To anyone who had known the seven American women of the Sisterhood of Revenge in their other life, they would appear completely familiar.  But when that person took a second look, she might turn to her companions and say, “No, it’s not the American vigilantes; it’s not the Sisterhood.  These women have a serenity, a certain jocularity about them.  Would vigilantes on the run be painting their toenails and lathering each other with sun tan lotion?  No, no, these gals must rich Americans on holiday.  The American vigilantes are somewhere else, playing hide and seek with the authorities, waiting to strike  again . . . who knows where? 

It was a glorious day with golden sunshine and balmy breezes.  At first glance it looked like a luncheon party of chattering young women sitting poolside, sipping fruity drinks with little umbrellas.  From time to time they women stopped talking just long enough to rub suntan lotion on their bodies as they waited for a lunch none of them would eat. 

From their perch high on the mountain, their eyes were on the sparkling Mediterranean where District Attorney Jack Emery and Martial Arts guru Harry Wong, mere dots on the water, were tussling with a catamaran.

Kathryn Lucas, former long distance truck driver, sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.  “I still can’t believe there’s a price on our heads.  We’re wanted fugitives back home. Every bounty hunter in the world will be coming after us one of these days, and here we sit painting our toenails and sunning ourselves.”

“Aha!  But first they have to find us.  What do you think the odds of that are?” Alexis Thorn adjusted the wide brimmed straw hat over her dark hair.  “Even if one of them gets lucky, we have sanctuary here on this mountain top.”

 Nikki Quinn squirted a coconut scented lotion into her hand.  “We’re only granted sanctuary as long as we stay on top of this mountain.  The moment we go down the mountain, we’re fair game for anyone who thinks they’re smart enough to take us down.  Padre Messina will do his best to make sure that never happens but mistakes happen from time to time.  As we all know.”

 “It’s such a small village, not even a thousand people,” Isabelle Flanders said.  Any stranger will stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.  According to Charles, most of the villagers are related to the padre.   Annie, and her husband before her, have always taken care of the men.  She sends the older children off to university, she keeps the church going, buys new fishing boats for the residents.  She makes sure all the houses are maintained, she sees to their health, pays the school teachers to teach the little ones.  She even hired a constable, a third cousin of the padre.  The people love her. They won’t let anyone up this mountain.  That fact you can take to the bank.  Plus, the padre will ring the bell if a stranger appears in the village.  There’s no way a stranger or anyone can get up this mountain without help.  I think we’re as safe as we can be.”  Her voice turned ominous sounding when she said, “at least for now.”

Former flower shop owner, Yoko Akia  looked around at her sisters.  She was brown as a berry and almost as tiny.  The others referred to her as a 90 pound stick of dynamite because of her martial arts expertise.  “There are hundreds of electronic monitoring devices  scattered around the mountain.  I feel very safe here, safer than I felt back in the States.  I have enjoyed this month so much, and so has Harry, my love.  I think Paradise must be like this,” she said waving her arms at the profusion of sweet smelling flowers, the meadows of green grass, the umbrella like trees and the pungent scent of pine from the forest that carried on the breeze from time to time.  “We have everything here, a tennis court, this pool, gardens, excellent food from those gardens and from the villagers.  We will be learning new survival methods starting tomorrow.  And,” she wagged one of her tiny fingers, “We will be expanding our minds, although I know I will never be able to speak German.  It is too guttural sounding and my tongue will not work for the words.”

The others laughed.  “Guess you aren’t going to sleep then.  Charles is going to crack the whip.”  Kathryn’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “Do any of you think there’s a change in Charles?”

Isabelle whispered in return.  “Of course there’s a change in him.  He’s blaming himself because we got caught.  Thank God he had the presence of mind to prepare this place for us ahead of time or we’d all be sitting in the slammer.  Let’s just say Yoko’s mission was a bit out of the ordinary and let it go at that.  We’re here and we have to make the best of it.  By the way, Annie has me designing a new school house for the village.  When I’m finished, I’m going to design a small library.”

Annie de Silva, owner of the monastery as well as the actual mountain, and Myra Rutledge,  climbed out of the pool.  Both donned terry robes as they made their way across the terra cotta patio that surrounded the Olympic size pool.  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Annie asked as she towel dried her hair.

“You did.  We were talking about the village and all you do for them,” Alexis said.

“I love helping them.  They’re like my family.  I want you to believe me when I tell you those  villagers will protect us with their lives.  Are you girls homesick?”

As one, the young women said, “No!”

Myra sat down next to Nikki and reached for her lotion. “I’m so glad.  Charles, Annie and I have been  worried that you might want to go back and . . . and face the music.”

Always the most verbal of the group, Kathryn said, “Not in this lifetime.  I do miss my truck at times.  Think about it, what’s to miss?  You’re all here.  I have Murphy,” she said patting to the German shepherd that was always at her side.  “Plus, the eats are great!”  Kathryn was a lover of all food; fine food, bad food, any kind of food.

“Where are the boys?” Myra asked.

“Playing with the catamaran.  They wanted to check out the speed boats and the jet skis.  Jack volunteered to keep everything in shape.  He likes Fernando, the young guy  in charge of the up keep of all the water craft.  He’ll be going off to university in Madrid in the fall so Jack asked him to teach him about boats.  He’s loving the experience.  Harry is . . . what he’s doing is outfitting the boats with a few special devices.  They can hardly wait for those cigarette boats to be delivered.” Nikki beamed as she peered over the top of her sun glasses.

Annie leaned back in her patio chair.  “That was Charles’s idea.  He said a cigarette boat can outrun any boat except another cigarette boat.  Drug runners use them all the time and the authorities never seem to catch them.  Fernando is going to teach all of you how to operate the boats.  He’s a wonderful young man and he grew up on the water.”

“So, girls, what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” Myra asked.

 Myra Rutledge, heiress to a Fortune 500 candy company had formed the Sisterhood a few years ago, back in the States, with the help of her adopted daughter Nicole Quinn after her own daughter Barbara was killed by a drunken driver with diplomatic immunity. 

Myra had thrown caution to the winds and enlisted Charles Martin’s help in finding ways to help women who had fallen through the cracks of the justice system.  Charles , an ex MI 6 operative in service to Her Majesty, the Queen of England, had gone  to the United States to head up security for Myra’s Fortune 500 candy company many years ago.

In their youth, Myra, on a trip to England with her family, met and fell in love with Charles, but duty called: and Charles went on assignment and Myra returned to the States with her parents . . .  a baby in her womb.  With the world as uncertain as it was at the time, the lovers lost contact and it wasn’t until Charles showed up at Myra’s corporate offices in Virginia that they met and fell in love all over again.