The plot thickens as a certain spy and retired Naval Commander renew their friendship, while across town Fiona Glenanne is getting to know Michael's mom.

TWO HOURS TOO LATE

Chapter Four

Madeline Westen led the way to the pharmacy. Once inside the two women stood chatting while they waited in line for their prescriptions to be filled. Madeline was amazed at how much in common she had with the younger woman as they bonded over the latest cliff hanger in her favorite soap opera. By the time they walked out onto the street, they had already made a date to attend a yoga class together.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow, Madeline." Fiona waved the piece of paper that her new best friend had written her address on.

"Remember, the class starts at two, Fiona. Nicole likes everybody to be on time," Ms Westen called back happily.

Slipping into the Caddy, she turned the key and nothing happened. She tried twice more before she gave up, angrily reaching into her purse for a cigarette.

Damn Frank for leaving me with this pile of crap.

"Madeline?" She looked up to see Fiona peering through the window at her. "Has it broken again?"

Ten minutes later, the slim redhead had the old car running again. "Look, let me follow you back, in case it stops again."

Madeline nodded, thanking her lucky stars that she had gone to her hospital appointment and met up with such a lovely and caring young woman as Fiona Glenanne. With her companion following in her own car, the older woman led the way back to her home. When she pulled up on her drive, she rushed to unlock the front door to welcome her guest inside.

"You have a lovely home, Madeline," Fiona commented as she stepped past Michael's mother and into the Westen family home.

"Thank you, dear. Oh… can you put my medicine down on the little table beside the chair?" She ushered her inside, positively beaming as she made her way into the kitchen. "Would you like some iced tea, dear?"

"Thank you. That would be lovely." Fiona moved to the large display case, picking up the photograph that she had looked at the previous night. She remembered how much Michael enjoyed unsweetened iced tea. "Are these your boys?"

The blonde came out of the kitchen, handing her guest a tall glass. Taking the picture frame, she looked at it fondly, her fingers gently ghosting over the faces of the two boys. "Yes, Michael and Nathanial…." She gave a small sniff before placing it back on the self. "They grow up so fast. Do you have any children?"

"No," Fiona answered with a small smile of regret. "My career sort of got in the way."

"Oh, what do you do?" Madeline gestured for the other woman to follow her into her sun room and then they both sat down.

"I was in the family business for a while until I got into banking. Then I ran a little export business in New York. But now that I'm in Miami, I'm not sure what I'll do. I have enough money to keep me going for a little while… You know, until I sort myself out." The redhead looked at the older woman as if she had just come up with an inspiration. "Say, it would be wonderful if you could come with me when I go looking for an apartment. I mean, you being a native and all."

Madeline very nearly clapped her hands together in glee. But before she could answer, there was a loud knock on the front door.

"Sorry, dear." Madeline was on her feet, wondering who could be calling.

Opening the heavy wooden door, she stared at two well-dressed men standing on her doorstep. Both had neat haircuts and were wearing sunglasses.

"Madeline Westen?" Both men flashed FBI badges before she could reply. "I'm Special Agent Hernandez and this is Special Agent Connors. We're here about your son – Michael."

Madeline fell back a step and then felt the comforting arm of her guest on her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" Fiona asked.

"We should probably discuss this inside. May we come in?"

"Please come inside." Madeline moved away from the door, feeling a chill climbing up her spine and couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She hadn't heard from Michael in over a year and now there were two FBI agents on her doorstep. Her mind instantly went to the worst case scenario.

"Ma'am, we need to speak to you in private." Hernandez gave Fiona a pointed look.

"My friend can hear whatever you have to say," Madeline stated, clutching at the younger woman's hand and sending her a pleading look.

"Mrs Westen…"

"You heard the lady, boys. Have a seat," Fiona instructed, waving with her free hand towards dining room.

Once they were all sat down around the rectangular table, Agent Hernandez folded his arms and stared at the two women. "Mrs Westen, we need to know if you've seen your son recently."

Madeline felt a rush of relief. Michael was alive, thank God. She was a little surprised when she glanced at Fiona and noticed the same look of reprieve on her face too. "No, why should I have?"

"And you haven't heard from him either?" Hernandez didn't waste time answering her questions. "He hasn't contacted you in any way?"

"He's here in Miami?" his mother asked in a small voice.

"Yes, ma'am, he's has been in Miami for three days and we need to speak to him... Urgently…."

