She smiled. ‘That your first ride in the back of a police car?’ Maybe she thought she had to break the ice with humour. Or maybe it was for her own benefit, pushing back the gloom a little. Actually, his first ride had been twenty years ago, courtesy of NYPD. That was in the days when he still chauffeured mob guys for his father. Thomas Lannicelli—Tommy Licks—had come by the house and told his old man he’d kill him if he didn’t hold his tongue on some deal he’d overheard. So Vincent hit the guy in the face with a baseball bat as he was stepping down off the porch, timed the move so well a radio car driving past saw the whole thing.

But he just said to Erin, ‘Yeah. I hid on the floor so people couldn’t see me.’

That seemed to be it for small talk. She let the smile fade and said, ‘I didn’t even say thank you. I don’t know how close I came to … well.’ She looked away and then back at him. ‘Strife.’

He wondered if the magazine had always been there on the coffee table, or if someone had brought it in specially—bereavement reading.

He said, ‘I’m just glad you’re okay.’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

Maybe she knew he’d made the wrong decision—that he should have got the gun from the Lincoln. In another universe, a mirror-Vincent had acted rationally, and saved two or three or four people, instead of just her.

She got up from the couch, smoothing her hands down her thighs, and stood in front of him. ‘So what do you think happened?’

Talking with the cops, he might have leaned toward reticence. But with Erin this close and giving him her full focus, he felt a greater level of scrutiny than the detectives had turned on earlier. He remembered this morning, sensing her intelligence and her competence. And her confidence too, even in the face of disapproval that left a building in ruins. He told her what happened, and what he’d discussed with the Marshal. She listened to him without speaking. She was tall with her heels on, and other than the slight redness beneath her eyes, she still matched his first impression: elegant and in control, knowing her next moves.

Eventually she drew a breath and said, ‘All right.’ Turned away slightly—quarter-profile to him—and then came back. ‘So what are your plans?’

Vincent said, ‘I don’t have any yet.’

She nodded. Something on her mind, but coming to it in her own time. She said, ‘You were in the Navy, is that right?’