Chapter One: Angel Eyes

I am uncuffed as soon as we arrive at the station, where someone mercifully takes care of my bleeding nose before I am hauled back like a common criminal and finger printed. They restrain my arm and forefinger as they do so, and I wonder if they really think I'd run at this point. I am numb as I am ushered over to that godforsaken height chart, where I am told to stare into the camera so that they can take my mugshot. However, I find that, in my numbness, I am frozen, unable to move unless bended to their will, and although I make no moves to cry, I find that being devoid of emotion is better than anything else.

"Gallagher!" the photographer quips, obviously wanting to get home for the night.

My eyes immediately raise upwards at the stranger shouting my surname, and the camera flashes then, momentarily blinding me. As I feel woozy for a moment, the officer steps forward, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, where I am taken down the hallway towards another room. I look up then at the imposing woman standing guard, and the officer leaves us alone, whereupon the woman shoves me into the room.

"You're going to strip," she tells me, snapping on a glove before shutting the door with her free hand. "Then, you're going to bend over."

Christ, I thought to myself, but as I move to turn around, the woman narrows her eyes at me, so I remain where I was, going towards the buttons of my white blouse, slightly stained with my blood, unbuttoning them as quickly as I dared. Once my blouse was removed, the woman snapped out with her claw-like hands and took it, and then I moved onto my skirt, stepping out of it quickly. Next, I unhooked my bra and hooked my fingers into my panties, removing them and mutely handing them over to the woman.

"Bend over," the woman said, obviously growing impatient with me.

I gritted my teeth, facing away from her then and doing my best to focus upon the wall in front of me as I bent my knees. The teeth gritting helped, and distracted me from crying; I would not allow myself to be considered weak, although I felt myself stumbling ever so slightly then as she stuck her fingers inside me, and I'd never felt more violated in my life. Sure, it was this woman's job to do things like this, but, in that moment, I didn't care. I'd done nothing wrong, and I was still being treated like a common criminal.

"Get up," the woman says, and issues me a white pair of panties, a white sports bra, and a burnt-colored prison jumpsuit.

"Really?" I asked, the word escaping my mouth before I could call it back.

The woman narrowed her eyes at me, assuring me that she wasn't shitting me, and I'd better obey her, and quickly. She handed over the clothes, which I promptly pulled over my head and stepped into, and she curled her lip slightly—she really didn't like me. She then handed over a pair of white socks and sneakers, waiting for me to tie the laces as she checked her phone—man, everyone in here had a vendetta against me, didn't they?

"You'll get your schedule and work assignment tomorrow," the woman said as we left that room, and I was immediately relieved that we had done so. "It's too late to have a shower, but you'll be all right until the morning. Unless, of course, you make bail," she said, obviously knowing that I was South Side, and unlikely to make bail, but boy, was she wrong. "Here we are—the palace suite," she said, her tone sarcastic as we stepped into a room, filled with dozens upon dozens of rows of beds. She got two thin blankets from a cupboard on the wall, which she had to unlock via a padlock first, before shutting it up again and handing over the blankets to me—I vaguely detected a pillow somewhere in the mix as we walked along. "Here," she said, indicating a free bed, and all the other women around us took me in then, as if I was ripe for the taking. "Lights out in ten minutes, girls!" she said, walking out of there.

"What you in for?" asked another woman, whose bed was across from mine.

I lowered my eyes. "Aiding and abetting."

"First timer?"

I nodded, adjusting my blankets and pillow around me. "Yeah." I raised my eyes to hers then, and decided to pose a question to her. "What are you here for?"

"Robbing a convenience store," she replied with a shrug. "Gotta feed our families."

I nodded at her, wanting her to think that I was on her side, so as I wouldn't get knifed in my sleep for some reason. "Sure, yeah," I replied.

