Chapter Two
"What's wrong?" Fi demanded.
It had been almost eight years since she had last seen her mother. She didn't realize she'd missed her, and she didn't expect for the lump in her throat to arrive, but there it was.
Fi knew the fact that she was here meant something was seriously wrong. Ena had said upon more than one occasion that she hadn't lost anything in America, so there was no reason go.
They had never been close; Fi always believed her mother favored her sons more than her daughters, and after Claire was killed, Fiona had never found a good reason to strengthen her relationship with her mother. That had been complicated by her loyalty Michael, of course.
Ena gathered her oldest daughter into a hug. "How I missed you, girl, but I can't say the same for your gentlemen friend." She glared at Michael. "McBride."
"Westen," Michael corrected.
"That's right. The spy. Just another scoundrel."
"Now, mum," Sean warned. "We need his help, and he's been watchin' over Fi all this time. You needn't talk to him-"
"I'll talk to him how I like, boy. He's a liar, that's a fact." Ena Glenanne wore the same practiced, regal air Fi did when she was in a snit-spine straight, chin up and defiant. She glanced at Michael, still shirtless, with disgust clearly visible on her small, even features.
"So, boyo, you got my girl pregnant yet? Knew you were nothin' but trouble the first time I met ya. See you're livin' in sin with her here, least that's what it's lookin' like to me." She looked pointedly at the rumpled bed nearly in the middle of the room.
Fi gasped, her face drained of color. "Mum!"
Michael's ears turned red, but he calmly turned around, grabbed a t-shirt from a laundry basket and pulled it on before turning back to Sean. He crossed his arms over his chest.
When a Glenanne woman was in attack mode, you needed armor, and then you removed yourself from her line of fire any way you could. Didn't matter if she spoke with an Irish brogue or a sanitized and Americanized version of it. Glenanne women, he had decided, took anger to shock and awe levels.
"What's going on, Sean?"
Fiona's brother was looking healthier than he had when they said their farewells three years ago, but he was clearly worried about something or he wouldn't have smuggled himself and his mother back to Miami.
"O'Neill's escaped from prison. Bastard's on the run and he's headed this way. He's got support but we don't know who 'tis. My brothers are taking care of each other back home, and tryin' to figure out who's helping he bastard and how he got out. We figured Fi and Mum would be easy targets. And I'm not trustin' phones these days. Somebody's tapped in on us."
"Wouldn't it have been safer to stay in Ireland? Get to safe house?"
"Thought so, until mum's place got firebombed. He's got friends, the same kinda friends he had here last time he tried this. He swears he's killin' the whole Glenanne clan. I can't let that happen."
"He's already tried to kill two of your brothers," Ena said. She spotted the loft kitchen area and moved that direction. "Fiona, do you have some decent tea in this dump?"
Fi wrapped the bathrobe's belt tighter and followed her mother.
Sean looked up at Michael. "I'm apologizin' for my mum. She shoudn'ta said what she did to you and Fi," he said quietly. "I need your help again, Michael."
"Don't worry about it. You got here by ship?"
"Yeah, Mum's kinda cranky about that but I didn't have much choice."
Michael understood. "Well, then, she's probably tired and needs to rest. You remember my mom. Let's get you over there. Hey, Fi, hold up. We're going to mom's."
Ena looked at her daughter who was filling an oversized kettle with fresh water. "He has a mother?"
"With a guest room," Michael said, reaching for his cell phone.
By 9 a.m. Michael and Fi were headed back to the loft.
Ena finally had her cup of tea at Madeline's, and while Michael and Sean talked to Sam about what spurred the impromptu Glenanne visit to Miami, Fi talked to her mother and helped her get settled in Maddie's guest room which had been Michael and Nate's childhood bedroom.
Sean had decided to bunk in Maddie's garage even though the Charger remained in various stages of repair there, while Sam went to tap into his information sources about Thomas O'Neill.
They agreed to meet with Michael and Fiona later at the loft to make plans.
"I'm sorry about what my mother said to you," Fiona said quietly. They were in Fiona's car and Michael was driving them back to the loft.
"It's okay, Fi." He smiled. "You never have to guess where you stand with her."
She glanced over to him. "Never."
"You know," he started, "it's going to take Sam a while to get what we need."
Fiona yawned. "Good. I'm tired. I need a nap."
"Could we talk first, Fi?" Michael asked softly.
"Sure."
He got out of the car to unlock the moveable metal wall that separated them from the warehouse district, drove in then pulled the gate shut and padlocked it while Fi climbed the stirs and unlocked the loft door.
She was in house-keeping mode, when Michael joined her in the loft. He locked the door behind him and waited until she was finished straightening the bed and hanging up her robe.
"Michael, now that I think about this, it's probably not a good idea putting our mothers together. You should know your mom thinks we should-"
"You're right, Fi. But can you see your mother staying here?"
She smiled. Michael leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her lips before he gently slid his hand across her abdomen. He didn't have time to waste on subtlety.
"When were you going to tell me?"
