Mistress of the Game

“Okay.”

Gabe sighed. He just wanted this whole thing to be over.

When the second plane landed in Turks and Caicos an hour later, the Interpol officer was there to meet it.

“Jennifer Wilson?”

“Yes, sir?” The blond woman smiled politely.

“Would you take your dark glasses off, please, ma’am.”

“Certainly.”

She was pretty. Definitely a looker.

But she was no Lexi Templeton.

Nor was she a criminal mastermind. Jennifer Wilson was just a secretary who’d worked for Kruger-Brent for years. Lexi Templeton had picked a name she knew for her alias. But that was no big surprise. Most people did. The original Jennifer Wilson had no idea what she was getting into when she accepted Gabe’s offer of a free, all-expenses-paid vacation. A reward for her long, loyal service.

“Am I in some sort of trouble?” Jennifer Wilson’s face crumpled with anxiety. The policeman looked pissed

“No, ma’am.” The Interpol officer sighed. “But someone sure as hell is.”

Interpol blamed the local police. The local police blamed the FBI. Why had nobody checked with the airline? Everybody blamed John Carey, the schmuck in Maine who’d let Lexi slip through his fingers.

On a conference call in the early hours of the morning, the senior FBI agent in charge of the case mused aloud.

“You’ve just pulled off one of the biggest financial frauds in U.S. history. You have one of the most recognizable faces on the planet. You’re on the run with your equally recognizable husband and your newborn baby. Where the hell do you go?”

From somewhere on the other side of the world, a lone voice echoed down the phone line.

“Somewhere that has no extradition treaty with the United States.”

“Preferably with white-sand beaches, palm trees and a decent five-star hotel,” piped up another joker. Everybody laughed.

The FBI agent was silent for a moment. Then he laughed, too. It was staring him in the face.

Of course.

I know exactly where they are.

THIRTY-FIVE

24 HOURS LATER

SUNLIGHT FLOODED THE WHITEWASHED ROOM. GABE opened his eyes and quickly closed them again. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Lexi was walking around the room naked, opening the wooden shutters. Outside, the Indian Ocean lapped at the sand. Their private beachfront villa had spectacular views of the ocean on one side and of the paradise island of Ihuru on the other. Lexi had bought the house years ago for a song, back when property in the Maldives had crashed. Now it was once again a valuable piece of real estate.

Not valuable. Priceless.

There were about fifty countries around the world that did not have extradition treaties with the United States. Unfortunately for Lexi, most of them were either impossible to get to, especially at short notice, or were the sort of backward, festering dumps that made the idea of a stretch in federal prison start to look appealing. Lexi had no intention of raising Maxine in a refugee camp in Cambodia, or winding up as an exotic item on the menu in Equatorial Guinea.

And why should I when I have the perfect honeymoon house sitting waiting for me?

“Where’s Max?” Gabe sat bolt upright in bed. He was sweating. “The crib’s empty! Someone’s taken her!”

“Relax.” Lexi came over and kissed him. “She’s downstairs with the housekeeper. We’re safe here, darling. We’re together. You don’t have to worry anymore.” Pulling back the sheet, she slipped into bed beside him.

“Let’s make love.”

It was their first time as husband and wife and it was beautiful. By rights, Lexi should have felt tired. It had taken a day and a half to get there. Thirty-six hours in which she’d eaten nothing and not slept more than a few snatched minutes.

After Danny French sailed her safely to the mainland, he drove two hours into rural Maine to a friend’s farm. From there, Lexi hitched a ride on a single-engine crop duster to a larger, private airfield where a jet was waiting to fly her to Le Touquet in northern France. Then it was on to London, switching planes again before the longest leg of the journey.

Gabe was already in the villa when Lexi arrived, passed out on the bed with one arm draped protectively over Max’s crib. She touched his arm and he awoke, hugging her tight, his relief too profound for words. Seconds later, they were both deeply asleep.

Now, lying naked in Gabe’s arms, their lovemaking over, Lexi felt more awake and more alive than she had ever felt in her life. There was so much to do . She sprang out of bed and opened the closet, looking for something to put on. None of the clothes looked familiar. She hadn’t been to the house in years.

“What’s your hurry?” Gabe yawned, watching her discard one dress after another. “You’re supposed to be on a honeymoon, remember?”

“I know, honey. But I have a lunch meeting at the Angsana Resort. I can’t show up for it naked.” Settling on a plain brown sundress, Lexi slipped it over her head.

“A lunch meeting? Here? Are you serious? Who with, for God’s sake?”

“With my lawyer, of course,” said Lexi. “He checked into the hotel last night, just like we arranged. If anyone can prove my innocence, it’s Mark Hambly.”

“Darling,” Gabe reminded her gently. “You aren’t innocent.”

Lexi looked at him reproachfully. “Whose side are you on?”

Mark Hambly sipped his chilled Chablis and handed Lexi the latest copy of the Wall Street Journal.

“Congratulations. You made the front page.”