"Well, if he's here, then I'm sure he'll be calling soon." She tried to hide the hurt that the first she knew of her son being in town was when two federal agents told her.

"Would you mind if we had a little look around. You know just so we can satisfy ourselves that he isn't here?"

Madeline's eyes flashed angrily. Over the years she had become used to having the police in her home searching for either one of her boys or for her husband, but it still made her mad nonetheless.

"Do you have a warrant?" Fiona cut in.

"If Mrs Westen has nothing to hide as she says—"

Madeline knew there was nothing incriminating to be found. If she agreed to them searching, they would go away faster and leave her alone.

"Knock yourselves out. Just don't make a mess." She pulled out a cigarette and lit it before turning back to her guest. "I'm sorry about this. Michael, he's my eldest, he works for the government and we get all sorts of security checks. This is nothing to worry about."

Fiona found herself feeling more and more disturbed as the two men split up and began noisily searching each room. "Madeline, shouldn't you be keeping an eye on them?"

"Just let them get on with it, dear. The sooner they're done, the sooner they'll be gone."

Fiona had her own very strong views about letting the police or any other government agency into the home. Having been brought up in a place where illegal guns and explosives could be found in nearly every cupboard or drawer, no law enforcement officer ever got over the doorstep unless they turned up with a patrol of soldiers to back them up. Just letting these two men roam around unsupervised felt totally wrong.

"If you're sure, I mean..." The Irishwoman was turning as far in the chair as she could, trying to keep an eye on what the agents were doing.

Madeline patted her guest's hand. Her new friend's concern was a bit overwhelming. She couldn't remember the last time anybody had been that worried about her welfare.

"I think I should just keep an eye on them, anyway, you know, just to be sure."

Before the bottle blonde could object, the lithe redhead slipped out of the chair, through the kitchen and moved stealthily into the hallway that led to the back bedrooms.

ooo BN ooo

While his mother and ex-asset were busy entertaining the FBI, Michael had finished his business with Barry and walked out of the cafe before stopping a little way along the street. He held the art dealers business card in his hand, twirling it in between his fingers. There was really no need for him to speak to the man. He had faith that Sam would ask all the right questions and then all he would have to do is get the answers from the ex-SEAL. He would only have to visit the gallery if Sam either didn't have all the information he needed or refused to share.

Slipping the card into his pants pocket, the burned spy glanced up and froze just for a fraction of a second before slipping into the nearest store. Hiding amongst the various souvenirs, he eyed a sandy blond haired man sitting inside a beige Ford sedan and a younger dark haired man further up the street pretending to read a newspaper while leaning casually against a low wall. Unless he was very much mistaken, the FBI had found him. These two were being cautious, separating so as not to be easy targets. Michael looked around. expecting to see a tactical squad moving in on him. When he saw only tourists, the dark haired operative knew he had to get moving quickly.

He spotted two kids weaving their way through the crowds on skateboards. These were local kids unless he was very much mistaken. With one more careful look to check he was in the clear, Michael stepped out far enough to stop the kids.

"Hey…" He smiled down at them and pointed to where two bicycle cops were talking to a couple of pedestrians. "See that cop..? I'll give you guys 5 bucks each if you go and tell him that the man in that car over there tried to make you sit on his lap. Can you do that?" He pointed to the fed sitting in the vehicle and pulled out his wallet.

"Make it ten bucks each." The taller of the kids demanded, his eyes had grown large at the thickness of the wallet.

"Fifteen, but you split it," Michael haggled. Searching for a five dollar bill to match the ten he had in his hand. He paused before handing the money over. "For fifteen, I want tears."

The kid swiped the money from his hand. "Alright, dog…" and they were gone.

Watching from cover until the bicycle cops moved in on the agents, smiling as the blond was dragged out and thrown against the vehicle. This was better than he had hoped for. The local law enforcement had spotted the agent's gun and soon the man was spread eagle on the hood of the Ford, while his younger partner rushed over trying to clear up the misunderstanding.

Walking away with a large grin on his face, Michael pushed through the crowds of holiday makers feeling very pleased with himself. He knew he was storing up more trouble in the near future messing with the agents the way he had done because sooner or later he was going to have to deal with the FBI. There was no way he could get a burn notice lifted while under investigation for double murder, which reminded him of his other problem.

