Rory opened the front door and exited the penthouse. At the end of the hall, in all her snowy glory, Madelyn stood beside the elevator waiting for him. He approached her quietly, hoping to avoid Bill overhearing them talking. “I thought you’d be waiting at the car.”

Madelyn sniffled, and Rory noticed the wadded tissue clutched in her hand. “I couldn’t stomach going downstairs with Hank and watching him gloat.”

She’d been crying. The damp tracks of shed tears were clearly visible on her cheeks. Not knowing what to say, he removed the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to daub a fallen eyelash and a trickle of mascara from beneath her eye.

“Do I look horrible?” she confronted Rory, her voice husky with emotion. “I’d go back inside and fix my makeup, but I don’t want to face Bill. Not because I’m mad at him, I’m not. I know he’s telling the truth, and it hurts.”

Poor Madelyn, she wasn’t going to get her break. He knew the feeling all too well. He’d suffered that undeniable moment when one knew with shocking certainty that the future they hoped for would never arrive. For an unsettling moment, his heart filled and he felt a rush of sympathy and something he might once have called love. The memory of its complicated and euphoric bliss came flooding back to overwhelm him, and he wanted to take Madelyn in his arms, rock her against his chest, and make all sorts of promises he had no way to honor. Instead he dangled the keys in front of her face. “How about that ride to Union Station?”

With an angry finger poke, she punched the elevator button. “What do you mean? We have to work.”

“No, you don’t. Why not leave now? Is there anything inside the penthouse you can’t live without?”

“Sure, clothes, shoes, jewelry. A lot of stuff.”

He maneuvered her against the wall and whispered, “But nothing so personal that you couldn’t replace it? Think.”

She recoiled. “It’s all personal and it’s all I have to show for my months with Bill.”

“Madelyn, there’s another path waiting for you, I promise.” Damn. Why was he making promises? “We can walk away right now, but you need to make a decision.”

“Leave Bill? How?” She appeared confused. “Just me? Because me is we. I got a son, Luis. I had him when I was seventeen. My mother’s raising him and telling everyone he’s my little brother. I love him so much. I could never abandon him or do anything that would bring him trouble.” Fresh tears hovered on her lashes. “My mom doesn’t know what I do on the side. She thinks the weeks I’m not dancing in a chorus line, I’m cutting hair at the studio. They live on what I make. The money can’t stop.”

How could he make her understand without terrifying her? “I have money. Let me help you.”

She held up a black bag with a long strap. “Rory, Bill waited months for the shipment from Tomlinson. He owes people, and I owe him. We screw this up and we’ll be lucky to live another twenty-four hours.”

Had he brought disaster straight into her life? Maybe. Something had to be done to make things right. “What’s in the bag? What are we delivering?”

“Don’t ask and you might live another forty-eight hours.”

The elevator door opened and the same operator, Herb, faced them, looking even more exhausted than he did earlier. “Good evening, Miss Porter. You look lovely as usual.” He nodded at Rory. “Sir.”

Madelyn stepped inside and Rory followed. “Tell Floyd to give you a chair, Herb. You look like you need to sit.”

A half-hearted smile failed to add cheer to Herb’s perpetually dour face. “Thank you for thinking of me, miss, but Floyd won’t hear of it. He said that in the better hotels in New York City, the operators stand at attention.”

“Floyd is being ridiculous to make that comparison.” Madelyn moved to the back of the carriage. “I’ll bet those operators are half your age and share shifts.”

“You’re kind to think of me.” Herb pressed the button. The elevator doors closed, and the carriage made its swift descent.

Behind Herb’s back, Madelyn moved to Rory’s side. Her arm brushed his as she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He hadn’t done anything and was frustrated by that fact. “For what?”

With the swipe of her other hand, she mimicked his actions of wiping her tears.

Damn her for being so independent, yet so vulnerable and in need of help at the same time. “You’re welcome.”

She withdrew her hand. “You feel icy cold. Are you nervous?”

