The Wild Side

by Fern Michaels

Genres: Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

A seemingly ordinary guidance counselor goes undercover as a high-class escort to bring down a dangerous network of ruthless and powerful men in the gripping new standalone page-turner from legendary, #1 international bestseller Fern Michaels. The season’s must-read for fans of Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, James Patterson, and Janet Evanovich.

For Melanie Drake, school guidance counselor in a small Virginia town, the day’s challenges typically involve a playground scuffle or a student skipping school. It’s worlds away from her previous career as a vital part of the Office of Special Investigations. There, she devoted herself heart and soul to covert operations, the riskier the better.
 
Since leaving, Melanie has cherished her peaceful, calm existence, with her two beloved retired service dogs for company. Then a call comes from her former supervisor, Rich Patterson. He needs her back for a highly specialized assignment. An international group of billionaires is known to meet regularly for decadent dinners, and they always hire high-class escorts for the occasion. Only the most elegant, well-educated, and sophisticated women will do. Infiltrating those meetings could yield information vital to national security.
 
Melanie’s loyalty is indisputable. She’s willing to pose as an escort and glean every scrap of intel that she can. But these men aren’t just wealthy and powerful, they’re also exceptionally ruthless. One slip, and they won’t hesitate to eliminate Melanie, by any means necessary. . .

Release date: March 26, 2024

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

The Summer of Change

It was 1992 when Melanie became a stickler for rules. She was between second and third grade and spending most of the summer in traction with a broken leg, broken arm, and healing from stitches that ran from her right eyebrow to her earlobe. Someone had run a red light and T-boned the family car. She was in the right rear passenger seat and got the brunt of the collision. It took many conversations with her parents to convince her she was lucky. “It could have been worse.” Of course, an eight-year-old who was stuck in bed while her friends were outside playing couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Melanie was also very bright. One day she asked her father, “Why did this happen?”

He contemplated the answer. Instead of getting into a philosophical discussion with his eight-year-old, he decided to keep it simple: “Because someone wasn’t following the rules.” She thought about what he’d said as she furrowed her brow. Those words would be forever etched into her consciousness.

That particular summer, the internet was in its infancy. For the general public, it required a dedicated dial-up phone line. It also required a personal computer, something that was lacking in many households at that time, leaving Melanie with meager choices of activities that could be pursued from her stationary position.

Yes, Melanie’s options were limited. Visitors would come, but it was summer. No one wanted to be stuck inside on a sunny day. When friends came over, they would play board games until they literally became bored. When she didn’t have kids her age around, she worked on puzzles or reading. She had a boom box, but the selection of music on the radio was all over the place. It ranged from hip-hop to ballads and everything in between. The DJ’s favorite seemed to be that “Achy Breaky Heart.” It was a catchy tune. It didn’t hurt that Billy Ray Cyrus was cute, either. But how many times could you listen to it? Besides, it made her want to get up and dance, which was out of the question. Back to the books.

Because she was sequestered in her bedroom, her parents decided to put a small TV in her room. Depending on who was babysitting, TV programs ranged from Perry Mason to Dukes of Hazzard. Oddly enough, Melanie preferred Perry Mason. She was transfixed, scrutinizing the characters, following every twist of the plot. Her ability to spot the criminal was uncanny. Her parents were concerned the content of the show was a bit sinister for an eight-year-old, but her aunt Lucy insisted it sharpened her grand-niece’s mind.

Then Columbo went into syndication, and they added another show to their roster, laughing at the disheveled detective, knowing his cunning would solve the crime. Even though the audience knew who the perpetrator was at the beginning, it fascinated Melanie to see how Columbo figured it out. So Melanie and her aunt made a pact. They wouldn’t tell her parents what they watched when they were together. They claimed they were watching game shows. Melanie knew she was fibbing, but she wasn’t breaking any rules. At least not obvious ones. Her parents never prohibited her from doing anything. They were confident their clever daughter had the sense to understand what was good and bad, even at her young age.