After this job, he really needed to find a way to ditch Larry.

ooo BN ooo

Sam put his phone away and stepped out on to the street. The meeting with the art dealer had been very - interesting. He felt himself lucky to have gotten out without being dragged into the guy's basement to view a whole load of Greco-Roman nude wrestling statues.

Looking first one way and then the other, he started to walk towards the luxury apartment building that he was presently calling home. Though he showed no sign of it, the former SEAL was well aware of his shadow. He thought he had seen Michael Westen lurking on his tail back when he was grabbing a little lunch. Barry's phone call had just confirmed his suspicions.

Until a few days ago, Sam would have been happy to see his old friend. That was until he had a call to report to the FBI field office and had been informed of the burn notice and that Michael was in town. He had been ordered to report any contact he had with the disgraced spy on pain of losing his pension. Then the day before he had another visit, only this time not so friendly... Two very angry men came to his sugar mama's love nest and after searching the rooms, they had informed him that his one-time associate turned blacklisted traitor was wanted for questioning about the murder of the two agents who had been sent to watch him.

As he walked along the pavement, Sam thought about the Michael Westen he had last seen a little over a year ago, drinking beers and dispensing good advice which Sam had ignored, admittedly to his own detriment. That man would never do anything to deserve a burn notice nor was he the sort of man to kill a couple of federal agents in cold blood. Personally, the ex-SEAL thought it was all bull. Michael Westen couldn't have changed so much in a year. It had to be a mistake or a set up.

Arriving at his destination Sam went inside and called up the elevator. He knew the wanted man following his every move would get inside and read the number on the display as to which floor he got out. Once he reached the lawyer's wife's apartment, he went straight to his fridge to get a couple of cold ones. Then he opened the balcony doors, letting in the fresh air. This was the only time of year he could actually enjoy the outdoors without being suffocated by the heat and humidity.

For a moment he stared out at the sea view, which was spectacular. He couldn't complain about the accommodations, that was for sure... Then Sam turned back to place one of the beers on the small patio table before moving towards his front door. Hearing the faint whisper of the elevator opening, the involuntarily retired military man threw open his front door and stuck his head out, spotting the disgraced spy immediately.

"Hey, Mikey, are you comin' in? Or do you plan on waitin' for a written invitation?" He watched as Michael spun round to face him and was a little hurt when there was no 'happy to see you' smile on his friend's face, only a cold guarded expression.

"I wasn't sure of the welcome I'd get," Michael replied, making no move to enter the apartment.

"Oh, don't worry about the welcome. I'm no longer considered security clearance material. C'mon in and grab a beer." Sam took a swig from his bottle and disappeared inside.

A couple of seconds later, he heard the door shut. Turning slightly in his seat on the balcony, he watched Michael walk through to join him, the younger man moving like a cat on high alert, his eyes surveying the room as if expecting a trap.

"Take a seat. You must be tired after chasing me around all day." He kicked another chair out from under the small plastic table.

"I assume you got word of my situation," his guest commented and sat down. "So, where did I slip up?" he asked with interest.

"Well, I thought I spotted you out on Star Island and when I was chowing down. But then, you know, Barry called me. Said you were around asking questions, so that's when I knew for sure. I think you scared him, Mikey," Sam scolded, pushing a bottle of beer across the table.

The dark haired man shrugged. He knew Barry would warn Sam. But he didn't really care.

"So, who told you about the burn notice?"

"Oh you know, spies, bunch of bitchy little girls and you're the hot topic of the week." The older man paused for a moment and then took a deep breath. "You shoulda come an' seen me, brother. We coulda sorted this mess out. Tell me you didn't fry those two feds who were tailing you."

"It's too late for that." He watched as his buddy put up his defenses. "For what it's worth, I didn't kill those men." He was on his feet now, leaning out over the balcony.

"But you know who did?" he asked softly. When Michael didn't answer or face him, Sam felt a cold dread. Whatever his friend was mixed up in, it was bad. "O-kay then..." He didn't push any further. Instead he changed the subject. "So why were you hanging around Star Island?"

"That's what I was going to ask you." Michael sat back down, unblinking blue eyes regarding his friend as if he were trying to read his mind.

Mr Axe knew demanding answers from the disgraced spy would get him nowhere as the younger man was already shut down and if he pushed, Mike would probably just get up and leave.

