Chapter 18: Forty-First Floor

The forty-first floor had no elevator button.

Desmond led us up the service stairs from forty with his bandaged wrist held against his chest.

At the top landing, a steel door with a card reader waited.

Two men in dark suits stood beside it, Leigh's private guards, with their hands folded in front of them.

"Miss Birch only," the taller one said.

"She comes with me," Reuben said.

"You're off the property."

"Then you can tell Ms. Ellington I walked in with Miss Birch."

He didn't raise his voice.

Behind us on the stairs, boots rang on the concrete.

The sergeant came around the landing with five old guards in smocks and borrowed jackets, climbing in single file.

They filled the stairwell from wall to wall.

The two private guards looked down at them, then at each other.

"Gentlemen," said the sergeant, with his hat in his hand. "We'll walk you to the lobby."

"We work for the owner."

"So do I," the sergeant said. "Come on, son. I'll buy you a coffee."

They went.

My shoulders finally dropped.

The door opened for Desmond's card, and I walked into my own office for the first time in a week.

It smelled like lilies.

I had never liked lilies.

Leigh had moved my desk to the window and put in a white sofa, and she sat in my chair with my grandfather's watch resting on her palm.

She wore the pale gray suit.

Her hair was down, and the sunglasses lay folded on the blotter.

"Ronnie," she said. "You look exhausted."

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