“No.” He clasped his hands in front. What would she think if she knew she was standing beside an undead thing that hadn’t been a warm-blooded man in more than thirty years? Envy for every living man he could name rushed through his mind.

Madelyn leaned close and sniffed his hair. “You smell like—”

He thought of the butler who had occupied the room before him and left the bottle of hair tonic behind. A sickening wave of jealousy washed over him. “Who do I smell like?” He sounded more peeved than he intended.

She looked defensive. “I was giving you a compliment. Not who. What. I was going to say you smell like a Christmas morning. You know, those red, bay-rum-scented candles they burn in church?”

He didn’t, and now he was ashamed for snapping at her. “I’m sorry.”

Gazing at the ceiling, she murmured, “It’s just nerves. I get the jitters too.”

The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and they stepped into the lobby.

Rory glanced around. Thankfully, there was no one behind the front desk. “Which way to the parking garage?”

“Let’s take a shortcut and go past the pool.” Madelyn led the way outdoors, and her heels clicked against the concrete patio as she headed toward the gate Walter had disappeared through earlier. The sun hovered at the horizon, casting a peachy glow in sunny spots and blue shadows everywhere else. Especially dry air made the heat of the day fade fast. They walked past a row of cabana-style rooms set apart from the main hotel and entered a stucco parking garage washed in a pale shade of fleshy pink, which he found unattractive.

Inside the garage were rows of expensive-looking cars, the varied chariots of the Fairbanks’ well-to-do patrons, all with elegant hood ornaments and shiny chrome hubcaps as wide as platters.

Hank’s big head appeared to hover on the roof of a black sedan. When he heard Madelyn’s heels clicking inside the parking garage, he turned and walked from behind the car. “Maddy, check the schedule. Where’s our first stop?”

Madelyn approached a gorgeous Packard with swooping lines painted a shade of blue so dark and glossy, it looked almost black inside the garage. She waited by the passenger side for Rory to unlock it. “Cocoanut Grove.”

“Damn.” Hank sneered in disappointment. “God, I hate the Cocoanut Grove. The music’s too loud, the fucking jitterbugs swinging around the dance floor will kick you in the head and not so much as say ‘sorry,’ and the drinks cost half a week’s pay. Who wants to suck two pints of sugar-sweet booze from a seashell anyway? I could puke just thinking about it.”

She looked blasé. “Hank, you won’t be drinking or dancing tonight, so no worries.”

Rory unlocked Madelyn’s door and opened it for her. She entered the car with the dignity of a swan gliding across a lake and drew her long scarf away from the doorframe.

Once Madelyn was safely inside, he walked around to the driver side and unlocked the door.

“Hey!” Hank pounded the roof of the sedan with his palm. The loud noise drew Rory’s attention. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

He didn’t. “Madelyn can tell me.”

With a smirk and a nod, Hank glanced away. “The suitcase is in the Packard’s truck. When you two go inside the club, I’ll hang back until Maddy’s made contact. I’ll be tailing you on the way over, so don’t run any yellow lights.”

Rory put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. The sound was smooth and deep. He adjusted the rearview mirror and noticed this car was nothing but blind spots. The last car he’d driven, over two years ago, had been an open-top Jeep. “It’s going to take a minute to get used to this car.” He released the brake and glanced over his shoulder; the Packard was so big, he could back over a steer carcass and never see it.

After a little experimentation, he wrestled the car into gear and slowly backed up, praying he wasn’t about to ram the blue behemoth into a post or parked car hidden from view, and navigated his way out of the garage.

Madelyn set a tiny white purse on her lap and unfastened the faux-pearl clasp. “I’m feeling edgy. Would you mind if I smoke?”

“It’s not my car. Does Bill allow you to smoke in his precious baby?”

She took a cigarette from a silver case, put it to her lips, and flicked a delicate silver lighter that produced a nearly invisible blue flame. “He won’t care.” She offered the cigarette. “Would you like one?”

