Page 40 of Irish Vice

Alix sits beside me. “Please,” she says. “I’ve seen worse.”

“God, I hope not.”

“I was just coming back to make sure you’re okay. Things seemed off at the start of the meeting.”

“They were,” I say. “I got some bad news as I came down to the freeport this morning.”

“Bad news?”

A detective—Tarrant, he said his name was—called from the Philadelphia police department. He wants me to come down to the Broad Street station. Just a conversation. Just a chance to go over facts.

Facts about how I killed three people and did my best for eleven years to cover it up.

I’ve known for weeks that there will be some sort of formal investigation into the three bodies I left on that mountaintop. But I’ve been so focused on the ethics proceeding and the potential loss of my law license that I wasn’t prepared to hear from the actual police this morning.

I can’t imagine what I’ll say when I stop in at the station. How I’ll defend myself. How I can ever justify what I did.

The instant I got off the phone with Detective Tarrant, I called Sonja, my lawyer. She said I should find someone else to represent me in “the fucking criminal matter.” Sonja’s strong suit is ethics. Not crime.

But she administered another dose of disaster before she ended the call: “I spoke with Alyssa Lopez this morning.”

“Alyssa Lopez?” The name is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why.

“She’s the one with the Mousetrap podcast.True crime in real time.”

“Jesus,” I said, remembering the motto.

“They’re turning your story into a ten-part serial. She’s sending over the first episode as a courtesy. It’s set to air a week from today.”

Seven days before my name is smeared by the most popular podcast in the country. But I can’t burden Alix with all of that now. So I sigh and tell her a different truth: “Braiden and I had a rough weekend. But, um, we just talked it out.”

“So I gather.” Her voice is as dry as a silica pouch in the bottom of a new purse.

I lean my head back against my chair. “Do you ever feel overwhelmed?”

“Every single day,” she says.

I wave a limp hand at the room. “Not by this. Not by work. I mean...” But then I chicken out and shake my head. “Forget it.”

“No,” she says. “Go on. What were you going to say?”

“I have no business prying into your personal life.”

“Pry away. I’ll let you know when you get too close to home.”

I still can’t say the words.

“Sam,” she says. “You look like you need a friend. You can trust me. I promise.”

I take the leap. “Do you ever find yourself doing things you never thought you’d do? Accepting situations you never believed you could? Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in a sea of testosterone? Like you’ve slipped a leash onto an alpha wolf, and you might not survive the ride?”

“Every single day,” she says. And then, after barely a hesitation, “Every night.” Then: “You’ve met Trap.”

I nod. Ihavemet Trap. He’s my boss. The man who hired me. The man who cuts my paycheck. And I’ve seen the way he looks at Alix—with the same calm mastery that scares the shit out of me when I see it in Braiden’s eyes.

“I’m a strong woman,” I say. “I put myself through law school. I’ve built a career. I don’t need a man to run my life.”

“Of course you don’tneedone. But it can be a hell of a lot more fun to have one.”