“It’s on the list.” Philip returned his attention to her face. “Speaking of, I need to go down to Pennsylvania tomorrow.”

The mention of the Keystone State came out of left field. She and Philip rarely left the city, and when they did, it was to visit Westchester or see the leaves change color in New England. Occasionally, they went to the airport. What was in Pennsylvania for Philip? Produce?

“Why? Farmer’s market or something?”

Philip rubbed his forehead. “More and more places are being broken into, and I’m leaving late every night.” His hand dropped to his side, a surrendering gesture. “A friend gave me a gun, but I need bullets.”

Imani examined Philip’s expression for a sign of sarcasm. Her liberal, anti–Second Amendment, embittered ex-marine husband did not do firearms. “You said that the last thing you ever wanted to do after a tour in Afghanistan was clean or hold a handgun. Firearms belong on battlefields, not in cities full of civilians. That’s your mantra.”

Philip’s blue eyes fixed upon her face. She’d begun to associate their color with water because they’d so often possessed a glassy quality. However, seeing them now, she pictured a different image: two blue dwarf stars, each its own nuclear explosion.

“Circumstances change, Imani. The pandemic made every moron run out and buy a gun, and now they’re all waving them around like we’re in a spaghetti western. They’ve got no training whatsoever, but with a gun, they can kill someone. They can kill me or you. The kids. I need to protect us.”

As Philip spoke, the banging picked up. Its rhythm had been consistent, like the ping of a steady drizzle, the kind of noise that could be relegated to the background despite its volume. But it was now rising to a crescendo, rain reaching the heaviest part of a downpour. If rats were behind this, they’d been worked into a frenzy.

“We should get out of here.” Philip glanced at the ceiling. “It’s not good for the kids to be sleeping alone in the house.”

Though Imani agreed, she hadn’t left them in the first place only to avoid asking what she had to know. “I actually came because I wanted to talk to you about something Tonya said to me. She mentioned that Nate had invested in Coffre.”

Philip shook his head dramatically, a toddler pretending that he had no idea where the crayon on the wall had come from. “Where’d she get that idea?”

“I’m guessing from you.”

Philip stared at her, as if he wanted to burrow into her brain and dig out the memory of Tonya’s revelation. She met his look. Imani was not about to be intimidated by the man she’d slept with and leaned on and laughed with for nearly twenty years. Philip owed her an explanation.