Cut and Run Read online

  Books by Fern Michaels

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  Cut and Run

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  Christmas

  Making Spirits Bright

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  Let It Snow

  A Gift of Joy

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  Jingle All the Way

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  FERN MICHAELS

  CUT AND RUN

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HOT SHOT

  A SNOWY LITTLE CHRISTMAS

  SPIRIT OF THE SEASON

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Fern Michaels

  Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of KAP 5, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4604-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4605-9 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4605-X (eBook)

  Dear Readers,

  Today is a WOW day, but first things first and then we’ll get to the WOW part . . .

  So many people have asked me over the years how I get fresh ideas this many books into a series. I don’t think any of my colleagues (okay, okay, two of my colleagues who are also close friends) will mind if I share that some writers have a few quirky habits. One of mine is that I do a handmade drawing on a piece of plain white paper and tape it to my bedroom door. It’s a drawing of the book I’m currently working on with a number next to it. It’s the last thing I see before lights out and the first thing I see when the lights go on in the morning. Makes me feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy knowing I dreamed all night about what I plan to work on today. Now, don’t go thinking I’m a genius here. Most times I can’t remember what I dreamed anyway. It’s mostly just for fun.

  I loved writing this book because I love Spain. I was fortunate to visit Barcelona and many small towns and villages years and years ago. The people were so warm and gracious, and they all wanted to feed me, to fatten me up. They would laugh and smile and say how skinny I was. Ha! That was then, this is now. I weigh a wee bit more than the 98 pounds I was back then. And just for the record, upon my return I weighed 102 when I set foot on American soil.

  Many of the places I described in the book are real, but
I’m sure some of my memories are not as accurate as they were back then. I loved the old monastery. If I close my eyes I can smell the beeswax candles and incense, and I have a clear vision of the pure beauty of everything I could see, touch, and smell. Back then I thought of it as an ethereal place like no other I had ever seen for some reason. I hope after you finish the book you will put Spain on your “to visit someday” list.

  Here’s the WOW! I want you all to know that I was astonished when I realized the number I mentioned earlier, written next to the inspiration for this book, was thirty. Cut and Run is the thirtieth book in the Sisterhood series! Who knew??? Not me, that’s for sure. I thought maybe one, possibly two, or even three books for a trilogy! Never in a million years did I think in terms of double digits. And I never could have imagined a spin-off series, the Men of the Sisterhood, featuring the guys—a series that, by the way, I love, love, love writing. Harry and Jack are just too cool.

  Here’s the thing, people. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you a million times over.

  This WOW is for all of you!!!!!!!!

  Fern

  Prologue

  Countess Anna Ryland de Silva’s eyes snapped open as if they were spring-loaded. She was instantly wide-awake, wondering what had roused her. She looked over at Fergus, who was sleeping peacefully. Her gaze went to the security alarm by the bedroom door. It glowed bright green. Green meant that the house was safe from intruders. She looked over at the window to see if one of the low-hanging limbs from the oak outside had brushed against the window. The moonlight outlined the leafless tree limbs. There was no wind, no breeze of any kind.

  Something’s not right.

  Annie, as she was known to all those she held dear, swung her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes on the red digital numbers on her bedside clock: 3:17 AM. She reached for her ancient ratty bathrobe, which had to be at least forty years old and was like an old friend. Fergus constantly teased her about the robe, which had been laundered thousands of times. She had shut him down immediately when she said she would sooner give him up before she’d ever part with her robe. To show him she was serious, she wore her tiara when she plopped his blueberry muffin down on his plate at breakfast time. Fergus never commented on the robe again, not a single time.

  Annie’s feet slid into her fuzzy yellow slippers, a gift from Fergus one Christmas. She loved them as much as she loved the ratty old bathrobe. She tiptoed from the room and made her way down the stairs to the old farmhouse’s kitchen. The first thing she saw was the glowing green light on the alarm by the back door. Safe.

  Something’s not right.

  Annie’s heart kicked up a beat, then two.

  She made coffee, then went to the kitchen window to stare out at the black night. She clicked on the TV on the kitchen counter, pressing button after button that would allow her to see the security cameras’ various views of the house. The motion sensors showed nothing. There were no intruders.

  Something’s not right.

  Her breathing was back to normal as her mind raced. Her thoughts went immediately to Myra, Charles, and the girls. If something was wrong where they were concerned, she would have heard something about it by now. There was nothing or no one else in her life who would cause her concern. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that was slowly coming to overwhelm her. She watched the water slowly dripping into the coffeemaker. Maybe by the time she heard the last plop, something would have happened. Such a stupid thought.

  What? What? What? her mind screamed silently. She heard the last plop. She poured coffee. Nothing had happened. So much for stupid thoughts.

  Annie sat down at the old oak table that Fergus had refinished for her. A treasure to be sure. She stared at the bowl of bright yellow mums in the center of the table. Then her gaze traveled to the old-fashioned wall phone that she loved. At least she could hear on it as opposed to all the newfangled phones that she had to keep saying, “Huh, what did you say again?”

  As if on cue, the phone on the wall jangled loudly.

