Chapter 1

"Yes Ma, I'm walking up the driveway right now. I told you I'd come." I sighed, exasperated. I'd like to go just one day without getting a call from my mother. Just one day of peace without her constant worry about bills, or pills or my brothers.

I stood in the driveway of my childhood home, pausing for a moment to put up my defenses. I hated coming back to this house, but my mother always seemed to find away to drag me back- often with the pretense of needing something fixed. I have two older brothers and yet I'm the one she calls when the weed-eater won't start.

I trudged up the steps, my messenger bag thumping against the back of my thighs. Taking one more deep breath, I opened the back kitchen door and walked into the smoky room. My mother chain-smoked like a chimney and the entire house permanently reeked of stale tobacco smoke.

"Lizzie!" she called out, excitedly from the dining room

"Hey ma," I called back, heading straight to the dishwasher which she had told me was making strange clunking sound. "What's wrong with the washer?"

"Lizzie, come in here!"

I rolled my eyes, wishing she would just tell me what was wrong instead of making me guess. Everything with her was like this- she'd never just say what she wanted, instead I got the joy of trying to come up with the right answer to make her happy. Another reason I tried to avoid her.

I walked into the dining room, expecting to see my mother pouring over medical books looking for her next hypochondriac disease like usual, but I was shocked to find her standing next to my older brother, Michael.

My older brother who I'd hadn't seen in over 10 years. A man I hardly recognized.

"Lizzie! Michael's home!" my mother sing-songed excitedly.

"Home?" I questioned warily.

Michael joined the military at 17, all but abandoning my second oldest brother, Nate, and me to my father's drunken rages. He'd come home only three times since then, and only for very short stays.

"For now." Mike answered.

I stood across the dining room from him and my mother, appraising him. He wasn't the teenaged boy I remembered, or even the young man he was last time I saw him. He looked older, more tired and I wondered again what he had been doing.

"Lizzie! Aren't you gonna hug your brother?!" my mother chided, crossing the room to come towards me.

I certainly wasn't going to hug him. He might be my brother, but he was still an abandoning asshole.

"Actually Ma, I just came over to look at the dishwasher…" I said turning to her "but I can see it's probably not broken, so I really have to go."

I turned, desperate to the leave house. The smoke and the memories were getting to be too much.

"Michael, you know your sister has her own business now!" Ma said proudly, grabbing my elbow, forcing me to stay in the room.

Mike nodded, no real emotion on his face. He stood in the room like a statue the entire time, never relaxing. I guessed that he felt as uncomfortable here as I did.

"Yeah" I said, nodding at Mom "And I really gotta get back to it"

"What do you do Lizzie?" Mike asked, his voice flat.

"I'm freelance." I replied briefly " Look Ma, I really gotta go. " I said freeing myself from her grasp.

"It was good seeing you Mike!" I called out, giving a small clipped wave as I turned to go.

I nearly ran back out the back door, my blood boiling and my lungs desperate for fresh air. Just seeing him made me angry. It was like being 12 again and helpless. I hated being helpless. I had worked my entire adult life to make sure that I was never helpless again; I could take care of myself. That was one thing Michael's leaving taught me.

I paused before getting into my car, taking a deep breath through my nose to calm my emotions. I had to just let all that go. Mike would most likely be gone tomorrow, if not the next day, not to be seen or heard from again for several years. I could safely bury the feelings of hurt and anger with the memories of him and go back to my normal life.

At least having him around for a day or two would get my mother off my back.

A week later, everything was back to normal. I was in a great mood, having not heard from my mother since she called me to hassle me about the meeting with my brother. The radio silence from her was refreshing, and while I knew it was her way of punishing me for how I acted, it was pleasant. We'd done this dance before, eventually she would call and ask why I hadn't called her, and wasn't I worried that I hadn't heard from her? She could be dead in a ditch somewhere and I'd never know! At least for now the quiet was enjoyable.

Apart from the peace from my mother I was also back to work. I was working a part time job for the Miami Dade Housing Authority and while the job was as boring as anything I'd ever done, working for the county gave me spectacular access to records and documents which I found fascinating- and potentially useful. It also gave me plenty of time to work on my "freelance" business.

