day, and it probably will, to find it. I plan on going to every single store in the shopping district. You can walk along with me, or you can stay in the car and eat ice cream from the vendors. I'll be sure to park in the shade. You did say you like talking to all of the sidewalk vendors. I'll leave the keys with you so you can keep the air-conditioning on. That means stop whining right now, or I will stop this car and push you out. Well?"

"Today was to rest," the dumpy woman said stubbornly.

Isabelle clenched her teeth. The water bottle was half-full. Marta should be getting drowsy by now. "Yes, for you, not me. You need to get more exercise. I see you are putting on too much weight. That is why your feet hurt you all the time. Is there anything you would like me to buy you today? Some chocolates, some sticky cakes? Or maybe some of my perfume that you like to borrow from time to time."

"Hmmm," Marta said as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "Yes, some chocolates would be nice."

Ten minutes later, Isabelle brought the high-powered Mercedes to a stop on a shady, tree-lined street in the elegant shopping district. All she wanted to do was get out of the car and gallop to the nearest store. But she had to play the game and observe a certain protocol in case Marta wasn't the only one watching her.

Isabelle got out of the car, her bag secure on her shoulder. She opened the back door to poke at Marta. "We're here, Marta. Do you want to come with me or are you going to stay in the car? Here are the keys."

Marta roused herself enough to mumble that she would stay in the car for a little while. Isabelle handed over the second bottle of water.

Isabelle looked around. Everything looked the way it did when she shopped on other days. To her left was the ice-cream vendor, a friend of sorts to Marta. She walked over to him and motioned to the car and Marta in the backseat. She handed over some local currency and said, "Watch over her. I am going to be late. If she gets hungry, buy her some food." The vendor nodded and pocketed the money.

Isabelle's legs felt like rubber as she made her way down the fragrant street. As always, she marveled at the lush plants and flowers outside each store. It really was a pretty street. Right now she had more important things on her mind than plants and flowers.

As Isabelle meandered down the shop-lined sidewalk, she stopped to peer into windows. The bright sun reflecting off the s.h.i.+ny gla.s.s let her see if anyone was following a little too close for comfort. She hoped she was pulling off a nonchalance she was far from feeling. Finally, she chose a store that was so cluttered with racks and bins of clothing it was hard to find walking s.p.a.ce. She'd been in it many times and knew exactly where the dressing rooms were. And there was a huge EXIT sign over a door in the back hallway that she knew led to a minuscule parking lot for the store employees that, in turn, led to a small side street that would, if she turned left, take her out to the main thoroughfare, where she could flag a rickety taxi. The only problem with taking a taxi was that taxi drivers talked. Even when they took money not to.

An elegant, charming saleswoman approached Isabelle. "Madame Flanders, how nice to see you again. Come, we have some nice things in the back." What that meant to Isabelle was, the couture items for the well-heeled matrons were kept safely away from the riffraff, as well as the blatant thieves, who s.n.a.t.c.hed and ran.

"Oh, Elena, that sounds decadent. I can hardly wait to see what you have."

"Straight off the runways. Only someone like you can do them justice, Madame Flanders. Wait one little minute, and I will bring these treasures for you. There are six of them, and all in your size. No alterations will be necessary. I know this."

"Wonderful! Elena," Isabelle whispered, "I wonder if you might help me. I'll take all six dresses. Just put them on my account. Right now I don't have time to try them on. I find myself in a rather ticklish position. I need to...ah...go somewhere"-she winked roguishly-"and I have no way to get there. Would it be possible for you to...ah...loan me your car?"

"Ah, love, but of course. It is the Renault in the back. Wait, one little minute and I will fetch the key. All six, you say?"

"All six, yes, Elena. Just put them on my credit card and send them to the house. Tomorrow will do nicely."

"And what do I say to that sour old woman who follows you like a nanny if she shows up looking for you?"

"Tell her I ran off with the plumber. Just be haughty. Now, where shall I leave the car? I do not want to come back here till very late. You understand, do you not?"

"Most a.s.suredly. Do not worry. I'll report it stolen, but not until tomorrow, when you are safely home awaiting the delivery of your six new dresses. Ah, I wish I was young again with a lover waiting for me." She leaned in closer. "Are people watching you?" she whispered.

Isabelle nodded and pointed to her bag as she started to strip off her white linen outfit. Feverishly, she pulled out the lime green ensemble, one she'd purchased from Elena months ago.

Elena nodded her approval. She watched, fascinated as Isabelle worked deftly with the latex. Her eyes popped wide when Isabelle whirled and twirled for her benefit. "This man who waits for you, he is worthy of all this..."

"He is my soul mate, Elena. Our hearts beat as one. He is kind, generous, witty, he lives and breathes only to make me happy, and...and he is RICH!"

"Say no more." The older woman smiled. "I see how happy you are. Rich is always good," she twittered.

Isabelle handed over her discarded clothing. "You can take care of these for me?"

