50
DARCY
I was on a flight approaching Jordan when my cell phone rang. The number on the display took me by surprise. I pushed the button and put the phone to my ear. “Cat—I always knew the day would come when you’d wake up and come back to me,” I greeted her.
“Shut up, Darcy.” She was in no mood for my warped sense of humor. “This isn’t a social call.”
“The FBI wants me? If you’ll tell me what I’m guilty of, I’ll know how to plead.”
“You’re a world-class SOB, but unfortunately, that’s presently not a capital offense,” she said.
“I knew you still loved me,” I chuckled.
“I need some information on your ex-wife,” she said impatiently.
“Which one?”
“Number three. The archaeologist.”
I laughed at that. “Why would the Feds be interested in Lynne?” I asked. “She’s as squeaky-clean as i
