Kentucky Heat (39 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Kentucky Heat
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Aboard the corporate jet, Nealy leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
She was going home.
Epilogue
The dream was beautiful. She was riding Flyby, the wind in her face, and she was laughing. A joyous sound of happiness because she was back where she belonged. She half heard herself mumble something. The dream changed and she was back in Thailand and someone was poking her, getting her ready for more pain, more agony. “No. No more. I can't take anymore. I'm sorry I let you down. I want to go home. I need to go home. No more operations. I don't care anymore. Please, let me go home.”
Cole Tanner placed a comforting hand on Nealy's shoulder. “Wake up, Nealy. We're back in the States. You were having a bad dream. Are you okay?”
Nealy shook her head. “You're right, I was dreaming, and it was a bad dream. I have a lot of those lately. We're home! My God, are we really home?”
Cole hedged and repeated, “We're back on American soil. It's okay for both of us to get off the plane now.”
Nealy reared up in her seat. “How's my makeup?”
“You might want to touch it up. It looks like some came off on your sleeve the way you were sleeping.”
“Will people stare at me when I get off the plane?”
“I don't think so. Hey, I'm a guy. You look great to me, Nealy.”
Nealy looked out of the window. “This doesn't look like . . . Where are we, Cole?” Her voice sounded so anxious she couldn't believe it was her own.
“Well, we aren't exactly in Kentucky. It's more like we're in . . . New Mexico,” Cole said, looking everywhere but at Nealy.
“New Mexico! How'd we get here? Is something wrong? Oh, no, you didn't . . . you wouldn't . . . don't do this to me, Cole.”
Cole dropped to his haunches. “Look at me, Nealy, and listen to me. I brought you here because of Hatch. He's back at work in the office. I got this from Riley who got it from Emmie who got it from Nick. The point is, he's back. You're back. If ever a man loved a woman it is Hatch Littletree. I saw that the night we met in Japan. You can get it all back, Nealy. You can. He'll never come after you; you need to understand that. You sent him away. Besides, I have it on good authority that Triple-Star can't finish the movie until you get married. They've been filming at the farm for months now. Think of all the money it costs to make that movie. Think about all the actors who will be out of work if you don't follow through. Everyone wants a happy ending. I want a happy ending for you, Nealy, because you deserve it.”
“I can't . . . I'm not ready . . . This is all too much, too quick. I'm all wrinkled and messy. My hair, my makeup . . .”
“I don't think he'll care, Nealy.”
“That's easy for you to say. I can't . . . what if he . . .”
“It won't happen. Trust me. You trusted me once, trust me now.”
This was what she wanted, wasn't it? This was what she had dreamed about for a year and a half. “Can I at least change my dress and fix my makeup? I want to brush my teeth.”
“The airport is riddled with rest rooms. I'll rent a car for you. Meet me by the Avis counter.”
“Are you sure . . .”
“I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Just trust me on this, okay? You do love him, don't you?” Cole asked anxiously almost as an afterthought.
“You'll never know how much. Okay, okay, I'm going. Avis, you said.”
“Yeah.”
An hour later, Nealy drove out of the airport parking lot, Cole's directions to Hatch's office in her lap. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and her mouth was so dry she couldn't feel her tongue. Maybe she should stop and get a drink. Two drinks. Maybe even some cigarettes. She shook her head, remembering her resolution.
What was she going to say? What would Hatch say? What if he told her to buzz off. What if he didn't love her anymore?
You can do this, Nealy. You know you can. Cole said you could. Even Maline said you could do this if you wanted to do it badly enough.
She turned on the radio, then turned it off. She longed for a cigarette. A cold beer. Maybe when she found Hatch's office she would see a restaurant nearby and she could stop in. She was so intent on her thoughts she almost missed the street where she was supposed to make a left-hand turn. She swerved just in time. On her left was the adobe building. Inside were her son and Hatch. She circled the parking lot and drove off, careful to remember the landmarks across the street.
She saw the bar and grill and pulled into the parking lot. She inhaled and exhaled five times the way Maline had taught her. When she felt calm enough to get out of the car she settled her straw hat more firmly on top of her head and marched into the bar, where she sat down in a booth and ordered a triple shot of Wild Turkey bourbon. She gulped at the fiery liquid and downed it in two gulps. She was tempted to order another one but changed her mind. She left a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
Back in the car, she drove out of the parking lot, crawled the one block at fifteen miles an hour before she turned left again, where she parked in the back end of the lot. She sat for a long time trying to get up the nerve to get out of the car. She got out, got back in. Hatch was there. His Range Rover was parked three cars away from her.
Inside the building, Nick heard the tinkling bells headed his way. Medusa entered the room and went straight to the window. She motioned for him to join her. Nick looked downward, then up at Medusa. “You knew?” She smiled.
Nick barreled out of the office and down the hall to Hatch's office. “Come with me.
Now
, Hatch.”
“What the hell . . .” Hatch said, getting up from his chair.
“Do what he says, Shunpus,” Medusa said as she tinkled her way back to Nick's office.
“Look out the window, Hatch, and tell me what you see.”
“Cars. Mine, yours, the partners' and Medusa's buggy. A few strange ones, probably clients' cars. What am I missing?”
“That's what you're missing,” Nick said, pointing to his mother, who was getting out of the car for the fourth time. “She needs more time. See, she's getting back in.” Nick raised the window.
Hatch's face turned milk white. His breathing was labored as he stared down at the parking lot. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Nealy. Was it really Nealy?
On her fifth exit from the car, Nealy looked upward to see them all staring at her.
“Hey, Hatch!”
“Yeah, that's my name,” he said in a shaky voice.
“My ears are sweating! And I'm real nervous.”
“Stay right there. I know just the cure for that!” Hatch boomed, before he sprinted from the room.
Medusa and Nick listened as he barreled down the steps, then watched as Hatch ran across the parking lot. He scooped Nealy up in his arms and whirled her around and around.
“It's you. It's really you! God you look . . . beautiful.”
“Not under the makeup. I'm red and scarred, Hatch. I have to wear this junk for the rest of my life. It's like glue.”
“Who the hell cares. You said something about your ears sweating and being nervous.”
“Yeah, you said you knew what to do about it.”
“I did say that. Yeah, yeah, I know what to do about it. Yes sireee, I do.”
“Then let's get to it,” Nealy said, as she was lifted off the ground again and twirled in the air until she begged for mercy.
“Carry on!” Hatch shouted to everyone gathered at the window. “You'll see me when you see me!”
“Don't count on it. He's all mine now!” Nealy shouted.
“Get in the car, Nealy,” Hatch ordered.
“I'm in, I'm in. I'm a little nervous here. I had to stop for a drink before I got up the courage to come here. Not really nervous. You know, a little nervous. Well maybe a lot. It was a triple. It went right to my head.”
Hatch threw his head back and laughed. And laughed.
“God, I love you,” Nealy said.
“
Way to go, Nealy
,” Hunt said.
“What did you say?” Hatch asked.
“I didn't say anything,” Nealy said.
“
On that thought, I am going to leave you now.
”
“Thanks, Hunt,” Nealy murmured.
“I'll take care of her, Old Buddy,” Hatch muttered under his breath.
“
Have a good life. Be happy.
”
Read on for an excerpt from
another Sisterhood book
SWEET REVENGE
which is Isabelle's story,
coming in October 2006.
 
 
 
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 homemade 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 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 girl of two 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 table top. “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 to 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 good-byes 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 that 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.

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