He took a deep breath.
A scent hit him. Soap. With an undertone of citrus.
Monroe.
She’d been in here.
It’s complicated.
A ball of lead hit Zane’s gut. She was after something. He recognized that look he’d seen on her face now.
Guilt. Distress.
Fuck. He ran his hands through his hair and dropped into his desk chair.
She hadn’t been here for him.
She was just another user on the take.
He looked at his Rolex, anger flaring inside him. It was late, but not too late on the West Coast.
He grabbed his desk phone and dialed.
A moment later a deep voice answered. “Norcross.”
“Hi, Vander, it’s Zane.”
Vander Norcross was the head of Norcross Security. He was former military, and after a covert career on a Ghost Ops special-forces team, he’d gotten out and started his own private investigations and security company in San Francisco. He did a lot of work for Roth Enterprises.
“I need you to track someone down,” Zane said.
“Go on.”
“A woman. First name, Monroe. About five-foot-eight, gray eyes, and I think blonde hair. She snuck in with my cleaners the other day, and tonight, she crashed a party at my place.”
“Not much to go on.”
“She was in my home office.” He looked at the numbers on his arm. “I don’t know who the hell she is, or what she’s after, but I want to find out.”
“I’m on it,” Vander replied.
And when Vander Norcross said he was on it, it meant he’d get the job done.
For a second, Zane relived that kiss, Monroe’s body pressed against him. Then he squelched the memory.
He wouldn’t let anyone play him for a fool.
Tick-tock
Monroe
The pounding on the front door of Lady Locksmith the next morning made me jerk. I jumped up from my desk and raced into the shop. We weren’t open yet, so I had no idea who it was.
Through the glass, I saw Rollo’s cloud of crazy hair. He had a huge cardboard box in his arms. He jerked his head at me.
I opened the door. “Hey.”
Rollo grunted and pushed inside. He blinked at the light, his brown eyes scrunched. He reminded me of a mole coming into the sunlight.
“Where do you want this? Bash and I stayed up all night to get your prototype ready.”
They’d done it. My heart skipped a beat. “Rollo, you are amazing. Put it on my desk.” I hurried into the office and swiped the detritus off my desk.
Rollo set the box down. I got a better look at him now. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked jittery—probably from too many of the energy drinks he loved.
“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.
“Hell, no. We were busy with this.” He yawned so hard I thought I’d hear his jaw crack. “Bash is crashed out on my couch.” Rollo reached into the box and hefted out the safe prototype.
Wow. I circled the prototype. It wasn’t as pretty or as glossy as the one in Zane’s office, but it had all the right bits in the right places, thanks to the schematics. It looked more like a skeleton of a safe, but I was most interested in the locking mechanisms.
My throat tightened. Rollo and Bash had definitely come through. I needed to get baking.
I turned to Rollo. “You came through for me.” I felt a burn of tears in my eyes. God, I was really tired.
Rollo frowned at me. “You’re not springing a leak are you?”
I swiped my arm across my face and sniffed. “No.”
He looked alarmed. “Good…good.” A pause. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s just been a rough few days.”
He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “You want to…uh, talk about it?”
“No.”
He blew out a breath. “Good. You got any more cookies?”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “No, but I have some cupcakes. I’ll warn you, they’re a few days old and probably a bit stale.”
He grunted. “I don’t care, I’ll take ‘em.”
I raced up to my apartment and brought the cupcakes down. I handed them over and watched him sniff them. Bliss crossed his face.
“Thanks, Rollo.”
“I’ll be waiting for my cheesecakes.” He headed out into the shop. He paused. “Good luck with the Riv3000.”
I nodded.
He hesitated, then shifted his feet. “Uh, take care.”
God, I must look bad. Warmth hit me in the chest. “You going soft on me, Rollo?”
“Fuck, no.” He stuffed a cupcake in his mouth and headed out the door.
I locked it behind him.
As I headed back to my office, I yawned. I was so tired. After the party, I’d been too churned up to sleep.
After kissing Zane.
God, I’d kissed Zane Roth. I slapped a hand against my forehead.
And I’d loved every second of it.
I wanted more.
Stop thinking about him. I slumped against my desk. I was going to steal a necklace worth two million dollars from the man. Guilt made it hard to breathe.
My phone dinged.
It was a text message. I thumbed the screen and froze. It was a photo of Mag, gagged and tied to a chair.
Tick-tock.
Oh, God. Hot nausea washed over me. I didn’t want to steal from Zane, but Maguire’s life was at stake. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by Zane’s sexy body and hazel eyes.
With a deep breath, I turned back to the safe prototype and got to work. I braided my hair back to keep it out of my way and studied the parts.
It was like getting to know someone—their strengths, weaknesses, quirks. I could almost hear my father’s voice, touched with a little Irish lilt even though he’d never stepped foot in Ireland. I’d grown up sitting at his knee, fiddling with safe parts, watching him work.
I’d been his willing student and offsider until I’d turned fourteen. Then I’d seen up close and personal the devastation his cons caused.
Stomach churning, I got to work. When I got up to make a cup of tea and stretch out the kinks in my neck, I grabbed my phone and made a few calls. For the information I needed, I’d have to pay in more than cookies or cupcakes. I could already hear my credit card weeping.
I dialed a number.
“Yeah?” a deep, rusty voice said.
“It’s Monroe.” I grabbed a mug from the shelf and dropped a tea bag into it.
A sound like a snort. “Been a while.”
“I know, I’m surprised you’re still alive,” I told the aging private investigator. He was an old friend of my father’s, and had done a few jobs for me here and there.
“Watch that smart mouth, kid.”
“I need a work up on a woman. Monica Gorman.” I poured hot water into the mug.
“Gorman?”
“Yes, I need her schedule.” I rattled off the woman’s address. “Her schedule in detail, and I need it by tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t come cheap, O’Connor,” the voice rasped.
“Mac, this isn’t my first rodeo.”
Patrick “Mac” MacGee sniffed. “Money in my account first, then I’ll start the job.”