“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.

J.P. stood at the receptionist’s desk with his eyebrow arched in disapproval.

“Long story,” Zach said. As much as he wanted to rant to J.P. about Finley’s torments, he was no schoolyard tattletale. He’d handle it himself when the time came.

“Might I ask where you are going thusly attired?” J.P. asked.

“Jail. Obviously.” The elevator door opened and Zach stepped inside. He smiled at J.P. knowing full well that’s exactly what Nora would have done. “It’s just about the book.”

If it was possible, J.P.’s eyebrow seemed to arch even higher.

“It’s never just about the book, Easton.”

* * *