Fi's eyes grew wide. She backed away and held up her hands, as if to ward him off. Apology and fear clashed in her expressive eyes.
"How did you . . . ?"
He moved closer. She backed away again, so he stopped.
Her panicked response was not what he was expecting. "Fi?"
"No, I mean, yes. I mean . . . I don't." She paused and inhaled deeply as if to calm herself. "I have a test kit, but I haven't used it. But even if . . . maybe, I might not or maybe . . . " Fi snapped her mouth shut.
At the moment she looked very much like a kitten out on a limb with nothing to hold on to. At least she stopped backing away from him. He clasped her shoulders with both hands and smiled. "Not making sense, Fi."
"I'm sorry. I don't think . . ." She looked away from him.
"Don't think . . . what? You're pregnant?"
Then Fiona did something she rarely did, and never, ever had done with Michael. She allowed him to see tears gather in her eyes.
"Fiona?"
She pulled it away, walked across the room and reached for the cavernous handbags she currently favored. She brought out a blue and white box and turned toward the small loft bathroom.
"Why don't I just take the damned test now and then we'll both know, OK?"
He'd heard stories about pregnancy and how women became irrational and emotional, and whenever he'd had that fleeting thought about Fiona being pregnant, he couldn't see her behaving either emotionally or irrationally. It just didn't fit.
It struck him then, that if Fi was pregnant, maybe she didn't want to be. Maybe she wouldn't think it was a good thing. Every emotion in his body twisted into a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.
Fiona lost track of time after the damned two minute test produced its verdict.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she'd splashed cold water on her face. Twice. Freshened her hands. Brushed her hair off her neck and looped it in a high knot. Composed her features in front of the mirror, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate.
She had no intention of letting him see she'd been crying. He was too damned observant as it was, and besides, a red, blotchy face was so unattractive. So she waited; it took a little longer to steel herself and cloak her emotions.
The truth was, she didn't need the test kit. It just verified what she already knew. She'd been keenly aware of the changes in her body, and should have expected he would see them, too. She just hadn't figured Michael would be this observant, not with everything else going on in his life.
If she was right, she was eight weeks into her pregnancy. In her personal medical history, this was an extremely dangerous time for her.
It must have happened after he came back the first time his new CIA buddies felt safe enough to let him out of their sights.
They could not go slow that night, not for a moment, not that she would have wanted it any other way. But they had been reckless. No, she corrected herself, sternly. Michael had been considerate, thoughtful. She was the one who had been reckless, just like every time before.
Looking at that plus sign on pregnancy test stick, she realized she was being witlessly foolish. Reckless, again.
Really, just how stupid could one woman be, she berated herself, if she'd already had two miscarriages, both at eight weeks? The first was horrifying, and now, today, her mother's arrival in Miami churned those old, painful emotions into something raw and fresh.
If there was one thing she did not want to happen again, it would be for her mother to witness another loss like that. Fiona detested that anyone see her in that helpless, out of control, weakened state, completely unable to unable to protect herself.
She took a deep, cleansing breath, and made a decision. She was going to dig out one of her an old IDs, swallow her fear and get herself to an OB/GYN office as soon as possible.
She held her hands out to make sure they no longer were shaking.
Michael had always deserved explanations, and she had always been too much of a coward to tell him how she lost, then mourned the children they never had. She had never understood how desperately she wanted Michael's children until they were gone. Even if he didn't want this child now, she did. So she'd better take care of him or her.
He didn't notice her return. He was standing on the balcony, talking on the phone.
"Yeah, Max, I'll be there," he said. As if he felt her presence, he turned and looked straight into her eyes as he folded the phone shut.
"Well, Michael, it was positive. I'll find a doctor this week. Maybe when you get back I'll have the dates and all that sort of thing." She was grateful to have a reason to change the subject. "I know you can't tell me where, but how long will you be gone this time? Do you know?"
He closed the distance between them to draw her into a big warm embrace that weakened her knees. "You okay?"
She pulled away. "So how long will you be gone?"
He persisted. "Don't know. Fi, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. A little tired. I think that's normal or something."
He studied her face. "You don't want to talk about this?"
When she walked away, he followed.
"What's to talk about?" she deflected. "I'm going to the doctor; you're going with Max. We'll figure this out later, right? And, we still have to figure out what to do to keep my mum and Sean safe."
"Please?" Michael persisted. "Can we just talk about our child?"
He could not have known the internal destruction created in her when he said those two words: our child. She would have stumbled but Michael hadn't already stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry. We need more information before we can . . . "
"Together, Fi. We're doing this together, I want to-"
He stepped around to look down into eyes and cupped her cheek with his hand. There was nothing she wanted more than to wrap her arms around him and weep with equal measures of sorrow and joy. Instead she pulled away and walked toward the door, grabbing her bag and cell phone.
"Fi?" He stood still, watching, waiting, puzzled.
"I'm taking the car. Sam will be here soon, unless you think you'll need the car before then?" She slung her tote bag over her shoulder.
"I thought you wanted to rest."
She ignored that.
"Stay safe out there, okay?"
