Sweet Revenge

Book 5: Sisterhood

by Fern Michaels

Genres: Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

There are some things that a group of gracious ladies just can't overlook-and doing one of their friends dirty is at the top of the list. That's the mission of the Sisterhood, seven women who would do anything to help out one of their clan, especially when it means righting a wrong. And Isabelle Flanders has definitely been done wrong.

Her former colleague, the conniving Rosemary, did everything in her power to ruin Isabelle, from framing her for a terrible drunk driving accident to stealing her husband and her architecture firm. Now, Isabelle's formerly lovely life is in tatters while Rosemary scoops up the spoils. It's enough to make any friend's blood boil. Rosemary may think she's flying high, but she's about to tangle with the Sisterhood. And when the Sisterhood is on the case, revenge is swift, delicious, and oh-so-sweet….

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

The women laughed and hugged each other as Myra and Charles stood to the side, beaming with pleasure. Myra reached for Charles’s hand and snuggled her own with his.

“Just in time for lunch,” Charles said. “In honor of this cold, blustery day, we have vegetable soup and home-made bread. Unfortunately, Myra tells me it isn’t quite as good as the bread she received as a tip in Kalorama during Nikki’s mission. But she did say it was good. I regret to say I didn’t churn the butter, but it is soft.”

“I’ll take it,” Kathryn said. Everyone knew about Kathryn’s ravenous appetite. It was said that she would eat anything that wasn’t nailed down.

Charles added two more logs to the kitchen fireplace and Myra carried one of her heirloom soup tureens to the table.

“It smells heavenly, dear,” she said, real happiness ringing in her voice. “Charles started the soup at five o’clock this morning. He made an apple pie, too, with apples from the root cellar. Remember when you girls picked them in the fall?”

They ate lunch and chattered like magpies, happy to be together again after their long hiatus. And then it was time to adjourn to the war room to begin business.

Myra Rutledge called the meeting to order and then Charles stepped down from his bank of computers that would have been the envy of the White House war room itself if they had ever known this particular room existed.

“Let’s run through old business first. Before you can ask, Nikki, there is no news on the Barringtons, who were to be your original mission. I personally take responsibility for that fiasco. I’m not giving up on my attempts to locate them, nor do I want you to give up hope either. The main thing we can be grateful for is that all the horses are safe and the Barrington farm is deserted. Not only is it deserted, it is crumbling to the ground. Five days ago, the property went up for sale. From what I’ve been able to gather, it appears that the property was turned over as a quitclaim deed and the new owner immediately put it up for sale. Myra has placed a bid on the property, but we haven’t yet heard if that bid has been accepted or not. The reason I’m telling you all of this is because it enters into Isabelle’s mission. But before I get to that, do any of you have anything to say? Any questions?”

“Is there any news on Paula Woodley or her husband, the National Security Advisor?” Alexis asked.

Charles allowed himself a brief smile. “It’s not beneficial to any of us to continue a dialogue with any of the parties after a mission is completed. When we walk away, we walk away completely, never to return. However, I did pick up a few tidbits on the Internet. Mr. Drudge seems to have information that had not previously been released.”

“And that would be . . . what?” Kathryn asked.

“That the NSA is back in the loving arms of his wife. He resigned his post with the administration—under pressure, according to Mr. Drudge. In addition, it seems the President has not seen fit to call or visit his NSA. Mr. Drudge speculates to the why of that, but has no concrete answers. It appears we will have to stay tuned for further informative gossip.”

“What about the three special agents found in the NSA’s backyard? The President’s secret little force?” Nikki asked cautiously.

“‘Hogwash,’ says the President. The three men in question did not belong to a special presidential squad as was reported, since no such squad exists. The President said the three men were in fact FBI agents. The Post’s star reporter, Mr. Ted Robinson, says he has proof that what he reported is not hogwash. His proof is being held by the Post. It’s over and done with and we’re all moving forward now. It won’t behoove any of us to dwell on the past. Having said that, I suggest we get down to business and decide how best to help Isabelle with her case.”

