Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(37)

Now that she was here alone in her bedroom, the house silent, she could give way to her fears with no one the wiser. She wondered what she would look like in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on her wrists and ankles. She flinched at the thought. On visiting days, Nikki would cry and Charles would wring his hands. She’d probably cry herself and say something noble like, if I had it to do over again, I’d still do it.

Charles said everything he’d done was foolproof. Nikki backed him up. And yet, things had a way of going wrong at the last moment. A dog could upset a foolproof plan, a stranger could appear out of nowhere and screw things up. The human element was one thing impossible to foresee.

If she kept this up, she was going to go out of her mind. She needed to do something and she needed to do it now. What? She looked around as though searching for her answer. She saw it in the pile of comforters on the chaise longue in the corner of the room. She didn’t stop to think. She gathered them up and in the hall she tossed them to the foot of the steps. She peered over the bannister to see if they had fallen on top of one another. They had. A second later she was sliding down the staircase, whooping in glee. She hit bottom none the worse for wear. She might do it again later on or in the morning. She smacked her hands together in satisfaction.

She rubbed at her rump as she made her way into the living room. Earlier, she’d closed the heavy draperies. Now all she had to do was close the pocket doors leading into the dining room and she could enter the War Room. Charles had scared the bejesus out of her by saying there were high-powered binoculars that allowed a person to see almost a mile away. Then he’d gone on to tell her about the night vision goggles. “Keep the damn drapes and doors closed, Myra,” were his exact words.

She certainly was getting an education. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time.

The panel closed silently. Myra walked around the room, marveling at the high-tech world that was now part of the old farmhouse. She looked up at one wall and saw Chris Matthews talking to Mike Barnacle on MSNBC. She looked across the room to see Larry King talking to a psychic named John Edward.

She walked up the two steps that led to the platform where the bank of computers rested under the big screen closed-circuit monitor. She counted down, three, four, five, six. All had little envelopes twirling about signifying that there was incoming e-mail. They were probably from Charles’s people. That’s how she thought of them, Charles’s people. Without those people working in the background, she wouldn’t be standing here now, nor would she be obstructing justice and breaking the law.

Myra sat down at the round table and thought about King Arthur. “We’re sort of like that,” she muttered. Her hands started to shake so she sat on them as she watched Larry King and John Edward. He was so young to be a psychic, but then Isabelle was young, too. Isabelle just saw things and didn’t know what they meant. John Edward seemed to know what everything meant. She wondered what would happen if she called in to the show. Damn, why not?

She was out of the War Room in a flash and in the kitchen dialing the number of the show. She waited while she was put on hold. Her hands started twitching again so she tilted the phone on her shoulder and ear and sat on her hands. She almost fainted when she heard Larry King say, “Go ahead, McLean, Virginia.”

Go ahead. What did that mean? Talk. Yes, she was supposed to say something. “Good evening Mr. King and Mr. Edward. I was wondering if you could tell anything by just my voice. You know, pick up on what’s going on in my life. I’m not sure I believe in things like this but I like to keep an open mind.”

“Can you tell anything by talking to this woman, John?” King asked.

“I see a high-impact hit-and-run accident. Did this happen in China? I see Chinese lettering of some kind. I see turmoil and a lot of activity surrounding you. I also see danger. You have to be careful. You like chocolate eclairs. I see you eating three at one time. I see you surrounded by motorcycles. Does that have any special meaning to you?”

Myra slammed down the phone so hard it bounced off the kitchen counter. She put her head between her legs until her head cleared and she could breathe normally. She was off the chair a second later, opening the refrigerator. She reached for Charles’s vodka and took a healthy gulp. Then she took a second one. She debated about a third swallow and put the bottle back on the top shelf.

If she told Charles, he would say she was on the phone long enough for someone to analyze her voice. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Well, she wouldn’t tell Charles. Maybe she should tell Nikki. God, no! She could ask her tomorrow if Jack Emery ever watched Larry King. Probably not on a Friday night. Young, good-looking, power-hungry men like Jack Emery didn’t sit home on Friday night watching Larry King. Did they? She would have to be careful when she quizzed Nikki in the morning.

There was no way she was going to be able to sleep now. Charles could always buy another bottle of vodka. Right now she needed it more. Maybe she could just stick a straw in the bottle and drink it that way so she could sit on her shaking hands.

“There’s no fool like an old fool,” she muttered over and over as she guzzled from the bottle because she didn’t have any straws.

Charles said she was to stay alert in case he needed her. Her shoulders slumped. She wondered when she’d gotten two of everything in the kitchen.

“Some CIC I am,” she muttered as she tottered to the living room, the portable phone in her hand. The Cat In Charge slumped down on the sofa and was out like a light in two seconds flat.