At precisely 6:32 PM, the Bentley stopped, and the chauffeur walked around and opened my door. I knew because I checked my phone one last time before turning it off and shoving it into my coat pocket.
"Thank you," I murmured. I realized that this might be my last time in the car-in any car.
I shut down that line of thought as I got out. I was not going to die. Not tonight. It was a knowledge that was deeper than reason. One that I had to cling to.
I hadn't paid attention to the city passing in front of the car window, too distracted by my own whirling thoughts. Now I found myself in front of a dense hedge of hollies, easily fifteen feet tall, with only a passage wide enough for the flagstone walk that squeezed between them.
I turned back to look at the chauffeur.
"It is Mr. Thorne's Georgetown home, Ms. Shaw," the man said with a small bow before I had a chance to ask the question aloud.
"I see," I said, even though I didn't.
Mr. Thorne directed medical procedures from his home? It was absurd, but I couldn't manage to be surprised about anything he might do. I walked up the path even as I heard the Bentley door shut behind me and the change in sound of the engine as it rolled away.
I still didn't know the chauffeur's name, and now I might never learn it.
There was no going back.
The house, half glimpsed between the hedges, revealed itself to me as I passed between them. I stopped.
Rich-I'd known that Mr. Thorne must be a very rich man. But this went beyond all my expectations.
I stood at the edge of a formal walled garden, the immaculate lawn clipped short within the boxwood frames that edged the paths. These crossed precisely in the middle of the garden at a tall iron fountain, empty and silent now for winter. The house rose up beyond, its marble façade so pale it glowed in the city lights that turned the night sky orange.
It was a massive baroque reimagining of classical style, complete with a half flight of stairs leading up to the main floor and a wide porch, like a Roman temple, behind the row of great columns. Here and there, a window shone. I wondered just how big the house was-ten thousand square feet? Fifty thousand? It must date from the age of the robber barons, if not before. I could hardly believe that such a home still lay in private hands, even in Georgetown.
I blew out a long breath. I'd spent even longer deciding what to wear this time than I had for the last meeting. I was going in for a medical procedure, I knew, and a likely fatal one at that. The last thing that mattered was what I wore. But I couldn't make myself go in my college girl jeggings. It seemed too important an event for that. It needed to be mark with some kind of ceremony, some level of deliberateness, however small, so I'd chosen my gray dress pants and a silky black turtleneck with care.