Collateral Damage (15 page)

Mumbling among themselves, the agents closed the door behind them.

“She’s got a hard-on for you, Navarro. What’d you do?” Landos asked. “Not that ending up in California is such a bad gig, but I sure as hell would hate to have to interrogate three guys who gave up their balls to a group of vicious women. I think she wants you out of the way. C’mon, Bert, what’d you do to piss her off?”

“I was too lazy to drive home the other night, and Georgetown was flooded, so I bunked at Jack Emery’s. Powell followed me. End of story. I saw her, and she knew it. She’s not the best at tailing someone. I spotted her from the git-go.”

Landos whistled. “That would do it. She probably thinks you two have a thing going on. You know…She’s a real priss, and you know what else, I think she’s still a virgin. Have yourself a ball in the land of milk and honey and don’t forget to call in every two hours, that’s an order.”

In spite of himself, Bert laughed at Landos’s falsetto voice. “Screw you and the horse you rode in on, Landos.” Bert could hear his fellow agents laughing all the way down the hall.

Bert’s thoughts were all over the map as he rode down in the elevator. Powell was onto him. He read it in her eyes, in her body language. While she might suspect him, he’d left no footprints for her to home in on. The FBI dealt in facts. Hard proof. Maybe it was time for Erin Powell to disappear. And it was time to call Jack Emery. And, of course, Kathryn, to tell her where he was going and why.

The neat, tidy rooms Paula Woodley had prepared now looked like a cyclone had whipped through, leaving papers and boxes everywhere. The Sisters stopped what they were doing to take a break.

Alexis suggested breakfast and fresh coffee and offered to prepare it. “The sun will be up in a few minutes, we need to freshen up.”

They’d been at it since their arrival, mapping out their strategy on how best to proceed with their new mission. The apple pie, the fried chicken, and the mac and cheese had been devoured within minutes. Now, according to Alexis, it was time to refuel.

It was a team effort in the kitchen. The women worked in harmony, all the while talking about their night’s work. Alexis did the cooking, Isabelle cleaned up the mess they’d left on their arrival. Kathryn set the table, and Yoko made coffee and tea. Nikki bundled up their trash, while Myra and Annie did their best to tidy up the den and living room, where their “blackmail files” were stacked in the order of importance. Their telephone campaign would begin after breakfast.

More than anything, the group appeared to be a middle-aged collection of women with two den mothers enjoying a collaborative breakfast after a party night. Right now they were all staring in awe at the double-yolk eggs Alexis was cracking into the fry pan.

They were just starting to eat when Kathryn’s cell phone rang. Startled, she looked down at the number, and said, “It’s Bert!” She said hello, then listened. Several times her eyebrows rose before she clicked off without saying a word.

Forks poised, coffee cups at their lips, the women waited.

“It’s not good. Well, maybe not terrible, but still, not good. You know what? I’m not hungry.” Kathryn pushed her plate away and looked at her Sisters. “It’s Erin Powell! Bert said she’s coming out here to talk to Mrs. Woodley and her husband.”

Nikki jerked upright. “Mrs. Woodley would have called us. She knows the rules.”

“I’m not saying she does know. Maybe Powell is going unannounced. Element of surprise, that kind of thing. You need to call and warn her. Like
now,
Nikki. Don’t let her get blindsided.”

Nikki got up and walked back into the den, where she picked up her cell to call Paula Woodley, who answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy. The woman came instantly awake when Nikki explained the situation.

“Don’t worry, dear. I know what to do.”

Nikki sighed with relief when she powered down and returned to her scrambled eggs. “Mrs. Woodley understands. Damn, I forgot to thank her for last night’s feast and for everything she did for us.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the chance to speak with her again. Don’t worry about it, dear,” Myra said soothingly.

T
heir breakfast over, the cleanup in progress, the mood was somber at 11063 Benton Street.

Myra broke the silence by saying, “Nikki, dear, I think you should call Lizzie Fox. Mrs. Woodley is going to need some legal representation.”

