“No, Dani,” he said.
They laughed again, like children up to no good, awake past their bedtime, struggling to be quiet yet unable to quiet their delight in each other. He just wanted to touch her. To trace every beloved line. He brushed his fingers over the tip of her nose and the swell of her lips, his mouth following his hand. He continued down her throat and across her breasts, resting his rough face against her soft heart, and their mirth dissipated into the mellow light of the room and the reverence of adoration.
He rose over her and kissed her the way she loved, the way he loved. He kept his mouth on hers even as he dispensed with her nightgown and slid her silk underthings from her body. He proceeded slowly, aware of the house breathing around them, the creak of old walls and old women, and when he reared back slightly, just to drink her in and find his self-control, she divined his thoughts.
“They won’t disturb us,” Dani whispered. Her languid eyes and parted lips beckoned him, and he withdrew from her long enough to check the lock on the door and to shrug out of his clothes. He watched her as she watched him, rosy and rumpled, naked and trusting, and his love swamped him again, making him quake and struggle for breath.
“Ah, Dani,” he murmured, completely ensnared, completely undone. “Are you sure, lass? Are you sure you want me? Because I won’t survive you changing your mind. I won’t be strong enough to leave again. I won’t be able to. Even if you tell me to go.”
He was babbling. He didn’t babble. And yet . . . he babbled on. “I’ll drive you crazy. I’ll be constantly underfoot, like that damn cat. You won’t get any rest. Or space. I can’t stand the space even now.” She was only a few feet away from him—lips and limbs, smiling eyes and copper curls—and he couldn’t bear it. “I’ll be a burden,” he warned, folding his arms to hold himself back.
“Oh, Michael. Come here, my darling,” Dani said, reaching for him, and his name, uttered so tenderly, was all the urging he needed. He obeyed, a man committed, and stretched himself willingly on the rack of his devotion, his body covering hers. Dani welcomed him, undaunted, meting out the torture and the transcendence with her hands and her mouth and her trust. And he returned it in full measure.
Beyond the room in the aging house on Broadway, where Dani slept with his kiss on her lips and his scent on her skin, past the morgue where the nameless were brought, and down the steep gully into Kingsbury Run, the embers of shanties and the stink of burnt rubber permeated the soft summer air. A few men moved through the rubble, kicking at the debris, looking for treasure where no treasure remained. Where no treasure had likely ever existed. Malone moved among them, peeking at the sooty cheeks beneath soiled caps, looking for Francis Sweeney. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be sure, and he didn’t know if he ever would be.
He’d been unable to stay asleep, happy as he was. Buoyant as he was. It was something he would have to get used to. He’d lain in the darkness listening to Dani breathe, so weightless he thought he might float away. After a while he rose and tiptoed through the house and down to his room, Charlie padding behind him. He thought Dani might wake and follow him, and he briefly considered rousing her so that if she found him gone from her bed, she wouldn’t think he’d been eager to leave it. But she didn’t wake, and he was grateful. It was better if he went to the Run alone.
He left a note on his desk.
I know I promised I’d be here when you wake, but if I’m not, don’t worry. I needed to walk. I won’t be gone long.
The note had seemed cold and impersonal, considering that he felt neither of those things, and he stared down at the words. He added, I love you, and felt like a child. But he left it.
He headed back home before dawn, wishing he’d never gone. It’d done him no good. He should have stayed in bed beside Dani and let the Run rest.
He had just passed the sandwich shop and turned onto Broadway when he realized he was being followed. It didn’t frighten him. He had a good idea who it was; the man had followed him before. He stopped and turned, waiting for his shadow to show himself.
“Is that you, O’Shea?” he asked.
“Why you kicking through rubble down there in the Run, Malone?” Darby O’Shea asked, approaching him with his head cocked and his steps cautious. “What do you think you’re going to find?”
“Where’ve you been, O’Shea?” The birds were starting to squawk in anticipation of the morning, and the streetlight was sputtering on the corner. Darby O’Shea’s stomach growled.
“I haven’t seen you since we found Dani,” he continued. “And Ness said he lost track of you during the raid. I thought maybe something had happened to you.” He hadn’t really. Darby O’Shea had a knack for disappearing. And reappearing. Malone hadn’t been worried at all.
“I’ve been around. Waiting. You know.” Darby shrugged. “I wanted to come see her. But I knew I wouldn’t be welcome.”
“So you’re coming now?” Malone asked, voice wry. “It’s a little early. Or late.”
“Look who’s talking,” Darby shot back. “Some things can only be done in the dark. You know that. I saw you and thought maybe . . . I’d just pass a message along.”
“Come on. I’ll make you breakfast,” Malone said, taking a few steps. “Nobody will say a word. And Dani will be glad to see you, regardless of the hour.”
“Nah. Hold on. I have some things for her. But I’ll just give ’em to you. It’ll be better that way.”
Malone paused, and Darby O’Shea closed the distance between them. He looked both ways, as if making sure they didn’t have an audience. The streets were dead, but he lowered his voice to a murmur anyway.
“You can quit looking for Dr. Frank, Malone. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
Malone waited, not answering, but his heart had quickened.
“He’s dead,” O’Shea said, voice so flat it floated like a paper plane and landed with a whisper.