As the jacket came loose, her gold brass nametag caught on the fabric and snapped off, clattering loudly against the floor. It spun across the carpet and landed near Mrs. Kensington’s expensive leather heels.
“Pick it up,” Vance ordered.
Maya looked down at the nametag. She looked at Vance, then at the wealthy woman glaring down her nose at her. Slowly, painfully, Maya sank to her knees in the middle of the brightly lit showroom to retrieve the piece of metal with her name on it.
That was enough.
I stepped completely out of the shadows of the entrance, the heavy tread of my work boots sinking into the plush carpet.
Vance’s head snapped toward me. He took in my faded jeans, the gray hoodie, the scuffed leather boots. His panicked expression instantly hardened into an arrogant scowl.
“Hey! The store is closed for a private matter,” Vance barked, waving a hand at me as if swatting away a fly. “Service entrance is around the back of the building. Get out.”
I didn’t stop walking. I moved past the velvet ropes, my eyes locked entirely on my wife.
Mrs. Kensington turned, letting out a sharp, dramatic sigh of exasperation. “Oh, wonderful. This is exactly what I mean about the security in this building. Now the delivery boy is here.” She pointed a manicured nail at the crushed brown paper bag near the door. “Are you deaf? Put the food on the reception desk and get out. We are dealing with a criminal.”
Maya looked up from the floor. Through the blur of her tears, she saw my boots, then my jeans, and finally my face. She let out a soft, broken sob.
“I didn’t do it,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the air conditioning. “I didn’t take anything.”
I stopped right in front of her. I reached down, firmly gripping her by the shoulders, and gently pulled her up from the floor. I placed myself deliberately between her and the two people who had just spent the last five minutes trying to break her.
“I know you didn’t,” I said softly, keeping my back to them for a second to brush a tear away from her cheek.
Vance stepped forward, his face turning red with indignation. “Do you know this woman? Listen, buddy, I don’t care if you’re her boyfriend or her lunch delivery, you are trespassing in a high-security jewelry boutique. She is under investigation for felony theft. I’m calling the police right now, and if you don’t leave, I’ll have them arrest you too.”
“She belongs in handcuffs,” Mrs. Kensington spat, clutching her heavy crocodile purse even tighter against her ribs. Her knuckles were white. “And if you’re with her, you’re probably in on it. Filthy, the both of you.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t shout. I didn’t lunge at Vance or scream at Mrs. Kensington.
I just reached into the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out my phone. I didn’t dial 911. I didn’t call the building’s front desk. I bypassed the police entirely and opened the encrypted application on my home screen. I pressed the single red icon that connected directly to my personal chief of security, the man who ran the entire grid for the Wellington Tower.
The line connected before it even rang.