The lights were out sooner than expected, and all I could think about was the fact that I wanted, needed, to be in my own bed, with my husband, with the comfort of knowing that our children were close by. Our children; they were all ours now, given that Nicholas had adopted Iana as his own just hours before. I wondered then, as the exhaustion of the day manifested itself into every fiber of my being, if anyone knew that Trevor had been the one to turn me in and, if and when it ever came to light, what would happen because of it.

When the buzzer sounded the following morning at five, the lights came on automatically, and I noticed the other women folding their blankets and positioning them at the foot of their beds. I quickly moved and did the same, standing in line with the rest of them as the warden or whoever came around, checking us over to make sure we hadn't acquired any lethal weapons during the night when we were supposed to be asleep. I kept my mouth shut, trying to keep my body language in check as they walked by me, and nothing was done, thankfully.

We were then allowed to leave the room, and it felt good to just walk around freely for a while; and yet I knew that I was not free. The very fact that I was in a jumpsuit, labeled along with the rest of these women as hardened criminals, proved that. I followed the women to the cafeteria, where I was issued a tray and given something that looked like a slightly improved version of gruel, but likely was just as watered-down and unflavored. Stumbling to keep up, I was waved to the area filled with tables, sitting by myself and doing my best to eat this godforsaken food that was somehow approved by the FDA for the prison system.

I was given my work assignment over breakfast, and was told that I would be on kitchen duty, assisting the staff in washing dishes. I was relieved—finally, a task I was able to do—and promptly reported for duty as soon as I'd finished eating. The women in the kitchen showed me to my station—a trough-like sink made of battered porcelain—and I immediately rolled up my sleeves, putting on the yellow gloves provided and taking the apron, and began to scrub the dishes, thinking of my family and attempting to get the job done right, which included not breaking anything. I zoned out then, the sensation of the hot water eliminating the numbness of my hands as I worked, focusing entirely on the patterns the soap bubbles made on the surface of the dishes I scrubbed.

"Gallagher!"

I nearly dropped the plate I was washing, hastily getting the soap bubbles off of it before placing it into the drying rack. Turning around, I spotted a warden facing me, and I wondered if prison dish washing was different than just doing it in your own home, or at the diner. "Yes?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Come with me," they said. "And take all that stuff off."

"What's going on?" I asked, still rooted to the spot.

The warden sighed impatiently. "You made bail. Let's go."

Quickly, I yanked off the gloves, placing them on the edge of the skin, and untied my apron, hanging it on the peg as I followed the warden. We walked out and through the cafeteria, down the corridor and into a small room, where I saw a bag filled with my clothes from the night before, and couldn't understand why they were being shown to me. The warden looked at the bag and then looked at me, and, mutely, I changed out of the jumpsuit, administered undergarments, sneakers, and socks, before I made a grab for clothes from the evening before and pulled them on as quickly as I dared.

Next, I was lead from that room and out front, where I was given back my wedding ring, cell phone, wallet, keys, and anything else I had on my person which had been snatched from me the night before. I kept silent, taking all my things, putting my ring on my finger, my wallet and keys in my pocket, and kept my phone gripped in my hand as I was taken to the front door. The balmy heat of June greeted me, and as I stepped outside, I felt sudden relief, gulping the air as I looked around me, wondering if I'd need to take the L back home, when I saw Hugo standing there by his Lincoln town car.

I found myself standing there for a moment, unknowing as to how to react to Nicholas's father standing before me. "Hugo?" I asked, stepping forward, my voice uncertain.

My father-in-law smiled, stepping forward and embracing me immediately. "I hope last night wasn't too horrible for you."

I laughed then, hugging him back. "Nothing I can't handle," I replied, pulling back, and smiling when he opened the passenger door of his car for me, letting me inside. I went silent again as he shut my door, circling around the car and letting himself in, starting up the beast quickly. "Did you post my bail?" I asked.

"No, that was Nicholas."

I nodded. "Is he not speaking to me?"

