Stan pulled the Huracán smoothly into his private parking bay, stepped out, and met her at the curb. The Vanguard guards followed at a discreet distance, close enough to maintain their protective perimeter, far enough not to intrude.
Emma resumed her place at the front, carrying the quiet alertness of a captain who had finally learned that her job was protection, not performance.
The restaurant across the street was a quiet, well-kept place that catered mostly to the building's residents. It specialized in early breakfasts and morning coffee, serving executives rushing off to work alongside regulars who arrived at the same time every day. It was open. Civilized. Neutral ground.
Exactly what they both needed.
