of gin and some pineapple juice, maraschino liqueur and diced fresh pineapple. “We’re both Harlem girls, so I’m going to fix us a Harlem cocktail.” She combined all the ingredients with cracked ice in a cocktail shaker, then strained it into old-fashioned glasses, handing one to Ciara. “Here’s to a night filled with love and laughter.”
Ciara touched her glass to Sofia’s, then took a sip. “It’s delicious.” She took another sip, savoring the differing flavors on her palate. “To love and laughter.”
Ciara ate, drank and danced until she was exhausted. Once the band struck the first chord, everyone in the ballroom was up and dancing. Esteban had arrived with friends from his childhood and from the NYPD. Between courses, he went from table to table like a politician—shaking hands and kissing cheeks, thanking everyone for coming to help him celebrate his fortieth birthday.
It was after one o’clock when Ciara wound her way through the crowd to find Sofia. A profusion of curls pinned up at the crown of her head added several inches to her petite stature, while a shimmering navy blue halter dress showed off her dancer’s body to its best advantage.
“I’m leaving,” she whispered in Sofia’s ear.
Sofia frowned. “Some of us are going back to Esteban’s house after this ends. Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’d love to, but remember I’m working.”
“¡Coño! I forgot.”
She kissed Sofia’s cheek. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Later, chica.”
Ciara left the ballroom and took the elevator to the suite. Opening her evening bag, she took out her cell phone and the driver’s card. He answered after the first ring, sounding as alert at one in the morning as he had earlier.
“I’m ready to leave. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
She ended the call, tossed her evening bag in the larger quilted bag, zipped it and left the room’s card key on the coffee table for Sofia. Making certain she hadn’t left anything, Ciara closed the door behind her. When she stepped out of the elevator, she saw her driver looking at her as if she had a third eye in the middle of her forehead. Then she realized why he was staring. She looked vastly different than she had when he’d picked her up. He took her bag, cupped her elbow and led her out into the cool night to the parked Town Car.
Ciara slid into the back seat, sinking into the supple leather seat and closing her eyes. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the sound of airplanes overhead.
“Miss Dennison, we’re here.”
Ciara sat up straight and looked around. She was in Manhattan in front of Brandt’s building. “That was quick.”
The driver extended his hand, pulling her gently to her feet. “Traffic was very light tonight. I’ll see you upstairs.”
She managed a tired smile. “That’s all right. I can make it upstairs by myself.” Ciara wanted to remind him that the building was monitored around the clock. Everyone coming and going was observed on closed-circuit cameras.
The doorman on duty touched the shiny brim of his cap. “Good evening, Miss Dennison, Mr. Landis.”
Ciara acknowledged his greeting with a smile, while her companion stared straight ahead. Brandt had given her an extra card key for the elevator, but she hadn’t had to use it, because Mr. Landis reached into his jacket pocket and inserted his into the slot for the penthouse.
The elevator rose swiftly, and the doors opened to a scene that rendered Ciara speechless. A small crowd had gathered in the great room, laughing and talking. A scantily dressed woman, perched on the arm of Brandt’s wheelchair, leaned into him, her mouth pressed to his ear. Approaching the revelry, Ciara spied Clarissa sitting on a love seat in the living room, arms crossed under her breasts. A man seemed to be coming on to her, and from her expression she wasn’t very receptive.
“Hey, we have a new one!” announced a booming male voice.
Ciara didn’t and couldn’t react for several seconds after someone had captured her image with a camera phone. She turned back to the driver, who hadn’t moved from the elevator. “Mr. Landis, please get them out of here!” Her voice was low, demanding.
The driver and bodyguard nodded. Brandt Wainwright had asked him to protect his nurse, and she had flipped the script, because she now wanted him to protect his employer. Striding forward, he caught the wrist of a woman, forcibly taking the flute of champagne from her hand.
“The party’s over and it’s time for you to