"No, he's at the firm trying to figure out a legal defense on your behalf," Hugo replied. "And, meanwhile, Allie and I are trying to negotiate favors to figure out who turned you in, and how we can get these charges dropped."

I shook my head at him as we left the grounds of the jail. "You don't need to look too far," I told him, the sour taste in my mouth from the night before returning.

"Yeah? What do you mean?" Hugo asked.

"Trevor turned me in," I replied simply.

Hugo looked aghast at the declaration, trying to see reason for it as we continued driving. "My son has a meeting with Mason Crowe today," he informed me carefully. "Maybe Mason can shed some light on what went down recently."

I nodded, attempting to keep my wits about me as Hugo drove me home. "Where are Iana and the boys?" I asked, my heart hammering in my chest in case something had happened to them. "I need to know that they're okay..."

"Allie took them out for the day," Hugo said, easily alleviating my fears. "She'll have them back before dinner, before Nicholas comes home. We thought you'd want the opportunity to settle back in before the fight..."

I scoffed. "The legal fight, or the personal one when I potentially kick the ass of my twin brother's boyfriend?"

Hugo smirked, navigating himself so that he wouldn't inadvertently send us running off the road and into a ditch. "Both," he replied.

We drove the rest of the way to the home I shared with his son in virtual silence, and I thanked him for the ride before getting out of the car. "Do I need to do or say anything now?" I asked, suddenly unsure.

Hugo looked confused. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. "Well, you're the closest thing I've ever had to a father," I admitted. "My adoptive father left when I was five, and my adoptive stepfather... Well, you know the story. And I'm sure Nicholas has told you about Frank on more than one occasion..."

Hugo reached out then, placing a hand on my shoulder. "We're family, Murphy. You're married to my son, which makes you officially a Blomqvist. And no matter what the public says, I don't believe a word of the charges stacked against you. Just know that Nicholas, Allie, and I are going to do whatever we can to make this go away."

I smiled. "Thank you, Hugo, but I'm not so sure it's that easy," I replied. I slipped from the car then, waving him off as I fumbled for my keys in my pocket. I turned around then, turning my back on the yard that I'd been arrested in less than twenty-four hours before, and made my way through my own yard, up the porch steps, and into the house.

It was so quiet as I stepped inside, and as I shut the door behind me, I felt as if I was drowning inside it, so I resolved to go about my day. Trudging towards the stairs, I made my way up them and into the master bedroom, stepping into the bathroom and staring at myself in the mirror as I remove my clothes from the night before, allowing them to go into their respective piles upon the floor. I felt the sudden urge to punch the glass, to make a spider web pattern with the breakage, and allow my knuckles to bleed. I felt a sob erupts from my throat then, and I slammed my hand down onto the counter, the sudden pain that came out of it notwithstanding.

"Fuck!" I screamed then, dragging my hands through my hair. "You son of a bitch, how the fuck could you do this to me?!"

I shook my head at my naïvety—of course he had done this, and my days had been numbered from the moment I'd revealed to him that Mickey was Iana's father. If my mind could have somehow cooperated with my brain, and not turned against me in the darkness of my thoughts, then maybe, just maybe, things would've turned out differently. Pushing the thought momentarily from my mind, I stepped into the shower then, wanting to wash the toxicity of the Chicago prison system out of my skin. The sweet smell of my shampoo and conditioner nearly turned my stomach, however, and yet I resolved to get through it, knowing that, perhaps if I smelled like myself, I could get sane again.

I got out of the shower as quickly as possible, not wanting to touch myself, as I could remember the fat fingers of the female guard probing me, to check and see if I'd had the nerve to smuggle drugs into the jail. Shaking my head, I gathered up my clothes from the night before; I recalled carefully selecting the outfit the morning before, and how excited I was about Nicholas's adoption of Iana. Now, they would always be a bitter reminder of my first arrest, and I never wanted to look at them again.

My phone buzzed from across the room then, and I went, wrapped in a towel, towards it to see who was contacting me at eleven a.m. I smiled automatically when I saw Nicholas's number, and quickly devoured the text he had sent me.