When Aunt Lucy wasn’t around and Melanie was stuck with the ditsy babysitter, Melanie opted for seclusion with her stack of books. She devoured the Nancy Drew series and then entered the world of Harriet The Spy. Her penchant for solving mysteries led to solving puzzles. She could whiz through at least one puzzle book a day. By September, she had far outpaced her classmates’ reading skills, giving her an edge over her fellow students. But Melanie didn’t brag about it. She liked the idea of having a special skill she could call upon to wow the teacher and stun the classroom. A talent in the making: gathering information.

One afternoon that summer, her uncle Leo visited and brought several decks of playing cards. She pouted at first. She was sick of Go Fish and Crazy Eights. But when he made several cards from an Uno deck disappear, she was enthralled. She wriggled in the only possible way she could with one arm flailing and her good leg lightly bouncing on the bed. He was delighted his niece was interested in his much-loved hobby and promised to teach her a new trick every week. By the time her cast came off, she had mastered a good number of magic tricks. Sleight of hand was one of her favorites. One of her discoveries was how to write secret messages in lemon juice. But she needed an adult to iron the paper to be able to read what she wrote. She would keep that particular talent in her personal mental vault. She also appreciated the unspoken rule about never divulging the secrets of the tricks.

The casts came off in mid-August, allowing Melanie time to regain her strength before school started. She knew she wouldn’t be able to play most games, so she memorized the rules of soccer, softball, and hockey, another bit of knowledge she could put in her repository of talent and information.

She scrutinized her appearance with a handheld mirror and stared at the zipper-like scar that ran along the side of her face. Her father told her it was a “badge of honor,” although she couldn’t figure out what the “honor” part of it meant. To her, it was an ugly red mark about which she was sure to be teased. She believed if she had a limp and a scar, it would certainly arouse mockery, and she tried valiantly to mitigate the potential for ridicule. She let her short black hair grow past her collarbone and practiced tilting her head to cover the scar. She realized she couldn’t walk around with her head cocked to one side, though. Her mother found a scar-treatment serum she applied several times a day. But it was obvious to her that the scar wasn’t going anywhere. Therefore, she was diligent about her physical therapy, and by the time school started, she walked with a normal gait.

Back to School

Secretly Melanie dreaded the first day of school. Her anxiety about the reception she would get was growing with every step down the sidewalk. But friends she hadn’t seen were happy to greet her, and much to her surprise, her classmates seemed intrigued by her accident and scar. Some of them even thought it was “cool.”

Melanie thought otherwise. She was waiting for the moment when someone called her Frankenstein. But it never came. Maybe it was pity. Kids were weird. It was hard to say what would cause them to make someone the brunt of a cruel joke. At least she didn’t limp. A limp and a scar. Both would have been too much to bear. She’d started the school day full of anxiety, but by noon, Melanie was feeling normal. Maybe kids weren’t as cruel as she imagined. When she showed some of her tricks during lunch, they were in awe and begged to learn how she did them. She stared her audience down with a deadpan expression. “I cannot tell you. Do not ask me again.” Her response earned different reactions. The girls giggled, and the boys began to call her “MelDrake the Magician.” Part of that nickname would stay with her for years to come.

While Melanie insisted on following rules, she was not a tattletale. No. Rather than be branded a snitch, she took matters into her own hands.

One morning, right after the Pledge of Allegiance, just as the class was sitting down, she noticed Richie Burke pull something from his sleeve. It was a plastic straw. She tilted her head to catch a glimpse of what he might be up to. He was in the last seat in the row next to the windows. Melanie was in the adjacent row, and one seat up. They were seated catty-corner to each other.

Richie had the reputation of being a troublemaker, so she didn’t want to stare at him and risk invoking his nastier side. Instead she glanced at the window and watched his reflection. She could see him making spitballs and then lining them up on the edge of his desk, close to the student in front of him, blocking his handiwork from the teacher’s view. When their teacher, Miss Bender, began writing math problems on the blackboard, Richie popped a spitball into the end of his straw, aimed, and fired at the back of Jenny Lennon’s head. Richie watched as Jenny reached around to feel her hair, but the spitball bounced to the floor. Richie’s face was turning red as he valiantly tried to stifle a laugh. Instead he snorted, causing everyone’s head to turn in his direction. He feigned a cough. A few shrugs, and it was all eyes back on the blackboard.

