Lieutenant Carey’s heart skipped a beat.
“What name did he book it under?”
“That’s the best part. The passenger name is Wilson. Jennifer Wilson.”
Lieutenant Carey closed his eyes. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it…Finally, it came to him.
Of course! Jennifer Wilson. President of Cedar International. Chairman of DH Holdings. Lexi Templeton’s trading alias.
Had Lexi honestly believed it would be that easy? That she could use a false name and join her husband on their honeymoon, as if nothing had happened? Perhaps she’d gotten away with so much for so long she believed she was untouchable. Well, not this time, sweetheart. I’ve got your number.
Lieutenant Carey hung up and looked at his watch.
He had to get to the airport.
The blond woman with the oversize sunglasses handed her passport to security.
“Would you please remove your sunglasses, ma’am. I need to see your face.”
She did as she was asked. For a few tense moments, the man in the booth looked at her in silence. Then he smiled.
“Have a good flight, Ms. Wilson. Enjoy Turks and Caicos.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Gabe stared out of the plane window. The carpet of clouds below him looked soft and welcoming. Peaceful.
He thought about Lexi. Where was she right now? He hated not knowing. Gabe had played his part. But had Lexi played hers? Was she safe? Even if she was-even if, by some miracle, her plan had worked-what then? He wondered what the future would hold for them? What kind of life would it be for little Max, growing up as the daughter of a criminal on the run?
Make that two criminals. I’m up to my neck in this now. Too late to turn back.
Gabe thought about Eve Blackwell. How her hatred and bitterness had destroyed so many lives. Would his be one of them? Would his daughter’s?
He heard his father’s voice ringing in his ears, that familiar Scottish brogue: The Blackwells ruined this family. Thieves, the lot of them, nothing but stinking thieves!
“Are you all right, sir? Can I get you anything?”
Lexi’s a thief. But I love her. I can’t help it.
“No thanks. I’m fine.”
Lieutenant Carey felt his blood pressure start to soar.
“What the hell is with this traffic? Put the sirens on.”
His driver hesitated. “I thought you said we were doing this hush-hush, Chief?”
“Just put the damn sirens on and go already!”
Lieutenant Carey had decided to go to the airport himself. This was too important a job to trust to some minion. If word got out that Lexi Templeton had escaped from police custody-his custody-he’d be a laughingstock. He had to keep her from getting on that plane.
At last they arrived. Lieutenant Carey jumped out of the car before it had even stopped.
“It’s gate sixty-two, boss.” Detective Sanchez’s voice crackled through his earpiece.
Lieutenant Carey was running. His cheeks burned, his crumpled suit pants chafed at the waist and his white shirt was soaked with sweat.
Midnight exactly. Had the plane gone already?
The screens were still flashing: GATE 62, CLOSING. A few late-night travelers were milling around. Lieutenant Carey elbowed them out of the way. Hurry!
He increased his speed, sprinting down the corridor.
Gate 46…52…58…Gasping for breath, he turned a corner. There it was. Gate 62.
Shit.
Gate 62 was completely deserted.
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.
THIRTY-FOUR
THE PASSENGERS OF US AIR FLIGHT 28 STREAMED INTO THE arrivals hall at Providenciales Airport in Turks and Caicos looking exhausted. It was almost two-thirty in the morning local time. Mothers with bags under their eyes as big as their suitcases cuddled fractious babies while their husbands struggled with the luggage. The Interpol officer studied them all. He was looking for one baby in particular.
“There they are.”
Emerging through the double doors, the trio was instantly recognizable, despite the silk cravat that the man wore over his nose and mouth. The Interpol officer remembered his brief.
Swedish female, thirty-one, blond, with newborn infant. White-haired male, six foot one. (Someone had fucked up on that one. This guy couldn’t have been more than five nine on a good day.) Minimal luggage.
Flanked by three colleagues, the officer stepped forward. He put a hand on Greta Sorensen’s shoulder. Two other officers seized her companion, while a policewoman reached for the baby.
“Excuse me, miss. Sir. We’d like a word.”
The man lowered his cravat to reveal a face crisscrossed with deep wrinkles. The guy must have been in his seventies at least. When he spoke, it was with a pronounced European accent.
“Is something the matter, Officer?”
“You’re not Gabriel McGregor!”
Paolo Cozmici smiled. “Indeed I’m not. Didn’t the airline tell you?”
“Tell us what?”
“That I’d be flying in Mr. McGregor’s stead. It’s quite aboveboard, I can assure you, Officer. It’s the blasted paparazzi, you see. They follow Gabe and Lexi everywhere. It got so bad with the wedding that they decided to leak false honeymoon details to the press, to throw them off the scent.”
“To throw the press off the scent?” The Interpol officer rolled his eyes. Was this guy for real?
“That’s right. US Air was most helpful about it all.” Paolo looked pleased with himself. “Greta and I are decoys! Isn’t it fabulous?”