Just went to see Mason Crowe, and got the information we were looking for. It seems that the "good samaritan" who took it upon themselves to turn you in was Trevor, as in Ian's Trevor, so I think we have a mission ahead of us. See you at home later. I love you.

I felt the gasp leaving my throat then before I could summon it back, the next thing I heard was my heart hammering in my chest all over again. So, my suspicions had been confirmed, and I was officially out for blood. I knew I had to do something about it—hell, my twin was seeing this guy, and I needed to set the record straight. Of course, part of me wanted Ian to choose, but I also knew that I couldn't force his hand. I would expose Trevor and his dealings towards me, but the rest was up to Ian.

I pulled on a sports bra and panties, following up with a pair of jean shorts and a tank top, before I gathered my wits about me. Stepping back into the bathroom, the summer heat had mostly dried my hair for me, and I promptly put it into a high ponytail on my head before I brushed my teeth. I found I was not hungry as I returned to my room, grabbing a pair of sandals and putting my freshly-charged cell phone into my pocket, and headed back downstairs. I picked up my keys from where they were in the bowl by the door, and stepped out of the house.

The walk down my porch steps, through my yard, and across the street was easy, but the moment my sandal hit the pavement on the other side, it was another story. Heart hammering in my chest again, I stepped through the gate and up the stairs, letting myself in with my key, and just standing motionless on the threshold for a moment. Looking through the door and into the living room, I saw everyone from last night—except for Nicholas, Allie, Hugo, Iana, and the boys—passed out in various states of disarray in the living room.

Shaking my head, I pushed opened the door, my stomach turning automatically when I saw Ian sleeping with Trevor leaning on his shoulder. "Uh, hi," I said, and clapped my hands for good measure, and everyone unsteadily woke up. "I'm out."

Ian's eyes snapped open then, relief flooding his face as he launched himself up from the couch, throwing his arms around me and holding me against him. "Jesus Christ, Murph," he whispered, seeming as if he was reluctant to let me go.

"I'm fine," I said, forcing the sincerity into my voice as I pulled back. "No harm done."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Fiona demanded then, yanking me towards her. "No harm done?! You've got to be crazy..."

"Trust me, it's all going to be okay," I assured her, hugging her.

"That scared us," Debbie said, stepping forward tentatively and hugging me. "I don't want you to go anywhere, Murph."

I shook my head at her, holding her close. "Not gonna happen, Debs." I looked around her then and found myself smiling. "Carl!" I said, stepping forward. "You made it out! I'm so glad you're here for me!"

"Always," Carl replied, hugging me. "It's fucked what happened to you, Murph."

"No shit," Lip replied, stepping forward and knocking Carl out of the way so that he could hug me. "When I find the guy responsible..."

"It's coming, Lip, don't worry," I said, letting him go and looking at Liam. "Hey, little man," I said, smiling at him. "You hate me?"

"No," Liam replied, launching himself at me as Fiona had done, embracing me. "Just don't go away, Murph. You promised."

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured him. I hugged Kev and V next, pleased that they were there for the family, before pulling back. "I wanted you all to know that Nicholas texted me before I came over here this morning. He spoke to a friend of his, Detective Mason Crowe, and was able to figure out who turned me in."

"Who was it?" Fiona demanded, her tone fierce, her proud lioness coming out to play. "Tell us right now, Murphy."

Mutely, I handed over my phone to Fiona after accessing the text message, and looked at Trevor from the corner of my eye, who had the nerve to look nervous. "See for yourself," I said, and waited for Fiona to react.

"No," she said then, her voice practically shaking with emotion then as she raised her eyes to mine in a moment of shock. "Murph..."

"I had my suspicions about it, Fi, ever since my arrest last night, but I'm afraid it's true," I said as she handed over the phone to Lip, her eyes never leaving mine.

