Aurora glanced at her watch as she gathered her bag. Ten thirty. The evening had stretched longer than she'd planned, the dinner conversation circling more than usual, Ray talking through his frustrations about Reeves with the specific, repetitive quality of a man still working through an embarrassment he hadn't fully processed.
She stood, smoothing her dress, ready to leave.
Ray studied her face. "You look tired. Are you sure you can drive yourself home?"
"I'm tired," she admitted. "But I'll manage."
"No." He said it with the particular, immovable quality he used when he had decided something on her behalf and didn't intend to negotiate. "I'll have Mateo drive you. It's late. For your safety — I won't take a refusal on this." His eyes held hers, something almost playful beneath the concern. "Aurora Castillo, alone, late at night. Who knows what kind of enemies you've quietly collected. Someone could be waiting for exactly this kind of opportunity."