“I think you’re right, Myra. You’re ahead of me this time. I should have called her the moment I hung up from speaking with Paula. It’s just…Something is niggling at me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, and I know it’s important. I can’t…I’m sure whatever it is, it will come to me.” The frustration in Nikki’s voice was evident to everyone in the room.

“It always works that way, dear. My advice to you is to clear your mind, go on to other things, and before you know it, whatever it is will be crystal clear to you,” Myra said. Her worried gaze as she stared at her adopted daughter belied her cheerful voice.

Their break over, the women dispersed to get showered and dressed for the new day. Forty minutes later, Isabelle and Kathryn walked into the living room dressed in airline uniforms. Alexis immediately opened her Red Bag and got to work. It took only thirty minutes for both women’s appearance to be altered. The Sisters stood back to appraise both women with a critical eye. Altered brow lines, colored contact lenses, a dab of latex here, a fragile, thin prosthesis in both mouths, and Kathryn Lucas and Isabelle Flanders no longer existed. In their place stood Amelia Whitehouse and Constance Carford.

Annie clapped her hands with enthusiasm as Kathryn and Isabelle whirled and twirled for their benefit.

“You’re good to go, girls,” Alexis said. “Don’t forget your airline bags by the front door. We need the neighbors to believe the myth Charles created that this is a group house for airline attendants.”

“I hope our new car arrived,” Kathryn said. “I hate driving that van.”

“Someone dropped it off in the middle of the night. You will be driving a two-year-old Mitsubishi. Enjoy your day, ladies,” Nikki said.

The plan was for Kathryn and Isabelle to shed their airline uniforms at the first gas station they came to and dress in casual attire before they presented themselves at the Connor campaign’s fund-raising headquarters.

While Myra and Annie returned to their fund-raising activities and Alexis inventoried her impressive Red Bag, Nikki felt at loose ends. She desperately needed to remember what it was that was making her so uneasy. And, she wanted to talk to Jack so badly she could taste it. She looked over at Yoko, who was talking on her cell phone. She had to be talking to Harry Wong, the love of her life.

Nikki walked over to the huge bay window and looked out. The street was quiet. If there were children on the block, they were in school at this hour of the morning. If elderly people lived nearby, it was unlikely any of them would venture out before noon. There were no dog walkers, no one raking leaves, no delivery trucks, and no sign of a mailman. Benton Street was just like every other street in Middle America at nine o’clock in the morning.

Nikki finally inched one of the club chairs closer to the window but still far enough away that anyone meandering out on the street wouldn’t see her if they cast a glance in her direction. When she couldn’t stand it another second, she keyed in Jack’s number and waited for him to pick up. “It’s me. Hey, you, what are you doing?” Nikki smiled at her own greeting. “We’re here. Guess that’s pretty obvious. I can’t wait to see you.” She then gave Jack a quick rundown on the Woodleys, Lizzie, and what they’d been doing all night long.

She finally wound down by saying, “Something is really bothering me, Jack. I can’t wrap my mind around it yet. But, my gut is telling me whatever it is means success or failure for this mission. I’ve tried everything, but I just can’t get a handle on it. Help me out here, Jack.”

“Was it something I said? Something someone else said, one of the girls? Did Charles say something that you didn’t react to? Or was it maybe something vague you saw on the message boards?”

Nikki groaned. “That’s just it, I don’t know. Myra says I have to shift into my neutral zone, and it will eventually come to me. But by the time I finally ‘get it,’ it might be too late. I don’t want to start something we’re not going to be able to handle. We were ambushed once, and I don’t ever want that to happen again. Is there any way you can make it out here to see me?”

It was Jack’s turn to groan. “If only. The short answer is no, for the moment. I know I’m being watched. Erin Powell has us all in her crosshairs. I wish you could have heard Bert when he found out she was shipping him to Chicago and then California. He was royally pissed.

“Bert has himself convinced, and in this case I tend to agree with him, that Powell believes he’s her mole. She went preemptive by shipping him off, which only means she’s about to do something she doesn’t want him to know about. If she believes he is her mole, she won’t want him tipping her hand.”

“You mean like Erin’s coming out here to Kalorama to talk to the Woodleys?”

