Mistress of the Game
Page 36
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.”
Lexi scanned the article impassively. As usual, the Journal was frighteningly accurate on the facts. She was more interested in the picture. Some bright young thing had gotten ahold of a shot of Lexi in her wedding dress. She looked stunning. I was so right to go vintage. She returned the paper.
“You have to get me off this, Mark.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I can’t stay here, I’ll go crazy. I have to get back to the States.”
“Whoa, slow down a minute, would you? You only just got out of the States. And that wasn’t easy.”
“I want my company back.”
Mark Hambly laughed. “One thing at a time, Lexi. Let’s focus on keeping you out of jail, shall we?”
“What do you suggest?”
Mark explained the various possibilities for a defense: Eve Blackwell was known to be of unsound mind. Lieutenant Carey hadn’t followed proper procedures.
“But your best bet, honestly, is to pin all this on Kolepp. I don’t know how you’d feel about that.”
Lexi shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. I can’t do that to Carl.”
“Why not? The guy’s in Paraguay, totally cashed out. He’s happy as a clam.”
“Even so…”
“Think about it. The feds can’t touch him. And what does Kolepp need to go back for? Nothing. He’s not married. His company’s gone.”
Lexi thought about it. Mark did have a point.
“Or…” The lawyer took another sip of his wine. “You could take a page out of Kolepp’s book yourself.”
Lexi frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean forget going home. Settle down here. Chill out. Retire. Make a life. I’m assuming you have offshore funds you can access?”
“Naturally.”
“So, why not? There are worse places.”
Lexi gazed out over the tranquil blue ocean. Twin sailboats bobbed on the horizon, bathed in pale butter-yellow sunlight. She thought about Gabe, still naked and asleep in their bed. And baby Maxine, content and sleepy in the housekeeper’s arms. I love them so much. For a moment happiness flooded through her.
Then she thought about Eve Blackwell. Happiness turned to rage.
“No. I have to go back.”
“Okay.” Mark raised an eyebrow. “It’s up to you. But, you know, even if I get you off the fraud charge, you’re going to have a ton of civil suits against you. All your U.S. assets will be considered fair game. You’ll be declared bankrupt. Gabe, too. I can’t protect you from any of that.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be poor, Lexi. You don’t know how to be poor.”
“I know. But Kruger-Brent…”
Mark said brutally: “Kruger-Brent is finished, Lexi. I’m sorry. But you have to face reality. There’s no way back from this. Not this time.”
You’re wrong.
There’s a way. There’s always a way.
Later that afternoon, Lexi walked alone along the beach. The seawater was as warm as a bath between her toes. A gentle breeze blew the hair back from her face.
It’s so peaceful here.
Gabe and Maxi were back at the villa. Mark Hambly was already on a plane, on his way back to New York to face the music on Lexi’s behalf. It wouldn’t be long before word got out that she and Gabe were in the Maldives. When that happened, the sleepy island of Ihuru would turn into a war zone. The paparazzi would attack by land, air and sea. Lexi would retreat to the seclusion of the villa. It was beautiful, but it was still a prison. She had to savor her freedom while it lasted.
Sitting down on the sand, she unfolded a piece of paper. She’d only received it two days earlier, but already Eve’s letter was worn thin with use. Now Lexi read it again for the last time. Her aunt’s beautiful handwritten Palmer script leaped off the page.
425 5th Avenue
New York
October 12, 2025
Dear Alexandra,
May I call you Alexandra? Of course I may. If you’re reading this, I have already gone to join my dear sister, your mother, in hell. The dead may do as they please.
They all think I’m mad. But I’m not. I’m the only one in this family who has kept her head. I should have been running Kruger-Brent from the start. Then none of this would have happened.
I know what you’ve done. I know everything. You were right to get rid of my son. Max was a fool, weak like his father. But did you really think you would get away with bankrupting my company? You’re a thief, Alexandra. You stole from shareholders and you stole from me, just like your mother. Thieves must be punished.
The police are on their way. I’ve sent them another letter, detailing everything. You have no way out, Alexandra. Not this time. You and your friend Mr. Kolepp can reminisce about what might have been from the comfort of your jail cells. Jail is worse than you can possibly imagine, Alexandra. Take it from someone who knows.
May God curse you and your children, as He cursed me and mine.
Good-bye, Alexandra.
Your loving aunt,
Eve
With the letter still in her hands, fluttering in the tropical breeze, Lexi hitched up her skirt and waded into the ocean. She walked far enough for the water to reach the top of her thighs. Then slowly, deliberately, she began tearing the paper into tiny pieces, scattering them on the waves like confetti.
Good-bye, Aunt Eve.
Good riddance.
I may not have won the game. Not yet. But I’m still here. Still playing.
For Eve Blackwell, it was all over.
But for Lexi Templeton, the game went on.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I have been a huge fan of Sidney Sheldon’s writing since I first read If Tomorrow Comes at the age of fourteen. When I wrote my first novel, Adored, I actually sent Sidney a copy of it along with a letter telling him how much his work had inspired me. He wrote me a very kind and generous reply, which now hangs above my desk in London. Little did I imagine then that five years later I would have the honor of being approached to write a sequel to Master of the Game, Sheldon’s epic family saga.
Sidney Sheldon was always known as the Master of the Unexpected. The hallmarks of his writing are suspense, excitement and, above all, a gripping and compelling story. His heroines are all strong, unforgettable women-I would go so far as to describe Sidney as a feminist, another of the factors that drew me and millions of women like me to his books. But Sidney’s books do not appeal only to women. During his lifetime, he received hundreds of thousands of letters from men and women, from all walks of life, who felt compelled to let him know how much his books meant to them. Sheldon readers are as diverse as Sheldon characters: princesses and paupers, Mafia bosses and death-row prisoners, cancer patients and Greek shipping magnates. All were drawn to his storytelling. And those stories live on.
Writing Mistress of the Game has been more fun than any job has a right to be. It is my sincere hope that Sheldon fans everywhere will enjoy the book as much as they have enjoyed all of Sidney ’s wonderful stories, and that perhaps a new generation of readers will now be lucky enough to discover the magic of the incomparable Sidney Sheldon.
T. B., 2009
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My sincere thanks are due to everyone who has worked so hard to make this book a reality. First and foremost, to the entire Sheldon family for their trust in me and their generosity. Also to Mort and Luke Janklow, without whom none of this would have happened-I owe you both so much-and to everyone at HarperCollins in New York and London, especially my editors Wayne Brookes and Carrie Feron. To my own family for their love and support, especially my parents and my husband, Robin. Finally, I would like to thank the late, great Sidney Sheldon for being an inspiration to me and to so many others. It’s been an honor to follow in his footsteps.
About the Authors
Novelist and screenwriter SIDNEY SHELDON remains one of the world’s top bestselling authors. His books have sold more than 300 million copies and have been published in dozens of languages. Guinness World Records heralds him as one of the most translated authors in the world. He is also the only writer to have won an Oscar, a Tony, and an Edgar.
TILLY BAGSHAWE is a New York Times bestselling author. She lives in Los Angeles, California, and London with her husband and children.
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