He didn’t smoke, but the thought of sharing something with her, anything, was appealing. “Just a hit.” Madelyn held the cigarette to his lips; her lipstick had stained the paper with a kiss of coral. Pressing his lips against the exact spot hers had just touched carried a sense of intimacy he’d not felt in a long while. “Thanks.” The Packard exited onto Hollywood Boulevard. “Which way am I going?”

“Make a right on Western. It goes straight to Wilshire.”

“I know where Wilshire is. I was on Wilshire Boulevard earlier today. I stopped at a bank.” How the hell had his life gotten this entangled in so few hours?

She glanced over her shoulder. “That idiot Hank is right behind us. He’s not very discreet. I’m waiting for Bill to get fed up with him. I mean, look at this. He’s so close it looks like we’re towing him.”

He checked the mirror. Hank was tailgating so badly, he was practically riding their bumper.

Madelyn sucked a long drag off the cigarette. “You’ve lived a lot of places, haven’t you, and seen a good chunk of the world?”

“I suppose I have seen a lot of the world.” He glanced at her profile, so balanced and pure. “Not always by choice, and not always pleasant.”

“It must be nice to travel and see new places. I’ve only seen Los Angeles and some of Mexico. One time, when I was a kid, my mother and I took a train south. We went through the Copper Canyon. It was magical. Maybe I should get out more often and see more of the world before it’s too late. On a lark, I should just drive up the coast.”

That surprised him. “You drive?”

“Hell yes! I drive myself all the time, but never the Packard. Bill loans me the keys to the Ford.”

His hand clutched the steering wheel. “So you don’t really need me?”

She looked his way. “You’re an extra pair of eyes, some security, and a second witness just in case. And let’s face it, sweetheart, we are both window dressing. You’re going to get more longing glances from a few of the gents at the club than me. We don’t look like criminals, do we? Who wouldn’t believe that we were just a pair of good-looking kids waiting for our big break? Except we aren’t kids anymore, are we?” The cigarette was stabbed out in the tray with an almost cruel grinding motion that went on and on.

He brought her hand to a halt with the lightest touch. “Madelyn, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Her swift denial was unconvincing.

“What Bill said back there was harsh.” He questioned why Bill had said everything in front of him, as if he were a person of no consequence, an invisible bystander. “It may not be true.”

“It’s true. All of it.” She toyed with the clasp on the handbag nervously, locking and unfastening it again and again. “The whole thing sounded exactly like something Walter would do. He’s an alcoholic and a lousy one. Hell, that’s how I learned to drive. Walter would get so soused he couldn’t even walk, let alone work the finicky clutch on his old Buick. One night after a party, we were stranded in the Hollywood Hills, and we couldn’t get a cab to come that far out. That, or we couldn’t give the dispatch an address. It’s probably the latter. I just remember Walter shouting, ‘We’re in a big white house with a red tile roof, and we can see the city!’ I guess that description wasn’t too helpful. Anyway, that night I had to teach myself to drive on a winding mountain road. Can you imagine? It was fucking terrifying, but we lived. A few weeks later, I drove Walter north to this state-run hospital in Camarillo that treats drunks and nervous conditions and all kinds of sad stuff. I brought him there to dry out. The doctors said I got him there just in time. His liver was shot. For a little while he was doing okay, but I guess the cure didn’t take.”

“You care about Walter?”

“I wish I didn’t.” She reached for another cigarette, but set the case down unopened. “He did a lot of things wrong, but at least he did something. I just wish I could have the illusion back that there was hope and I had something good on my horizon.”

For a few tense moments, an uncomfortable silence settled over them that he was reluctant to break. The traffic was light, and they moved at a brisk pace even though he still had no real idea where they were going. The sun sank from view, leaving only a radiant pink glow behind. “What about Luis?”

She blinked and looked like she was going to cry. “Poor hijito. If he ever finds out the truth, he’ll grow up to be so ashamed of me.”

Come hell or high water, he’d loved his mother, Fanny. Especially now that he’d seen more of the world and the many ways human nature could turn sour. Fanny’s transgressions looked small. He’d give anything to see her face again, hold her hand, and tell her, ‘I understand now.’ “No da in the picture?”

