Page 70 of My Darling Girls

Thump.

A rustle somewhere in the hallway.

Jo glances in the direction of the darkroom, but everything seems normal. The hallway is empty. The door to the darkroom is shut. Ira turns his head as if he, too, heard something in the distance.

“I’m going to ask you to gift me the studio,” he says, refocusing back on Jo. “I brought the paperwork.” Suddenly there are folded papers in front of her.

“What do you need my studio for?”

“Why, my business, of course.” The curt answer sends shivers down Jo’s spine. “I’m expanding.”

Jo regards him carefully. His small black eyes full of determination. The stubble on his chin. The promise of death that is wrapped around him like armor. “And if I don’t sign?” She knows the answer, but she needs to say something to buy herself time to think.

His thin lips stretch into a cold, unpleasant smile. He doesn’t answer.

“You had August killed because he was helping the girls. Stealing your property—that’s what you said. Whom did you ask to follow my husband into that alley, Ira? Was it Hank? Tell me, and I’ll sign.” She needs to know who plunged the knife inside her husband. She needs to immerse herself into the horror of his murder, get to the end of August’s story, so she, too, can move on.

Ira tilts his head slightly. “You’re in no position to negotiate.” He pushes the papers closer to her. “Sign.”

She leans back into her chair. “Not until you tell me.”

His gaze sweeps over the papers, and then his attention settles on her. “Your husband was attacked by some drifter who was after his wallet or watch or his camera. August resisted and got shanked.”

“Horseshit. We both know it.”

Ira shrugs. “Why do you want to know the name of his killer? It’s not going to change anything.”

“Was it Hank?”

Thump. A creak of the door. A shadow lurches forward.

Finn appears behind Ira and smashes his gun into the side of Ira’s head. Ira crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Jo leaps to her feet, overturning her chair. “Finn! What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

Finn stands still, tall and solid. A protective shield against the night. “Of course we stayed. Couldn’t leave you alone with him.” He nods at Ira at his feet. “We hid in the darkroom.”

Jo looks over his shoulder. “Where’s Grace?”

“I’m here,” Grace says from the hallway. “We need to tie Ira up.” Grace emerges from the shadows and steps into the room. A rope dangles from her right hand. Jo recognizes it—she used to hang photographs on that rope a while ago. She switched to strings later because they take up less space. She kept the rope in the darkroom, in the far corner. It’s the same rope she used to tie the old man to the settee. “Here.” Grace pushes the rope at Finn. “Tie him up and leave him here. Someone will find him eventually.” Biting her lower lip, Grace looks down at her uncle. She studies him for a few long seconds, and then she turns to Jo. “We must leave.” Her hands on her hips, she stands tall. Her feet are placed slightly apart. She’s taking up space. “Grab whatever things you need, and let’s go.”

Finn leans over Ira and starts working on his feet. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.” He briefly looks up at Jo, the rope between his hands. “Grace and you have a train to catch.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Jo asks. “You can’t possibly stay. Not after this.” She waves weakly at Ira. “The awful things he’ll do to you. He won’t let you live.”

Finn doesn’t reply.

“Finn,” Jo says softly. “Come with us. You can escape the life he gave you. You can be free of him.”

“I’ll never be free of him.” He shakes his head, working on Ira’s feet, tightening the knots. “It’s not in the cards for me.” An iron hand of fear squeezes Jo’s heart, and it takes a lot of effort for her not to sink to the floor.

“Finn, look at me.” When he doesn’t look up, Jo takes a step forward. “Please.” He slowly unfolds himself to his full height. She loves the tall and broad shape of him. The familiar slope of his shoulders, the angles of his body. She remembers the feel of him inside her.

He remains quiet. His look is haunted. Tortured.

Something cracks deep within Jo.

“Jo.” His voice is heavy with pain. “I can’t leave.” His hands curl into fists. “I want to. God knows how much I want to go wherever you go. Be with you.” Each word holds so much agony, so much devastation, Jo’s heart twists and twists inside her until she cannot breathe anymore. “But I can’t.”