Marcia’s voice sounded through the balcony speaker. “Mr. Barrett, your car’s here, and your luggage has been sent down.”

He took one last drag on his cigarette. “What about my security?”

“It’s Colby today, and he’s right here.”

Barrett stubbed out the butt in the planter box and went through to Marcia’s desk. A large Black man wearing the company blazer was standing at attention. Almost all the bodyguards seemed to be Black these days, Barrett thought. It was the same with the cops and the soldiers. If that race war ever happened, he was pretty sure he’d be on the losing side.

Marcia handed him his attaché. Working papers for the plane ride. “You have the first-quarter reports,” she said. “Plus the latest draft of the new contract with Luke Rafferty.”

“And that, uh, ID badge?”

“It’s in there,” she said coolly. Marcia gave nothing away. “I hope you and Mrs. Barrett have a wonderful time.”

Out on the street the regular driver was loading the bags into the trunk of the company limo. Melanie was taking a separate limo because her luggage wouldn’t fit in this one. At least three of her bags would be traveling empty. She planned to fill them with her shopping.

Colby opened the passenger door, and Barrett gave a start when he saw someone else in the backseat. Jack Culligan.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Culligan said. “I thought we could talk on the way to the airport.”

“About damn time,” Barrett said, ducking in.

“Yeah.” Culligan pushed a button to raise the privacy screen as Colby took his seat beside the driver. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I have to apologize for the way I kind of went AWOL on you. Truth is, I’ve been having a hard time getting my head around all this.”

Barrett frowned as he buckled his seatbelt. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of time to wallow.”

“I know. It’s just that Lucy’s death, and now with Lambert out—”

“I’m taking care of the Lambert problem.” The limo pulled away from the curb.

“How?”

“Tony Low knows somebody. Here. Stateside.”

Culligan’s forehead creased. “Somebody who—?”

“Yes.”

The evening rush hour had ended. Traffic was light as the driver merged onto the highway.

“Gee, I don’t know, Barry. It’s one thing to manufacture—”

“Manipulate. That’s all we did. Besides. What if Lambert actually did it?”

“What?”

“Just because we repackaged the evidence doesn’t mean she didn’t actually kill Lucy.” The more he thought it, the more likely it seemed to him, and the better he felt about everything.

“Huh.”

“She could come after me or you next, Jack. We have to neutralize the threat.”

Culligan turned to the window and didn’t speak for several minutes. Barrett checked his phone and read a text from Melanie. She was waiting for him in the premier members’ lounge at the airport. She’d ordered a bottle of Dom.

“It’s more than that, though,” Culligan said finally. “It’s that whole business in Myanmar. I know I went along with it at the time. But the more I think about it . . . Well, especially after those men drowned in the typhoon.”