Page 1 of The B-Team

CHAPTER ONE

“Why are you here?” the angry pixie demanded.

Ryan Granger considered his best friend, Elle Roberts-Knight, and decided she’d be more intimidating if she didn’t look like the pastel-colored poster girl for Disney’s candy store.

“Do you mean philosophically? Because it’s too early in the morning for that discussion.” His brain didn’t work properly until he’d had his second breakfast, which he’d only just started—after beating everyone else to the buffet.

“No. I mean at this conference.”

“I told you; this is research.”

Ryan sat perched on a table at the back of the cavernous training room that made up a huge chunk of the basement beneath Benson Security’s London office, his gaze on his former work colleagues as they filed into the room. He nodded hello to a couple of guys from the Scottish office.

Elle folded her arms over a bright pink T-shirt emblazoned with an image of her hero, Princess Leia, and the words:Leia would kick the patriarchy’s ass. She’d brushed her blue hair and looked slightly more awake than when he’d found her staring into his fridge earlier that morning, searching for the milk that was right in front of her face. There were a lot of good thingsabout living in adjoining houses with his best friend and her husband—their attic gaming room, for instance—but having his fridge raided wasn’t on the list. A man’s fridge was sacrosanct.

She snorted. “A boring three-day conference is research? I don’t think so. You’re up to something.” She eyed the plate beside him, loaded with an assortment of Danish pastries and one banana. “Or you’re here for the food. What’s going on? Did Sarah cut off your sugar again?”

Ryan smiled at the thought of his pregnant wife, all snug at home in bed. “Nope. She won’t repeat that mistake in a hurry. The lack of sugar made me even hungrier, and I ate everything I could find—even that jar of olives at the back of the cupboard. The ones that look like eyeballs.”

“Ew, Rachel gave those to you years ago.” Elle looked a little green at the thought.

“I’m pretty sure that if it’s in a jar, that means it’s preserved forever.” He scratched his chin and shrugged. “They tasted weird, but I figured that was because they were stuffed. Why would you even stuff an olive? A turkey, I get. But olives are so tiny and hardly worth the effort.”

“Yeah, that’s one of life’s mysteries for sure.” She rolled her eyes and gestured to his plate. “I have to ask, what’s with the banana?”

“I promised Sarah I’d eat healthier.” He picked up another Danish and set about demolishing it.

“I can see that’s going well,” she said. “But seriously, why are you really here? You don’t need to be. It’s not like you work for Benson Security anymore. You could have stayed at home and waited for the Cliff Notes instead of sitting through all the boring talks.”

There was no point in ignoring or trying to distract her. This was Elle’s superpower—wearing people down until she got the answer she wanted.

“Fine.” Ryan sighed. “I’ve finished the first draft of my book, and I’m letting it percolate for a bit before I edit. Meanwhile, I thought I’d hunt for an idea for book two.”

Her face lit up with a smile so wide it had to be painful. “Ryan! Why didn’t you say so? That’s amazing!” She took a deep breath, and before he could slap a hand over her mouth, she shouted, “Ryan’s written a book!”

He loved Elle like a sister, but she had no discretion. There was a loud cheer. And some amusement.

One of the Scottish guys piped up, “And we thought the only writing he did was to update his Tinder profile.”

Ryan shook his head. “I’m married now, asshole. But I’ll writeyourTinder profile if you want. You could use the help of a dating professional.”

That prompted some good-natured laughter.

“Thanks very much, Elle,” Ryan said drolly as the noise died down.

“You’re welcome.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on, Ryan. How many other people here have written a book? This is a big deal.”

“Not if the publishers think it’s crap and make me pay back their advance. They wanted a non-fiction crime story about Sarah and me being kidnapped and dumped in the Paris Catacombs, but instead, they’re getting crime fiction based on real events. Not sure they’ll like that.”

“I don’t remember you being this pessimistic before you were shot in the head.” She batted her eyelashes in an attempt to appear non-threatening. Like that would work. “You know, I could always read your draft and tell you if it’s any good. I like crime fiction. I read it all the time, which means I’m practically an expert.”

“No.” Ryan pointed a pastry at her. “Don’t even try to find it either. There are no printed copies, and you can’t hack mycomputer to get it. I’m writing on a laptop that isn’t connected to the internet, and I’m not letting it out of my sight.” He patted the messenger bag beside him. “I’m not dumb. I know your tricks. Keep your sticky fingers off my book.”

Elle held up her hands in surrender. “Has anybody told you that you’re touchier since you came out of your coma?”

“Nope. But some people say I remind them of Bono.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. They weren’t reading glasses. There was nothing wrong with his eyesight. The yellow-tinted lenses were designed to ward off migraines, and Ryan was convinced he’d had fewer sudden-onset headaches since buying them.

“Not for your singing, surely,” Elle said.