Cellie's POV
The soldier who collected me from the estate was tall and efficient and had apparently already retrieved my purse from the patio before I had thought to worry about it, which was either impressive foresight or a reminder that I was operating in a world where people anticipated your movements before you made them.
I took the purse and followed him to the car with the specific dignity of a woman who had chosen this exit over the alternative, which was returning to the patio and sitting through the remainder of Penelope's luncheon while processing everything that had happened in the last forty minutes.
The alternative was not viable.
"You're taking me to Rico's," I said, once we were in the car. "Not home. I have a shift."
He looked at me in the rearview mirror with the expression of a man who had been given specific instructions and was conducting a silent assessment of whether those instructions covered this variable.
"I'll confirm with the boss," he said.
