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At least her talk was over.

She took a sip of water.

The speech was an outlandish string of words describing the desperation of her search for a cure to save her father and how close she had come, only to be too late.

Her face had flamed so red as she read that section; the women in the room put their hands on their hearts and audibly tutted in sympathy, when really Piper was horrified to be characterizing her work that way.

She had never been to an awards dinner before where someone in the scientific community delivered a speech like that while receiving an academic accolade.

But luckily, after the photos were snapped and the polite applause had dimmed, she was largely forgotten.

Piper simply needed to keep to herself as the elites left their seats in their bespoke suits and the dresses plucked from New York City runways.

In a few more minutes, she’d be out the door, walking over the bridge. She’d go home to a long hot shower, pajamas, and bed with a book.

She deserved some self-soothing.

With a little warning from Chanti’s card deck, Piper had been able to duck and weave and get herself through. And she wouldn’t have to do it again until the soirée.

For now, Piper felt like she’d dodged Damocles’ sword.

And there went Winston, the last of the participants, out the door.

Piper checked her phone, lest Chanti had sent a woo-woo update. Seeing nothing, Piper dropped her cellphone into her purse, added the award, and pulled the strap over her shoulder, feeling the added weight.

Starting out the door, Piper was blocked by Brandon, who was speaking to the close protection guy she’d seen in the executive hall at Alabaster.

He was there with his dog.

Once again, Piper had the overwhelming urge to sit on the ground and pull the dog into her lap for scritches.

Her nerves could sure use a little dog medicine.

“Where are you off to, Piper?” Brandon looked down at her shoes, then up at the security guard before landing on Piper’s face. “Are you going to the Alabaster lab? Do you need a lift anywhere?” He extended his hand toward the limo.

That was unexpectedly cordial of him.

The driver held the door handle with one hand and the top of the window with the other, scanning the area with a puffed-up importance that seemed like it belonged in a movie, not here and not with Brandon.

Of course, Piper thought all this security was a show of power and importance, like a peacock spreading its tail. Look at me! Look at me!

But then there was Amanda.

Chanti had somehow dug up details of the attack. A vet dart took out the chauffeur, and the Tifton security guard and his dog leaped to the rescue.

But Piper felt reasonably safe. And she didn’t want to have to make small talk with Brandon. “Thank you. I’m just over the bridge in the parking deck.”

“Oh, close then.” Brandon caught the security guard's eye, then turned and got into the limo.

The driver shut the door after him.

The guard looked down at her, clearly displeased by the exchange.

“I’m Piper Phillips,” she said. “We shook hands yesterday at Alabaster. Ignore this dress. I’m not usually decked out like an exotic bird.”

The guy grinned. “Ethan Osbourne. My dog Tango. One moment, please.” He held a finger in the air, then tapped his ear as he stepped back, and Piper assumed someone was talking to him on his tactical comms.

She didn’t see any wires like the Secret Service had in the movies, but she didn’t know how any of that worked in real life.