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  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 wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

  Chapter 7

  “Her again?” Webb asked. He, Vic, and Erin stood in the observation room next to the interrogation room. They were looking at Siobhan, who was sitting at the table, one arm cocked over the back of her chair, legs crossed. A small smile still played at the corners of her mouth.

  “She’s nothing but trouble,” Vic muttered. “She lawyer up yet?”

  “No,” Erin said. She was perplexed by that. Siobhan was smart, and smart criminals knew to ask for an attorney right away.

  “She’s cocky,” Webb observed. “Maybe we can use that. You think it’ll help or hurt to have you in the room, O’Reilly?”

  Erin shrugged. “She hates me, but that’ll probably make her more talkative.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “You and me, then. Neshenko, stay here.”

  “Fine with me,” Vic said. “I don’t want to get any crazy on me. That woman is bat-shit.”

  “This has nothing to do with our case, of course,” Webb said to Erin as they stepped out into the hall. “But the Rüdel homicide is still open. Let’s see if we can close it.”

  “We’ll need a confession if we want to hang it on her,” Erin said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her in.”

  “We’ll see,” Webb said. “A lot of crooks actually want to confess. Let’s hear her story, see what she’s got to say for herself.”

  Siobhan watched them come in. Her eyes glittered when she saw Erin. She looked Webb up and down and slowly licked her lips. Erin was reminded of a cat. Not a domestic one, either. Maybe a tiger.

  “Miss Finneran,” Webb said, sitting down opposite her. Erin remained standing behind him, a little to one side.

  “Lieutenant,” she said, giving the word the British Isles pronunciation.

  “What are you doing in New York City?” he asked.

  “Visiting a… friend,” she said, hesitating just a little before the final word.

  “You flew into JFK?”

  “That’s what’s stamped in my passport.”

  “You weren’t detained at the airport?”

  Siobhan’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Why? Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “You’re on Homeland Security’s list,” Erin broke in. She knew, because she’d put it there. That had been one of the mopping-up details after the Civic Center bombing.

  “Am I?” Siobhan replied.

  That was an interesting puzzle. She should’ve been grabbed by the TSA as soon as she landed. But it wasn’t the first time Homeland Security had screwed up and let someone fly they shouldn’t have. Erin let it pass.

  “We know you were gunning for Rüdel,” she said. “We ran into each other looking for him, remember?”

  “Excuse me,” Siobhan said. “Are we talking about the lad who tried to blow up your headquarters last year?”

  “You know we are,” Erin said.

  “The lad you shot, if memory serves?”

  “That’s him.”

  “So you’re accusing me of killing the lad you were trying to kill?”

  “You blew up his car,” Erin said. “Innocent people could’ve been killed.”

  “You know where I come from, darling,” Siobhan said with a sardonic smile. “And you know the Irish Republican Army does its best to avoid collateral casualties.”

  “You’re saying you were careful not to blow the bomb until Rüdel was the only one in the blast zone?” Webb asked.

  “You’re saying that, big fella,” she said. “I’m just saying, if I were to pop off a lad, I’d be careful not to hit anyone I didn’t want to. I’m speaking hypothetically, of course.”

  “You saved my life,” Erin said, looking hard at Siobhan. “You warned me about the bomb, right before it went off.”

  Siobhan’s eyes turned hard, like chips of jade. “So now you’re accusing me of assisting an officer? Would that be a crime?”

  “No,” Webb said. “So you warned Detective O’Reilly about the explosion?”

  “Seems to me I couldn’t have done that unless I’d known about the bomb ahead of time. Are you asking me to confess to something?”

  Erin cursed inwardly. She and Webb had laid a trap, but Siobhan had stepped around it. Maybe the woman didn’t need a lawyer after all. Siobhan was guilty, Erin knew she was guilty. Hell, Siobhan wanted them to know she was guilty. But all this was hearsay and circumstantial. None of it would lead to a conviction.

  “We got DNA swabs off the bomb,” Webb said suddenly.

  This was a lie. Lying in interrogation was totally legal and acceptable behavior. It was also risky, because it was a bluff.

  “Did you, now?” Siobhan said. “From what I heard, that’s the only way you’d have been able to identify the poor bastard. It was probably all that was left of him.”

  “I’m talking about the bomb-maker’s DNA,” Webb said.

  “If that’s so, you’d best go arrest the lad,” she retorted. “Why are you wasting my time with this conversation?”

  “We know you killed him,” Webb said.

  “Then you’d best charge me and be done with it. We’ll see how it plays out in the courts.”

  “Why are you here?” Erin demanded, leaning over the table toward the other woman.

