Page 46 of The B-Team

“No.” She sighed. “What am I going to say when they ask to speak to you?”

“Tell them the truth. Tell them that Dad’s helping the police with an investigation, and he’ll call when he’s done. Then tell them not to harass Flynn’s animals.”

Claire smiled as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “They’ve already been trying to ride the alpacas.”

“Better that than the ostriches,” he said drolly, making her laugh.

“Speaking of Flynn.” She took a deep breath. “We asked Katy to dig around online and see if she could find anything on this Fitzwater guy.”

“Babe,” was all he said, but it was full of disapproval.

“We specifically told her not to hack anything,” Claire quickly added.

“Babe,” he said again, this time in a disbelieving tone. It was truly amazing how much that man could communicate with just one word—or grunt.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But all the hackers we know are behind bars. What else were we supposed to do?”

“Between the alpacas and recruiting Katy, Flynn and Abby will never babysit our kids ever again,” he said.

He wasn’t wrong.

“I’ve gotta go,” Samuel said. “Try not to worry, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I don’t suppose you have any idea how Megan’s doing?”

“Nope. We’re all in different holding cells, but your sister can take care of herself.”

“Everybody keeps telling me that you can all take care of yourselves, but what about the rest of us? We’re here, worrying about all of you, and none of us can take care of ourselves! Well, except Harvard… and Beast,” she conceded.

“Not Ryan?” There was amusement in his voice.

“Please.” She rolled her eyes.

“They’re telling me my time’s up,” he said, making her grip the phone tighter.

“Come home soon,” she whispered.

“I love you,” was the reply.

“I love you too,” she said, and the line went dead.

For some reason, it felt like he’d been taken from her all over again.

She sat in the darkened glass room, looking out over the garden. Fear was a cornered tiger, crouching in her stomach, ready to strike at any moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this helpless. The people she loved were at the mercy of the system now, and sometimes, the system didn’t work properly.

“Bring him home to me,” she prayed. “Bring them all home.”

Then, feeling far too weary for her years, she climbed out of the comfy chair and headed back to the others to pass on the information Samuel had shared.

She hoped it would help.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The commander’s ex-wife lived in a redbrick Victorian row house that had been converted into apartments decades earlier. It was exactly the kind of building, in exactly the kind of street, that movie producers loved to use as a scene background. In fact—Belinda glanced around, noting the private garden facing the building—it was quite possible she’d filmed a period drama very near here.

The building was five stories tall, with the windows getting smaller the higher you went. There was also a floor below ground level, which was now a swanky apartment but had once housed the working area for the family servants. The former Mrs. Fitzwater lived on the second floor—the level boasting the largest windows, highest ceilings, and ironwork balconies.

Ryan let out a whistle. “Pricy digs for a cop’s ex-wife. We might have found an actual skeleton in this guy’s cupboard. This could have been bought with payoff money.”