Larkin squared his shoulders and turned around to face Doyle. “If you insist on joining me, we need to go.” He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

The late-morning sky was still gray, but the black clouds, heavy with thunder and heartbreak, were now past the Hudson. The air held a cool dampness that chilled Larkin’s sweat-slick skin. He moved down the steps and crossed the street between passing vehicles. He tapped the key fob in his hand, the alarm on his Audi chirping in time with the pound of shoes on asphalt. Larkin slid behind the wheel as Doyle hurried to squeeze by the front bumper and opened the passenger door. Larkin started the engine.

Doyle shoved his portfolio bag in the back before wedging himself into the front seat. Noah was tall, but Doyle still had to adjust the seat so his knees weren’t knocking the glove compartment.

Larkin maneuvered out of his parking spot and pulled to the corner. He glanced uptown and made out Noah’s back as he strode toward the subway among the morning foot traffic. Larkin kept driving west on Sixty-Seventh. The silence in the car was deafening.

“How long have you been married?”

Larkin adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Four years.”

“What’s he do?”

“Teaches first grade.”

“Wholesome,” Doyle stated.

Larkin said nothing.

“Sorry.”

Larkin briefly looked at Doyle. “For what.”

“I had no idea. I wouldn’t have—if I knew.”

Rolling one shoulder, Larkin said, “I didn’t realize you were actually trying.”

Doyle leaned an elbow on the door and dragged his fingers through his hair a few times before saying, “You’re going to give me a complex.”

“You did your best, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.”

“It was very cute,” Larkin continued. “The way you used your height to impose yourself and compared my eyes to the moon.”

“They’re gray,” Doyle protested. “And bright. Like the—forget it.”

“I’m surprised you’re single.”

Doyle met his look. “It’s a shame you aren’t.”

Larkin smiled—only a little. “So long as you don’t comment on my ass, I’ll keep HR out of this.”

Doyle’s smoky laugh chased away the claustrophobic silence.

The Arsenal was visible just beyond the budding trees lining Fifth Avenue, which bordered the east side of Central Park. Built a decade before the Civil War to act as munition storage for the state, the out-of-time medieval fortress, complete with a cast-iron eagle that oversaw from its roost above the double doors, had since become the headquarters for the Department of Parks & Recreation. Larkin hit the brakes at the corner of Sixty-Fourth as two women came up on his blind spot riding Citi Bikes. He tapped the horn as they wove in and out of the two lanes of traffic before reaching the bus lane and peddling downtown carefree.