Miss Bender asked if he was okay. He nodded with his fist against his mouth, trying desperately not to let snot shoot out of his nose. As the class settled down, Miss Bender reviewed the basic math problems. “Any questions?” If someone did voice a question, everyone else in the class would moan, so there weren’t any most of the time.

Once again, the teacher pivoted toward the blackboard. Once again, Richie aimed and fired. And once again, Jenny scratched the back of her head. Richie was about to explode with his own amusement. He waited until the next opportunity and blasted another spitball, this time hard enough that Jenny whimpered. With that, Melanie got up from her seat, leaned toward Richie, and yanked the straw out of his hand. Then she brushed the two remaining balls onto his lap with her sleeve, marched to the front of the classroom, tied the straw into a knot, and dropped it in the wastebasket. As the little drama unfolded, Miss Bender watched with her mouth agape.

“What’s this all about?” she queried.

“Pardon, Miss Bender.” She pointed to the artillery in the trash bin. “I found it on the floor and didn’t want anyone to trip over it.” Trip over a straw? It was the best she could come up with. She brushed her hands together as if she was sweeping off some dust. As Melanie returned to her seat, her eyes burned a hole in Richie’s face. Even though he towered above her by several inches and outweighed her by fifty pounds, Richie Burke was convinced never to cross Melanie Drake. Ever.

As time went on, Melanie got the reputation of having the ability to chew a person up with just one look, but for some odd reason, most people responded by asking if she wanted dessert. It was part of her charm, although charming didn’t necessarily describe her as a kid. It was something she nurtured and developed and used when necessary.

Due to her accident, her sports activities were limited that school year, so she spent most of the time carefully watching her schoolmates play softball and soccer. Having the rules etched in her memory, she was fascinated to see how often someone would try to cheat. Even just a little. She would wait until she could catch the transgressor’s eye and then give them one of her stare-downs. She was intrigued to discover she could stop someone from cheating with just one look. Over time, that particular skill would become one of her best personal weapons.

The rest of the fall season was chock-full of eye-popping news. Bill Clinton beat George H.W. Bush in the presidential election, and Sinéad O’Connor ripped up a photo of Pope John Paul II on live television. The world seemed to be growing less predictable. But on a brighter note for Melanie and her friends, the Cartoon Network was launched, so she was able to watch Looney Tunes more often. Melanie wasn’t known for telling jokes or funny stories, but something goofy could make her laugh out loud. She couldn’t decide which rivals were her favorite: Wile E. Coyote vs. Road Runner, or Daffy vs. Bugs. She appreciated Bugs’s attitude. No one was going to best him. She liked that about him and the twisted way he got his justice. She would put that in her mental tool kit.

Young Melanie was intrigued by the notion of opposing forces, and 1993 brought more of them to the forefront. It seemed as if the world was listing. Out of balance. Bombings were occurring right here in the United States. Six people were killed and over a thousand injured at the World Trade Center. Then there was the horrific siege at Waco, Texas. When three eight-year-olds were murdered in West Memphis, Melanie thought her childhood was over at the ripe age of nine. Times were changing more quickly than ever, thanks to technology. Over ten million mobile phones were sold internationally. Things were beginning to move fast and not necessarily in the right direction.

Mr. Leonard

The summer between third and fourth grade was less dramatic than the school year and surely much better than the summer before. Melanie was able to spend time outside and took on swimming as her summer sport, along with reading more complicated novels. Her voracious appetite for books brought her reading to a sixth-grade level.

By the fifth grade, Melanie was reading at a seventh-grade level. She had already ripped through the pages of all the books required by her English teacher that year. There wasn’t a question he could ask that she didn’t know the answer to, but she refrained from monopolizing the class. Just as she wasn’t a tattletale, she also wasn’t a show-off, but she was bored. During a reading lesson, she tried to stifle her yawning, and at one point, she caught herself nodding off. Her teacher, Mr. Leonard, was not known for being particularly kind. He always seemed to be mad about something. He approached Melanie’s desk and slammed a yardstick down so hard, it broke into pieces. Melanie jumped from her seat as the rest of the class gasped.

