Chapter 7

Michael didn't expect to indulge as much as he did, but he had fun letting loose for once. He'd held himself on a tight leash for so long, throwing off inhibitions and pretending he was just a normal guy for one night gave him a taste of what he was missing. The next day, however, he paid for it. The morning sun streamed into the room and stayed out of his eyes, but it brightened up the room enough to cause his head to pound mercilessly. He could barely lift his head off the pillow, and when he did, his stomach lurched. Michael made it to the bathroom in time. As the last of his retching died, he heard the distinctive sound of the door squealing and softly thudding to close.

Gotta get up and find out who's here. Was I that drunk that I forgot to lock the door? He tried to stand, but instead he sat backed up to the cool tile wall and let his head fall against it.

"Mike? Are you here?"

He recognized Sam's voice. "Sam?" He tried to keep his voice down to prevent it from shaking up his head even more, but it was too quiet to project much from the tiny room. "I'm in here!"

Footsteps neared, and the door slowly swung open, pushed by the barrel of a gun. Sam looked down, saw his friend sprawled on the floor, and his jaw dropped as he stuffed the gun into his waist band. "Jeez, Mike! What happened to you?" He got down to his level and put a hand on his forehead. "Are you sick?"

"Hungover, yes. Sick, no. How'd you get in?"

"I used the key you gave me a long time ago."

"Oh." Michael closed his eyes and enjoyed the coolness of Sam's touch. "Where were you, in a freezer?"

He smirked. "It's hot out there, Mikey. I had the AC cranked in the Caddy."

Michael groaned as he tried to move. The heat wasn't helping his hangover any. "It's times like this that I wished I had air conditioning."

"Here, let me help get you on your feet." Sam lifted his arm, got underneath, and pulled Michael to stand. He assisted him to the bed, laid him down, and said, "I'll be right back." He returned with a cool washcloth and a bottle of aspirin and water. "Take some of these."

"It'll just make it worse, Sam."

"Fine. You need to eat something first, then take some aspirin. Until then, just drink the water." He held out the bottle. He was relieved when Michael took it. "So, I'll ask again. What did you do to yourself?"

"Nate and I... " He took a swig of the water, swirled it around to wash out the inside of his mouth, and swallowed. He grimaced at the sour taste and took another healthy swallow. "We went out and had fun. Hit some clubs, danced with some girls. I don't know what else we did. I think that was it." He scowled. "I'm pretty sure that was all we did."

"I hope so, brother, because I'd hate to be you if Fi found out you were screwing around on her." He took a chair across from the bed where Michael sat on the edge. "What brought this on?"

Michael told him about his conversation with Nate and how they'd buried years of animosity. "We sealed up the grave, so to speak, by going out and pub crawling. Uhhhhhggh, I tried to follow every bit of training I know concerning drinking, but it didn't work. Now I'm suffering for it." He smiled slightly. "I can't imagine that Nate is doing much better. He passed out in the cab, so I got him to Ma's first before I came home."

"You should have stayed there, 'cause your mom would have taken care of both of you."

"Yeah." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying in vain to clear the cobwebs. He accepted the slowly warming washcloth from Sam and ran it over his face. "I thought you went to New York City yesterday. What happened?"

Sam let out a snort. "Elsa's dad is something else. He had her thinking he was on his death bed, but he's fine. Well, he needed to have a pacemaker put in, but otherwise, he's fine. She was all freaked out he wasn't going to make it through surgery, so she sent the plane to come and get me. Once it was obvious that he would make it, I came back. I think that she and I convinced him, finally, to come down here to Miami when he can travel."

"This relationship you two have is getting pretty serious, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Mike. Serious enough that I've got the wheels in motion to end my previous marriage." Sam looked at his friend. "I'm not going to lose another great woman to that albatross around my neck."

"Congratulations, Sam." Michael smiled, despite how he was feeling.