Madelyn’s expression remained neutral. “At first Luis’s father was a nice guy, but I found out too late that he was already married. He didn’t admit that crucial bit of information until I told him I was pregnant. You should have seen the look on his face. Why would a grown man be that surprised? What did he think was going to happen? On the spot, he made it clear he was unable to help me in any way, so I told him to go to hell. Years later, a mutual friend told me he died on the German front. So I told Luis that his father died a hero in the war. It’s not a complete lie.” She pointed down the road. “We’re about six traffic lights away. I think the cross street is Catalina. Keep your eyes peeled for a big white obelisk with the name Ambassador on it.”

He’d been on the lookout for coconut trees. “I thought we were going to the Cocoanut Grove?”

“We are. The club’s inside the Ambassador hotel. It’s a huge hotel, and yes, they have coconut palms.”

A quick glance in the mirror revealed Hank was right behind them. “Why is Hank even here?”

“Bill’s probably making sure I don’t steal the suitcase, run to the airport, and fly to Buenos Aires.”

“Would you?”

“No. Luis is my heart and anchor. Bill knows I wouldn’t run. Hank is here to watch the back doors, make phones calls, and watch for trouble. Beyond those simple tasks, he’s not very impressive.” She waved her hand. “Slow down, there it is. Do you see where all the cars are turning? We want to be on the right side of those hedges.”

He slowed and steered the car past a sentry post onto a wide driveway divided by a thick row of shrubbery.

Madelyn withdrew a compact from her purse and checked her makeup, adding a swipe of lipstick and blotting it with a tissue. She took a small printed packet from her purse, which he mistook for matches until she shook it and tore the top open. Several tiny rectangles the color of soot fell into her hand. “Do you want a Sen-sen?”

At first he thought she’d said, “Do you want to sin-sin?” He did want to sin with her, but eyed the unappealing objects with suspicion. “What is it?”

“A breath mint. I want to cover the scent of smoke.” Before he could answer, she popped one in her mouth and slipped the other past his lips.

The moment it was in his mouth, he regretted it. The oppressively strong flavor was a strange combination of black licorice and bitter perfume, and he almost spat it out. “Good Lord, you like these?”

“Hey, a girl’s got to hide her vices as best she can.” She gathered her things, including the black bag. “Drive to the front of the hotel and let the valet park it.”

Turning, he stole a glance at her. Her face was almost serene, as if trouble never came knocking. For someone who’d just had her world yanked from beneath her, Madelyn certainly seemed resilient. Maybe she truly was a great actress? “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes.” She even offered a faint smile. “I’ve been depending on Bill, and I should be depending on myself. It’s not over for me. I’ll find another way. The only thing that’s over is my alliance with Bill. After tonight, I’m out.”

He hoped she’d keep that promise to herself and not drift back into a situation that was going nowhere. Maybe someone legit should give her a break? She’d look like a goddess on a big screen. “Good.”

For all the grandeur of the driveway, and a façade lined with palms, the hotel itself was fortresslike and bland, a hulking five-story bungalow painted in drab shades of tan.

Rory slowed on a circular driveway and came to a stop at the front entrance. A valet in a wine-red uniform approached the car, opened the door for Madelyn, and offered his hand in assistance. She exited the car and left him to wonder about what protocols he should follow. After a few moments of waiting for something decisive to happen, he got out of the car and dangled the keys in the air, hoping he was doing the right thing.

The valet claimed the keys.

“Be careful where you park it. It’s a custom paint job.” He’d only been in town for a day and he already sounded like a snobby prick.

The valet climbed into the car, drove it to a prestigious spot in the front of the hotel beneath an awning where colored floodlights lit the palm trees, and parked it beside an elegant white Bugatti.

