He didn’t need to be close. He didn’t need to have my back. No one was going to charge into the building with tommy guns and shoot the place up, whereupon Harry had to be close in order to rescue me and/or provide a quick getaway.

“You can go have a drink,” I said. “Something to eat. Go home and catch a program. You don’t have to—”

He interrupted me. “I’ll be down the way, Olivia.”

Wasted words.

I didn’t know why I bothered.

I needed to learn to stop doing that.

I nodded. “Thank you, Harry.”

He nodded back, jerked his chin to Mr. Revere and didn’t move until I was through the door Mr. Revere was holding open for me.

I walked through the narrow, dark vestibule of the private VIP entrance to the club where Mr. Paine was lurking in the shadows.

They were very good at security here.

Security and, for VIPs, anonymity.

Everyone’s name was an alias, including staff.

I tipped my head to the side as I passed Mr. Paine and moved into the reception area which was lined with deep-seated, comfortable, curved couches with plenty of tables around for easy access to lay drinks, although it was infrequent people lingered in reception. That said, the club was available for private parties and this area was used for that when the club was closed down to accommodate such an event.

There were large and small bouquets of extraordinarily arranged, fresh-cut flowers, the air heavy with the aroma of them, the biggest at the reception desk behind which Ms. Ross was standing.

Her thick, dark hair was swept back in an artful messy bun. Her eyes were expertly and dramatically made up. Her dress fit perfectly. And I would find, when she walked around the reception desk to lead me up the stairs, her shoes cost twelve hundred dollars.

“Ms. Lincoln,” she greeted with a small smile, already on the move. “Welcome. We’re ready for you.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Ms. Ross’s eyes went beyond me. “Can Mr. Arthur take your coat?”

I shrugged off my coat and handed it to a man that had moved out of the shadows of the cloakroom just off from the reception desk.

He said nothing. Just disappeared from whence he came.

I moved silently up the thick-carpeted steps behind Ms. Ross.

“I hope you enjoy our program tonight. It’s already begun, as you know.”

I was still murmuring when I replied, “I’m sure I will.”

“Midori, vodka and Fresca, correct?” she asked when she reached the top.

I cleared the last step behind her. “Yes.”

“Excellent,” she replied.

We moved down the hall that was handsomely appointed, intimately lit and it had a number of doors leading off of it, all to the right side.

She led me to the middle one, the only one with double doors.