“God, Aifric, did you have to be such a bitch?”

“We agreed that we wouldn’t have people over,” Aifric said. “The place is too small. There’s nowhere for the other one to go. And now the whole flat just reeks of bloody men, and old pizza and beer.”

“Please. It has nothing to do with me having people over, and everything to do with the fact that they were gardaí. You need to . . .”

“What? Let it go?”

“No.” Carrie could feel her cheeks color with anger and frustration. “I’m not saying let it go. Neither of us will ever let it go. But it was a long time ago, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a garda now. You assume everyone is the same, Aifric. You need to accept that not everyone in uniform is a bad guy.”

Aifric put down her coffee cup.

“That’s got nothing to do with it. I just don’t like to see you like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Making yourself small.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re just cops, Carrie. Just men in a uniform. And when you’re around them, it’s like . . . you’re like a puppy. So eager. And I just think, you of all people should know better.”

Carrie sat there, unable to move or think of a single thing to say. Aifric was the first to look away.

“I have to go out,” she said. She grabbed her coat from the back of the kitchen chair and picked up her handbag.

“Don’t wait up for me.” She pulled the door behind her, leaving Carrie alone in the flat with only the empty beer bottles and the half-eaten pizza for company.

Chapter Seven

Aifric

The address in Phibsboro was twenty minutes away, which was long enough for Aifric to walk off her irritation and for the guilt to set in. She had been a bitch. Had taken out her worry and the day’s stress on her sister. And Carrie didn’t deserve that. She was so good. Never complained about the fact that Aifric’s job as a trial attorney paid next to nothing, leaving Carrie trying to make the rent for both of them on her crappy cop’s salary. But Carrie was such a bloody idealist. She saw the best in everyone, put people on pedestals, and then killed herself to try to measure up to standards that existed only in her own head. And she’d obviously gotten hurt again, more than she was letting on. Aifric kept walking. Carrie had never been able to go to bed after a disagreement. She’d still be awake when Aifric got home. They could talk then.

The address she had brought her to a basement flat in a converted Victorian house. Aifric knocked on the door and prepared her warmest smile. It was opened moments later by a young woman who looked disconcertingly like the sister she’d just left. She had Carrie’s dark, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, a strong body, and a friendly face. She was wearing jeans and a dark-gray hoodie.