“No, something else. He heard about that at their morning briefing. Bert thinks she has some trick up her sleeve. She’s walking a fine line right now and the director came down on her and she didn’t like it. If she fails with this task force, she might as well get out and go into the private sector. The fibs don’t like failure when it comes to their agents.”

Something tweaked Nikki, but it was gone before she could latch on to it. Damn, she’d almost had it. “Any other news we should know about?”

“I wish. Turn on your television. The big news is the sale of the
Post
going through. Everyone is weighing in with their opinions. The GOP isn’t real happy. The Dems are gloating. Guess they have some inside info no one else has. The hunt is on for the owner. The people on the hill aren’t buying the information that’s being peddled. Maggie has been on every show going, and she just smiles and gives away nothing. She doesn’t look like the Maggie we know. I’m telling you right now, and remember I’m the one who said it first, she’s going to rule that paper with two iron fists. I’m actually meeting her for lunch today. Judge Easter is going to be in the same restaurant just by chance. Anything you want me to tell either one of them?”

“Actually, Jack, I do. I want you to tell Maggie to assign some reporters to keep tabs on the Connor campaign’s fund-raising operation. Tell her to give a lot of space to Pam Lock and the great job she’s doing for her candidate. Kathryn and Isabelle should be arriving at that office any second now. Have them tell the reporters about the soirée that’s being planned at the Waldorf-Astoria. Tell her to pull out all the stops.”

“I can do that. I miss you, Nik. As much as I want to see you, I won’t put you and the others in any danger by trying to do so. Not to worry, we’ll make it happen, but only when it’s safe. Listen, I’m running late. I’ve got fourteen minutes to make it to the courthouse. I’ll call you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky.”

“And I love you more than all the sand on the beach.”

There was a smile on Nikki’s face when she closed her cell phone. She looked around to see if any of the others were watching. They weren’t, so she closed her eyes and for a few seconds conjured up Jack holding her in his arms as he whispered in her ear. When her eyes started to burn, she forced herself to concentrate on the street in front of the house.

Nikki heard the high-powered twang of the engine before she saw the sleek silver Porsche slow to a crawl before it swept into the Woodleys’s driveway. She fought the wild urge to run out into the street to hug Lizzie. Instead, she called over her shoulder, “Lizzie just arrived.” Now all she had to do was wait for Erin Powell to show up. Her watch said it was exactly nine o’clock. Paula Woodley had phoned to inform her the moment Powell called her to set up the meeting for nine thirty.

Never good at waiting, Nikki paced, her thoughts going in all directions. She walked back to the kitchen mumbling about making fresh coffee. She whispered to Yoko to take her place at the window. Yoko immediately bobbed up from her lotus position to stand by the window, the cell glued to her ear. Whatever Harry was saying to her made her smile. Nikki felt jealous and yet happy for Yoko. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.

At the same time she knew Paula Woodley was in good hands.

Moments before Lizzie Fox arrived, Paula paid the morning health aide, who had cleaned up her husband for the day, then locked the door behind him. She rushed back to the barren room and wheeled the chair out to the den, which had a magnificent seventy-six-inch plasma television set. She whirled around and dropped to her knees to stare into her husband’s eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Woodley. If you so much as blink or give any indication that things aren’t all warm and fuzzy here in our abode, you will regret it because I will walk away from here and call the vigilantes back to finish the job on you.” Suddenly Paula went off into peals of laughter. “If you could kill me with your eyes, you would. I see it. It makes me happy, Mr. Woodley, because I know how you’re suffering. Know this, you son of a bitch, I hate you ten times more than you hate me. No, that’s a lie, I hate you a thousand times more than you hate me.

“Ooh, I hear a car. That must be our new lawyer. The vigilantes recommended her. I hear she’s superb. Not that she’s going to do
you
any good. When the FBI agent gets here, just drool and slobber all over yourself. You will keep those crooked fingers of yours under your blanket and remember what I said, no blinking. I’ll be watching you. And when they leave, after you play at eating your lunch, the vigilantes are coming for dessert. That’s what you have to look forward to. If you even think about making any of those gurgling, gargling sounds, I will personally choke you. Remember that time you did choke me and almost crushed my larynx? I couldn’t talk for months and had to be fed through a tube in my stomach, and my tongue swelled up to twice its normal size. I’ll go you one better and yank your damn tongue out by the roots and stuff it up your ass. Now, blink to show me we’re together on all this.”

