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“What?” she said.
“Nothing,” her mother said. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Hey ho,” someone called as the door opened again, and Elle walked in, her laptop under her arm. She was followed by Lake, Callum and Rachel.
Everyone shuffled around to make space for them, and even though Belinda suspected she had one of the largest private rooms in the hospital, it was starting to feel a little crowded.
“How are you feeling?” Lake asked. Out of the three owners, he was the only one who was house-trained.
“Claustrophobic?” Belinda said, looking around the room.
Lake’s lip twitched. “We’ll get out of your hair as fast as we can. First, we have news.”
There was a heavily pregnant pause.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” her grandmother said. “We’re supposed to be the dramatic ones. Spit it out.”
Lake smiled. It was small, but Belinda definitely saw it. “Okay, we know who was behind your kidnapping.”
Belinda sucked in a breath and reached for John. He sat on the bed beside her and put his arm around her, tucking her in to his side.
Callum watched the move carefully. “Does this mean you’re saying no to our job offer?”
“This means you talk about Belinda’s security with me,” John said.
“You taking a wage?” Callum asked.
John stiffened. “No. I have investments and you’re going to let me moonlight for Benson Security—when I’m not with Belinda.”
“Got it all figured out, then,” Callum said. “Nice of you to let us know how we can fit in with your life.”
“Give it a rest,” Joe said. “You know you’re going to take him up on the offer.” He grinned at John. “Welcome to the team.”
Belinda angled her head to look up at him. “What just happened?”
“Nothing important, baby.” John turned to Lake. “Who was it?”
“Elle?” Lake said.
Elle fiddled with her laptop before switching the TV on. “I managed to trace the money in your driver’s bank account to the people who paid him to arrange the kidnapping.” Belinda felt the blood drain from her face at the thought of Brian betraying her like that. She’d believed they’d had a friendship, and she’d been totally wrong. John stroked her arm, aware that she was trembling, and his comfort helped.
“We handed the evidence we dug up to the police, and they made an arrest.” She pointed at the TV with the remote. “I recorded this earlier. Thought you might like to see.”
A CNN news report filled the screen. In the corner of a live feed from an L.A. police station was a head shot of a director she’d worked with the previous year. The banner at the bottom of the screen read: Ethan Stratford—arrested in connection with Belinda Collins kidnapping.
Belinda sucked in a breath and her heart raced. John pulled her closer, as though he coul
d protect her from what she was about to see.
The reporter stood in front of the police station doors and looked into the camera. “This morning, Hollywood director Ethan Stratford was charged in connection with the kidnapping of Belinda Collins and her friend John Garcia. Sources tell us that the director not only arranged for the kidnapping to take place but is also suspected of feeding money into a Peruvian cartel.”
“That little worm,” Belinda’s mother said. “I never liked him. Rubbish director, too.”
“It is believed,” the reporter continued, “that Stratford arranged to have Collins kidnapped as an attempt to drum up interest in his new movie. The movie, Ransom, was shot with Collins early last year and is due for release in the fall.”
“I’ll call our lawyers,” Belinda’s father said. “When I’m through with him, no distribution company on the planet will touch that movie. I promise you, sweetheart. It will never see the light of day.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Belinda flashed him a grateful smile.
