Ray got up, said something to his wife and walked away with Hill.

The minute they cleared the dance floor and pushed through the double doors to the hallway, Sam made a beeline for Elle.

She tapped the woman on the shoulder and truly enjoyed the moment when Elle looked up and saw Sam hovering over her.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

Sam leaned in close to Elle’s ear. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Willie Vasquez and Rick Lind. You have two choices. Stand up and walk out of here with me, and I won’t cuff you in front of all these people. I’ll wait until we get outside. Second choice, put up a fight, and I’ll cuff you right here and drag you out. Your call.”

As she spoke, the color drained from Elle’s face and realization set in.

She’d never expected to be caught, Sam thought. It was a trait she shared with murderers everywhere.

“What’s your decision?”

“Go to hell,” Elle said, snarling through her teeth. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My lawyers will have your badge. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You bet I do. You’re a cold-blooded murdering bitch who’s also flat broke, and you’re under arrest.” Sam grabbed her by the arm, hauled her out of the chair, turned and cuffed her before Elle ever knew what’d hit her.

Sam recited the Miranda warning in a clipped, no-nonsense tone and took great pleasure in dragging Elle kicking and screaming through the room. Tuning in to something happening, the band stopped playing, and the crowd parted to let them pass.

“Someone do something!” Elle shrieked. “This is police brutality! Lucien!”

Sam recognized the O’Connor family attorney, Lucien Haverfield, who watched the proceeding with a detached aura of amusement.

“Do something!” Elle screamed at him.

“May I ask what Mrs. Jestings is being charged with, Lieutenant?” Lucien asked.

“The murders of Willie Vasquez and Rick Lind,” Sam replied, loud enough to make sure everyone around them heard her.

A gasp went through the gathering.

“I’m sorry, Elle,” Lucien said. “I don’t do murder.”

Sam held back the urge to snort with laughter at his dismissive tone. “Let’s go, Elle. You’re done here.”

Elle fought her the whole way, shrieking like a banshee. As they cleared the ballroom doors, she tried again to bust free of Sam’s tight hold. “Boris! Horace! Get this fucking bitch off me!”

“They can’t help you,” Sam said, “because they’ve been arrested too.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Elle said, seething as Sam dragged her onto the escalator.