Lizzie backed away from the closet, her silky robe slithering against her body as she made her way to a little office that was no bigger than an oversize closet, located off her bedroom in a tiny alcove. She looked around to see where her coffee cup was and realized she’d finished the coffee before she’d taken her shower. She ran back to the kitchen, poured a fresh cup, and carefully carried it back to her office. She was, as Annie would put it, at sixes and sevens that morning. Translation…she didn’t know which end was up.

She opened her briefcase and stared at its pitiful contents. She had so little to go on where Harry was concerned that she didn’t know if there was anything she could actually do for him. She’d talked a good game to the nervous martial arts expert late into the night, doing her best to reassure him. Damn. That was why she hadn’t picked out an outfit for today. She’d been so tired when she got off the phone with Harry that she had just dropped into bed.

She had time, more than enough, to go over things once more since she didn’t actually have an appointment with Douglas Sooner, the president of East Coast Savings.

She’d Googled him, but she hadn’t discovered anything untoward. He was just like all other bank presidents—boring, well dressed, perfect banking wife, three children, the requisite dog, and a house in Arlington, Virginia, with a manicured lawn. He belonged to all the right clubs, his wife was a do-gooder, and the children were above reproach and attended private schools. Even the dog had a pedigree.

Douglas Sooner was neither handsome nor ugly. He was just ordinary-looking, someone you’d pass on the street and label “banker” and never know why that tag seemed to fit the man. He had thinning hair, but then most men of fifty had thinning hair. He was neither tall nor short; nor was he fat or thin. A box of a man, she’d decided when she’d stared at the picture that came with his profile. Just another John Q. Citizen with a title. She scanned the papers one more time before sliding them into the shredder. No sense carrying around profiles of men she didn’t respect.

A quick glance at the digital clock on her desk told Lizzie she had plenty of time to make a plan and get dressed. She even had time, if she wanted to utilize that time, to stop by the Post and chat with Maggie, even do lunch if Maggie was available, before she headed off to the bank to take care of Harry’s business. She rifled through the thin stack of records he had given her. What she could possibly do to get Harry back into his dojo was still a mystery to her.

The black leather suit! Definitely. Nothing cried business better than a severely tailored black suit. Leather, now…leather meant “don’t screw with me because I take no prisoners.” Feeling a little smug, Lizzie wondered if Douglas Sooner would recognize her when she sailed into the bank’s offices, ostrich-skin briefcase in hand. If he didn’t, Lizzie was sure his secretary would Google her just the way she’d Googled Sooner.