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  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 passport 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 passport 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 passport 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 assigned 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 bitch 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 shiny glass 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 space. 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 snatched 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 assuredly. 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 God! For certain she would never give up any information on such a fine lady, no matter who came asking questions. Not even the patrón, 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 passengers, all in time to board. It was all doable, she told herself over and over as she waited to see if her passport would pass muster. She almost fainted when the man waved her through as he pocketed the local guaraní currency he removed from her passport.

  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 Washington. 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 God,” 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 bitch, 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 hell 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 damn 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 hellhole, and now here we are sitting on a runway in Merry Old England, and we can’t get off the damn 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 cockpit.

  “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 cockpit 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, God. Thank you, Go
d. Thank you, God,” she whispered to herself.

  Bert was back in his seat and whispering, “Just a computer glitch that…”

  “Computer glitch, my ass,” Kathryn seethed. “All they had to do was open the door, roll up the stairway, and we could have been off this goddamn 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 damn 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 rushing forward. She let loose with an ear-piercing whistle and was rewarded with a thunderous bark. The cockpit 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.