Twenty-Eight.

Maria

A FEW DAYS LATER

The chime goes off, and I watch the elevator doors with anticipation. A blonde in a fancy coral suit steps into the living room.

“Oh, this view.” She rushes toward the window as if she’s about to spread her wings and fly off. “Manhattan is a jewel from these dizzying heights.”

Dizzying? I tilt an eyebrow and stare at our newest inmate. Larissa hurries off the elevator and herds the blonde toward me.

Other than an errant bandage here and there, she betrays no sign that she nearly lost her life in a horrific bombing.

“Maria,” she says, “this is Naomi St. Clair. She owns several boutiques. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

They look expectantly at me as if I’d know. Eventually, I shake my head.

“Well, she dresses all the members of our … family.” Larissa draws a tight smile across her features and turns away to lock the elevator.

I can’t help but notice that her hands are shaking slightly.

“Good morning, Maria.” Naomi extends her hand, and we shake. “I’ve heard such w