Myra pointed to the orange folders that had been placed in front of each of the women. “We can follow along with Isabelle, but I think it will be better if she tells us in her own words what happened to her and what she wants done.”

Isabelle took a deep breath as she looked around at the women. She cleared her throat. “As you all know, I’m an architect. I had my own business, which I worked at eighteen hours a day. I designed shopping malls, high-rises, churches . . . you name it and my name was on it. I moved three times to accommodate my business as well as my staff. At the time, I was also engaged to a man named Bobby Harcourt. I was supposed to get married on Valentine’s Day. That was several years ago. . . .

“I hired a young woman called Rosemary Hershey. She had just passed her boards and I thought she was just right for our office. She was a real go-getter. Dedicated, beautiful, made a great impression. She was a sharp dresser and a hell of an architect, with great, innovative ideas.” Isabelle looked over at Nikki. “Rosemary was my Allison Banks, the woman who almost ruined you. Almost is the key word in your case. In my case, Rosemary Hershey did ruin me.

“In less than six months, Rosemary became my right-hand woman. I started to depend on her more and more. In a way it was a godsend because it freed me up to spend more time with my fiancé.” Isabelle’s voice turned wistful. “I was so happy during that time. Then I came down with a vicious head cold that ended up settling in my chest. I started to doctor myself because I was stupid and didn’t want to take the time to sit in a doctor’s office. I was a hair’s breath away from having to give a presentation to pitch for the contract for a new shopping mall in Pennsylvania. Everyone in the office worked together to help, including Rosemary.

“The day I had to make my presentation I was sick as a dog and was swigging cough medicine by the bottle. I was also running a fever, so Rosemary drove me to the presentation. On the way, there was . . . there was an accident.” Isabelle licked at her dry lips as she struggled to continue. “I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up I was in the hospital and I couldn’t remember a thing about the accident. Then I developed pneumonia. They told me the alcohol content in my blood was . . . was high, that I was drunk and had run a stop sign. A family . . . a mother, a father and a little two year-old girl were killed, and Rosemary was severely injured, too. Everyone sued me. I believed what they said, that I had been driving. Bobby made himself scarce and finally disappeared altogether. I lost everything trying to defend myself.

“When I didn’t think it could possibly get any worse, it did. Rosemary said I’d stolen her design for the shopping mall. She said we were arguing in the car and that’s how I ran the stop sign. I couldn’t prove otherwise. Rosemary saw to that. In the end they believed her and I lost my license and my business.

“It took almost a year for my memory to return, and even then it was just in little bits and pieces. But by then all the damage had been done. Another year went by as I tried to earn a living. I went to see Rosemary, to plead with her. She laughed in my face. When I was leaving her big, plush office, I ran into Bobby and found out that he and Rosemary were engaged. He couldn’t look me in the eye. A couple of months later, I saw in the paper that they’d gotten married. Of course, I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Shortly after that, I went to see Nikki. Without any kind of proof, there was nothing her firm could do for me. She helped me get a job that paid the bills, but I couldn’t work in my field again.”

“And you didn’t scratch that bitch’s eyes out!” Kathryn barked, outraged.

“I knew if I touched her, I would have killed her. The only thing I could do was walk away. Rosemary is at the top of her game now, clients standing in line to hire her. Bobby is her partner. Since Charles got my license reinstated I’ve started over and actually have several small clients. I have to supplement my income with odd jobs just to make my rent, but I’m surviving.”

Myra tapped her pencil on the tabletop. “What would you like to see happen to this awful woman, Isabelle?”

“I’d like her to tell the truth. Then I want to see her stripped of everything she holds dear. Including that miserable husband of hers. I don’t want to believe he was in on it with Rosemary, but common sense tells me she needed a cohort. By the way, the two of them took all my clients. Something also needs to be done for the family who were killed. My insurance didn’t pay the family’s heirs that much. Rosemary got there first with her lawsuit and got just about all of it. My umbrella policy was for three million dollars. She got two and a half million and the family got the other five hundred thousand. When I went to see Rosemary, I asked her if her conscience bothered her about that family. Do you know what she said to me? She said, ‘Get real, Pollyanna.’”

