Mistress of the Game

chapter Thirty-Three

THE BLOND WOMAN WITH THE BIG SUNGLASSES FELT THE rumble of the plane's engine as it prepared for takeoff. She gripped the side of her seat.

"Nervous flier?" asked the man sitting next to her.

"Not usually. I'm a little stressed tonight."

"Don't be. Just think, tomorrow you'll be lying on a beach under a palm tree without a care in the world."

The blond woman thought: Without a care in the world? Wouldn't that be nice.

A male steward appeared behind the desk. Lieutenant Carey flashed his badge. He was so breathless he could barely speak.

"I...Police...I need to get on that plane."

"I'm sorry, sir," the steward began. "I'm afraid it's impossible. The cabin crew has closed the doors."

"Don't give me that shit, Nancy Drew. Now you listen to me. You radio down there and you tell them to open the goddamn doors right now, or I'm personally gonna see to it that you spend the rest of your life wearing your balls as earrings."

The steward loved a macho man, especially a cop. Unfortunately this cop was old enough to be his dad, was fatter than Santa Claus and stank like an overripe Stilton cheese. Not that it would have mattered if he was George Clooney's twin brother. There was nothing he could do.

"I'm sorry, sir. It really is out of my hands."

He turned and looked out the window. Lieutenant Carey followed his gaze.

The twelve-seater jet was already speeding along the runway. Seconds later, its wings shuddered as it soared into the air.

Bad news travels fast. It took Lieutenant Carey a full minute to wave good-bye to his Hawaiian retirement fantasy. About the same amount of time it took the jet to disappear from sight, its taillights swallowed up by the blackness.

Then he was on the phone.

One hour later, a group of senior Interpol officers was being briefed across the West Indies. A deputation would be sent to meet first Gabe's flight, then Lexi's, at Providenciales Airport. Both of them would be arrested on landing and immediately repatriated to the United States. After that, they were the FBI's problem.

Lieutenant Carey felt the bitterness well up in his chest.

Happy honeymoon, Mrs. McGregor.

I hope they throw away the key.