His father gave that an airy smile. “Normally people talk about their pasts. Particularly with close…friends. And yet Nora never does. Have you noticed?”

Danny tried to formulate a reply but the phone in the hall rang. Shrill and loud. His father looked at the clock on the mantel. Almost ten o’clock.

“Calling this home after nine o’clock?” his father said. “Who just signed his own death warrant? Sweet Jesus.”

“Dad?” Danny heard Nora pick up the phone in the hall. “Why do you—?”

Nora knocked softly on the door and Thomas Coughlin said, “It’s open.”

Nora pushed open the doors. “It’s Eddie McKenna, sir. He says it’s urgent.”

Thomas scowled and pushed himself off the desk and walked out into the hall.

Danny, his back to Nora, said, “Wait.”

He came out of the chair and met her in the doorway as they heard his father pick up the phone in the alcove off the kitchen at the other end of the hall and say, “Eddie?”

“What?” Nora said. “Jesus, Danny, I’m tired.”

“He knows,” Danny said.

“What? Who?”

“My father. He knows.”

“What? What does he know? Danny?”

“About you and Quentin Finn, I think. Maybe not all of it, but something. Eddie asked me last month if I knew any Finns. I just chalked it up to coincidence. It’s a common enough name. But the old man, he just—”

He never saw the slap coming. He was in too close and when it connected with his jaw, he actually felt his feet move beneath him. All five foot five of her, and she nearly knocked him to the floor.

“You told him.” She practically spit the words into his face.

She started to turn and he grabbed her wrist. “Are you fucking crazy?” It came out a harsh whisper. “Do you think I would ever—ever, Nora—sell you down the river? Ever? Don’t look away. Look at me. Ever?”

She stared back into his eyes and hers were those of a hunted animal, darting around the room, searching for safety. One more night alive.

“Danny,” she whispered. “Danny.”

“I can’t have you believe that,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Nora, I can’t.”

“I don’t,” she said. She pressed her face to his chest for a moment. “I don’t, I don’t.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “What do I do, Danny? What?”

“I don’t know.” He heard his father replace the receiver in the cradle.

“He knows?”

“He knows something,” Danny said.

His father’s footfalls came down the hall toward them and Nora broke away from him. She gave him one last wild, lost look and then turned into the hall.

“Sir.”

“Nora,” her father said.

“Will you need anything, sir? Tea?”

“No, dear.” His father’s voice sounded shaky as he turned into the room. His face was ashen and his lips trembled. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, sir.”

Thomas Coughlin closed the pocket doors behind him. He walked to the desk in three long strides and drained his drink and immediately poured himself another. He mumbled something to himself.