"I'm helping out a guy working in one of the big houses. He is being used as a fall guy by a smarmy rich bastard to take the blame for a robbery. I've just got to figure out a way of proving it."

He watched his one-time brother in arms carefully all the while trying to look like he was totally disinterested. The dark haired spy was back to his feet again, his restlessness a sure sign of his agitation.

"And what about the art dealer…? What did he have to say?"

"Javier's boss was trying to sell the paintings six months before the theft, but nobody wanted to pay what he wanted. They're not on the black market right now so my guess is Pyne still has them stashed some place. I figure if I could get into his safe and see if he's got any secret bank accounts or storage lockers, you know somewhere big enough to hide—".

"I want you to forget about this Javier, let him take his chances," Michael cut him off abruptly." If you must help him, do it by letting the cops know about the art. That will give them somebody else to look at."

"Whoa there, brother, what do you care about it? Don't tell me you're working for Pyne."

At first, the former naval commander didn't think he would get an answer. Michael seemed to stare through him for a minute before he finally looked him in the eye.

"No, I'm working for somebody he owes money to." The spy gave Sam an apologetic smile. "I need money. This isn't something I want to do. But since they—It is what it is," he finished with a shrug.

Sam banged his beer bottle down on the table top. "The first thing you should be doing is clearing your name with the feds, Mike. And then if it's money you need, I'll go half with you on this gig. It's not high paying, but Lucy, I know you remember Lucy, she sends jobs my way all the time. We can go talk to her. Maybe she knows more about this burn notice thingy and what to do about it."

"Lucy? Lucy Chen? Is she still in Miami?"

"Yeah, brother, she's got a fancy penthouse office at that private security company she's running downtown. You should go see her."

Michael shook his head, placing the beer bottle back down on the table untouched. "Maybe later… I've got to do this job first… I'll see you around, Sam. Stay away from this Javier guy. There's more than me looking at Pyne… I'd hate to see you get hurt."

And there was the subtle warning.

Sam stayed on the balcony after his guest let himself out. He had to think of a way to reach out to his friend, before he went too far, find a way to make connection... Suddenly he leapt from his chair and ran for the door. "Mike! Hey Mikey, come back here a minute..."

The older man caught up with the covert operative at the elevator. "Look, brother, if I'm going to abandon Javier, at least come with me while I tell him I'm dropping his case."

"It's none of my business, Sam." He pressed the call button.

"I know, but you might see something I missed, figure out a way to end it. Do it as a favor to an old friend. What do you say, buddy? Come with me... Please." Sam used his best hangdog expression.

It was on the tip of Michael's tongue to refuse point blank. He threw his head back in frustration. This is what he had been afraid of…Sam was going to try to sucker him into helping Pyne's operations manager. With an annoyed huff, the former agent stopped staring up at the ceiling and turned his gaze back on to his friend.

"Fine, I'll come with you. But it'll change nothing." He would do it because he owed Sam. Correction, he owed Sam a great deal. He would just have to keep his wits about him and be firm.

"Thanks," the ex-SEAL grinned. "Now just wait while I get some shoes on and pick up my car keys." He started to move away, but then turned back. "Hey no runnin' off on me while I'm getting my gear together, fella."

"Just hurry up." Michael sighed, checking the time. He had things to do before breaking into Pyne's place tonight. For one he wanted to send Dan Siebels a little something to get his attention. Something to remind his CIA handler to answer his calls in the future. He was thinking of something harmless that would get Dan a lot of unwanted federal attention.

Give him a taste of what his premier asset was going through.

Sam came out of his apartment, quickly locking the door before striding over to Michael's side. "O-kay then, let's get going. Javier lives over in Little Havana; it shouldn't take too long."

"Great." Michael smiled, plastering that faux pleasant expression on his face he had used to cover his displeasure so many times before as they stepped into the elevator.

In the parking garage Sam identified his car but before he could do more than release the central locking, the former Ranger snatched the keys out of his hand.

"I'll drive. I've seen how much you've had to drink."

"It was just a few beers, Mikey. Hey, in this heat you need to keep hydrated, you know."

Michael had a brief flashback of being blind drunk in a bar somewhere in Bolivia back in the day with the man at this side. "You ever hear of water, Sam? I hear it works better for that. You should try it some time."

Sam grinned at his dark haired companion as they climbed into his vehicle. Maybe the Michael Westen he knew wasn't completely gone after all.