"But of course."

Isabelle reached into her green-and-white clutch and withdrew a wad of banknotes. She pressed them into Elena's hand. "Keep my secret, and there will be more when I come again to shop. My lover showers me with banknotes. It will be my pleasure to share some with you for your help. Oh, I love him so much!"

"Your secret is safe with me, Madame Flanders. No words shall escape these lips. Oh, dear, I see I was wrong. There are eight new outfits." She raised her eyebrows in question.

"I'll take the others, too. I must go now. Thank you, Elena. Listen to me-if anyone comes looking for me, do not believe what they tell you. Unless they tell you I ran off with my lover." The woman nodded, happy with the commission she was making for the day plus her little windfall, with more to come. She watched as Isabelle literally ran out of the dressing room to the little hall that would take her outside to the gray Renault. She did love a good story and a conspiracy.

Elena looked at the banknotes in her hand. Three American hundred-dollar bills. Mother of G.o.d! For certain she would never give up any information on such a fine lady, no matter who came asking questions. Not even the patron, Hank Jellicoe himself.

The lady in green, as Isabelle thought of herself, made good time to the Asuncion Silvio Pettirossi International Airport, where she would board a plane that would take her somewhere, anywhere, out of Paraguay and out of the reach of Stu Franklin, Hank Jellicoe, and Global Securities. She got out of the car and locked it. She didn't know what to do with the key, so she dropped it into her handbag. She received many admiring looks from business travelers as she made her way inside the modern, air-conditioned airport. She looked up at the monitors, trying to decide which flight was scheduled to leave within the next forty minutes. If she hurried, she could get her ticket; breeze through security, because she had no bags; slither through the Customs line; and be on the tarmac with the other pa.s.sengers, all in time to board. It was all doable, she told herself over and over as she waited to see if her pa.s.sport would pa.s.s muster. She almost fainted when the man waved her through as he pocketed the local guarani currency he removed from her pa.s.sport.

Isabelle knew she wasn't out of the woods yet. Only when she was thirty thousand feet in the air would she relax. Until then she would think about Fortaleza, Brazil, which was where her ticket said she was going. From there she would board a flight to Miami, and from Miami, a flight to Was.h.i.+ngton. Travel time with layovers, almost twenty-four hours.

With ten minutes till boarding, Isabelle hit the restroom, where a gaggle of young girls were giggling and laughing. Those who weren't giggling and laughing were chattering on their phones. If only she could get one of those phones. Well, she wouldn't know if she didn't ask. She approached one of the giggling girls with a few folded bills in her hand. At best, her Spanish left a lot to be desired, so she simply pointed to the girl's phone and held out the money. She made a motion to indicate she'd dropped her own on the marble floor, and it had ceased to work and was now in the trash can that she pointed to. The girl smiled, handed over the phone, and the charger from her bag, and graciously accepted the money Isabelle held in her hand.

"There is a G.o.d," Isabelle whispered as she entered the stall and immediately tried to call Myra Rutledge.

Chapter 9.

Bert Navarro knew he was strung tighter than a guitar string. He also knew he'd never felt this way before, not even when he was in the line of fire. He turned his head slightly to look out the plane window from his window seat. They were on the ground. On the ground. In England. Son of a b.i.t.c.h, they had actually made it. That it was too easy made his heart pound. They'd been sitting for ninety minutes waiting to roll up to the plane's designated jetway so they could disembark. By craning his neck, he could see that nothing was blocking the plane's progress, so why the h.e.l.l were they just sitting here?

Bert closed his eyes. The tension and hostility emanating from Kathryn, who was sitting next to him, was so intense he thought he was going to jump right out of his skin. Over the course of his life he'd heard the expression "ticking time bomb," but he'd never actually been able to apply it to a person or a situation until now. If they didn't get off this d.a.m.n plane soon, she was going to explode. Aside from the tension and energy, he could feel her anger.

Kathryn took that moment to turn and look at him. Her eyes were colder than ice, her words harder than steel. "This is a Jellicoe Global Securities Gulfstream. Either you get me off this plane like NOW or I won't be responsible for what happens next. Do you hear me, Bert?"

Bert nodded because he didn't trust himself to speak. Even though they were just sitting on the runway, he hadn't unbuckled his seat belt. He did so immediately.

"Another thing," Kathryn hissed. "This was just way too easy, Mr. Navarro. For a year and a half you and Global wouldn't let me leave that h.e.l.lhole, and now here we are sitting on a runway in Merry Old England, and we can't get off the d.a.m.n plane. What's wrong with this picture, Bert?"

Like he had the answer. "I don't know, honey." He moved past her to head toward the c.o.c.kpit.

"Don't you 'honey' me! Don't you ever 'honey' me again, Bert Navarro," Kathryn said through clenched teeth.

