Kathryn raised her arm and pointed to the lead Range Rover, which meant no meet and greet. But the second signal indicated Annie could pose for a picture with Myra at her side. Both women willingly obliged, with Myra taking an even longer belt from the gold flask that was studded with fake rubies. She made sure she lurched to the side so that Annie could grab her arm, which she did. At that point, Myra stumbled, and the ruby-studded cap to the flask rolled away. One of the Sisters/ Brothers grabbed for it, then helped the two women into the backseat of the black Range Rover. The windows were darkly tinted, so it was impossible for anyone to see the two women collapsing in laughter. Annie kicked off the silly shoes she'd been wearing, lowered the window, and tossed them out onto the tarmac. No one rushed to pick them up.

"How'd we do, Myra?"

"I do believe we were Academy Award material. By any chance, did you happen to notice that gaggle of beefy men with bulges under their jackets? Since I was in character, I had only a moment, but I think I counted around twenty men, give or take one or two."

"Yes, indeedy, I did. I counted twenty-four. I do believe Mr. Spyder is now aware of our arrival. How cool is that? Are we having fun, Myra?"

Myra turned around to look out the back window. "We are having so much fun, I can barely stand it," she said through clenched teeth. "We're a regular caravan. I know what you're thinking, Annie. You are wondering which house Charles and Fergus are being held prisoner in. Tell me I'm right."

"You're right. I am. Every fiber in my body is telling me they're here. I just got here, and I hate this place. Look at those.... What are they, Myra? Castles, palaces, mansions? What?"

"Bricks and mortar, Annie. That's how you have to think of them. Yours probably looks the same. Relax."

Three minutes later, Myra screamed, "Quick, Annie! Roll down your window and wave till your arms fall off. Look up there on that stretch of boardwalk. Do you see the person in the wheelchair and the woman standing next to it?"

"Oh, dear God, I do." Annie waved frantically, hoping the girl in the wheelchair could see her. "But, Myra, she doesn't know who we are. Waving to her won't mean anything."

"I'm not so sure. I'd bet my last dollar she'd do anything to get off this island. She may already be plotting with her mother. We just think differently than most people, Annie. Let's just hope that seeing our parade, she starts to think. I hope Stephen . . . Greg . . . sees her. Maybe he'll be quick enough to wave, too. That would clinch it for sure."

Little did either woman know that Greg Albright had spotted the wheelchair and the two women at the same time as Myra and Annie. He had the window down and was waving his arms as crazily as Annie had. Then he started to shout, until Sparrow yanked him back and smacked him hard alongside his head. "Screw this up, and you are dead meat, Albright."

"That's her. That was Gretchen!"

"We know. One more move, and we'll hog-tie you, and you'll be no part of this. Tell me you understand what I just said."

"All right. I get it. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just had a knee-jerk reaction."

"You damn well better not have another one, or it's curtains for you, buddy," Sparrow said ominously.

Albright cowered in his seat. He closed his eyes and pretended he was running across the sand, up to the boardwalk, and into the arms of the love of his life. In your thoughts and dreams, anything was possible. He turned his head away so no one could see the lone tear trickling down his cheek.

But Sparrow saw it and winced.

Chapter 15.

As Annie and the crew settled into what she referred to as "our new digs," Hank Jellicoe stood in the inner sanctum of his employer, who was exploding in rage at what he perceived to be happening.

I really do despise this man. I should just put a bullet through his black heart right now, Jellicoe thought. He waited patiently for the tirade to be over before he spoke. He cringed at the way the spittle was flying and took a step backward. When the ugly, frog-like man finally ran out of steam, Jellicoe wanted to clap his hands.

"Mr. Spyder, I told you that putting those bugs in the countess's house was a mistake. She has security that's just as good, perhaps better, than mine. And now they all know that someone was intent on spying on the countess. I tried to tell you the countess was not someone to mess with. She is no innocent and is as wise to the ways of the world as anyone you can find. Plus, she has wealth beyond most people's imagination. It truly pains me to tell you, Mr. Spyder, but you, your security, me, my security are no match for hers. I warned you about this, but you made the decision not to listen to me. Now those same people are going to put you under their microscope, since you are the only one on the island who could have bugged the countess's house. What do you think they're going to find when they do that, sir?"

Angus Spyder's ugly face turned brick red as he blustered, cursed, then kicked out at the wall. Spittle flew in all directions.

