He lifted the receiver and dialled.

Three thousand miles away a telephone rang unanswered for several rings until there was a click followed by a long silence, then a beeping noise that was Finn's cue to speak.

'Mr McFarlane . . . I need to talk to you.' His tone was slow and deliberate more American than it had sounded before whispering each word as though he was trying to disguise his voice. 'If you're there, pick up, I need to ask you something.'

Finn waited, but there was no response.

'I need to know who you've been talking to Mr McFarlane. Two assholes have just tried to get funny with me in a bar. I'd just like to confirm you got the information to the right person. Call me back as soon as possible on the number I gave you before. I'll be there at nine o'clock your time, all right?'

Finn slowly replaced the receiver. He knew he was taking a risk leaving the message, but there was nothing else he could do. If Lep McFarlane had delivered his message to Danny McGuire, then Finn was certain that McGuire would come looking for him. The problem for Finn was that he could no longer hang around in Cottondale waiting for him.

He stood staring out of the window for a long time before he became aware that he wasn't the only person in the room.

Chapter 19.

Dunnaval, Northern Ireland Good Friday evening

Angela rounded the corner near her house and saw her car parked on the pavement.

It crossed her mind that almost everything that had happened since she'd met Danny McGuire had been unusual. She was about to be driven in a car that ten hours ago had belonged to her by a man she barely knew who only a day earlier she'd found stumbling around on a deserted country road after being almost beaten to death. Danny McGuire was married. He had a child. His brother a prominent figure in the IRA had been murdered. If she called any one of her friends and asked them what she should do, every one of them would tell her to turn heel and run. If the situation were reversed that's the advice she would give.

Angela paused for a moment and considered going back home.

Danny caught a movement in the rear-view mirror and immediately got out of the car with the intention of opening the passenger door for Angela, but the sight of her standing at the corner of the street made him pause.

She was wearing a long grey coat that had a dark fur collar and was tied at the waist with a thick belt. Her black hair framed her face in long wavy curls and her eyes with nothing more than a little mascara looked twice as big as he remembered them. Her lips looked soft and natural. She'd worn heels that made her appear taller, and sheer stockings that defined the outline of her shapely legs. She looked amazing.

Danny was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on when visiting her house earlier that morning. His face was badly swollen on one side and the bruising around his right eye had turned from a deep purple to black. He looked down at his dirty top and faded jeans then held his arms wide, shrugging his shoulders by way of an apology. She got it immediately and shook her head in a silent rebuke.

Danny made his way round to the passenger side and held the door open.

As she drew near he adjusted his glasses and smiled.

Angela fixed him with a steady gaze.

As she bent down to get into the car Danny said, 'You might have made a bit more of an effort.'

The Mourne Arms was set into the hillside overlooking the seaside town of Newcastle on the south-east coast of Northern Ireland. The early-evening light had faded by the time they reached the pub, and the bay in which the town sat twinkled and shimmered in the fresh darkness. When Angela questioned him on why they were travelling away from Newry he made the lame excuse that he wanted to test-drive her car. Danny made his mind up in that moment, that even though it was a joke it would be the one and only time he'd ever deceive her.

The route took them along the Kilkeel Road, past the exact spot where Angela had stopped to pick him up. Neither of them spoke much until they were a few miles further on, when Danny turned to her and said, 'Thanks again.'

Danny had chosen the Mourne because no one he knew drank there. They could spend a few hours with no interruptions.

Several times on the journey he'd checked to make sure they were not being followed, and only when he was satisfied that was the case did he turn off the main road and head up the narrow country lane leading to the pub.

At the Mourne, they found themselves a table tucked away in the corner by the fire and ordered some food, even though neither of them felt very hungry.

Their conversation flowed freely. They were at ease in each other's company. The only pauses came when they caught one another's eye and momentarily lost the thread of what they were saying.

Angela was soon on her third gin and tonic and starting to feel it. Danny was on his second Guinness. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose and took a sip from his pint.

'Is that just a nervous habit?' asked Angela.

'What?' replied Danny.

'You keep adjusting your specs. Either they don't fit or it's just a habit you've got into. Are they for reading or distance?' she asked.

Danny thought about what he was going to say before answering, 'Neither.'

'"Neither"?'

'I don't need them at all. I'm not long- or short-sighted, I'm just sighted . . . normally.'