  Annie was off her chair faster than if she’d been shot from a cannon. She reached the phone before it could ring a second time. Her voice was raspy, almost a growl of sound, and yet all she’d said was hello.

  “Señora de Silva?”

  Oh, God!

  “Yes, speaking.” She waited for the caller to continue.

  “This is Padre Diaz. The bishop has assigned me to come here to the mountain to help Padre Mendoza. Since he broke his hip several months ago, he is not nearly as agile as he had been. He asked me to call you because, even with his hearing aids, he has difficulty hearing what is said on the telephone. Transatlantic calls would be worse to his way of thinking.”

  Something’s not right, she thought.

  Her instincts were spot-on. “How can I help you, Padre Diaz? Are you aware that it is the middle of the night here in America? What can be so urgent to call now? Is this an emergency of some kind? Is Padre Mendoza all right? What happened?”

  “I do not know, señora. I’m just doing what Padre Mendoza asked me to do. I am sorry for calling you in the middle of the night. As to an emergency or urgency, I would have to say it is a possibility even though those words were not said aloud to me.”

  Annie’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. “What . . . What is the message for me, Padre Diaz?”

  “The message is, please ask Señora de Silva to come to the mountain as soon as she can. He also said to tell you that the people in the village have blocked the entrance to the mountain. He said you would understand. What do you want me to tell Padre Mendoza, Countess?”

  Annie didn’t stop to think before she spoke. She owed her life to the aging padre, and she could deny him nothing. Nothing at all. “Tell him I am on my way.”

  “God have mercy on your travels, Countess. I will relay your response to Padre Mendoza immediately.”

  Annie replaced the phone receiver on the hook with slow, deliberate movements. She waited till she heard the dial tone, then pressed a series of numbers. “Andrew, this is Anna de Silva. I need you to ready the plane. Wheels up in ninety minutes.”

  She listened for a moment before saying, “To Barcelona, Spain.” She listened again, and said, “One passenger. Just me.”

  Annie moved then, faster than she’d ever moved in her life. She was dressed in under ten minutes. A bag was packed in under five minutes. She spent a full minute staring down at Fergus, who was still sleeping soundly. She swallowed hard before she once again tiptoed out of the bedroom.

  In the kitchen, she turned off the coffeemaker, looked around for her keys and purse and heavy jacket. She took another minute to scrawl a note to Fergus that she propped up against the bright yellow mums in the center of the table.

  Dearest Fergus,

  I have something I have to take care of and must leave for a while. Hold down the fort as they say.

  Much love, Annie

  Annie’s thoughts were all over the map as she broke every speed law on the books to make it to the private airport where she hangared her Gulfstream. She parked her car and wondered how she could be so out of breath when she’d been sitting the whole time in her quest to get to the airport for the ninety-minute wheels up.

  The time was five fifty when the sleek silver Gulfstream roared down the runway and soared into the dark sky.

  The lone passenger buckled into the soft, buttery, leather armchair leaned back and finally let the tears flow down her cheeks.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later

  The Christmas Eve dinner Charles and Fergus had spent countless hours preparing, which smelled wonderful and tasted delicious, went mostly uneaten. Even Maggie and Kathryn, both of whom normally ate nonstop, only stirred and moved the food around on their plates. There was no joy, no happy chatter at the festively decorated dining room table as per Christmas Eve dinners in years past. Even the dogs were quietly lying under the table and not begging for tidbits to be slipped to them when n
o one was looking.

  The reason for the glum faces and lack of appetite was the empty chair at the long table. Annie’s chair.

  “This is the worst Christmas Eve dinner I’ve ever attended,” Alexis said, a sob catching in her throat.

  “It’s been three months since we’ve seen Annie! Three months!” Isabelle whispered, but her words were still loud enough for the others to hear because the dining room was as quiet as a tomb.

  Charles half rose from his chair, his mouth open, no doubt, to expound about his rule that no such talk was permitted at the table.

  Kathryn, the most verbal, with her take-no-prisoners approach to life, and the Sisters’ wild card, reared up and said, “Put a cork in it, Charles. How can you expect us to sit here with that empty chair staring at us and not say what we’re all thinking? Well?” she demanded, her voice dripping ice and daring him to come up with an explanation that she and the others could tolerate and live with.

  Charles threw his hands in the air. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he said lamely by way of a defense.

  “My point exactly,” Kathryn said in a tone that stopped just short of being a snarl.

  “When are we going to do something? By doing something, I mean trying to find out where Annie is and why she left in the middle of the night. Three months is wayyyy too long for her not to be in touch with any of us, especially Myra,” Maggie said.

  “She could be in trouble, and we’d never know. This is not the Annie we all know and love,” Yoko said. Harry’s head bobbed up and down to show he was in agreement with his wife.

  All heads turned to Fergus, who did the same thing Charles had done. He threw his hands in the air.

  “Annie does not like it when people—and it doesn’t matter who it is—stick their nose into her business. You all know that as well as I do. The note she left said she would be in touch. She just didn’t give a time or a place when that would happen,” he said defensively.