Jellicoe decided to stick the knife in a little farther and give it a twist to boot. "If you recall, you were uptight when you found out she was richer than you were. You hated that it was a woman in the bargain. Royalty, no less. I did warn you, Mr. Jellicoe, when you had all your number crunchers fired and new ones flown in. She is richer than you. You have to accept that and go on from there.

"And, to address your other problem, your grandchildren . . . My people have done everything humanly possible to find them. We have nowhere else to turn. We've hit a dead end. I did find out something I didn't know before. It seems there may well be some kind of underground railroad that is run by . . . no one knows who and that spirits women and children to safety. It's only a rumor. I want to stress that. With all your resources and mine, as well, we drew a blank, even with the hundred-thousand-dollar reward we offered."

"Then offer five hundred thousand dollars. No one turns down that kind of money," Spyder snarled. "Just as a reminder, I own this goddamn island."

"Even if you offered a million dollars, it wouldn't change things. You don't understand that you are dealing with mothers and children. Right there, that is an unbeatable force. Accept it. And whatever you may think, the countess owns her property. You sold it to her husband. You try any funny business, and it will be all over the world in about sixty seconds, thanks to social media. The world press will be here in a heartbeat. Helicopters will hover, and ships will dock. Think invasion. Do you want to go down that road?"

"I want results!" Spyder bellowed as he kicked out at the wall a second time.

Jellicoe simply wanted to kill him on the spot. He took a deep breath before saying, "Then let me do my job."

"Offer a million. I don't care what it takes. If you don't find my grandchildren by the end of the week, I am cutting you loose." Spittle once again flew in all directions. It was all Jellicoe could do not to pull his gun and plug the bastard right between his eyes.

"Don't threaten me, Angus." He had never called his employer by his first name. Ever. "Just so I understand, if no one takes your million-dollar offer, then you are cutting me loose. That is what you just said, right?"

"I guess you aren't deaf, after all. Get out of my sight now and do what I told you to do. Find my grandchildren or the man who fathered them."

Jellicoe itched to pull his gun. It was all he could do to stare the ugly little man down. He didn't bother to wait to be dismissed but turned on his heel and walked out of the man's presence.

Outside, he jammed his security cap more firmly on his head and made his way to his own house, where he powered up his computer. He then called the operative he'd sent to New Jersey to look for leads on the Domingos.

"Sam, it's Hank. Listen, things are going off the rails here. I want to give you a heads-up." Quickly and concisely, he repeated what had transpired with Angus Spyder.

The silence on the other end of the phone bothered Jellicoe. He prodded his operative. "Say something, Sam."

"What's to say, Hank? You want me to go to Washington on a wild-goose chase and promise a million dollars for information. Only a fool would do something like that. Look, man, I've had it with that ugly little dictator. I want out. I saved my money these past years, and so have some of the other guys. The shit is going to hit the fan with that guy. I can already smell the stink. Then we're all going to go down. We're all fugitives. We got that rating the minute we aligned ourselves with you. I'm not complaining. I'm just letting you know it's time to move on. Consider this my notice. See ya around, Hank."

Jellicoe sucked in a mouthful of air-conditioned air. He didn't know why he was surprised at Sam Whitaker's response. He knew he could hit REDIAL into the next millennium, and Sam would never respond. The phone he'd used was already a pile of charred debris. Sam was the best of the best, almost as good as he was. He'd go to ground in sixty seconds flat, never to be seen or heard from again. That was how good Sam Whitaker was. He knew Sam and the others had millions stashed in offshore banks and safe houses all over the globe. That was the first thing he'd taught his men. In the beginning, they couldn't comprehend that the day might come when they had to have a safe harbor to sail into. But, eventually, they got it and prepared for the day that would happen-this day.

The big question now facing Jellicoe was whether Sam would light out on his own or alert his team. If that happened, he would be left holding the bag. "Son of a bitch!"

His computer booted up, Jellicoe tapped the keys until a map of Spyder Island appeared. He ran his finger down an invisible line that divided the island into two parts: the northern end of the island, where the resorts were located and the common people lived, the part that Spyder leased to the local government; and the southern end, which, except for the parcels he had sold to other billionaires, belonged to Angus Spyder and had NO TRESPASSING signs warning intruders that they would be shot if they stepped over the invisible line. So far, to Jellicoe's knowledge, no one had been shot. Yet.

