Zach laughed and decided Nora and Mary needed to meet if they hadn’t already.

“I appreciate the loyalty as well as the imagery. But let’s get this over with, shall we? Lovely,” Zach said as he pulled out a pair of bright silver handcuffs with a set of tiny keys hanging off the middle link.

“Nice. Very shiny.” Mary took them from him and examined them closely. “You have the right to remain silent,” Mary began and slapped the cuffs on his left wrist. Zach gave her a dirty look. “Sorry. Too many Law & Order marathons, I think.”

“Far too many.”

Mary took the key and slipped it in the lock. She turned it but the cuffs didn’t pop open.

“Shit,” she breathed in shock. “The key doesn’t work.”

“Surely not.” Zach took the key and tried it himself. Nothing happened. “Bloody hell.”

“Boss, I’m so sorry,” Mary said. “I’ll call a locksmith right now.”

“That bastard. If it’s Finley, I’ll kill him. Whoever it was wanted this to happen.”

She raced from his office and headed to her own. He could only imagine how long it would take to get a locksmith here during the lunch rush hour.

He glanced down and saw Nora’s manuscript in front of him. And then he looked at his door. He picked up his phone again.

“Ian McEwan’s Cement and Incest Emporium—”

“Nora, really.”

“I love caller ID. What can I do you for?”

“I have a small problem involving handcuffs,” Zach said, glancing down at his wrist. “Do you know anything about locks?”

“If you knew how much of my life I’ve spent chained up, you wouldn’t ask that question.”

Zach paused a moment and said five words that were surprisingly difficult to get out.

“I need your help, Nora.”

Zach waited for her to laugh or tease him. Instead, she gave him a small piece of advice that he decided to take and hung up the phone.

“I called the locksmith,” Mary said, coming back into his office. “He said he’d be here in a couple of hours.”

“Cancel him. I called Nora. She gave me a suggestion.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Three words—come to me.’”

Zach stood up and pulled on his long gray coat; he stuffed his hands into his pockets so no one could see the cuffs dangling off his left wrist.

“And I think I will.”

Walking toward the elevator, Zach stiffened in fury as Thomas Finley strolled past him wearing an oily smirk on his face.

“Your jokes are not amusing, Finley,” Zach said as he continued toward the elevators.

“That’s because they’re not jokes, Easton.” Finley ducked into his office and Zach resisted the infantile urge to personally show Finley what was and was not amusing. Finley on the floor coughing up blood—that would be amusing.

Still fuming, Zach momentarily forgot about the handcuffs on his left hand when he stuck his hand out to hit the down button on the elevator. He heard a throat clearing and looked to the right.