Kathryn watched through narrowed eyes as Bert walked forward and spoke quietly to the frazzled hostess, who was trying to talk to him and knock on the c.o.c.kpit door at the same time. She was here, on friendly soil, just a heartbeat away from seeing Nikki and Jack, and she couldn't get off the plane. In the whole of her life, she'd never been as angry as she was at that minute. I'm being punished, she told herself. For my wild and wicked ways. Meaning, of course, running off with Bert to what she called never-never land when she'd promised Alan, her dead husband, she would never get married to or love anyone else. Well, she hadn't married Bert, so that was a good thing. Or not. These days she didn't seem to know anything.

She'd never been a crier. The last time she'd cried was at Alan's funeral. And that seemed like a lifetime ago. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed at it with a trembling hand at the same moment she felt the plane start to glide forward. "Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you, G.o.d," she whispered to herself.

Bert was back in his seat and whispering, "Just a computer glitch that..."

"Computer glitch, my a.s.s," Kathryn seethed. "All they had to do was open the door, roll up the stairway, and we could have been off this G.o.dd.a.m.n plane eighty minutes ago."

"It doesn't work that way, hon...Kathryn."

"Yeah, Bert, it does work that way. Right now, I hate you. Don't talk to me, don't touch me. I just want off this plane. Where is Murphy?"

"You know d.a.m.n well where the dog is. He's with the pilot. He'll get out at the same time you do. I thought you didn't want me to talk to you. And just for the record, Kathryn, I broke a hundred rules to smuggle that dog on board."

"Cry me a river, okay?" Kathryn snarled, just as the plane came to a smooth stop. A nanosecond later, Kathryn was out of her seat and rus.h.i.+ng forward. She let loose with an ear-piercing whistle and was rewarded with a thunderous bark. The c.o.c.kpit door opened, and Murphy, the 120-pound German shepherd, had both paws on Kathryn's shoulders. Kathryn squeezed him so tight the big dog yelped, then quieted down.

Kathryn did her best to settle her jangling nerves. Murphy, sensing things weren't quite right, hugged her side, his huge body quivering with anxiety. She knew in her heart, her mind, her gut, that if there was anyone standing outside the plane door barring her run to freedom, she would, with the aid of Murphy, kill them on the spot.

The door opened, and the only person standing to the side on the gangway was a man in a lime green vest, one of the airline employees.

G.o.d in heaven, she was really here! She was. For just a moment, she felt dizzy with the knowledge. Then she was moving forward, Murphy at her side, up the jetway and out to the area where she had to go through Customs.

With nothing to declare except her purse and Murphy's papers, she hopped from one foot to the other while another man in a bright orange vest checked her through. He squinted at the huge dog at Kathryn's side, at his papers, used the Micromax Scanner Kathryn handed him and checked Murphy's ISO microchip, then nodded that she could be on her way. She knew Bert was somewhere behind her but she didn't care. Off she went, following the signs. She'd memorized the details Bert had given her on where they were to meet up with Nikki and Jack. Her eyes were like ricocheting bullets as she raked the various signs that would take her and Murphy to where the couple was waiting.

Suddenly, Murphy stopped short, his head went up, and a long sigh escaped his lips. He let out with a monster bark but didn't move. He barked again. People turned to stare, smile, frown, and moved on.

Kathryn heard her name being shouted, and she started to run, Murphy galloping along at her side.

"Kathryn!"

"Nikki!"

Then they were holding on to each other for dear life, hugging, squeezing, and crying all at the same time. Murphy whined and growled playfully until Nikki dropped to her knees in the middle of the concourse to hug him. The big dog nuzzled and pawed her.

"I have to take him out to pee. Can we get back in? Do we have time?"

"Yes and yes. Myra chartered a plane for us. We aren't flying commercial, so we have all the time in the world. We just have to go through security again, that's all. Oh, G.o.d, Kathryn, it is so good to see you. We need to talk. Where's Bert?"

"Ask someone who cares. Which way, Nikki?"

"Follow me. I've been up and down and around this airport so many times I lost count. We've been waiting four hours for you to get here. I a.s.sume your relations.h.i.+p is about the same as mine is with Jack. We were such fools, Kathryn. How could we have been so stupid?"

"We were in love. And the guys were greedy. I think that sums it up, at least for me," Kathryn said.

"Past tense?"

"Yeah, for now. This is how I look at it, Nikki: I was robbed of a year and a half of my life. That bulls.h.i.+t about not being able to leave, the phones that didn't work, all of it made me sick. Look how easy it was all of a sudden. We're in England! We're almost home. I had so many nightmares, I thought I would go out of my mind. I think I was out of my mind. What about you?"

Nikki linked her arm with Kathryn's as they headed to the door that would lead them outside. "You know what, Kathryn, I was packing to leave when Jack roared into the house and said we were going home. I was leaving him. I was going to go to the emba.s.sy and ask them to get me home. I'm still not sure what's going on."

Murphy strained at his leash as he headed to a trash can and lifted his leg.