Razor Sharp. Fern Michaels

      Thirty minutes later, Jack breezed into Harry Wong’s dojo just as his early-morning class was disbanding. He screwed up his face so Harry would know something was up before he decked him for being late. Harry Wong was a pain in his ass.

      The love-hate relationship between Harry and Jack boiled up, as it always did.

      “I hope you’re going to tell me you have a raging case of shingles and a huge boil on your ass, and that’s why you’re late.”

      “Sorry, my little buttered muffin, but the only thing I can complain about this morning is a hangnail. Listen, something has come up. Let’s have some of that shitty green tea you think has miraculous powers, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Sensing a smart-ass comeback, Jack said, “Yoko said to tell you she loves you.” Any time Jack wanted to bring Harry to his knees, he would throw Yoko into the mix. Yoko was the only person who could put the fear of God into one Harry Wong. Jack delighted in seeing his best friend in the whole world crumble at his feet.

      “Eat shit, Jack. And I’m not afraid of Yoko. I love her,” Harry blustered weakly.

      “Tsk-tsk,” Jack said, clucking his tongue. “Listen up, and don’t say a damn word until I’m finished. Your reward at the end will be me telling you we’re going to head for the mountain tomorrow afternoon. You ready, you miserable excuse for a human being?”

      When Jack finished regaling the martial arts expert, Harry looked at him like he was crazy. “Tell me you’re jerking my chain! Please, Jack.”

      “Nah, it’s for real. I tried protesting, but the two of them,” he said, referring to Lizzie and Maggie, “damn near castrated me right there in the kitchen. The knife block was close to Maggie. My blood ran cold, I can tell you that,” Jack said dramatically.

      Harry was so into blood and guts and dismemberment, especially when he thought it could be Jack’s, that he actually looked mellow at the moment.

      “You know the girls are going to be on this like white on rice.”

      “Yeah, I know,” Harry mumbled. He slurped from his tiny cup of green tea as he waited for whatever else was going to tumble from Jack’s lips.

      “There’s no plan. As yet,” Jack added hastily.

      “No plan!” Harry screeched.

      “Easy, Harry. I’m not even sure the girls know about it yet. Lizzie is calling them. We’re going up tomorrow so that means we’ll be there to uh…uh…help with the plan. Read my lips, Harry. We-will-have-a-plan!”

      “That’s what you said the last time, Jack,” Harry said ominously. “Your cockamamie plan was a truckload of pumpkins.”

      “It worked, didn’t it?”

      “Just shut the hell up, Jack. I need to think about this. I hate guys who can only get it by paying for it,” Harry muttered as he paced. That is, Harry thought he was pacing, but he was actually stomping around in his bare feet, powerful feet that could kill a man with one little kick, one big toe placed in the wrong place. Harry was a killer. Jack was glad his “archenemy” was one of the good guys.

      “You done thinking yet?” Jack demanded a minute later. In the blink of an eye he was on the floor, looking up at his wiry friend.

      “Yeah. Serves you right. You know better than to talk to me when I’m thinking.” Harry reached down for Jack’s hand to pull him to his feet. And then Harry was on the floor, with Jack straddling his chest. “Say it!”

      “Up yours! You’re a wuss, Emery!”

      They went at it for a good fifteen minutes until both men collapsed, with no real winner. Huffing and puffing, both of them got to their feet, their eyes wary until Jack roared, “Enough! That was my workout for the day.”

      Harry extended his hand. “Pretty good, Emery. In ten years, you might be almost as good as I am.”

      “My ass. It was a draw. You want to drive tomorrow or should I?”

      “We’ll make better time on my cycle. Your call.”

      “Whatever gets us there the quickest,” Jack said.

      “Then it’s the Ducati,” Harry said, all smiles and sunshine.

      “You are a piece of work, Harry Wong.”

      “You know, Jack, you are absolutely right. I am. And you are one damn lucky son of a bitch to have me as a friend.”

      Jack knew there was no way he could ever win an argument with Harry, so he let it drop. “Listen, I have to get to court. How about calling Bert and filling him in? Ask him if he wants to go to the mountain with us. I’m not sure about Maggie or Ted. I’m thinking they’re going to be rather busy in the next few days. You know how Maggie loves a good headline.”

      “Okay, I’ll call Bert. You want some tea to go?”

      “What? You gonna slip something in it so I fall asleep in court?” Jack asked in pretended outrage.

      “Never happen.”

      “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

      Chapter 4

      If spring was about to announce itself or was just around the corner, as the newscasters phrased it, it wasn’t evident on Big Pine Mountain. Six inches of new snow carpeted the compound and, while it was late in the afternoon, it was still light enough to see that fresh snow was cascading downward.

      Inside the main building a monster fire roared in the huge fieldstone fireplace, and the scent of pinecones that had been used to start the fire wafted about the dining room.

      Remnants of the early dinner remained on the table as Alexis Thorne poured fresh coffee into everyone’s cup except Yoko’s.

      Nikki Quinn poked at the food on her plate, which had been barely touched. “I think this is probably one of the worst dinners I’ve ever eaten.” Her comment wasn’t said in anger. It was merely a statement of fact. No one, not even Isabelle, who had prepared dinner, took offense. “Cupcakes are not my dessert of choice,” Nikki continued in the same flat voice.

      “What do you call this?” Kathryn asked as she moved the mess around on her plate for a better look. It was a known fact that Kathryn had a reputation for eating anything that wasn’t moving. “I’ve lost eight pounds since Christmas, and these cupcakes taste like sawdust,” she grumbled.

      “It’s called hash. You just throw everything in a pot and mix it up. Don’t blame me for the cupcakes, blame Little Debbie. They were frozen,” Isabelle said in a voice that was just as void and flat as Nikki’s and Kathryn’s.

      Yoko sat quietly as she nibbled on a rice cake, a cup of tea in front of her. She stared at the food on her plate, and finally commented, “It looks like a pile of dog poop.”

      Myra stared into the flames, her back stiff and straight.

      Annie looked down at her empty plate, wondering what all the fuss was about. Food was sustenance. As long as she didn’t have to cook whatever it was they were eating, she never complained. Well, she decided, there was a first time for everything, and this was going to be one of them.

      She stood up and banged the stout wooden table with her fist to gain everyone’s attention. “Enough!” she roared in a voice that would have ricocheted over the mountain if the door had been open. “I’ve had it with all of you! And that includes you, Myra!”

      Myra snapped to attention, wondering what was going on. She eyed Annie warily. “What now?” she asked wearily.

      “What now? What now? Earth to Myra!” Annie bellowed. “Did you hear what I just said? In case you didn’t, I said I had enough. Either you all pull it together, or, as soon as it stops snowing, I am out of here. I’ll take my