Tony was the broker who’d handled the special asset sales out of PsT last fall, and he’d done a fine job with the exception of that one shipment, the one that had sent Lucy over the edge. Nothing was supposed to happen in this hemisphere, that was always the rule, and Tony was clear on that now. This whole operation would take place on the other side of the world. He would meet Lambert’s plane in KL, relieve her of her stack of cash, and deliver her to his customer.

In many ways, this was the best possible solution, and Barrett wished he’d set on this course from the start. Lambert would be presumptively guilty by virtue of having skipped bail, with no need for a trial or any airing of dirty company linen. Her case would be de facto closed. The inquiry into Lucy’s death would be over. It would be an ideal outcome for the company.

It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad outcome for Lambert, either. An attractive white girl was much in demand in the markets Tony frequented. She’d probably end up as the pampered concubine of a Hong Kong oligarch. Instead of spending her best years in prison, she’d spend them in the lap of luxury. When he looked at it that way, Barrett realized that he was doing her a favor, really.

That was assuming all went as planned. He was still waiting for the all-clear call from Culligan. He glanced at his watch. He’d hoped that they’d be on their way to the airport by now, though he honestly had no idea how long it took to post bail. Maybe Lambert had to go through a fumigation chamber before she could be released. He tried Culligan’s number again, and again it went straight to voicemail. If his phone was off, it probably meant he’d been required to surrender it to jail security. It probably meant he was still doing the paperwork to process Lambert out.

Barrett took another deep drag on the cigarette and straightened enough to look out over the terrace wall. The sea and the sky were the same dull pewter gray, and the waves crashing against the rocky coast were the color of dingy sheets. His mouth tasted of tar and ash. As soon as this was over, he resolved, as soon as Lambert was safely on the other side of the world, he’d quit again. For good this time.

The French door cracked open behind him. “Daddy?” came Courtney’s voice from inside his study. “Can we talk?”

He turned around. His youngest daughter had finally emerged from her bedroom. “Of course, sweetheart.” He waved toward the pair of Adirondack chairs at the edge of the terrace.

She rolled her eyes. “In here,” she said pointedly, and stepped back from the door. She wore a pink bathrobe and had her hair in a ponytail that made her look like she was twelve again.

He stubbed out his cigarette and followed her inside. When he closed the door, he could hear the sounds of pots banging in the kitchen and voices shouting in Spanish. He dreaded the thought of what the temps might concoct for tonight’s meal. He’d probably have to take the whole gang out to dinner again, and again watch Tripp peruse the wine list until he found the most expensive bottle in their cellar.