"Thanks." He slapped his hands on his knees and stood, and approached the fridge. He pulled out a yogurt and gave it to Michael along with a spoon. "Here, let's start with this, and if you keep it down, we'll work your way up to something more solid."

"You don't have to do this." He peeled the cover off the yogurt.

"No problem, Mike. Besides, I've gotta get you ready."

"Ready, for what?" He looked up at Sam, surprise in his eyes.

"You've got a meeting with Pearce this morning. And I need to get over to the agency to help with the Anson search." He smiled. "Most smart people wait until the weekend to party. Keep that in mind for next time okay?" He winked at his friend and went to the kitchen to start making something more solid than yogurt for breakfast.

"Ohhhh boy." He shoveled the last of the yogurt into his mouth and stood. He ignored the nausea and shuffled to the closet for his clothes.

"Will you be okay, or do you need help? I could always call Maddie..."

"No, Sam. I'll be fine!"

He didn't look fine. Sam trusted him to know best, but he couldn't leave him to his own devices. Nodding, he said, "Okay, but I think I'll stick around anyway and give you a ride to Carlito's. Maybe Pearce can get you back here later."

Mission after mission kept Michael busy, with occasional visits to Fiona sandwiched in between. They were always the same: short, full of tears and promises that he would work to get her out. The last time, he could see the doubt in her eyes. He was certain his reflected the same sentiment because he was helpless, but he tried to hide it behind a smile. A couple of months went by with no progress. Card used him for his own purposes to take down slimy characters that the CIA couldn't touch. It appeared that he was in, but he wasn't in. Anson was still on the loose somewhere, although Pearce's team picked up traces here and there and sent out agents to pin him down. He would have preferred to go himself, but she and Sam were right. He had no business chasing Anson and letting his emotions boil over. He was afraid that the next time he pulled a gun on Sam or anybody else he knew, he might not stop without pulling the trigger.

Every night, Anson filled his dreams and he imagined killing him in creative ways. He tossed and turned, and not even visions of Fiona could calm him. He was beginning to think that she would rot in jail forever. He asked Pearce for updates, and she was always coy with her answers. It frustrated him to be hanging, feeling as if someone left him twisting in the wind.

"You've reached Sam, leave a message."

Michael growled low, tightening his grip on the phone rather than throwing it against the wall like he wanted to. He hunched over his mother's dining room table and tapped the phone against his forehead, wracking his brain, trying to figure out where his friend could be. An inspiration hit, and he called another number.

"Hello?"

"Elsa, this is Michael, Sam's friend." He only met her the week before, and he'd been impressed by her good nature. He silently hoped that if she knew anything of Sam's whereabouts, she would tell him.

"Oh, Michael! How are you?" She sounded happy to hear from him, and he puzzled at that, considering that she barely knew him.

"I'm good. Do you know where Sam is?"

"No, sorry, I don't. A couple of days ago he packed a small bag and said he had to go 'off the grid' for awhile. What does that mean?"

"It means he's probably on a secret op." He swore under his breath. "Did he say anything else?"

"I wish he did. Dad and I are worried about him. Michael, don't you know what's happening? Sam told me you two always went on missions together."

"Not this time, Elsa. For some reason, they've got me in the dark on this one." He paused, his mind racing. "I have to go, but we'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay. If you see Sam... take care of him and make sure he comes back safe."

Michael smiled. "I promise I will, but you'd be surprised how well Sam can take care of himself. He and I haven't always worked together."

"I know. I'd just feel better if he had a friend watching his back."

After he got off the phone with Elsa, he tried Jesse's number. It went right to voice mail. Running out of patience, he called Pearce. Just when he thought it would go to voice mail, she picked up. He should have let her speak, but he couldn't help himself. He was too worried about his friends and plagued by the mystery of their mission.

"Where the hell are Sam and Jesse?"

"Well, hello to you too, Michael. I was wondering when you'd call." She breathed. "I can't tell you. They're on a special operation."

"But they're not CIA. Why them? Why not me?"

