Lucie had come to New York with the intention of finding out how Dan was, but not with any particular plan for how to do so - she knew she couldn't approach him directly, not in good conscience. Not after she'd fucked him over so badly. But the plan fell into place when she saw Rose Morgan's name on the theatre bill; Rose, alone of all the people she knew, she trusted enough to reveal her identity to, safe in the knowledge that Rose cared too much about her to give her up to the police and too little about her to give her up to Dan or Debra.
So she waited outside the theatre that evening, lurking in the shadows around the back in a nondescript denim jacket and jeans rescued from a charity bin. She'd settled down in a corner, her back against the wall; she had no appointments to keep, the city could go another night without the Bandit heading out, and she could easily wait until both performances were over. She'd got good at waiting, over the last few years.
She was relieved, though, when Rose came shuffling out of the theatre doors hours earlier than Lucie had expected. Getting to her feet with an easy grace belied by a loud crunch from one knee, she moved to meet Rose, falling into step with her.