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"Buying a house isn't meant to pressure you," James said. "I've been in love with you for longer than I can remember. Don't see that changing anytime soon."

"What if I can't give you what you want?" Evelyn asked.

"You're what I want," he replied with absolute confidence.

Evelyn leaned across the table and kissed him. It lingered with the promise of something more. Sitting back in her chair, she watched George Palmer drain the rest of his martini, setting the glass down with a heavy thud. The waitress handed off her tray and apron, then headed toward the ladies' room.

"I'm going to powder my nose," Evelyn said.

"You nose isn't shiny," James replied.

"Gotta love a good euphemism."

James looked over his shoulder to where George Palmer was signing his check.

"We're not here for the dancing, are we?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

"Fine, but if you're not back soon, I'm picking the next drink," James threatened.

Evelyn made her way toward the ladies' room, where she found the waitress sitting on a low ottoman in front of a mirror. She had changed from her uniform into a cotton dress, cinched tightly at the waist. Her golden hair held its perfect curl, not moving as she turned her head in each direction to check her makeup. Evelyn sat next to her and pulled out her lipstick. She removed the bottom to reveal a small lens. Twisting it, she took pictures of the girl in the mirror.

"You have an admirer out there," Evelyn said as she dabbed perfume on her wrists.

"That's a nice scent," the waitress said.

"Thanks."

"Like something my mother would have worn. Old-fashioned."

Though she said it with a bright, cheerful smile, Evelyn had no doubt the remark was meant to be cutting. At twenty-eight, Evelyn knew she was past the time when most of her contemporaries were married with children, but she also believed women grew more interesting as they aged.

"You're what? Twenty?" Evelyn asked.

"Nineteen."

"That seems like a lifetime ago," Evelyn replied. She had been to war and the experience aged her more than the years alone. "That must feel doubly so for George Palmer."

The girl's eyes darted to Evelyn's in the mirror. "I didn't realize you knew him."

"Everyone knows him," Evelyn said noncommittally. "And his wife."

"I haven't met her... though I'm sure I will soon."

Snapping her clutch shut, the waitress headed for the door. After a moment, Evelyn picked up her bag and followed the girl into the alley behind the club. Evelyn crept through the shadows, moving silently on the balls of her feet. The girl rounded a corner to where a car idled on the street. George Palmer stepped out. Evelyn snapped a few pictures as Palmer kissed the girl's cheek and helped her slide into the back seat. He followed her in and closed the door. The car pulled away and disappeared down Sunset.

Evelyn dropped the camera into her purse, then turned back toward Ciro's. The alley was dark and empty, with a few dumpsters beside the building. As Evelyn walked, she heard footsteps fall in behind her. It was tempting to think this was nothing more than coincidence, but coincidence could get a person killed. The heavy tread of a man's shoes grew closer and Evelyn sped up, seeking the comfort of darkness. The man quickened his pace. It was still another hundred yards to the back door. She slipped behind a dumpster and waited. The man walked past, then stopped, realizing his quarry had disappeared. Evelyn pulled out her gun and stepped out of her shoes. On stocking feet, she tiptoed until she was behind the man and grabbed him around the neck. She placed the gun in the small of his back.

"Why are you following me?" she asked.

"Hello, Evie," he said.

Slowly she released him, recognizing the voice. He turned and pulled off his fedora.

"Nick Gallagher," she said, stunned.