"It's another one of those things where we can't have the agency involved. At least, not directly. Jesse and Sam are working to pave the way for us, and I assure you, when this goes down, you'll know about it."

He chose his words carefully. "Will I be invited to participate?"

"I wish, but no. This is too close to home for you. I'm sorry, Michael. We can't risk another instance of you flying off and putting a team member in danger."

"Just tell me," he spoke through gritted teeth. "Does it have anything to do with Anson? If it does, he's the only one I'm gunning for."

"I can't say."

"Does it have to do with getting Fiona out of jail?"

"I can't say. Please, Michael, this isn't easy on me. You know that!"

"Okay. Please, just tell me the outcome when it's over." He was begging, but he'd gotten to the point where he'd lost all his pride and would get down on hands and knees if necessary for even a shred of news.

"I will." He heard voices in the background, and one of them sounded like Sam shouting orders, followed by the snap of a rifle safety coming off. "I have to go now, Michael. Just stay where you are. Your mother knows what to do, and so does Nate."

What did she mean by that? He stared at the dead phone, his imagination going wild as he replayed the garbled words in the background and the sound of arms being readied. Wherever she was, something was going to happen soon.

"Michael?"

"Ma." He raised his head and stared at Maddie. "What's going on? What do you know? What does Nate know?"

Maddie shook her head and smiled, but Michael saw right through it. "Nothing, sweetheart. We're just supposed to keep you busy for a little while."

"Keep me busy."

"Yes. Nate needs you in the garage, honey. He's trying to fix up that old truck he bought at auction. It's a mess." She paused, leaned close to him with her fists resting on the table and said, "Michael, just do this! You can't get involved!" Her eyes pleaded with his. "This'll help keep your mind off things."

Michael let out a deep breath and sat back in his chair. "Okay, Ma. I'll help Nate with that truck."

The thing was a waste of money, which didn't surprise Michael. That was so typical of Nate. But he agreed to help and keep his mouth shut about what he thought. Nate was trying, and that was the important thing. Healing up old wounds didn't necessarily mean that they always saw things eye to eye, but sometimes he had to learn to hold his tongue rather than cause more hurt.

"Okay, Bro, why don't you crank it?" Nate put the finishing touches on the air filter cover.

Michael got behind the wheel and turned the key. Nothing happened. He shook his head.

"Let me replace these spark plugs real quick and try again." He grunted as he worked to free the old plugs and put new ones into the holes. Finally, he came out from under the hood, straightened, and said, "Try it now."

At first, the engine hesitated. Michael gave it a little gas, and they heard a couple cylinders fire, quickly followed by the whole engine coming to life. Nate crowed with joy and shoved his fists into the air.

"Well, you were right, Nate. I didn't think we'd ever get this thing running again." He stood with hands on hips next to his brother. "It took all day, but we got it."

"Thanks, Bro. I couldn't have done it without you." He placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, and Michael put one on Nate's. "Hey, let's go take it out for a spin, huh?"

"Sure, why not."

They quickly replaced all the loose parts and Nate took the wheel. He grinned as he put the truck into reverse and pulled out of the garage. Their mother watched from the small green space between the house and the garage, her face lit up with a huge grin as she waved and said, "Be careful, boys!"

"We'll be back in a little while, Ma." Michael responded, a small bemused smile on his face. He still couldn't believe that they'd actually gotten the thing to run, and move. Whether it went forward, however, remained to be seen.

"Here we go!" Nate put the truck into first gear. It backfired once between first and second gears, but it moved. "Alright! This is awesome!" He turned and drove onto a street that would take them to a busier thoroughfare. "How about we go to the yogurt shop and pick up a quart or so?"

"Sounds good to me." He would have rather been on that clandestine mission, but at that moment, Michael enjoyed the glow of his brother's triumph.