  “Are you codding me? You brought me here in handcuffs yourself, you bloody eejit,” Siobhan snapped, her Irish coming out stronger.

  “In New York, smartass,” Erin said, not giving an inch. She knew an angry suspect was more likely to slip up.

  “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend, you feckin’ floozie?”

  Erin inwardly froze. Webb glanced at her, and in his eyes she saw a question he wasn’t about to ask in front of a suspect. She reminded herself it would just sound like ordinary interrogation-room trash-talk to him.

  “I’m asking you,” she said, holding on to her self-control.

  “I was wanting a drink,” Siobhan said. “Or is that illegal here, too?”

  “We can hold you overnight,” Erin said. “Without charging you.”

  “If you hold me all night, it’ll be a new experience for you,�
� Siobhan said. “I expect most of your squeezes are out the door the moment they’ve done the job on you.”

  “We’re done here,” Webb said, standing up.

  “Not quite,” Siobhan said. “I’ll be wanting my telephone call.”

  “What’d you think, Neshenko?” Webb asked.

  Vic shrugged. “We already know she blew up Rüdel. My question is, why do we care?”

  Webb gave him a hard look. “That’s several major felonies we’re talking about.”

  “So what, boss? Erin tried to kill him. I tried to kill him. Hell, you’re the only guy in this room who didn’t take a shot at the son of a bitch. Not her fault Erin and I only winged him.”

  “This isn’t the Wild West, Neshenko. She’s a goddamn terrorist. If she was a man and had an Arabic name, she’d be in Guantanamo Bay by now.”

  “Don’t let the press hear you say that, sir,” Vic warned.

  “I’m stating a fact, not a political opinion,” Webb said. He rubbed his face. “Not that we can prove any of it. We’re going to have to cut her loose.”

  “I thought at least she’d be carrying,” Erin said. “If we’d gotten her on a weapons charge, we could’ve held her.”

  “All night long,” Vic said, grinning.

  “In your dreams,” she said, irritated. He wasn’t going to let her forget Siobhan’s parting shot.

  “Nah, she’s not my type.”

  “What, a gorgeous redhead doesn’t light your fire?” Erin teased.

  “I prefer them sane.”

  “Which is why you remain single. Any girl would have to be crazy to date you. It’s a catch-22.”

  “What’d she mean about your boyfriend, anyway?” Webb asked.

  Erin gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “She knows I’m in contact with Carlyle and Corcoran. I assume she meant one of them. I don’t know what she meant by it.”

  Webb nodded. “We’ll keep her for a few hours, just in case something comes up.”

  “We don’t really have her DNA from the bombing, do we?” Erin asked.

  “Nope,” Webb said. “DNA from explosions is almost never any good. It’s always dead cells, with environmental contamination and heat damage.”

  “You thought an IRA veteran wouldn’t know that?” Erin asked.

  “I took a chance,” he said, annoyed. “You’re the one who brought her in without enough evidence to charge.”

  Erin nodded and shut up. Webb was right.

  The squad was back in the Major Crimes office, and Siobhan was cooling her heels in the precinct lockup. Vic was looking through file after file from the Organized Crime division, trying to make sense of the Lucarellis and where Conti had fit in. Webb was examining the little they had on Diego Rojas. Various officers came and went with bits of evidence. Erin was talking with Skip, who’d come up from his basement office.

  “Forget about tracing a sale,” he said. “The bomb was homemade napalm. You can mix it with ordinary stuff, off the shelf. Assuming the bomber paid cash, and wasn’t dumb enough to buy all the ingredients in one place, there’s no chance.”

  “How good was the device?” she asked.

  “Wasn’t much of a device. Chemical trigger, inside the bottle. They threw it, the glass shattered on impact, and boom.”

  “So, an amateur job?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m saying a Molotov cocktail looks about the same, no matter who makes it. Hell, the whole point of them is that anyone can build one. You know how they got their name?”

  Erin shook her head. Skip wasn’t exactly a nerd, but on the subject of explosives he was an encyclopedia.

  “Back in 1940, when the Soviet Union went to war with Finland, the Finns didn’t have much in the way of weapons. After the Soviets bombed Helsinki, the Russian Foreign Minister, a guy named Molotov, said they hadn’t really dropped bombs, they’d dropped bread to feed the starving people. So the Finns, dark humor specialists that they are, started calling Russian bombs ‘Molotov breadbaskets.’ Then, when they needed homemade anti-tank weapons, they called their gasoline bombs ‘Molotov cocktails,’ saying now they had a drink to go with the food.”

  “That’s very interesting, Skip,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Are you telling me we’re looking for Finnish hitmen?”

  “No, I’m just telling you it could be anybody.” He paused. “Including Finns, I suppose. You got any Finnish suspects?”