Jellicoe closed his laptop. Time to get on the move and form a plan that would work for him and the rest of his men. For all he knew, he might be a security force of one. With that thought in mind, he walked into the room where he slept, opened his footlocker, rummaged until he found his old frayed and faded New York Yankees baseball cap. Then he sent the Spyder cap sailing across the room. He settled the slightly musty-smelling Yankees cap firmly on his head and headed out. To do what, he had no clue.

While Jellicoe was contemplating his future or lack thereof, Countess de Silva and her guests were traipsing through the mansion, oohing and aahing over everything as they removed their disguises. They chattered among themselves as they prepared to settle in.

"First things first, people. Is the freezer up and running?" Annie asked.

"It is," Dennis said happily.

"Why are you all standing here? Get our arsenal ready. We need to be prepared," Annie shouted. Feet stampeding down the marble hallway could be heard throughout the twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion.

"We need some downtime right now, even if it's just an hour or so. Let's all get a nice cold drink and go out to that pretty lanai with all those beautiful flowers," Myra said.

"Count me out. I'm going to the gym I saw on the first floor. I have to work my leg. I've been sitting too long today. I'll catch up with all of you later," Kathryn said.

"Where's Snowden?" someone asked.

A voice from the hallway responded. "He's with his people in the apartment over the pool house. From there, he has a view of almost the whole island. With binoculars, they can see for miles. The boardwalk, the road, even the Spyder mansion. From there he can see half of what we all thought was an empty house, which we think is where Jellicoe hangs out. And if we're right, Charles and Fergus, too." The voice belonged to Maggie Spritzer.

"Do I have to keep wearing this tiara?" Annie groused.

A wild chorus of yeses rang in the air. Resigned to wearing the sparkling headgear, Annie stomped her way through the house, mumbling and muttering about roller skates and skateboards or a moving treadmill.

A scribbled note from Avery Snowden lay on the kitchen table. It said that all bushes, shrubbery, and flowers around the property had been scoured for bugs. It went on to say that even with maximum-strength binoculars, the foliage around the mansion was too dense for any kind of real visibility. They could talk all they wanted. The note was signed with a large AS at the bottom.

Myra poured from two pitchers, iced tea and lemonade.

"We need to decompress and hit the ground running first thing tomorrow," Nikki said as she gulped the tart lemonade. "Ooh, this is good. I bet Snowden made it from that lemon tree in the yard."

"This is so beautiful. So peaceful. Kind of what I imagine paradise looks like," Isabelle said as she plucked a colorful bloom and stuck it in her hair. "It's hard to believe this peaceful place is a black hellhole of misery."

"Are you going to keep this place or sell it after we leave, Annie?" Yoko asked.

"I'm going to burn it to the ground, but first I'm going to take a match to Spyder's place. I'm not going to look real close to see if he's in there, either."

The others hooted with laughter, because they knew Annie meant every word she'd just uttered.

And then there was even more noise when Avery Snowden and his six operatives appeared, along with Dennis and the cache of firearms. They all gasped at what was being laid out on the colorful tiles at their feet. They watched in awe as Snowden and his people dried the weapons, cleaned them. Then they loaded them.

"We're good to go. I have a report," Snowden said briskly.

"Let's hear it, Mr. Snowden," Myra said.

"Earlier today I counted nine security. Meaning real security under Jellicoe. I can tell the difference between his security and the rent-a-cops Spyder uses. A little over an hour ago, the launch was boarded by all nine men. There are four more, whom I haven't been able to see. Those four might work shifts and be asleep right now. Jellicoe was not on board. Ten minutes ago, I received an alert on my mobile. The launch blew up. I would assume that's the gray cloud of smoke we all saw. You might have missed it since you were busy settling in."

"What does that mean?" Ted asked. "I did see that puff of gray and black smoke."

"It means someone blew up the launch. It's at the bottom of the ocean. My guess is that no one is going to investigate it. My alert said it didn't look like there were any survivors. That's how that guy Spyder operates. Here today, gone tomorrow. No questions asked."

Annie bristled. "Well, we'll just see about that. Mr. Snowden, alert someone. There must be an equivalent to the Coast Guard or a similar organization somewhere close by. That's inhuman. Those nine people were human beings. Bring the wrath of God down on these people."

Snowden eyeballed Annie. He knew an order when he heard one. Annie never made suggestions. He hated to be given orders. But in this case, he would have done on his own what Annie just told him to do. He nodded. "We'll be in the apartment over the pool house. I have to scramble my communications, and I can't do it from here. You guys, find a couple of trunks and load all the hardware in them, and then have the ladies decorate the foyer so they don't look like arms-storage cabinets."

