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“Paola, Kat, and Isabella are all out on jobs.”
Excellent. Business was doing well. Lady Locksmith specialized in providing female locksmiths to all the single ladies of New York. They also advised on how to keep them safe—securing locks, doors, and windows.
I had a dream of one day seeing multiple Lady Locksmiths around the city. Hell, around every city. A girl could dream. Growing up, once I understood the damage my father did to other people, all I’d wanted was to be respectable. To earn my own way and add to the world, not take from it.
“Did you get that new article I sent you to post on the blog?” I asked.
Sabrina nodded. “It’ll go live shortly, and then I’ll post on Insta, as well.”
When I had the time, I wrote articles on how women—singleandmarried—should secure their homes. My latest was aimed at domestic-violence survivors, and helping them feel safe. I donated my time to Nightingale House, a local shelter that helped women leaving DV situations, and I installed locks for them, free of charge.
“We should start a podcast,” Sabrina said.
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t have time to sit around recording stuff.” I did my fair share of callouts for jobs, plus at night I had to stay on top of the business-side of the store.
“Fine, fine.” Sabrina leaned against the counter and eyed my jeans. “Damn, I hate you for being tall, long, and gorgeous. You’re going to lookwaytoo beautiful as my maid of honor.” She waved a hand between us. “You’re all tall, sleek, and dark-haired, and I’m…the opposite.”
I had some distant Black Irish ancestor to thank for my pale skin and ink-black hair. Growing up, I wanted to be short, blonde, and tanned. I snorted. “Beauty comes in all different forms, Sabrina.” I gripped her shoulders. “You are so damn pretty, and your fiancé happens to think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Andrew is gaga over you.”
Sabrina sighed happily. “He does and he is.” A pause. “So, do you have a date for my wedding yet?” My bestie’s voice turned breezy and casual.
Uh-oh. I froze. All the wedding prep had sent my normally easygoing best friend a bit crazy. And I knew very well not to trust that tone.
I edged toward my office. “Not yet.”
Sabrina’s blue eyes sparked. “It’s onlyfourweeks away, Monroe. The maid of honor can’t come alone.”
“I’ll be busy helping you out—”
“Find a date, Monroe.”
“I don’t want to just pick anyone for your wedding—”
Sabrina stomped her foot. “Find someone, or I’ll find someone for you.”
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay.” I headed for my office. “I’ll—” My cell phone rang.Yes. “I’ve got a call. Got to go.” I dove through the office door.
“I won’t forget,” Sabrina yelled. “I’ll revoke your best-friend status, if I have to.”
I closed the door on my bridezilla bestie and looked at the phone.
Maguire. Finally.
I stabbed the call button. “Where have you been?”
“We have your brother,” a robotic voice said.
My blood ran cold. My chest felt like it had filled with concrete.
“If you want to keep him alive, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
* * *
Zane
God, this party was boring.
Zane Roth sipped his wine and glanced around the ballroom at the Mandarin Oriental. The party held the Who’s Who of New York society, all dressed up in their glittering best. The ceiling shimmered with a sea of crystal lights, tall flower arrangements dominated the tables, and the wall of windows had a great view of the Manhattan skyline.
