“You mean, about whether it was staged?”

“Yeah. He tells me there was something very odd. No latent prints of value anywhere in Whitney Seward’s bedroom or bathroom. Only smudges. Like the whole place’d been wiped clean.”

“Hmm.”

“You put that together with the open windows and the drugs planted near Whitney’s right hand when she was a lefty, and I’d say it’s pretty clear. Somebody else was there, knew there was monkey business, tried to delay discovery of the bodies, and tried to make the deaths look like voluntary ODs when they weren’t. What I don’t get is, why would Seward be the one doing that?”

“Covering up out of concern for his political career?” Melanie suggested.

“But he’d have to know there was something to cover up.”

“I agree, it’s very strange. Maybe there’s some other explanation. Luis Reyes thinks Seward only delayed because he got caught with his pants down in the middle of an assignation with Patricia Andover.”

“Isn’t she…?”

“The headmistress of Holbrooke, yes. Apparently Seward’s having an affair with her. Reyes has seen Patricia in the Sewards’ building at odd hours.”

“I don’t buy that. Why hang around the love nest a minute longer than you need to in the middle of a crisis like that? Only makes it more likely you’ll get found out.”

“I agree. Anyway, the bottom line is, we need to interview Charlotte Seward and confront her husband. I almost did it last night, but I figured they’d refuse to speak to me without a subpoena.”

“With everybody working on Expo as the top priority, I don’t see how we can talk to them right now. Don’t get me wrong, I hate to back-burner it as much as you do. Seward raises me up big time. He reminds me of that guy, you know, that rich guy in that movie with Jeremy Irons.”

“Reversal of Fortune? Where Claus von Bülow was tried for poisoning his wife?”

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it exactly. Guy’s guilty as sin, and he walks. Liberal fucking defense attorneys for ya.”

“Great movie, though,” she said.

“You know why I like you? You always get what I’m talking about.”

She tried not to lose it, looking into his eyes. Work, work. Think about work. “Expo is definitely the top priority,” Melanie repeated. “Lulu Reyes told me last night that Carmen even mentioned him. Carmen knew about the drug running and may have spilled the beans to someone. And if that’s why Carmen is missing…”

“I know. You don’t have to spell it out. This guy takes care of witnesses.”

“Which makes me very worried,” Melanie said. “For Trevor.”

BUD HAD the logistics worked out with split-second timing, but he was concerned the relevant players would refuse to go along with the plan. Turned out he was worrying for nothing. It was candy from a baby with these idiots.

First he convinced Jay that it would be stupid for him to show his face in San Juan with the feds watching. Piece a’ cake. Jay was only too happy to delegate the shipment and get busy making the scene around town. Covering his own ass was the dickhead’s primary concern. Little did he know that he was setting himself up to look like the perpetrator of a particularly gruesome crime that hadn’t been committed yet. Sweet.

The next part was even easier, if that was possible. Once Jay told Pavel that Bud was temporarily running the show, it took no convincing whatsoever to get Pavel to follow his somewhat unexpected instructions. He should’ve known. Anything that required violence, the Russian was only too happy to do. With relish, no questions asked.

“Where you want I should take him?” was the only thing Pavel had inquired about when Bud called him that morning. Bud was relatively confident the communication was secure, since his own cell phone was brand spanking new and Pavel wasn’t a big enough fish for the feds to bother wiretapping.

“Pick the kid up just like Jay told you,” Bud instructed. “You drive, the kid sits in the front passenger seat, Lamar sits behind him. Take him to that warehouse Jay owns. You know where I mean?”

“Sure, sure. Williamsburg, right?”

“Right.”

“What do I say when he notice we not going JFK?” Pavel asked.

“Tell him you need to take a leak. Or just hit him over the head. Who gives a shit?”

“Oh. Is okay, then, if he show up damage?”

“I’d like to get some information out of him first, is all,” Bud said.

“So he need to be able to talk still.”

“Yes.”

“Wery good, I understand,” Pavel said, and hung up.

IT WAS eighty-seven degrees with a beating sun, but Melanie rolled the taxi window all the way down as they sped through the Isla Verde section of San Juan. Screw air-conditioning. She’d drink in the hot, wet breeze. Brightly colored houses and palm trees flashed by in a blur. She was a New Yorker born and bred, had rarely been to Puerto Rico, but something in her blood remembered this island like she’d lived a lifetime here. She craned her neck and caught a flash of aqua sea glittering in the bright sunlight. Bridget sat beside her, Dan in the front seat next to the taxi driver. He turned, glancing over his shoulder, and gave her one of those million-dollar smiles as the wind ruffled his dark hair. In that moment Melanie felt so happy she could’ve died right then and there.

The hotel sat on a broad tropical boulevard lined with high-rise condos and hotels. When she walked into the lobby, her excitement only grew. An enormous tinkling chandelier hung from a blue dome as ornately frescoed as a Fabergé egg, and under it was a gorgeous mahogany bar shaped like an oval. Even at this early hour, people sat at the tiny tables scattered around the cool marble floor, sipping their cocktails and talking a mile a minute. With how grim her life had been lately, Melanie felt more like joining in than judging. Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere-why not have a rum punch? To her right the lobby opened onto a cheery casino full of slot machines and flashing lights.

Jay Esposito didn’t stint; you could say that for him, and Melanie was thrilled to be along for the ride. The government would never have shelled out the bucks to put them up here if not for the need to keep Expo under surveillance. Okay, she was working a harrowing case; she was distraught at leaving her vomiting daughter; her personal life was in a shambles. She knew she shouldn’t be so elated. But she couldn’t help it. She felt like some Park Avenue femme fatale on a sexy tropical jaunt with the guy of her dreams.

Once they checked in and changed into casual clothes so as not to stand out in the touristy crowd, reality reared its ugly head. The flight carrying Trevor and the bodyguard wasn’t scheduled to land until late that afternoon, and they had work to do in the meantime. Bridget set off for local DEA headquarters to pick up a G-car. Dan went to scout surveillance locations. And Melanie started canvassing hotel employees, looking for anyone who might have seen anything during last weekend’s drug-smuggling trip, showing photos of Brianna Meyers, Whitney Seward, and Jay Esposito. But this was a risky proposition. Rich drug dealers had mucho friends. Someone like Expo, who oozed criminal cachet and threw tips around like nobody’s business, was expert at wooing hotel employees. Anybody Melanie and Dan questioned might be a double agent who’d turn right around and snitch to Expo and his thugs that the feds were on the premises. So Melanie had her cover story ready, though she knew she was chasing the horse after it got out of the barn. After all, she held a special distinction: Expo’s people already recognized her on sight.

Melanie talked to whoever would talk to her, but nearly two hours of canvassing left her coming up empty and getting discouraged. Either Expo had already paid everybody off or else the El San Juan was just too big and too jam-packed on weekends for its employees to notice particular guests. Nobody remembered anything about her subjects. Her thong sandals were giving her blisters; her bare arms, exposed to hotel air-conditioning in a skimpy sundress, were all goosefleshy. She was sorely tempted to call it quits, track down that Dan O’Reilly, and entice him into taking a dip in the glorious azure swimming pool beckoning through the hotel windows.