I was walking home from work when I got a call from a buddy of mine, asking about getting some freelance work done. He had a friend who needed some reproductions made of some key cards and ID badges. Now, I specialize in passports and immigration papers, and living in Miami I get a pretty good amount of business, but I don't mind helping out a friend on some smaller projects. So I said I would meet his friend later that evening at a restaurant downtown.

When I arrived at the restaurant a few hours later, I sat down at the bar to get a look around at the cliental. Although counterfeits aren't exactly top priority for the Miami police, I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate, to take down a girl who's been getting illegal aliens fake passports for the past 4 years, so I liked to look around and see who came to dinner just in case. As I scouted the restaurant and bar, I noticed a man who I thought might be my buyer. He was an older guy, maybe in his mid-40s, with dark brown hair, that was going grey on the sides. He had the salt and pepper scruff of two-day-old facial hair and wore a loud Hawaiian shirt, the top button open so that several grey chest hairs were poking out.

Ugh.

Yeah that was probably him. When my buddy told me to look for a man in a loud print shirt and khakis, I nearly kicked him. That's the description of nearly every man over 40 in Miami. But against the backdrop of the downtown-chic bar, with everyone dressed to impress, this guy stood out.

I sat at the bar for a few more minutes, watching him and surveying the scene. He looked completely at ease, ordering another drink and flirting with the waitress. After deciding he looked harmless I made my way over.

"Hi, there," I said to him, deciding to play coy, seeing if he knew who I was.

"Well, hello there," he said sitting up and running his eyes over me. I was wearing a thin, cotton dress and heels, nothing amazing, but enough to blend into the downtown scene.

"You look like you could use some company..." I said twirling my straw around my drink.

"Ah... I'd love to honey, oh believe me I would, but I'm actually here on business."

"Oh," I said, sitting down across from him. "Me too."

The man looked torn, part of him very obviously wanted me to stay, but I could see that he also wanted to get his work done.

"Look, hun, maybe another time, I could come back and we could chat…"

"I think we should chat now Sam," I said grinning at him. Playing him was just too much fun, and as much as I would have loved to string him along and get him all worked up, I also had work to do, "Barry said you need IDs, what are you looking for?"

Sam looked shocked, and was speechless for a moment.

"Ah..." he said, chuckling and shaking his head. "So you are the artist huh?"

"What? Barry didn't tell you I was a woman?"

"Uh no, he left that out, what did you say your name was?

"Dana, but that not really important. Let talk about what you need, I'm here to help" I said, dropping all pretext and putting on my 'lets get to work' voice.

"Ok well good to meet you Dana, I'm Sam. Barry said you are the best, so I'm coming to you for some of that expertise. "

Sam slid a napkin across the table with writing on it.

"I need a key card and ID badge for this building"

SanCo Securities.

I'd never heard of it, but that wouldn't be a problem. Most of the security type places are the same: coded key card, photo ID badges, nothing to crazy.

"Ok. How much?" I asked.

People rarely know how much dubs cost, so it's nice to let them make the first offer.

A person who offers too much is either unknowing or possibly generous. A person who offers to little is usually just unappreciative.

"$700."

Damn. This guy was good. He hit it on the mark. I was hoping for six, but by offering seven he was letting me know I was worth it, even for such a small job. I decided to try my luck for some more just in case though

"No way. This is complicated. I'd need at least 9"

Sam laughed and took a drink of his mojito.

"Sorry sweetie, you're cute and all, but 7 is where that stays. Its more than fair."

I debated for a moment, irritated that he wasn't as dumb as he looked. Usually I could play up the girl card and get whatever I was looking for.

"Ok fine. $750, but I'm gonna need a photo. Are you feeling photogenic tonight Sam?"

Sam chuckled again, smiling at me. For someone who was talking about making fake badges that would probably be used in a break-in he was very relaxed, I liked that about him.

"No, it's not for me. For a buddy."

