“Take a good look, Charles! Now, I’m leaving. You think about this all afternoon now, you hear me?”

Myra bounded out of the building like the Hounds of Hell were on her heels. She pulled up short when she saw the girls sitting on the porch eating cookies and drinking lemonade.

“All right, I did it! Are you all satisfied? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I just did. Annie can’t keep a secret to save her life. I’m not showing it to you all, so don’t bother asking.”

“Lemonade?” Nikki asked with a straight face.

“Cookies?” Alexis asked solemnly.

Myra accepted both. “Maybe I’ll show it to you later.” And then she giggled.

“What did he say?” they asked as one.

“Not a word. I think he choked, but I didn’t stick around long enough to be sure. He could be dying in there for all I know. I don’t think we should worry about it, girls.”

“Myra, I like your chutzpah.” Annie laughed.

Charles was indeed gasping for breath one door away. Did he just see what he thought he saw, or did he fall asleep for a few seconds and merely dream about an apparition that had just presented itself?

Was it possible that the love of his life, the very breath of his life, actually had a tattoo on her derriere? And not just any common tattoo but a tattoo that bore his name? He was suddenly so light-headed he had to go down the steps to sit at the round table, and drop his head between his knees.

How in the name of all that was holy was he supposed to work now after having seen what he’d just seen? Was Myra punishing him? Was Myra the shill the Sisters sent to bedevil him with some kind of insidious mind game? He needed advice. Absolutely he needed advice, but where to go for it and whom to ask? Avery Snowden immediately came to mind. Then a second thought came to mind, and that was Snowden spiriting Myra and Annie away at the end of the last mission. Ha! Well, he wouldn’t be asking Avery Snowden anything anytime soon. He made a mental note to take care of Snowden at some point in the future. Rules were rules, and to be obeyed.

Jack Emery? Harry Wong? Bert? Elias Cummings, Nellie’s new husband? But did he want to air his linen to any of these men? Surely he was old enough, mature enough, to deal with his lady’s tattoo on her derriere. Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. He should be flattered.

Charles raised his head. The realization hit him that he was outmanned, outmaneuvered, and under fire. The Sisters were going to be watching him like a bunch of hungry hawks to see what he would do, so they could pounce on him. While they’d all said they forgave him, they still held some resentment toward him. Only a fool would believe otherwise. One way or another they were going to make him pay, vigilante style.