Mistress of the Game

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.

Lieutenant Carey turned his attention back to Lexi.

I'm starting to like this woman.

"We'll move into room three, Ms. Templeton. There's a couch in there. I'll have my guys bring you something to eat if you like."

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

My pleasure. You talk to me, sweetheart, and you can have anything you want.

Greta Sorensen looked worried. She was in the back of a limousine with Gabe, speeding toward the airport.

"I'm not sure, Mr. McGregor. I could get into trouble."

"Not if you stick to the story. The airline is fully informed."

Greta frowned.

"I'm still not sure."

Gabe pulled out his checkbook. "Would fifty thousand dollars help to ease your mind at all?"

Greta looked at the check. Then she looked at Gabe. Finally, she looked at baby Maxine, dreaming away in her car seat, blissfully unaware of the high-stakes game in which she was about to become an unwitting pawn. Greta held out her hand.

"You know what, Mr. McGregor? I believe it would ease my mind."

Gabe grinned and passed her the check.

He'd always liked Swedish girls.

The new interview room was painted a bright, cheery yellow, with a striped rug, paintings on the wall, and a pair of matching faux-suede couches. Someone brought Lexi a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Lexi thought: This must be the "good cop" room. Perfect. The clock on the wall said a quarter after eight.

She had thirty minutes.

"Talk to me about Carl Kolepp."

Lexi talked, slowly. It was important that she sound relaxed on the tape. But at the same time, she had to measure every word. I can't afford to incriminate myself. I have to tread carefully. She told Carey about her first meeting with Carl. Her respect for him as a trader. She talked about Kruger-Brent. "It's important you understand a little bit about the company history, Lieutenant. What happened to our stock price was not simple cause and effect. It was not one single event but a complex web of events."

John Carey nodded. "Go on."

Twenty minutes...Keep him talking...

Twelve minutes.

John Carey didn't understand half of what Lexi was saying. Indices and margin calls and hedges, it was all Greek to him. But it didn't matter. The point was she was talking. And it was all on tape.

Hawaii. That'd be a good place to retire. Maybe a time-share on Kaanapali Beach?

Lexi checked the clock. Seven minutes. Frowning, she rested a hand on her belly.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. I..." Lexi clutched her stomach again. "Would you mind stopping the tape for a moment, Lieutenant?"

Carey got up and switched off the recorder. It was irritating having to stop when they were on a roll, but he didn't want to alienate Lexi, not when she was being so helpful.

"Are you sure you're all right, Ms. Templeton?"

"I'm fine. Thank you." Lexi smiled bravely. "I didn't want this to go on record. But I actually just found out I'm pregnant again. The sickness...you know."

"Oh. Sure." Carey looked embarrassed. He wasn't good with women's problems. "Sorry. I didn't know. Can I...is there anything I can do?"

"I'll be fine. I could maybe use some fresh air."

"Of course. You want to use the ladies' room first?"

Lexi nodded gratefully. "Thanks."

"Follow me."

Carey led her down the hall to the restrooms. Normally suspects would be escorted to the toilets by a female officer, but he didn't see the need in this case. This is Lexi Templeton. She's hardly likely to try to shimmy out of the window like a common criminal.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Lexi emerged into the corridor. She looked deathly pale.

"I know you want to get back to the interview, Lieutenant. But do you think I could step outside for a few minutes? I don't feel at all well."

"Of course. Take your time."

He led her out into a small paved area at the back of the station. There was a metal table and a couple of chairs, both littered with cigarette butts. A lone ceramic planter stood forlornly in the corner, containing something very, very dead.

Lieutenant Carey was babbling. "Not the most beautiful yard, I'm afraid. None of my guys are what you might call green-thumbed...if you know what I mean...anyway. I'll be in room three when you're ready."

"Thanks. I won't be long."

Lexi waited for the door to close. Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it over to the back of the garden. At first glance, the wall looked relatively low. But when Lexi stood on top of the chair, she realized that there was a good three feet between her outstretched fingertips and freedom. She'd have to jump for it.

Bending her knees, arms stretched upward, she leaped as high as she could. The chair slipped from beneath her feet, clattering loudly onto the concrete. Panicking, Lexi looked behind her at the station door.

Don't open. Please don't open.

Agonizing seconds passed. Nothing happened.

Hanging by her fingers from the top of the wall, Lexi could feel her hands sweating. I'm slipping. Her feet flailed in the air, desperately scrambling for some sort of hold, a protruding brick, a crack, anything. It was no good. The wall was like ice. She was losing her grip.

Oh God! I'm going to fall.

A warm, male hand clamped down over hers. Then another. Fingers tightened around Lexi's wrists. Someone was pulling her, so hard Lexi thought her shoulders were about to dislocate. Seconds later, she was flying headfirst over the top of the wall.

A garbage can broke her fall, but Lexi still landed hard, bruising her elbow and hip on the hard ground of the alleyway. She cried out in pain.

"Quiet."

Someone scooped her up off the ground like a rag doll. Bundling her into the back of a car, he took off at full speed. Lexi lay on the floor of the backseat, her heart pounding. Memories of her childhood kidnapping came flooding back to her. Only this time she knew where she was going.

After ten minutes, and numerous sharp turns, the car began to slow down. Lexi felt the bumps as they turned off the road. At last, the engine stopped.

"You okay?" Robbie's voice sounded shaky.

"I'm fine. Thanks. I didn't know if you'd make it."

Overwhelmed with relief, Lexi burst out laughing.

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet if I were you," said Robbie. "That was the easy part. Now we have to get you off the island."

"US Air flight twenty-eight to Providenciales, you may board the aircraft at this time."

Gabe and Greta were in the first-class departure lounge at Bangor International Airport. Maxine lay sleeping like a black-haired cherub in her nanny's arms. Two floors below, at the gate, an army of paparazzi was waiting, hoping for a picture of Lexi en route to her honeymoon. Baby Max would be an added bonus.

"You ready to go?"

"Yes, sir. Ready as I'll ever be."

"Good."

Gabe looked at his watch.

Come on, Lexi.

Lieutenant John Carey waited for five minutes. Then ten.

Should I go out there and get her?

What with Lexi being so unexpectedly forthcoming, he didn't want to look insensitive. He remembered his ex-wife when she was pregnant. Hormones out of control, like an angry hippo. You could tick a pregnant woman off just by breathing. I need that confession.

Fifteen minutes. This is getting ridiculous. Maybe I should bring her a glass of water or something? Yeah. That's a good idea. Act like I'm concerned for her health.

Three minutes later, Lieutenant Carey walked outside with a paper cup full of water. When the duty sergeant heard his boss's scream, he thought he was having a heart attack. He rushed outside.

"Don't just stand there!" Lieutenant Carey was apoplectic. "Put a call out to all units. The suspect has absconded. I want roadblocks. I want guys at the airport, the docks. I want helicopters."

"Yes, sir."

"And get me Sanchez and Shaw."

"Yes, sir. Should I call anyone else, sir?"

"Like who?"

"I don't know, sir. I thought maybe...the FBI?"