Then the kitchen landline.

Even the security panel near the door began to beep.

It was an onslaught.

I felt trapped in our own home.

“We cannot let them see the children,” I said.

“They will not,” Ryker said.

“Marco has the back entrance secured.”

His cell phone buzzed again on the counter.

He picked it up, expecting another reporter or lawyer.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the caller ID.

“It is Marissa,” he said.

I held my breath.

“Answer it,” I whispered.

Ryker swiped the screen and put it on speaker.

“Ryker,” a woman’s voice purred through the speaker.

It was smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of grief.

“I hope you are enjoying your new guests.”

“What do you want, Marissa?” Ryker asked.

“I want what is mine,” she said.

“My husband’s estate is tied up in a trust for those children.”

“I cannot access it without them.”

“So you abandoned them at an airport?” I demanded, unable to stay silent.

There was a short, sharp laugh on the other end.

“Ah, Evelyn,” Marissa said.

“I thought I recognized your voice.”