“We’ll just have to make Ms. Rosemary eat those words, now won’t we, girls?” Alexis drawled. The others nodded.

Charles stepped down from his computers and said, “Myra and I have come up with a plan. We would like you to consider it when you think about Rosemary’s punishment. Our plan depends on the sale going through on the Barrington property next door, so at the moment it is nothing more than an idea.”

Nikki settled herself more comfortably in her padded swivel chair. “Let’s hear it then, Charles.”

Charles looked like a Cheshire cat as he smacked his hands together. “Since Myra has the wherewithal,” he said, referring to Myra’s vast fortune, “to do pretty much as she wishes, we took the liberty of renting a very posh, high-end suite of offices on K Street in the District. It will be the new offices of Isabelle Flanders, architect. Anyone wanting to confer with Ms. Flanders can only do so by appointment. Since you’ve had your license for a year now, Isabelle, we’ve managed to give you an impressive résumé to match your offices. Courtesy of some of my friends,” he added, false modesty ringing in his voice.

If the women wondered about the why or the how of what Charles was saying, they didn’t mention it out loud. They knew better. In their eyes, Charles, a former MI6 operative, could do anything, thanks to his network of spooks, spies and the covert world he’d worked in until his cover was blown. When Myra had told the girls that Charles was on first-name terms with the Queen, they never again questioned anything he did or asked of them.

“What that means is that Isabelle can take credit for designing a theme park owned by a friend in California. She can also take credit for a brand-new mall that’s about to open in Chicago. Another friend. Anyone curious enough to make inquiries will run up against a brick wall.

“The new offices will have impressive plaques, citations, blow-your-mind pictures of Isabelle with dignitaries. There will also be an article in the papers today, courtesy of the AP wire service, announcing that my friend on the other side of the pond is requesting Isabelle’s presence for a memorial she is considering. It doesn’t matter if the event materializes or not.”

“Whoa! Way to go, Charles!” the girls squealed in unison.

Charles preened and bowed low. In spite of himself, he burst out laughing. “Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places.”

Myra was so excited she almost broke her pearls, which she was never without. “Can you imagine the look on this Rosemary’s face when she hears about that? Whatever would we do without this dear man?”

Charles’s cheeks turned pink as he cleared his throat so he could continue. “Now, if the sale goes through and Myra is able to purchase the adjacent property, she’s going to contact several architects to bid on the project she’s considering. There are several very large firms in the District, but the two we are going to be interested in are Rosemary’s and Isabelle’s. Rosemary will know she’s being pitted against the woman she ruined. It should prove interesting.”

“Charles, that is so devilishly clever,” Nikki said in awe.

Charles twinkled. “Yes, I thought so. Since today is Valentine’s Day, I’m taking my lady love to town. We’re going to pick up Judge Easter and have a nice dinner out. You’re all more than welcome to stay or leave. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at the same time.”

Nikki felt enormous relief. She’d been wondering for hours how she could possibly get away to join Jack on this all-important lovers’ day. She did her best to feign indifference by saying, “I think I’ll head for my office. I’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

Isabelle was the only one who opted to stay at the farm. The others said their goodbyes and drove away.

Left to her own devices, Isabelle sat down at the kitchen table and sipped at her cold cup of coffee. A mighty sigh escaped her lips. What would she do when her mission was over and she was vindicated? Neither Charles nor Myra had said anything about her continuing to work in the fancy new offices and she didn’t have the nerve to ask if she could take it over. The rent alone scared her out of her wits. Maybe she could open a small office somewhere and just be a one-woman operation. The thought of being vindicated left her feeling light-headed. Maybe she needed to go outdoors and run till she dropped.

She wished then, as she often did, that she had family to call on, but there was no one but a great-aunt who was so distant she couldn’t even remember her name. All her friends were gone and she hadn’t bothered to make new ones. The Sisterhood was her family now, Myra and Charles her surrogate parents. Maybe someday she’d meet a man who would make her blood sing the way Bobby had. So many maybes.

Life was suddenly becoming interesting again.

Isabelle smiled, then grabbed her lightweight jacket and went for her run. Seven miles today.