“Am I keeping you awake, Miss Drake?” he snarled.

Melanie sat up tall, blinked, and answered. “No sir.”

“Then would you like to tell the class about Treasure Island?”

Melanie stood up and began, “Treasure Island was written by Robert Louis Stevenson in 1881. Some of his other books include A Child’s Garden of Verses, and the creepy Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” She paused and scanned her audience. She wasn’t aware that “reading the room” was a thing. For her, it was intuitive. Her classmates were wide-eyed and at the edge of their seats. None of them wanted a yardstick smashed in front of them.

Melanie shared the synopsis of the book, outlining the story of a young boy named Jim Hawkins whose family owned an inn. An old sea captain, named Billy Bones, was one of the residents, but he died, leaving behind a mysterious chest. Melanie’s description of the plot was animated as she proceeded to describe the treasure map, the pirates, the mutiny, and the rescue. When Melanie thought she’d given Mr. Leonard enough to thwart his attempt at embarrassing her, she took a slight bow and sat back in her seat. The class was mesmerized and clapped with enthusiasm. Mr. Leonard was red-faced. “You have your mother call me,” he demanded.

“Okey dokey,” she replied calmly.

“What did you say?” he roared. She swore she saw steam coming out of his ears.

“Yes, sir,” she corrected herself. When he turned around, she gave her fellow classmates one of her classic eye rolls. Kids were biting their lips trying not to laugh. No one wanted to send Mr. Leonard on another bashing spree. Melanie craned her neck to see if there were any more yardsticks. Nope. Just a pointer. One more weapon left. She wondered if the janitor noticed all the missing rulers. She recalled at least five other occasions when Mr. Leonard had destroyed school property. Why didn’t anyone say anything? She thought about the conversation she was going to have with her mother. Perhaps that would put an end to his tyrannical behavior. Either that, or she would be grounded. She knew she would have to choose her words carefully and not sound like a whiny schoolkid.

That evening during dinner, everyone had their turn discussing the events of the day. Her parents owned a real estate agency in Harrison, just an hour southwest of Washington DC. With the influx of politicians and lobbyists, her parents were a very busy couple. Her mother discussed showing one of the McMansions, and her father bemoaned his paperwork. Melanie waited for her brother Justin to boast about his basketball scores before she dropped the Mr. Leonard bomb on her mother.

“Mel? And how was your day?” her father asked with his fork in midair.

She took a big breath. “Well . . . you remember I told you that Mr. Leonard has a bad temper?”

Both parents nodded. They knew kids had active imaginations, although Melanie wasn’t prone to exaggerating. “Today he was talking about Treasure Island.”

“You read that last summer,” her mother said with confidence and a smile.

“Yes, so I was bored.” Melanie made a grimace. “I guess my eyes were closed, and Mr. Leonard broke a yardstick over my desk.” She was very matter-of-fact.

Her father plunked his fork on his plate. “He did what? A yardstick?”

Melanie frowned and nodded. “Yep. I mean, yes.”

“Oh my goodness! What happened? Did anyone get hurt?” The smile left her mother’s face instantaneously, and she placed her hand on Melanie’s arm.

“No, there were just a bunch of splinters all over the place. I don’t think they hit anyone,” Melanie said thoughtfully.

More questions came at rapid fire.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“Has he done this before?”

Then finally, “Are you okay?”

“Like I said, my eyes were closed. I guess he thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

Justin snickered. “You probably weren’t.” Justin knew his sister was a model student. He simply liked to tease her.

“No need for that, son,” his father responded with a frown.

Melanie attempted to kick him under the table, but she couldn’t reach without disengaging herself from her mother’s death grip. Instead she gave him one of her death-ray looks.

Her father spoke again. This time, he was calm. “What happened after he broke the ruler?”

