“Aye. Ian insisted. Once the lad gets going on the subject of operational security, it’s difficult to convince him otherwise. I’d a spare in the car.” Carlyle sighed. “I’d no wish to run out on you like that.”
“I know. You did the right thing. You’d have gotten wrapped up in the investigation if you’d stayed, and that might’ve caused more trouble.”
“It goes against my nature, leaving my lass to face danger without me.”
“I thought you liked that I could take care of myself.”
“I do.”
“Look, I’m fine.” Erin slid into her car and closed the door. “But Liam’s not. He caught a few. He’s dead.”
Carlyle sighed again. “Poor blighter. I thought as much. Can you talk?”
“I’m alone.”
“Any idea who did for him?”
“Not yet.”
“Erin, who did you tell about this meeting?”
She felt suddenly cold. “No one. I mean, my squad knew I was meeting a CI, but I didn’t say who or where. Who’d you tell?”
“Only Ian, and the lad’s solid. On the other hand, I’ve no idea who Liam may have told, and we can’t bloody well ask him now. But someone knew.”
“It’s got to be connected,” she said.
“Or someone thinks it is. Remember, Erin, truth doesn’t matter nearly as much as perception.”
“And the perception’s going to be that you and I got Liam killed.”
He sighed a third time. “I fear you’re right, lass. Mickey’s not going to be happy about this.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Let me worry about Mickey.”
“There’s enough of him to go round. He’s dangerous.”
“You’ve no need to convince me of that, darling. I’ve known the lad longer than you have.”
“Are you back at the Corner?”
“Aye, just arrived.”
“Stay there, and keep your head down.”
“That’s precisely what Ian said. When the two of you agree, I’m thinking it’s wise to take your advice. I’ll talk to you later, darling.”
Erin put the Charger in gear and wondered where to go. But she realized she already knew. Carlyle might be done talking to her, but she wasn’t done with him, not yet. Dead or alive, Liam remained the best lead she had.
Erin parked in the police space near the Corner, hopped out, and unloaded Rolf. She turned toward the door and froze.
A woman was walking down the sidewalk not ten feet from Erin, apparently on her way into the pub. It wasn’t the woman’s confident walk that caught Erin’s attention, or her knockout figure, or her drop-dead gorgeous face, or even her long mane of flaming red hair. It was the fact that she knew that face.
“Siobhan Finneran,” Erin blurted out.
The redhead spun smoothly, with all the grace of a born dancer. When she saw Erin, her eyes narrowed. Siobhan recognized her at once.
To Erin’s surprise, the moment of recognition actually seemed to relax the other woman. Siobhan had clearly been expecting something else, someone who promised more trouble than Erin could deliver.
“You’re back in town,” Erin said, stepping toward her.
“Was I supposed to announce myself?” Siobhan replied in her thick Irish brogue.
“Put your hands up, turn, and face the wall,” Erin said, pulling her Glock.
Siobhan didn’t move. “Just why would I be doing that?”
“You’re under arrest.”
“And just what is it I’m to have done?” Siobhan asked. If the gun in Erin’s hand and the K-9 at her side made the Irishwoman nervous, she gave no sign of it.
“Murder, for starters.”
“And who is it I’ve killed, according to you?”
“Hans Rüdel.”
“Really?” Siobhan gave her a look of contemptuous disbelief. “You’re accusing me of that?”
Erin stared back. The truth of the matter was complicated. It was true someone had killed Hans Rüdel, a neo-fascist terrorist, the previous year. It was also true Siobhan Finneran was an Irish assassin the O’Malleys had brought in specifically to take care of their problem with Rüdel. He’d died in a car bomb that had nearly killed Erin herself. But Erin had shot him a moment before, and he’d arguably already been dying. The evidence pointing to Siobhan was circumstantial at best. The woman had skipped town immediately after the bombing and escaped questioning. They still had a warrant out for her, but no one was expecting it to amount to anything.
The final complicating factor was that Siobhan was effectively Carlyle’s adoptive daughter. Arresting her was going to screw up Erin’s personal life to an unbelievable degree. But she’d gone on instinct, and she couldn’t back down now.
“Face the wall, hands up,” Erin said again, raising her Glock and pointing it at Siobhan. Confronted by inner turmoil, she fell back on training and experience.
“And if I don’t? Are you planning on shooting me?”
“I don’t want to,” Erin replied. “But don’t push me.”
“Take me in if you want,” Siobhan said with a beautiful, maddening smile. “I’ll be out by the time you’re tucked in with your night-light.”
“Shut up, turn around, and face the wall,” Erin snapped.
Siobhan obeyed. “Gives you a bit of a thrill, doesn’t it?” she said as Erin stepped up behind her and started patting her down. “No need to be shy, love. We’re hardly strangers. But you could at least buy me dinner first.”
Erin was expecting to find a weapon, but she didn’t. Apparently Siobhan was wise to New York’s strict gun-control laws and knew better than to carry a handgun on her person when she wasn’t working. All her search turned up was a roll of cash, a set of keys, a Leatherman multi-tool, an Irish passport, and a pocket cosmetic kit.
“Are we finished here?” Siobhan asked.
“Not by a long shot,” Erin said, pulling out her handcuffs and slapping the bracelets on the other woman. “You have the right to remain silent…”
Siobhan seemed more amused than angered at being arrested. She wasn’t even listening to the Miranda warning. On the ride back to Precinct 8, she stared out the window and hummed quietly to herself. Erin was annoyed with herself for getting annoyed. She was also irritated that she hadn’t had the chance to follow up with Carlyle, but Siobhan was a potentially important catch and she
