I forced a smile. “I’m going to run some errands. Do you need anything?”
“Just you, darling,” he said. The affection in his voice made my stomach churn. “Actually, could you pick up my dry cleaning? The blue suit?”
“Of course.”
I left the apartment, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I hailed a cab.
“Where to, lady?”
“Midtown,” I said. “And hurry.”
I wasn’t going to the dry cleaners. I was going to see Sophia Chen. Sophia was my college roommate turned private intelligence contractor. She specialized in “marital reconnaissance,” a polite term for digging up dirt on wealthy, cheating spouses.
When I arrived at her loft, she took one look at my face and poured two fingers of whiskey. “Sit down. Talk.”
