Rosalind went white, her mouth falling slightly open as her hand dropped to her side.

I pulled open the heavy front door and stepped out into the cold November night, where a black town car idled at the curb with its exhaust curling up into the dark.

The driver came forward, took both of my leather bags, and loaded them into the trunk before opening the back passenger door.

I slid onto the cold leather seat and pulled the door closed behind me, shutting out the draft off Fifth Avenue.

As the car pulled out into the evening traffic, the phone in my coat pocket buzzed twice.