Once he was assured the car was safe, Rory turned and joined Madelyn in the lobby. If the outside of the hotel was an unexciting tan, it more than made up for the lack of color on its interior. Entering the lobby was like walking into a jewel box and being dazzled by a rich variety of green, gold, and crimson. An emerald-green carpet seemed to reach as far as the eye could see. A golden piano occupied a place of honor between two potted palms, surrounded by thickly padded red velvet chairs. The walls were viridian. The ceiling and molding were painted shades of river moss, and somehow it was harmonious. Everywhere he looked was golden trim, the glow of crystal lamps, and lush plants. Standing among the splendor was Madelyn, her white scarf draped loosely around her shoulders, looking like a snow fairy ready to take flight in a jungle of potted ferns.

Madelyn pointed ahead. “This way.” She took hold of his hand and linked her arm through his. “Your hands are still cold.” Patting his arm, she smiled. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

He needed to feed. The warm scent on her skin was too enticing. Forcing himself to look away from her throat, he fixated on the ugly black bag that seemed so at odds with her ethereal appearance. “Do you want me to hold that for you?”

She tilted her head and appeared to be considering. “No. This is my responsibility. You’ve already been pulled into enough.”

“Maddy!” a male voice boomed from behind them. “Wait up!”

Madelyn turned on her heel and glared at Hank, who had followed them into the lobby. With a subtle flick of her hand, she silenced him. Her attention returned to Rory. “The fool has already forgotten everything Bill told him not to do. It’s going to be a long night.”

The sound of a big band with a horn section filled the air, along with the scent of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and perfume. He knew they were getting close. They arrived at a section of the hotel that had been transformed into a Moroccan oasis with silver-patterned columns and ornate arabesque motifs on every surface. Brass palm trees flanked the twin doors and a golden plaque read “Cocoanut Grove.”

A maître d’ holding a registry greeted them. “We are very crowded tonight. Do you have reservations?”

Madelyn winked. “Bill Boven, party of two.”

Smiling, the maître d’ didn’t even bother looking at the registry. “Ah. Mr. Boven.” He opened half the golden palm door and beckoned them to enter. “Enjoy your evening.”

Once inside the club, the clink of hundreds of glasses and raucous laughter, punctuated by a trumpet blasting a high note, overwhelmed his senses, and made him wince. The architectural details could have been inspired by the opulence of a king’s harem. Stylishly dressed men and women occupied a fantasy paradise designed to mimic a desert oasis by moonlight. The ceiling had been painted deep blue and tiny lights set in the plaster created a dome of stars above the dance floor. Dozens of faux coconut palms towered over the tiny round tables where people gathered to drink and watch the band. The illusion that they had entered an exotic realm was beautifully convincing.

Madelyn glanced at the bar, decorated with monkeys and coconuts. “Should we order drinks and get a table?”

The band played a slow number. A few couples rose from their chairs, walked to the dance floor, and began to sway to the music, happy and carefree. “Let’s dance.”

“Now?” She sounded surprised. “We just got here. Don’t you want to look around?”

He gazed into her eyes. “No.”

“Okay.” She led him onto the dance floor. “It makes sense to remain out in the open and easy to spot.”

Rory wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s waist and drew her against his hip. “Who are we meeting?”

Madelyn draped her arms around his neck and brushed her body against his, moving as fluid as silk. “I have no idea. Bill told them I’d be wearing all white, and here I am, 99.9 percent as pure as Ivory soap.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you see anyone looking at us?”

He scanned the crowd. A lot of people, mostly men, were staring at Madelyn, but no one stood out as particularly focused. It would have been nice to enjoy the touch of her warm skin by putting his hand on her shoulder, but the coolness of his hands left him wary of doing so. “What do we have to do?”

“Nothing. We just stand here rocking from one foot to the other, looking like a couple of attractive wannabes whose agent told them to hang around the club and be seen by all the right people. It’s the least suspicious thing in the world. Be seen and soon forgotten.”

Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Are all the right people looking now?”

“The right people are never looking.” She gave his back a playful slap. “The important people, the ones who changes lives, will never let you catch them looking. You have to stalk them like a hunter, but not get caught stalking.”

“Is that your plan, stalk a new man to help your career?” His voice was husky.

