Mummy wasn’t happy.

That was never good.

But this time, it was sour-faced Spasky getting the heat. That was sweet.

Natalie kept her posture straight, even though it was difficult on the cushy sofa. She kept sliding forward on the slippery satin. But even while Mummy ranted, she could spot slumping shoulders.

Ian sat next to her. He’d come back seasick, his face the color of her new chartreuse Prada purse.

“This is your fault.” Isabel’s voice had taken on the cool, precise tone that Ian and Natalie privately called the scalpel. It sliced you open and left you bleeding. She paced in front of Irina, her high heels making dents in the thick carpet of the hotel suite. Her heavy charm bracelet jangled along with her agitation. “I had to soak for an hour to get the smell out. I had to throw away my entire outfit. And it was Chanel!”

Natalie shuddered. Nothing worse than losing couture.

“Not to mention that the girl got away!” Isabel put her hand to her throat, where Amy’s jade necklace gleamed against her sleeveless white dress. Natalie had no idea why she was wearing it when she could be wearing diamonds.

“Excuse me, but I don’t see why this is my fault,” Irina said. “Reminder: I was not on boat.”

Ian stiffened beside her and Natalie stared at Irina, fascinated. Didn’t she have any idea how to handle Isabel when she was angry? You had to agree with everything she said and apologize, no matter how unfair the accusations were. Otherwise, you were toast.

Isabel wheeled and approached her. Natalie knew that look. Irina was about to get it. Both barrels between the eyes. This was going to be very good.

“Excuse me,” Isabel said witheringly. “You had one simple assignment. Find Amy. Bring her to the boat.”

“Excuse me for second time,” Irina said. “She did go aboard boat, which was the objective. I do not see—”

“You do not see because you are a fool!” Isabel let her contempt drip from every word. “You were supposed to deliver Amy at three-twelve exactly. And you were supposed to arrive by Argyle Street so that Ian could spot you with the binoculars and I could prepare the boat. You didn’t do any of it! You were fifteen minutes late. Fifteen minutes! That gave the Holts enough time to get organized. Even those thick skulls don’t need too long to figure out a plan!” Isabel planted herself in front of Irina. “They had us under surveillance. And you are responsible for counter surveillance. So add it up, Irina. Not only did you fail … you failed miserably.”

Natalie smirked. Why shouldn’t she let Irina know how much she was enjoying this? Irina had never gotten it into her head that she wasn’t the boss. Ian and Natalie were the personal representatives of Vikram and Isabel. They were the de facto Lucian leaders. Irina couldn’t bear that.

Isabel held up her thumb and index finger a fraction apart. “I was this close to getting her to tell all the clues they had. This close! That little mouse was terrified.”

“What if she didn’t?” Irina asked.

“What if she didn’t what?”

“Cooperate. You would throw her to sharks?”

“Don’t bore me with what ifs,” Isabel said, turning and waving a hand. “I am about results. And now we’ve been defeated. By the Tomas. Unacceptable!”

Isabel’s narrow, toned shoulders lifted up, then down. When she turned around, her expression was calm. Not that her face ever showed much emotion. Isabel kept the best plastic surgeons in London very busy. She’d been pulled, pricked, smoothed, and plumped. Natalie wished her mother wasn’t quite so obsessed, but she guessed that once you were in your forties, it was a gigantic amount of work to keep yourself up.

“The thing is, Irina, this isn’t the first time you’ve failed to achieve our objectives,” she said. “You’re slipping. You’re … well, frankly, you’re old.”

“Reminder,” Irina said. “We are the same age.”

“Old thinking,” Isabel said. “You don’t keep up. You were once the best spy in the business. I give you that. But if you don’t shape up, you’re going to be out. Do you understand? It’s crunch time, as the Americans say. There is no such thing as failure for a Kabra.”

“Don’t you mean, no such thing as failure for the Lucians?” Irina asked.

Isabel looked uncertain for a moment. “Of course that is what I meant.”

“Because this contest is about power for the Lucian Cahills, not the Kabra family,” Irina said. “Unless I’ve been misinformed.”

“Well, naturally.” Isabel’s fingers drummed on her leg.

Somehow, Irina had succeeded in making Mummy uncomfortable. Isabel flicked a piece of lint off her dress as though it were a missile. Natalie hoped her mother would demolish Irina, or they’d be in for a very bad afternoon.

“And I would also argue that perhaps Kabras do know failure occasionally,” Irina continued, keeping her voice bland. “Your children, for example.”

You hateful witch, Natalie thought. She waited for Ian to say something, but he was like a statue next to her.

Irina smiled. “It seems that Amy and Dan Cahill have bested them at every turn. How many clues have you two collected?” she asked. “I mean, the two of you, alone. How many?” She put a finger to her temple. “Let me think … oh, I remember! One.”

“Mummy!” Natalie half rose. “She can’t talk to us that way!”

Irina turned back to Isabel. “The truth is that those two have turned out to be much smarter than we expected. And what if they discover what really happened to their parents? Now, they are resourceful. If they have an even greater reason to win — revenge — they will be dangerous.”

Suddenly, Isabel undid the clasp of the jade necklace and threw it at Irina’s feet.

“That is what I think of those Cahills. Not to mention your ridiculous obsession with Grace Cahill. She was a batty old lady who thought she knew best. Well, she and her grandchildren won’t get in our way — no matter how much they know.”

Irina picked up the necklace. She ran her fingers along the carved dragon in the center.

“You thought it was important,” Isabel said. “Another one of your mistakes. I had it thoroughly checked this morning. It’s just a necklace. A cheap piece of sentimentality that the girl clings to. It was a waste of my time to steal it. Well, I’m done wasting time. Now, if you could manage to do one simple thing.” Isabel tossed her cell phone to Irina. “Call the Fixer.”

Who’s the Fixer? Natalie wondered.

Irina cleared her throat. “I am no longer sure of his reliability.”

“Of course he’s reliable,” Isabel countered. “We’ve used him many times. Tell him I’m in Sydney and I need a few things. I’ll contact him later with a list.”

Isabel picked up her purse. “Ian, Natalie. Come. We’re going shopping.”

Natalie popped up. At last!

“Let yourself out, Irina.”

The door slammed behind them. Natalie had to practically skip to keep up with her mother’s fast pace. “Irina is just jealous of you,” she said. “She wants to be leader, and she’s just hopeless at it.”

“Right,” Ian said. Natalie shot him a look. He was supposed to sound enthusiastic. Isabel counted on them for support.

She expected her mother to smile and agree, but Isabel just stabbed the elevator button. “Shut up, Natalie, I’m trying to think,” she snapped.

Natalie rubbed her fingers along the fabric of her sweater. Cashmere. Her mother had bought her one in every color. Whenever she felt upset, she thought of them stacked in her huge closet at home in London. She had the best mother in the world.

Isabel stabbed the elevator button again. “Call the concierge, Ian,” she barked. “First, order a car. And second, tell them to fix their elevators.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“And don’t speak to me, either of you,” Isabel said as the elevator doors opened. “I have to think.”