Lip appeared enraged then. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he replied, and handed my phone to Debbie.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, and handed it over to Carl.

Carl's hand shook then as he read the message. "I don't believe it," he said, his tone in firm belief as he gave my phone to Liam.

"Damn," Liam whispered, automatically handing off my phone to Kev and V.

"Not cool, man," Kev said.

"Jesus," V put in.

I turned to Ian then as V handed my phone back to me. "I think I'd like a moment alone with Ian and Trevor, please," I said stoically.

Everybody else in the room immediately shuffled off to the kitchen, and pretended to be involved in other things, but I knew full well that they were listening in. I stood there for a moment, waiting for the tension to ebb, but it did not, and as my twin stared at me, I saw that he was trying to see into my mind, but I kept him on the restricted access path. Seeing no other way out if this, I mutely handed my phone over to him, knowing that any reaction at this point would be an authentic one.

"Murph, is this real?" Ian asked.

I gave a stiff nod. "Yeah."

Ian turned immediately to Trevor then, a look I'd never seen before crossing his face. "You want to tell me what the fuck this is about?!" he demanded, jamming the phone into Trevor's face, his tone laced with anger.

Trevor looked uneasy then as he read the text message, before turning on me. "I said from day one that you ruined everything, Murph."

"And I said from day one that I didn't expect for you to be my best friend," I replied, crossing my arms. "Guess that's all officially been shot in the face."

"Trev, this is my sister—my twin sister—and you fucking turned her in for corresponding with Mickey, who is the father of Iana?!" Ian demanded, and handed my phone back to me. "What the fuck is the matter with you?! I don't understand any of this..."

"You don't understand? Jesus, Ian," Trevor said, shaking his head. "You always made it clear from day one that you loved Murphy more than you loved me."

Ian shook his head. "What are you talking about?!"

"You always need to know if Murphy's okay," Trevor went on. "It's always 'Murphy this' or 'Murphy that'. And then after Mickey came into the mix, it all became too much to handle. It all became too much for me to handle..."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I caught Murphy," he said, and I quickly pressed the record button on my phone without thinking twice. "I pretended that I had to write a fucking speech, and pretended that there was a system malfunction on the company computers. Then, I said that I needed to use her laptop, and she fucking let me! Then I searched her computer, and accessed the private documents she'd found about Mickey's whereabouts," he said, and Ian immediately looked at me, and I sighed, knowing that this would come up somehow. "So, I downloaded them onto my flash drive and took it to police."

"Out of jealousy?" Ian asked.

Trevor shrugged. "So what?"

"So what?!" Ian demanded. "So, you're better than that, Trev! Or, at least, I thought you were better than that," he said, automatically moving to step away from him, as I switched off the recorder.

Trevor looked nervous then. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're done," Ian said, and I stiffened as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm saying I'm choosing Murphy."

I turned and looked at him. "You don't mean that..."

"No, he fucking doesn't," Trevor replied, looking at Ian imploringly. "Don't do this, Ian. You know it's not what you want."

"I'll always want my family, Trevor," Ian said, his voice cutting. "I'm sick and tired of people up and deciding what it is I want and don't want. I want my sister, and if you can't deal with that, then get the hell out of my house."

Trevor hesitated for a moment before turning around and walking out without one glance back at either of us.

Ian turned to look at me then. "So, you found out where Mickey was?" he asked.

. . .

It was the third Monday in September when the charges were finally dropped completely, and I was given permission to return to the firm. Iana was in her second year of preschool, and the boys were still in daycare during the day. One thing that I'd gained since my arrest was a new friend, in the rarest way possible. His name was Detective Tommy Matthews, and he worked in a different department from Mason, but Mason knew who he was.

"Just don't know what you see in him," Nicholas said as we were in a quarterly meeting on my first day back at work, attempting to sift through old cases where some of the inmates had died and, therefore, could be regulated to the deceased file folders.