“He made me get up and tell the class the story,” Melanie answered with confidence.

Justin snickered. “Bet you got him good on that one!”

“Yes, but now he wants Mom to call him tomorrow.”

“Call him? Were you misbehaving?” Mrs. Drake asked with surprise.

“No!” she said defiantly. “I did exactly what he asked me to do.” She tightened her lips.

“So why on earth does he want me to call him?”

Melanie shrugged and asked a rhetorical question: “Because he’s mean?”

“You can tell Mr. Leonard if he has anything he wants to discuss with me, he can call our number. How dare he!” Mrs. Drake was exasperated.

“Do you want me to handle this?” Mr. Drake interjected.

“No. I want Melanie to tell that brute to pick up the phone himself.”

“We don’t want Melanie to suffer any further repercussions,” he said evenly.

“Repercussions, my hiney! The man is a brute, picking on children.”

Melanie furrowed her brow and looked up at the ceiling. Children. She never considered herself a child. A kid, yes. A child, no. In her mind, the word children meant immature. Well, if it worked in her favor, her mother could call her anything she wanted, and Melanie had no problem delivering her mother’s message.

The next morning, as the kids were scrambling to their seats, Mr. Leonard pulled Melanie aside. “Did you tell your mother to call me?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And?”

Melanie looked him straight in the eye and quoted her mother verbatim. “She said, ‘If he has anything he wants to discuss with me, he can call our number.’ ” Melanie quickly glanced at the blackboard. Only that one pointer remained. Would he use it? She held her breath. She knew no matter what transpired next, her parents were on her side.

Mr. Leonard’s face reddened for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and she thought his head might explode. He snarled, “Fine. I will do that. Now go to your seat.” He flung the lesson plan book toward his desk, but it missed and went careening over the side and into the wastebasket. The class erupted in howls and giggles, which made things worse. “Shut up! All of you! Tonight you are going to write, ‘I must behave’ one hundred times.” There was silence. Melanie thought her classmates would be angry with her, but they knew Mr. Leonard enjoyed doling out punishment, even when it wasn’t warranted.

That evening at dinner her mother, asked how it had gone with Mr. Leonard. “Okay, I guess.”

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?”

“Well, he wasn’t very happy with my answer, so he threw his lesson plan, and it ended up in the garbage.”

Justin’s soda came spewing out his mouth, her father tried to stifle a laugh, and her mother looked on with horror.

“That man has a terrible temper!” she exclaimed.

Melanie refrained from an “I told you so,” but she went on to mention their punishment assignment because the class laughed at the lesson plan disaster. Her mother was on the verge of throwing her own temper tantrum. “That’s enough bullying as far as I’m concerned. Peter, you and I are going to have a meeting with the principal. Someone who is easily unhinged should not be teaching children.”

Children. That word again, but if it got rid of Mr. Leonard, she didn’t mind what she was called.

“You’re right, Dorothy. I’ll call Mr. Rigley in the morning.” He huffed. “There’s already enough violence in the world. We don’t need it in the classroom.” Mr. Drake couldn’t possibly know the kind of devastating events that lay ahead.

“Maybe you’ll get him fired,” Justin wisecracked.

Melanie wondered if that would make her a hero to her classmates. Not that she needed the adoration, but it would be kinda cool.

The next morning, rather than wasting a phone call, the Drakes decided to go straight to the principal’s office. They waited a reasonable amount of time for the man to get settled into his routine before they pitched a fit. In a courteous but firm manner, of course.

They arrived wearing business attire. “Good morning, Mrs. Chesterfield. May we have a few moments with Mr. Rigley?”

Mrs. Chesterfield had been the school secretary since Dorothy (Gleason) Drake went to Hamilton Elementary School. It was over twenty-five years ago, and Mrs. Chesterfield was ancient back then! Funny how one’s perception of “older people” changes as you become one of them. Dorothy Drake wondered if the pink glasses and pink pearl eyeglass holder were the same ones the secretary had sported years ago. She still had the pink hair, too. Mrs. Chesterfield hadn’t changed a bit.

“May I ask what thi. . .