  “It’s New York City,” she allowed. “Could be.”

  “Or it could be a professional bomb-maker,” Skip added. “Like him.”

  “Who?” Erin asked. Then she followed his gaze past her to the stairwell. “Shit,” she added under her breath.

  Carlyle was standing at the entrance to Major Crimes with a man beside him who was definitely a lawyer.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Skip suggested.

  Erin just stared, mind racing. She had no idea what to say, but Vic took it out of her hands. He sprang to his feet and crossed the room. Erin and Rolf scrambled up and followed, Webb just a few steps behind. Vic got right in Carlyle’s face.

  “I think you’re on the wrong floor,” Vic growled. “Lockup’s downstairs.”

  “We’re on our way there now,” Carlyle said, unintimidated. “But we’re needing to speak with your lieutenant first.”

  “You want me, you got me,” Webb said. “What’re you doing here, Mr. Carlyle?”

  “I’m here to arrange the release of one of your prisoners.”

  “That so?” Webb looked Carlyle over. The Irishman was immaculately dressed in a gray suit that probably cost more than Webb’s entire wardrobe. He looked every inch the respectable businessman.

  “Aye, that’s so.” He was calm, collected, and polite. But he didn’t look Erin in the eye. “Miss Finneran, if you please.”

  “We’re not required to release her at this time,” Webb said.

  “She’s an Irish national,” the lawyer said. “I’m John Walsh, and I’m representing Ms. Finneran. I have a letter here from the Irish consulate, respectfully requesting that Ms. Finneran either be charged or released at once.”

  “The consulate has no jurisdiction here,” Vic said.

  “No, sir, it doesn’t,” Walsh said. “But cooperation will prevent an international incident. We’re requesting this as a courtesy.”

  Webb scanned the letter. His mouth twisted slightly, but he didn’t show any other emotion. Folding it, he handed it back to the lawyer.

  “O’Reilly, release our guest.”

  Erin cursed inwardly. “Yes, sir,” she said out loud. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me.” Rolf stayed at her side.

  No one said anything as she led Carlyle and his lawyer down to the holding cells. She put her Glock and her backup ankle piece in a gun locker outside the cells and went in. Siobhan was waiting for them, reclining on an elbow on the hard bed, one long leg trailing down to the floor. She stood up when she saw them, moving with deliberate slowness, as if she had all the time in the world.

  Erin unlocked the cell. “Time to go.”

  “Thanks for the help, Cars,” Siobhan said, giving Carlyle a wide, inviting smile and ignoring Erin completely. “I knew you’d come for me.”

  She put her arms around his neck and drew in close, giving him a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Carlyle returned the hug, then stepped back from her.

  “I’ve a car waiting outside,” he said. “Go with Mr. Walsh, please. I’ve a few details to clear up here.”

  “Don’t be too long,” she said, giving him a slight pout. Then she walked briskly out of the holding area. As she went, she gave Erin a quick, blazing glance which was full of triumphant hatred.

  Erin followed Siobhan and Walsh out to the lobby. She and Rolf watched them go. The K-9, picking up her emotion, bristled slightly.

  When she turned away from the door, Carlyle was standing there with an unreadable expression on his face. Erin glared at him.

  “We need to t
alk,” she said.

  “I’m thinking we do,” he replied levelly.

  “C’mon,” she said, motioning him to the elevator. She pushed the button for the garage. As soon as the doors opened, she grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him off to the side, into the shadows.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  She glanced around. They were alone. Rolf stood warily, head slightly cocked, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “There’s no cameras on this part of the garage,” she explained. Then she tightened her grip on him. “You come into my police station? To get her out?”

  Carlyle grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand free of his coat. The shock of that sudden action startled Erin. He’d never laid a rough hand on her before. In that moment, seeing the look in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, she realized he was as angry as she’d ever seen him. Rolf growled and tensed. If he had the slightest excuse, he’d jump the Irishman right there.

  “That’s my little girl you hauled in here,” Carlyle said, biting off the words, holding on to an icy edge of control.

  “She’s not such a little girl,” Erin retorted. “Or didn’t you notice?”

  “I held her hand at her da’s funeral.”

  “She’s a murderer!” Erin shot back. “You’re protecting her?”

  “She’s my responsibility!”

  “For how long? Until she does what? Where’s the line?”

  “When it comes to the people I love, there’s no bloody line!”

  She stared at him. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do,” he said, more quietly. “I’d kill or die for them. And that goes for you too, Erin.”

  “You think I want that? You think that impresses me?”

  “I’m not trying to impress you, Erin.”

  “Then what the hell are you trying to do?”

  “I’m trying to do what’s right!”