I shrugged. "He's nice," I replied. "And doesn't mind hearing about my night in jail over and over again," I replied, my tone clipped.

"If you ask me, I think he gets off on it," my husband replied. "Probably fantasizes that you're jailbait or something..."

I raised my eyebrows to him then, and waited until his gaze locked with mine. "My, my, Blomqvist, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

Nicholas immediately looked away. "Not jealous," he replied quickly, in an attempt to assure me otherwise. "Just concerned for my wife."

"Well, you don't need to be jealous," I said diplomatically, shuffling some paperwork on an old case and putting it into the deceased file folder. "You've got nothing to worry about when it comes to Tommy and me."

"Yeah?" Nicholas asked, sticking his pencil into his mouth for a moment as he attempted to organize a few things. "Why?" he asked, whipping it out again.

I grinned across the table at him. "Because he's not my type," I replied.

Nicholas nodded, acknowledging that for a moment, almost as if he was attempting to see reason in some shape or form. "Well, you'll just do what you want anyway..."

I sighed, leaning back in the chair and just staring at him for a moment. Ever since I'd gone to jail and had the charges ultimately dropped, things were definitely different between me and my husband, and it wasn't just because of my visits with Tommy. I could sense that there was something else, lurking just beneath the surface, that he wasn't telling me—and wasn't planning on telling me—at least, for now. As I'd attempted to pick away at his mind over the rest of the summer in an attempt to figure out what was bothering him, it had gone nowhere, and could have eventually led to fights if we'd let it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, suddenly remembering that it was my turn to talk. "I don't always do what I want, Nicholas. Clearly, you should know that."

He raised his eyes to mine. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that I can't just hop on a plane and go anywhere—like Europe," I said, thinking of one of the few places I'd been keen to see.

Nicholas looked surprised. "Europe?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I mean, I was born here, raised in Seattle, and I've been to California once and Mexico twice and then Florida... That's it," I replied, spreading my hands. "I'm not saying that I'm a prisoner here, Nicholas, but having kids comes with restrictions, ones that I never accounted for."

Nicholas nodded. "I suppose that's true."

I smiled. "I wouldn't change it for anything—I love our kids, I love our life. But there are just certain things that normal people in their twenties can do that I can't."

"Do you want to go to Europe?"

I scoffed. "Maybe someday, when the kids are older and can fend for themselves a bit," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "Not for a while, though, and I'm all right with that."

"So, you want to go to Europe," Nicholas said, setting down his pencil and leaning back in his chair then, mulling it over. "That's a pretty big want."

"Which is why I can wait for it, because the best things in life are worth waiting for," I said simply to him. "And I'm happy to wait for it. I know we'll get there eventually. Besides, I'm only twenty-five."

Nicholas sighed. "Yeah. The best things in life are worth waiting for."

I leaned forward then, tapping my pencil against the stack of documents that had been assigned to me, not understanding what my husband was getting at. "And what does that mean?" I asked him, attempting to keep my tone reserved.

Nicholas massaged his temples for a moment, obviously taking great care in formulating his words before he spoke. "We haven't spoken about it much, since..."

"You can say it," I said, my tone gentle. "Since my arrest."

His shoulders slacked then, and I could see then that he was very serious about this. "I meant what I said...before the arrest..."

I blinked, still unsure as to what his meaning was, and hoping beyond hope that this was the underlying thing that had been bothering him. "What?" I asked him. "Tell me, Nicholas. What do you want?"

"I want to know if you're open to having another baby," he replied then, staring at me, and I felt myself get to my feet then.

"We've discussed this," I tell him, my tone clipped. "Once the twins are over two, we can talk about it again. But now," I said, spreading my hands, "I'm not ready."

Nicholas sighed. "What if now is the best we've got?" he asked.

I felt something shift inside me then. "Nicholas? What's going on?"

"Forget it," he said, obviously thinking he'd said too much. "We've got a lot of work to do here, Murphy, so we'd better get it done before it's too late."