Page 9 of Irish Reign

“There is no way in bloody hell that you’re driving down to Dover today.”

“You heard her. We need to make an official response.”

“You’ve got a phone. A computer, too. Call down to the front desk and reserve a meeting room. You can talk as long as you’d like anywhere at the Rittenhouse, so long as four of my men remain on guard while you do it.”

He’s deadly serious. And his restrictions etch into my skin like acid.

“Braiden,” I say. And then for the first time, because I want him to listen: “Love,” I call him. “I work in Dover, Delaware. Sonja Heller is my attorney in Dover, Delaware.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m two years old.”

“Then don’t act like you are!” I regret my tone the instant I see his jaw set. After taking a deep breath, I try again. “Madden is gone. He can’t hurt me. Ingram is dead. He can’t test your loyalty anymore, and he can’t order anyone else to tip your hand.”

“There’s Russo,” Braiden says.

“Who was relying on Madden to know what the Fishtown Boys are doing. This has to be thesafesttime to go, as far as Russo is concerned. His crew must be in total disarray.”

I’ve lived my entire life surrounded by criminals. I know I’m right.

Braiden pinches his lower lip. I wish I could see his eyes behind those glasses. From the tight lines on his forehead, I can tell he’s still in a lot of pain.

“Please,” I say. “When we get to the end of all this, I need to know I did everything I could to save my license.”

I hear what I don’t say—that I’m nearly convinced I’ll lose at the hearing. That I can’t see a path clear to continuing the job I love.

And even if I somehow win the ethics case, there’s also a criminal investigation going on. Detective Tarrant on the Philadelphia police force is digging into That Night so prosecutors can decide whether they’ll charge me with murder.

Braiden finally sighs in resignation. “Liam will drive you.”

“Of course,” I say.

“You’ll go to Sonja’s office and return directly here.”

I’d rather go on to my office at the freeport and spend the rest of the day working productively there. But I decide not to push it. “Okay.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

He just holds out his hand. And because he’s already given in so much, I type in my password and hand over my device.

He holds it so close to his face he barely has room to touch his fingers to the screen. I try to read what he’s doing in the reflection of his black-pool sunglasses, but I can’t follow the display. He hands the phone back with the app still open; he’s making zero effort to disguise what he’s done.

“You’retrackingme?” I ask in disbelief, refusing to take the damn thing.

“I’m making sure you’re safe.”

I think about refusing. I’ve never given anyone access to the stalker apps other people take for granted. My years of living under an assumed name made me far too cautious.

But I suspect Braiden already has a way of tracking Liam. The only real surprise is that he didn’t insist on monitoring me months ago.

“Fine,” I finally say.

I hold out my hand for my phone, but his vision hasn’t improved enough to see that far. I have to take it from his fingers. And that small action, more than anything else, makes me forgive his invasion of my privacy.

He’s hurting.

He’s worried.

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