Mistress of the Game

August Sandford had no idea what sort of trouble Lexi had gotten herself into this time. And he didn’t want to know. She had brought Kruger-Brent back from the dead once. He’d always be grateful to her for that. But one more scandal and they were finished.

Not even Lazarus rose twice.

THIRTY-ONE

GRETA, MAXINE MCGREGOR’S NANNY, HAD MISSED THE drama of her boss’s arrest. A thirty-year-old Swede with flaxen hair and strong, childbearing hips, Greta Sorensen had been a professional nanny for nine years. Long enough to know that jobs like this one, working for rich and famous clients like Lexi Templeton, might sound glamorous, but in reality, they were damned hard work. With so many people in the house today, it had taken Greta ages to settle little Max down to sleep. Now, with her charge at last dozing in her crib, the nanny was slumped on the nursery sofa in front of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, snoring loudly.

Gabe walked in and shook her by the shoulder.

“Sorry, sir.” Greta jumped. “I was just resting my eyes. Max is fast asleep next door. I’d have woken up if she stirred.”

“It’s all right, Greta.”

“I thought you and Mrs. McGregor had left for your honeymoon. Did you want to say good-bye to the baby?”

“Actually, there’s been a change of plan. Mrs. McGregor’s been…er…detained. She’ll be flying out to join us in a day or two.”

The nanny looked puzzled. “To join us?”

“Yes. We’ve decided to take Maxine on the honeymoon with us after all. Lexi couldn’t bear to leave her in the end, so you’ll fly out with me tonight. How soon can you pack?”

Greta gritted her teeth and turned off the television. “I’ll need an hour to get all the baby’s things together, sir.” Why did rich people always change their minds at the last minute, and expect everybody else to pick up the pieces? Traveling with an infant was like a major military operation. You couldn’t just get up and go.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” said Gabe. “Ask one of the maids for help if you need it. There’s a boat waiting at the jetty to take us to the mainland. It’s a short ride to the airport from there.”

“May I ask where we’re going, sir?”

“Turks and Caicos.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t look so worried,” said Gabe. “You’ll love it.”

Lieutenant John Carey felt the sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had taken a big risk, arresting Lexi Templeton right here in Dark Harbor and bringing her in to the local police station for questioning. This case was so huge, the biggest fraud since Bernie Madoff. Once word got out, everyone would want a piece of it: the FBI, the fraud squad, Interpol. But John Carey had decided to make them all wait.

Why should I let some FBI hotshot waltz in and steal all the glory from right under my nose? We made a nice, clean arrest. All I need now is a nice, clean confession.

“So, Ms. Templeton. Let’s get to the point, shall we? Was bankrupting Kruger-Brent, Limited, your idea? Or Mr. Kolepp’s?”

Mark Hambly, Lexi’s bull terrier of an attorney, whispered in her ear.

“You don’t have to answer that.”

Lexi had known Mark for years. A squat, broad-shouldered man with a wide neck and short, muscled arms, he looked more like a bare-knuckle prizefighter than a lawyer. Appropriately, since plenty of prosecutors had left courtrooms where Mark Hambly was defending feeling like they’d gone ten rounds with Godzilla. Other defense attorneys relied on subtlety, coaxing juries, pointing out nuances and shades of gray in the evidence. Not Mark Hambly. He ran over juries like a dump truck. It was one of the many things Lexi loved about him.

Thank God I invited him to the wedding, thought Lexi. If Mark had been in New York and I’d had to get some local lawyer…She shuddered at the thought.

Lieutenant Carey pressed on. “Were you aware that Mr. Kolepp was intending to flee to South America?”

Mark Hambly shook his head at Lexi. Don’t answer.

“When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Kolepp?”

Another head shake.

Lieutenant Carey lost his temper. Who did this fancy New York attorney think he was dealing with?

“Listen, you arrogant prick. I’m asking the lady, not you. She’s not doing herself any favors by being so obstructive, you know. You think these tapes are gonna sound good in court? Do you?”

Lexi spoke up. “It’s all right, Mark. I’m happy to answer the Lieutenant’s questions. I’ve got nothing to hide. You can go home now.”

Mark Hambly’s jaw practically hit the Formica table. Lexi Templeton was a smart cookie. She couldn’t be serious about talking to this schmuck without a lawyer present. Could she?

“Lexi, trust me, that’s not a good idea. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Really, Mark. It’s fine.”

A grin of triumph spread over Lieutenant Carey’s face.

“You heard her, Mark . Go home.”

“Perhaps there’s a more comfortable room we could use, Lieutenant?” Lexi gave John Carey her most winning smile, the same one that had melted the heart of Detective Sanchez earlier. “My sense is this is going to take a while. These chairs are awfully hard.”

Mark Hambly pleaded: “Lexi, come on, this is crazy. Don’t talk to this idiot alone.”

“This idiot?” It was all John Carey could do not to grab the lawyer by the throat and throttle him. “Are you deaf, buddy? She asked you to leave.”

Mark Hambly looked helplessly at his client, but it was no use. He picked up his briefcase and left without another word.