Five seconds later, Snowden and his people were gone on the gentle breeze wafting through the lanai. The bustling noise that ensued was the hunt for trunks to hold the guns and ammunition. While the men squabbled among themselves about size and depth, the girls argued about what to put on top of the trunks to make them pass for royalty decor.

The girls stopped what they were doing to watch Kathryn limp down the hall toward them, her wet tank top plastered to her chest, her face glistening with sweat. As one, they wanted to rush to her, but they didn't. They waited till she pressed herself against the wall.

"No pain, no gain," Kathryn told them. "It was harder today because I sat so long. I'm okay. I would tell you if I weren't. I'm going to get in the hot tub now. Carry on, ladies. By the way, if you hang a picture on that wall, it will be perfect. Just my two cents."

The Sisters went back to arguing. Maggie made the final decision when she sprinted off, then returned with a painting of a twenty-eight-year-old Annie sitting on a throne, wearing her tiara. She looked to be nine months pregnant.

"It's so . . . so . . . tacky!" the Sisters exclaimed in unison.

"Exactly." Maggie grinned. "Tacky it is, just the way those trunks in the foyer look tacky. All eyes will be on the painting. Get my drift?"

Nikki burst out laughing. Yoko clapped her on the back, and then they were all rolling on the floor, giggling and laughing.

Annie and Myra came on the run. Annie took one look at the painting and shrieked in horror. "Where in the world did you find that . . . that . . . thing?"

"In a walk-in closet on the second floor," Maggie chirped.

"Well, take it down right this minute!"

"Just a minute, Annie. I think the girls have a reason for hanging that painting where they did. I think we should hear them out, don't you?" Myra said.

Annie sniffed. "Make it good, girls." She sniffed again.

Maggie explained, then pointed to the old trunks with the tarnished hardware. "We need eyes on the painting. We really need it, Annie."

"Well, in that case, all right. I just won't look at it. My husband insisted I sit for that painting. I was so miserable that day, I wanted to die. I gave birth the following day. I don't want to talk about this anymore." She trotted off, Myra in her wake. They whispered among themselves as only two old friends did.

Life would go on no matter if the painting hung in the foyer or not.

Up on the boardwalk, Hank Jellicoe stopped at the little snack shop for a bottle of water. He carried it to the bench in the shade, the same bench Gretchen and Felicia had sat on earlier in the day to eat their ice-cream cones.

He could hardly swallow the water because of the lump in his throat. Nine good men at the bottom of the ocean. Nine good, loyal men. Maybe not so loyal, after all, if they'd taken Spyder's launch out into deep water without an order to do so. Sam had to have called them. In the end, maybe there was no such thing as loyalty. So now it was down to him, his four remaining men, and Spyder's goon squad.

Jellicoe's cell buzzed in his pocket. He made a snorting sound when he pulled it out. "Yes, sir. What do you need now?"

"Would a report be too much to ask for?" the voice on the other end of the line snarled.

"I called my man in New Jersey, and he quit on the spot. I would have fired him, anyway, for the unflattering, unprofessional things he said about you," Jellicoe gibed. "Regardless, he's gone, and we have no operatives in the area who can do what you want. Of course, you could send a few of your own men, but they'd stand out like manure in a daisy field, so you might want to think twice about that. As I told you, no one is going to rat out mothers and children, no matter how much money you're offering.

"I did get an alert on my mobile saying the launch blew up. It appears all aboard drowned. I cannot confirm that one way or the other. Is that the report you were expecting me to deliver, Mr. Spyder? If so, consider it delivered. I'll have a written report to you by the end of the day."

"So, once again, Mr. Jellicoe, you failed me."

Jellicoe clenched his teeth. With as much cheerfulness as he could muster, he forced the words out of his mouth. "It would appear so, Angus. It would appear so."

Jellicoe jogged his way back down the boardwalk and on to his house, where he sent out a call to his four remaining employees to join him there.

Life was now going to take a turn for the better. At least he hoped so.

Chapter 16.

The Sisters gathered in the lanai were munching on toasted Pop-Tarts and drinking orange juice. The new day had barely erased the black, star-filled night when they'd gathered with coffee cups in hand.

"Myra and Annie are usually the first ones up at this hour," Isabelle said, peering through the sliding doors that led to the great room.

"The boys are no slouches, either. Are we the only ones with any stamina?" Nikki queried. "I don't even see Cyrus. Wonder what that means."