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I hope you enjoyed Hadley and Bennett’s story!
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Sentinel Securitycontinues withSteel, starring Killian “Steel” Hawke (yes, it’s Killian’s turn!) and a certain redheaded CIA agent. Coming January 2023.
For more action-packed romance, and to learn about when Monroe O’Connor first cracked a Rivera safe, check out the first book in theBillionaire Heists,Stealing from Mr. Rich(Monroe and Zane’s story).Read on for a preview of the first chapter.
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PREVIEW: STEALING FROM MR. RICH
Brother in Trouble
Monroe
The old-fashioned Rosengrens safe was a beauty.
I carefully turned the combination dial, then pressed closer to the safe. The metal was cool under my fingertips. The safe wasn’t pretty, but stout and secure. There was something to be said for solid security.
Rosengrens had started making safes in Sweden over a hundred years ago. They were good at it. I listened to the pins, waiting for contact. Newer safes had internals made from lightweight materials to reduce sensory feedback, so I didn’t get to use these skills very often.
Some people could play the piano, I could play a safe. The tiny vibration I was waiting for reached my fingertips, followed by the faintest click.
“I’ve gotcha, old girl.” The Rosengrens had quite a few quirks, but my blood sang as I moved the dial again.
I heard a louder click and spun the handle.
The safe door swung open. Inside, I saw stacks of jewelry cases and wads of hundred-dollar bills.Nice.
Standing, I dusted my hands off on my jeans. “There you go, Mr. Goldstein.”
“You are a doll, Monroe O’Connor. Thank you.”
The older man, dressed neatly in pressed chinos and a blue shirt, grinned at me. He had coke-bottle glasses, wispy, white hair, and a wrinkled face.
I smiled at him. Mr. Goldstein was one of my favorite people. “I’ll send you my bill.”
His grin widened. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I raised a brow. “You could stop forgetting your safe combination.”
The wealthy old man called me every month or so to open his safe. Right now, we were standing in the home office of his expensive Park Avenue penthouse.
It was decorated in what I thought of as “rich, old man.” There were heavy drapes, gold-framed artwork, lots of dark wood—including the built-in shelves around the safe—and a huge desk.
“Then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face,” he said.
I smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’ll see you next month, Mr. Goldstein.” The poor man was lonely. His wife had died the year before, and his only son lived in Europe.
“Sure thing, Monroe. I’ll have some of those donuts you like.”
We headed for the front door and my chest tightened. I understood feeling lonely. “You could do with some new locks on your door. I mean, your building has top-notch security, but you can never be too careful. Pop by the shop if you want to talk locks.”
He beamed at me and held the door open. “I might do that.”