Lloyd had never trained on the slalom course at the Farm, yet he expertly maneuvered his SUV as if the entire Russian army were in hot pursuit. He might be a maestro in the kitchen, a talented putterer in the garden, but this? This was utterly reckless, the way he squealed around corners and briefly swerved into the opposite lane to pass another car. “You’re going to get a ticket, dear,” Ingrid said, maddeningly calm. “Who’s going to give it to me? Our fearless police chief is right in front of us.”