Nate pulled out into the busy street and the truck almost stalled, but he kept it going. He gave Michael a worried look, then quickly wiped it off his face as they rode down the street. They made it to the yogurt shop, picked up two quarts, and headed back to their mother's house without another incident. They pulled into the driveway, Nate parked in the garage, and turned off the engine. He let out a satisfied sigh. "That was a great ride. Don't you think? Mike?"

Michael's attention had been drawn to something as they pulled into the driveway. He noticed a car in the alley, and in the dusk it was difficult to determine if he really saw it, but he was certain it was there. No one parked in the alley unless they were visiting the Reynolds house, because it was the only way Ms. Reynolds or her mother could get their cars out of the garage. He grabbed the plastic bag containing the yogurt and headed for the side door.

"Bro? What's going on?"

"Stay here, Nate, until I know everything's okay."

"But..."

"No! Stay here!"

In the dimness, he could barely make out the details of Nate's face. What he could see was fear and confusion. Something was wrong. Michael could feel it in his nerve endings as they tingled with every step. He left the garage and heard a gunshot. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the sound of the semi-automatic that he'd left at his mother's house awhile ago, on the off chance that she would need it. After Anson's psycho ex-Special Forces patient invaded her home, he didn't want her to be without a short range weapon.

His footsteps moved quickly toward the back door, but before he could mount the stairs, someone burst out the door and barreled down the steps. As he fell backwards and hit the concrete, Michael realized that it was Anson. His weight caused him to hit hard, and the breath rushed out of him. He gasped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no air seemed to go in. His chest felt wet, and Anson stumbled up to his knees, then his feet, and continued toward the alley.

"Michael! Michael, did he hurt you?" Maddie dropped to her knees beside him, caressing his face with one hand, while the other held the gun.

He tried to answer her but couldn't. He could only wheeze. She was about to speak again when they heard more gunfire. Her head shot up and she looked around.

"Ma... 911."

She screamed, "Nate! Where are you?"

"Call... help." Michael coughed, a good sign he would recover his breathing soon, but would he be able to get up and go after Anson? He was probably already gone in the escape vehicle he left in the alley. He tried to rise, but spots danced before his eyes, and his head fell back.

"Michael! Michael, can you hear me?" Maddie shook him, but he didn't answer. She leaned over and heard him breathing, so she made a snap decision. She got up and ran toward where she last saw Anson go. She made it to the alley and saw the car. That's not Mrs. Reynold's car, or her daughter's. A cold chill ran down her spine. Nate was in the garage... Without another thought, she hurried in through the large open door. "Nate? Nate, are you in here?"

It was too dark to see into the shadows, so she flipped on the light. The first thing she saw was Anson lying face down in a large pool of blood next to the truck on the driver's side. Then she saw two sets of legs and feet, and she realized that he lay on top of Nate.

"Oh no. Nate. Nate! My baby," she muttered while she stepped around the blood. As she saw his face, she realized that some of it was his, and she dropped the gun. Her hands pressed to her face in a feeble attempt to stifle a cry. Sirens screamed in the distance and got louder as she stood frozen in place.

Anson groaned and stirred. Maddie jumped back, her eyes on him. His face was bloodied, but through it she saw his evil sneer. His hand slowly came up, a gun clamped in it, his finger on the trigger and the barrel was aimed directly at her. Maddie would never know how or from where she obtained the speed to reach down, pick up the gun, and fire it at him. A look of surprise froze on Anson's face as the bullet struck him in the forehead and his body went limp.

"Put the gun down, lady! Now!"

Frightened, Maddie quickly complied. "He... he tried to kill me! I had to shoot him!"

Men came from everywhere and swooped onto the scene. Two moved behind and one handcuffed her.

"Please, help my sons. Help them! Michael is outside by the steps." She looked down at Nate, who hadn't moved a muscle. "Nate! Wake up, honey! Help is here!"

"Get her out of here."

"Why are you arresting me? I was only defending myself!"

"You have the right to remain silent..."

Maddie shut her mouth and watched in horror over her shoulder as they led her to the police car.