Bert closed his eyes and let his mind have free rein. He'd traveled a long, hard road. Being a minority had not been easy, but he'd hunkered down and played the game to win. If the announcement tomorrow was positive, as Cummings thought it was going to be, Bert had not only persevered, but he had prevailed as well.

But he had to revise his game plan.

An hour later, Bert was still working on his new strategy when John Jackson banged on his office door. Bert bellowed, "Come in."

The door opened and Jackson poked his head in. "I'm gonna get you for this, Navarro. I don't care if you're going to be the new director or not."

Bert might have been discussing the weather when he swung his feet down on the floor with a loud, smacking sound. "You like working for the FBI, right, Jackson?"

"Just love it. Why?"

"'Cause I'm going to find a way to fire your sorry ass out of here. Where do you get off threatening me?"

The George Clooney look-alike blanched, knowing he'd stepped over the line. "Jeez, Navarro, can't you take a joke?"

"Not that kind. Get the hell out of here before I fire you now. I hate agents who whine. Reminds me of my niece, and she's only six years old."

The door to Bert's office closed quietly.

Bert settled back into his chair. Now, where was I in my planning?

Chapter 9

The dining hall, where Charles whipped up gourmet delights and where the Sisters took all their meals, was fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked apple dumplings. The sideboard held other delectable delights: crisp bacon, plump sausages, fluffy golden scrambled eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice.

The women all eyed the scrumptious array of food, trying to decide what to eat and what not to eat if they were going to focus on the apple dumplings that were taking center stage.

"Oh, who cares. I say we go for the whole thing," Annie said happily as she waved her arm over the covered dishes. "In the next few days we'll be burning calories right and left." To prove her point, she loaded her plate with a little of everything.

Isabelle giggled. "Annie has a point. When we're on a mission, all we ever seem to eat is crackers and cheese except when Paula Woodley made us all those apple pies on our last mission. If I close my eyes, I can still taste them."

From the window in the kitchen that overlooked the dining room Charles watched his chicks—that's how he thought of the Sisters—fill their plates and take their seats at the table.