The glass doors of the Lumina building closed behind me. Rain hammered the umbrella and poured along the curb. Sirens and car horns carried through the intersection.
A black Maybach waited at the curb, its engine running and its lights reflected in the flooded gutter. The passenger door opened as I approached, and Alexander Sterling stepped out without an umbrella. Rain darkened the shoulders of his coat before I could cover him.
He glanced past me at the lobby. He did not ask whether I was all right.
“Trash taken care of?” Alexander asked over the traffic.
“It’s been recycled.”
He smiled, took the umbrella, shook the water onto the curb, and folded it before we got into the car. A dry towel was waiting on the seat. I wiped the rain from my face and hands and passed it back.
Alexande