“Well, there aren’t many women who can help me, are there?” She glanced over his shoulder and gently steered Rory in a semicircle. “Look, Hank’s anchored himself to the bar and he’s staring at us. He just doesn’t get it. So much for being discreet.”

A gentleman in a black tuxedo with unfashionably long hair slicked away from his lean face approached them and bowed. “May I have this dance, Miss Boven?”

Madelyn pulled away from Rory as slow as stretched taffy. “It’s Miss Porter.” A sunny smile lit her face. “I only work for Mr. Boven.”

The gentleman reached for Madelyn’s hand; his dark eyes, which had been unreadable and sharklike, came to life and glittered with an animal vitality so intense the energy was palpable. He brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed each slowly. His lips lingered on her skin as if he were a pilgrim lost in worshipful prayer. A faint but inaudible whisper of praise was spoken. Before he drew away, he slipped a matchbox into her grasp. “I represent the client you are scheduled to meet. Unfortunately, he will not be able to come. You will be doing business with me. I trust the revised situation will be satisfactory?”

Rory bristled at the man’s unctuous mannerism. Something about the guy, apart from his acquisitive stare, set off alarm bells.

She glanced toward Rory. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to make a call. What is your name?”

“Dorin.” With open hands, he made an expansive gesture as if inviting all within his kingdom to a feast. “I must say, Mr. Boven made an excellent choice in sending the two of you. What a handsome couple. Simply delightful. Make the call. I’ll be waiting at the corner table.” He pointed behind a cluster of palms where a cigarette girl with her blonde hair tucked under a red cap and a shockingly short skirt was selling her wares.

Madelyn squeezed Rory’s hand. “Come with me to the phone.”

Something about the pleading look in her eyes made it impossible to say no. They walked off the dance floor and headed toward a corridor lined with ladies waiting to use the powder room. A bank of black pay phones lay ahead, and luckily, one didn’t have somebody clutching the handset.

Opening her purse, Madelyn poked around until she spotted a coin and retrieved it. “For a minute there, I thought I didn’t have any change.” She lifted the handset and clicked the receiver. “Operator, I want to make a call to the Madison Exchange, number 5628. Thank you.” She dropped the coin into the slot and waited while the call was connected and the phone rang. “Baby, is that you?” Joy shone on her face. “Why did you pick up? Is Abuela home? No, I don’t want to talk to her right now. I just wanted to hear your voice. What did you do today?” She smiled in silence and shook her head. “Luis, I don’t like you riding your bike on Bunker Hill. It’s too steep and there’s too much traffic. Who were you with? ... I thought you told me he was a bully...”

Rory listened with rapt attention to every word. She didn’t want to call Bill; she needed to talk to her son. He found that very endearing, and he watched in fascination as every emotion a human could experience crossed her face in swift succession.

Madelyn laughed. “Luis, I said no to the puppy last week. You are so persistent. Is he a good puppy? You won’t consider a kitten? I’ll think about it. Sweetheart, maybe I can see you on Sunday. Would you like that? Me too... I love you. Good night, hijito. Brush your teeth.” She hung the handset back on the receiver and sighed. “Now I have to call Bill.” A lack of enthusiasm for the task was apparent in the drooping corners of her mouth.

Rory hunted through his pocket looking for coins and brushed his hand against the pistol instead.

“Ah, another nickel. Come to mama.” Madelyn plucked the coin from the bottom of her purse, picked up the handset, and repeated the process. “Operator, please connect me with Hillside 8278.” This time the wait was brief. “Bill, we’re at the club. The client’s not here, he sent a pigeon instead. Some guy named Dorin. What do I do? ... Are you sure? ... All right.” She set the phone down. “Bill wants us to do what the client says. He doesn’t seem to be alarmed by the change of plans.”

He kicked his foot back and forth, flexing his toes. The shoes Geno had chosen were tight. “What do we do next?”

Her hand skimmed the black bag. “We sit down with Mr. Dorin at a private table and make a deal.”