Sebring (Unfinished Heroes #5)(12)

Chapter Three


Dawn Coming

Olivia



I leaned toward the front seat of the car, the folded bills between my fingers, my eyes on Harry’s profile.

“As usual, I’ll probably be a few hours, Harry,” I told him, extending my hand over the seat.

He turned to catch my eyes. “Walk you to the door.”

I allowed my lips to curl up and my eyes to get moderately soft.

Harry was a leftover from a different time. A time long ago when I’d slept easier. When I believed my daydreams could come true. When a look or a stolen touch was a promise. When plans were whispered and my stomach flip-flopped or my heart skipped with excitement at the mere thought of carrying them out. When I faced the dawn every day joyful because one day I knew it would be over. I would be free. We would be free. We’d be normal. We’d be together. We’d make babies. We’d grow old together. We’d be happy.

We’d die clean.

He’d helped us, Harry had. He’d helped me and Tommy.

Because my sister loved me and because Harry was a leftover from my grandfather, out of respect for me (from Georgia) and for my dead grandfather (from Dad), they’d let Harry live. They’d made him unemployable and taken nearly everything he had so he lived in a tiny house in a terrible neighborhood taking jobs at odd hours, all of them for cash

, all of them, except mine, for a lot less cash than he should considering many of them were dangerous.

Sixty-eight-years-old, scrimping, saving and destined to work until the day he died or was killed because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.

This was why the bill in my hand was a hundred dollars and the bill I’d hand him when he took me home in a few hours would be the same.

This was also why he had no choice but to accept it.

I used him only for the club.

My car had a tracker on it and my home randomly had someone watching it.

Dad had a long memory.

Harry knew how to spot surveillance. He also knew how to avoid it. He’d taught me both and utilized both for me.

We were good at our game. We’d had practice.

In the end, when it mattered most, not good enough.

But good enough to get me to the club.

“Harry,” I said in my soft voice. “They have cameras in this alley and Mr. Revere is right there to open the door for me.” I didn’t move my head to indicate the big man standing under the lone light in the alley, his eyes on Harry’s shiny, well-kept but not-near-new black Lincoln Town Car. I didn’t have to. Harry knew he was there. “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

Harry continued to look at me for half a second before he turned and opened his door.

I sat back on a sigh.

He came around and opened my door. He shut it after I climbed out.

His hand to my elbow, his head turning this way and that to scan the empty alley, he walked me to Mr. Revere.

“Ms. Lincoln,” Mr. Revere greeted as we got close.

I nodded to him.

Mr. Revere jerked his chin up to Harry and moved to open the door of the club.

I turned to Harry, his hand dropped from my arm and I grabbed it. Pressing the bill into his palm, I gave him a squeeze and let him go.

“I’ll text you when I’m ready for a pickup,” I told him what I always told him.

Like much of what I said, these were wasted words.

Harry jerked his head to the side. “I’ll be parked down the way.”

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.”