In the car, Nikki called Jack on her cell phone. “I’ve been sprung. I’m all yours for the rest of the day and night.”

Jack groaned. “Nik, I can’t get away until at least four. I’ll try for earlier but I can’t promise.”

“Do your best. I’ll cook us a nice dinner and . . .”

“And?”

Nikki laughed. “And I’ll leave it to you to fill in the blanks. Bye.” She heard Jack groan again as she ended the call.

Jack gathered up his topcoat and briefcase and left his office. He had fifteen minutes to get to court. It was sleeting when he hit the street, the stinging spray hitting him smack in the face. He walked with his head down, hunkered into his topcoat.

“Hey, Jack, slow down!” a voice called to be heard over the driving wind. Jack turned to see Ted Robinson on his right.

“Can’t. Gotta be in court. Walk along with me. I hope to hell you aren’t here to ask me what to buy your lady love, the one with the bodacious ass, for Valentine’s Day.”

The reporter loped alongside Jack, his breathing heavy. Finally, he had to slow down. “Well, yeah, that too, but I need to talk to you about something else first. How long are you gonna be in court?”

“Thirty minutes if all goes well. Wanna grab some lunch? Listen, I have to sprint the rest of the way. I’ll meet you in the lobby, OK? Forty minutes tops.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jack felt bad for his friend as he sprinted off. Ted still wasn’t up to snuff since he’d had his spleen removed following an almost-fatal beating by some very special federal agents. Jack had taken care of that little matter, but he still felt guilty over the beating Ted had suffered.

Jack barreled through security and raced down the hall to Judge Easter’s courtroom. He blew in like a gust of wind, shrugging out of his topcoat as he raced to take his place just as Judge Easter stomped her way to the front of the room and saw Jack wiping at the sleet on his face.

“All stand. The Honorable Judge Cornelia Easter presiding,” the bailiff shouted to be heard in the back of the courtroom.

“Nice to see you this morning, Mr. Emery,” she barked.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Your Honor,” Jack replied, grinning.

The judge settled in her chair.

Forty minutes later Jack was on his way to the ground floor where Ted Robinson was waiting for him.

“How about the Rusty Nail?” Jack asked, referring to a steak house a block away.

“Sure. I’m in the mood for a big thick steak with onions and mushrooms. I’m getting tired of eating tofu. Maggie is a vegetarian so I have to be carnivorous on my own time. So what do you think, Jack? Flowers, candy, jewelry, or all of the above? What? Are you seeing anyone? What are you getting her? Who is it?”

“Like I’m really going to tell you her name! Tomorrow I’ll see it in that damn paper of yours. I’m going the flower route. Champagne-colored roses. I ordered them yesterday. You’re only going to get leftovers now. Why’d you wait so long?”

“Because I didn’t know what to get her. She does have a bodacious ass, doesn’t she?”

Jack held the door to the Rusty Nail open for Ted to enter. “That she does, my friend. Now, if you really want to win some points with Maggie, get something for her dog. Women love it when you include their pets. I read that somewhere, so don’t blame me if it doesn’t work.” He shrugged out of his wet topcoat and hung it up next to the booth. Then he plopped down and swiped at his wet head with a wad of napkins. “What a shitty day,” he mumbled. “So, I know damn well you didn’t come all the way to the office to ask me about Valentine’s Day. What’s up?”

Ted grimaced as he waited for the waitress in her skimpy, almost non-existent uniform to take their order. “I’ll have a porterhouse steak, medium, twice-baked potato and a side of onion rings and I’ll have a Miller Lite.”

“I’ll have the same,” Jack said.

“She must be freezing,” Ted said, jerking his head in the waitress’s direction.

“Nah, those girls have to hustle. In case you don’t know this, buddy, they wear those skimpy outfits so dumb schmucks like us tip big. So, what’s up?”

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe something, maybe nothing. I’d like your spin on it.” Ted whipped up a folded section of the Post, a small column highlighted in yellow.

Jack reached for the paper, his eyebrows shooting upwards. Shit, shit, shit! The ladies . . .