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“No.” The tears had stopped. Shelby was drained of everything. How long had it been since they’d abducted her daughter? “I’m not all right, Tim. I want my daughter back.”
“I know you do. But Aimee is fine, Shelby. We have to believe that.” Tim stared at her, his eyes filled with shadows. “The writing said she was safe.”
.....
“Fine.” Shelby unclenched her fists and began. “We owned—I own a business called Finders, Inc. Someone asks us to recover something they’ve lost—stolen art, heirloom jewelry, that sort of thing. Or they ask us to find someone they need to get in touch with—a friend, a brother, heirs. We employ a team of specialized investigators who are trained to discreetly locate these things or people and, if possible, restore them to the client. At the time of his death, Grant was working on a project.”
The utter silliness of those words struck Shelby as she said them. Grant was always working on a project. He loved nothing more than the thrill of the chase, the rush of tracking down a special order and presenting it to a buyer with that grand flourish only he could pull off. He would never do it again.
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