Jeez. I'm making a copy for a friend-of-a friend of a friend's friend.

"Ok" I said as he handed me a small 4x3 photo.

I glanced at it quickly; ready to shove it into my bag, but the second I looked at the photo I had to do a double take.

It was Michael. My eyes flicked from the photo to Sam before I could stop myself.

Who was this guy? What was going on? Why does my brother need a key card for a securities firm? My head was spinning with questions and my adrenaline picked up the pace. I looked at the photo once more, just to be sure it wasn't the dim light of the bar playing tricks on me. No it was definitely him.

I paused, quickly trying to rein in my emotions. This was a job. I needed to be professional. I put the put the photo in my bag without another glance.

"When do you need it?" I asked Sam, willing my pulse to slow down.

"Soon as you can get it done," he replied, looking at me curiously. He had noticed my reaction to the photo.

"Ok, I need time to go by SanCo and see what they are working with. Wednesday work for you?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah call me, my numbers on the back"

I flipped over the napkin he had handed me earlier to find a phone number scrawled on the back.

"Ok." I said standing up, ready to leave. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so I could get another look at that photo.

"Leaving so soon? You should stay for a drink. You know business expense?" Sam smiled up at me, his earlier charm turned back on.

"Love to Sam," I said, mirroring his flirty attitude, "maybe another time,"

I hurried away from him, anxious to be alone. By the time I got back to my apartment I was nearly beside myself with curiosity. I hadn't dared to pull out the picture until I was at home, alone and safe. Afraid just looking at it would reveal some big loud secret.

I pulled the small photo out and sat down on a stool at my kitchen island to study it. It was my brother. That was for sure. It was also a photo I'd never seen, which wasn't surprising. It was a simple passport style shot, only showing his head and shoulders. He wasn't smiling it in. More his face held a slightly intense gaze, although not threatening. I turned the photo over, hoping to find something on the back, but of course it was blank.

Looking at the photo again, I studied his face. It was so strange to see him all grown up. All my memories held him as a child and teenager. My big older brother: always so serious, always so defensive. He was the one who took the brunt of my father's anger. Even in the small photo I could make out the two scars running down his left cheek that dad gave him. Dad was great that way; we each had something to remember him by. Nate had a curved scar running just above his lip, and mine was angled slash above my left eyebrow, courtesy of a beer bottle he threw at me in eighth grade.

I sat staring at the photo for a while, my thoughts drawn back to my childhood at home with my brothers. It wasn't all bad. Dad might disappear on a bender for a few days and the house would be peaceful and calm. Or Mom might get tired having her dishes smashed and take us out to dinner. I wished I could think of more happy memories, but each time I thought about Mike, I thought about when he left and how angry my father was and how bad things got.

I shook my head, clearing it of those violent thoughts and focusing back on the task at hand. My brother needed a fake keycard for a security building. This was extremely curious. As far as I knew, Mike was in the military, Special Forces I think. None of us were really sure what he had been doing. He'd call mom every year on her birthday, and the number always came up blocked. He said he was overseas, but he never said where. I just always assumed he was out being a solider, shooting guns and digging foxholes. But what would a solider need with a fake keycard to a Miami business?

It was possible that Mike had left the military and was now pursuing less honorable past times like Nate and me. It was hard to picture Mike as a criminal though. Even when he stole stuff as a kid, it was always for a reason- Dad blew all our money on liquor and we need groceries- Dad broke my arm and refused to let us have the car to go to the hospital. He stole groceries, school supplies, even cars, but it was always for a reason, always honorable. There really isn't anything honorable about making fake-ids.

So he must have a reason for wanting into the business. I supposed I could just ask him what was going on, but I really didn't want to talk to him again, and something told me he'd just lie -maybe because that's what I'd do.

He said he wasn't going to be here long; maybe the security company had something he needed to get out of the country. Maybe they owed him money? I'd have to figure out more about this business. I'd have to make the keycard and then follow him. Maybe then I could find out what he was up to.

Well that was decided. I was calling in sick to work tomorrow.

**disclaimer- I do not own any of the Burn Notice characters.