'Why do you wear them then?' she asked with a puzzled expression on her face. 'They make you look like a bit of an eejit.'

'Which bit of an eejit?' asked Danny, coming back at her.

'There's no bit of an eejit that looks good, so take your pick,' replied Angela. 'Are you trying to look intelligent?'

Danny smiled. The reason he wore glasses was to give himself a split-second advantage in a fight. Most people were still unwilling to throw the first punch if their opponent was wearing glasses. It gave Danny that momentary opportunity to strike the first blow, which was usually all he needed to win. But he was reluctant to start a conversation that focused on the topic of violence.

'I think they make me look quite intellectual, yes,' he answered with a big silly grin on his face. 'Now, there's a word you couldn't even spell, I bet.'

'"Intellectual", sure I can spell it,' said Angela. 'E-E-J-I-T.'

Danny took his glasses off and placed them gently on the bridge of Angela's nose. 'Here, you need these more than I do. That's not how you spell it at all,' he said.

Angela gave an awkward little half-smile.

'You all right?' asked Danny.

'Fine.'

'Something wrong? You look all worried.'

'She's very pretty,' said Angela before she could stop herself.

'Who?' replied Danny.

'Your wife.'

'D'you think so? And how would you know that?'

'I'm just saying. I saw the photograph you have in your room. She's a beautiful-looking girl.'

'And I'm just saying, how would you know?' Danny let it hang. Angela placed her empty glass on the low table in front of them. 'I've never dated a married man,' she said.

'Neither have I,' interrupted Danny.

'I'm serious. I don't know that I feel that comfortable with it.'

'I'm not married.'

'All right, your girlfriend then.'

'I don't have a girlfriend.'

These were not the answers she was expecting: Angela sat staring at him in silence.

Danny stared back.

It occurred to him that Angela was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He wondered if he should tell her right there and then, but he had to let her off the hook first. He took another sup of his drink before continuing.

'rlaith is married to my brother Sean. When he was murdered I promised I'd look after her and her wee girl. I go over there whenever I can, or she comes to me. I make sure she's all right. Quite often I stay. I sleep in her bed and she sleeps with her daughter. And on my mother's life, I've never laid a finger on her, nor would I ever want to. As far as I'm concerned she's still my brother's wife and always will be. She's my big sister . . .' He paused for a moment then added, '. . . -in-law.'

There was no response.

Eventually Danny asked, 'Do you believe me?'

Angela's tone was subdued. 'Yeah,' she answered.

'And there is one other thing it's very important you should know,' continued Danny. 'I think you are the most beautiful girl I've ever met in my life.'

This conversation was not going at all the way she had imagined. Suddenly she couldn't think of one thing to say.

'What are you thinking now?' asked Danny.

Angela was staring into his eyes.

'I'm thinking I wish I hadn't ordered so much food.'

'Do you want me to go up to the bar and see if they'll change it?' asked Danny.

'No, I want you to finish your drink and take me home.'

Danny looked concerned. Maybe he had played it all wrong.

'Sure. Are you okay?' he asked.

'I don't mean to my house, you Bog-Irish eejit. I meant to yours.'

Danny couldn't disguise the look of relief. 'Jeez, I thought you'd taken a turn for the worse there.'

'Maybe I have,' replied Angela.

'I'm pretty beaten up. Everything hurts. I'm not sure I'll be fit for much.'

'I'm a nurse,' replied Angela. 'I know ways of relieving pain that'll make your hair stand on end.'

Chapter 20.

Tuscaloosa Good Friday late morning

It crossed her mind as she stood in the doorway that it wouldn't be so bad if the towel accidentally unwrapped itself and dropped to the floor.

Finn wasn't overdeveloped, but the muscles especially on his arms and shoulders were toned, well defined: his stomach still flat and firm. She thought of her late husband's stomach and smiled. If Finn's was a six-pack, Alfredo's was a beer keg.

She was surprised at the tattoo. Not the fact that he had one, but the size of it. An angel on a cross, covering the whole of his back.

Marie was just on the point of feeling embarrassed at how long she had been watching when he suddenly turned round.

'I hope you don't mind,' said Finn holding up the phone.

'As long as it wasn't long-distance,' Marie replied, kicking off her shoes and heading into the bedroom.

'Been standing there long?'

'Just in,' she lied, shouting back to him, 'It's not as hot as it looks out there, if you're planning to go sunbathing?'