Karl Woodley blinked right on cue.

“That’s a good boy, Mr. Woodley. Ah, the doorbell is ringing. I bet you can’t wait to meet our new lawyer. Mind your manners, Mr. Woodley,” Paula trilled as she danced her way to the front door.

The introductions made, Paula escorted her new attorney out to the kitchen, where she poured her a cup of fine Kona coffee. Paula noticed the tremor in Lizzie’s hands when she picked up her coffee cup. She smiled. “It’s always a shock when people first see Mr. Woodley. I, of course, am used to it. I like looking at him. Sometimes I just sit and stare at him and thank God for what the vigilantes did to him. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for them.”

Lizzie didn’t know what to say. She knew Paula Woodley’s story and marveled at the woman’s guts. “Can…can Mr. Woodley talk?”

“In a manner of speaking. He makes noises. I understand him. No one else can. The agent won’t get a thing out of him. Me either, because I wasn’t here when Mr. Woodley was attacked. I can’t imagine what she hopes either of us can tell her. Do
you
know why she’s coming here? Are you one of them, Ms. Fox?”

“In a manner of speaking I know. The director of the FBI appointed a new task force, and Ms. Powell is heading it up. All indications are that there’s a serious push on to capture the ladies. Am I one of them? Yes, Mrs. Woodley, I am. This is very good coffee.”

“That’s funny you should say that. Mr. Woodley had a standing order with some company in Hawaii to send coffee to us once a week. It was expensive. I wasn’t allowed to drink it. Maxwell House was good enough for me. I make a point of grinding the beans in front of him and drinking the whole pot myself. He gets water with his toast in the morning. Do you think I’m too sadistic?”

She sounded to Lizzie’s ears like she was asking if she thought it would rain before noon.

Lizzie squared her shoulders. “After what you went through at his hands, no. I just don’t understand why you haven’t killed him. If you ever decide to do that, I’ll represent you.”

“Thank you, Lizzie. I’ll be sure to remember your offer when it gets to the point where I’m tired of tormenting him. Oh, dear, there’s the doorbell. Shall I bring Ms. Powell out to the kitchen, or shall we adjourn to the den?”

“I’ll come with you. I will answer for you at times. If I hold up my hand, that means you don’t answer whatever question she poses for you. Do you understand, Mrs. Woodley?”

“Perfectly, and call me Paula.”

Lizzie Fox stayed in the den out of Karl Woodley’s sight as she waited for Paula to return with Erin Powell. The attorney was dressed in a power suit of steel gray, with a scarlet blouse and gray suede shoes. Her silvery mane of hair was done into a fashionable chignon. She wore her headlight diamond earrings and no other jewelry. On the coffee table was her ostrich-skin briefcase that cost more than Powell’s yearly salary. A gift from a grateful client. She did love fine things.

Lizzie Fox waited patiently. It was one of the many things she was extremely good at. Then, like a cobra in bright sunlight, she’d strike. She could hear the voices at the front door but couldn’t make out the words. She continued to wait.

Paula opened the door and waited while Erin Powell fished out her credentials. Paula pulled a pair of reading glasses out of her pocket, put them on, and read all the fine print. She spent a few extra seconds studying the shield and even rubbed her fingers over it before she nodded and stepped aside for the agent to enter.

Erin Powell felt her heart plummet to her stomach when she got her first look at Karl Woodley. Nothing could have prepared her for what she was seeing. She tried in vain to cover her shock.

“It’s all right. Most people react that way when they first meet Mr. Woodley. Both of us are used to it.” She turned when she heard foot taps on the hardwood floor. “This is our attorney, Elizabeth Fox. Ms. Fox, this is Special Agent Erin Powell.”

Erin’s heart plummeted from its hiding place in her stomach all the way to her feet. She was trying to think of something to say when Lizzie Fox beat her to the punch.