Rancourt, get a grip. You’ve got what you want, what you need—her cooperation. You’re the one who offered the deal. Just be glad she grabbed it.

Olivia stopped at the end of the block.

“This is the restaurant,” she said.

He did a quick check. The place had a quirky name and a warm, welcoming vibe. Through the windows he could see a cheerful fire blazing in a sleek, modern hearth. The mirrored back bar glowed. Bottles of expensive liquor sparkled on glass shelves. Best of all, there were booths that would afford a degree of privacy, and luckily one of the empty ones was positioned against the back wall, not far from the kitchen entrance.

“Looks great,” he said.

“You’re okay with Mediterranean fusion?”

“I’m okay with food.” He pushed open the door. “I’m not particular.”

The woman behind the podium smiled. “Two for dinner?”

“Please,” Olivia said.

“Follow me.”

The host picked up a couple of menus and headed toward a window seat. Harlan made it a practice to never sit in front of a window. He slipped a twenty-dollar bill out of the inside pocket of his jacket and transferred it to the host’s hand with the ease of long practice.

“We would prefer the booth at the back,” he said.

The woman stared at him, confused. “The one near the kitchen and the restrooms?”

Harlan glanced at the Emergency Exit sign over the darkened hallway.

“Yes, please,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

The woman did not argue. She made the twenty disappear and gave him a bright smile.

“Of course,” she said.

“Thanks,” Harlan said.

When they reached the booth, Olivia started to sit down.

“Do you mind taking the other side?” Harlan asked.

She raised her brows but she acquiesced without comment. Harlan sat down across from her and automatically did another scan of the room. Satisfied that he had a good view of the rest of the restaurant, the bar and the front door, and that they were sitting close to an emergency exit, he allowed himself to relax a couple of degrees.

He turned back to find Olivia watching him with a trace of amusement.

“You remind me of one of those old Wild West gunslingers who always sat with their backs to the wall in case another badass shooter walked into the saloon looking for trouble,” she said.

For some reason he was embarrassed. “I like to keep a low profile.”

“You do realize the woman who just seated us thinks we’re having an affair and that we asked for the worst booth in the restaurant because we’re afraid one of our spouses might discover us having dinner together?”

“No,” he said, startled. “I admit I’m paranoid these days, but I’m not that creative.”

“Because you’re focused on Vortex?”