“Okay.” He flipped on a small flashlight and scanned hundreds of tiny metal doors lining the steel walls. “We’re looking for Box 545.”

The wall of boxes was a dim blur. Her heart still racing, she stepped toward them with a key in each hand. Gothic script labeled the metal doors with rising and falling numbers in an overwhelming array, until the one that read “545” finally emerged. She slipped each key into the door and waited a beat. Any minute she expected to see a security guard or police officer appear with gun drawn.

He pressed his barrel chest against her back, circling an arm around her waist. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, wishing they were back at her place or the hotel or anywhere but the vault. His breath was hot against her neck.

“Come on, baby. Let’s see what we got.”

The little door swung open, revealing the long metal box inside.

Bile rose up in her throat. This was breaking and entering, grand larceny, fifteen to twenty years at least. In her whole life, she’d never even stolen a pack of gum. Breaking into the vault had always been the plan. He had explained it to her many times. But now that she was actually doing it . . . Oh Lord, she was going to throw up.

He pushed past her, oblivious to the stricken look on her face, and pulled the safe deposit box out of its vault and set it onto the floor with a loud clunk.

She flinched.

“Relax, babe. Charlie’s taking a break. He won’t be back for at least an hour. Got him a date with a friend of mine.”

He chuckled under his breath as he flipped open the lid. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills lined the top of the box. Beneath the cash lay a large diamond necklace. He reached up and smacked her on the ass triumphantly.

“Ha! Didn’t I tell ya? Jackpot!”

Her eyes widened at the sight of the enormous stones. It doesn’t belong to anybody anymore; she silently repeated the words he had said many times. No one will ever miss it. No one even knows it’s here. Kneeling down, she reached out a shaking hand to touch a diamond.

He snatched the necklace away and pulled a velvet bag from his coat pocket. “Grab that box,” he ordered. “I bet it’s a ring, but don’t get any ideas, eh?”

“Ideas?” she whispered, only understanding his meaning after the word left her lips and she had opened the tiny box. Inside it lay an enormous diamond engagement ring.

“Hey, that’s nothing compared to the one I’ll get you someday, gorgeous.” He brushed the side of her face and winked. The metal of his wedding band left a cold trail down her cheek.

He grabbed the box from her and stuffed it into the bag and began counting the cash. The laugh lines around his eyes deepened as the total grew higher and higher. They had never discussed how much was enough.

She tore her eyes back to the molested box on the floor. An old black-and-white photograph was hidden beneath the cash and jewelry. It glowed yellow in the faint light. It was a tintype of a beautiful young woman in a floor-length dress wearing the diamond necklace. It could have been a wedding picture, she realized, and then she noticed the other items—a lace handkerchief, a few folded letters. Love letters, she mused, and wondered for the first time about the person who had placed them there. From the look of the parchment and the photo, it might have been fifty years ago. She reached in to pick one up.

“Hey! Are you daydreaming over there? We don’t have all day.” With that, he snapped the lid to the box closed and hauled it back up and into its place.

The sound of the metal door closing brought her back to her feet. She obediently turned each key, relocking Box 545. Pausing at the door, she felt she should say a prayer or something. It was like a burial. Would anyone ever find the photo of the woman again? Or her love letters? According to the records, the box hadn’t been opened in years. The number stared back at her.

“Okay! On to Box 547.”

“Right. 547.” Her voice sounded far away. It was all a strange and terrible dream. This wasn’t a vault, it was a mausoleum. And they were grave robbers.

The keys found and unlocked 547 as if they had a mind of their own. He deposited the looted treasure into the empty box and closed up the hole in the steel wall that now hid their terrible secret. She removed the keys. They were heavy in her hand.

He grabbed her by her narrow shoulders and planted a huge kiss on her lips. “Just you wait, baby! We’re going to be set for life. A few more months of this, and we’ll never have another care in the world.” He kissed her again and squeezed her ass, before pushing it gently out the door.

He didn’t notice her staring down at the swell in her belly as he led her out of the vault. It would be impossible to hide it much longer. But in a few more months they would be together, she told herself. Set for life. Just like he promised.

She paused at the entrance. Box 545 was still somewhere back there in the dark. She whispered to no one, not even herself, “I’m sorry.”

Then the heavy round door swung shut.

CHAPTER 1

Saturday, August 8, 1998

Iris Latch sat up with a jolt. The clock was beeping frantically. It was 8:45 a.m., and she was supposed to be downtown in fifteen minutes. Shit. The alarm had been sounding off for a half hour straight. It was practically rattling the rickety walls of her apartment, but somehow she’d managed to sleep through it. She untangled herself from the sheets and rushed to the bathroom.

No time for a shower. Instead, she splashed cold water on her face and scraped the taste of dirty ashtray out of her mouth with a toothbrush. Her stringy brown hair didn’t even get brushed before being yanked through a rubber band. She threw on a T-shirt and jeans and ran out the door. On a good day, Iris looked fair to attractive, with her lanky, tall frame and long hair, especially if she remembered not to slouch, but this was not a good day.

The morning sun shined in her eyes like an interrogation light. Yes, she’d been drinking last night, Officer. Yes, her head hurt. No, she was not the most responsible twenty-three-year-old under the blinding sun. In her defense, it was completely messed up to have to work on a Saturday. No one should be out of bed at this hour on a weekend. Unfortunately, she had volunteered for this shit.

Earlier that week, Mr. Wheeler had called her into his office. He was the head of her department, a lead partner in the firm, and could fire her on the spot. It was like being sent to the principal.

“Iris, how are you liking your work so far here at WRE?”

“Um, it’s okay,” she’d said, trying not to sound as ill at ease as she felt. “I’ve been learning a lot,” she’d added in her job interview voice.

She hated her job at Wheeler Reese Elliot Architects but couldn’t very well say that to him. All she did day after day was mark up blueprints with a red pen. Hundreds of sheets of paper showing each little piece of rebar in every concrete beam, and she had to check them all. It was mind-numbing, soul-crushing work, especially since she was qualified to do so much more. She had graduated summa cum laude from Case Western Reserve University. She’d been promised “cutting-edge” structural design projects, but three months into her big engineering career, she’d been reduced to a paper-marking monkey. She’d said as much to her assigned mentor, Brad, that Monday in a fit of desperation. A day later she was sitting in the hot seat across from Mr. Wheeler. Brad had ratted her out. Was she going to get fired? Hysterical butterflies swarmed her stomach.

“Well, Brad thinks you have a good head on your shoulders. Perhaps you’re ready for a little change of pace.” Mr. Wheeler smiled a corporate smile.