A/N:Thank you for all the lovely reviews for this story. We appreciate all your comments and feedback, plus a shout out to the all the Burners out there on Twitter. Thanks for the all the interest, the retweets and favorites for this and Life with Larry. We are sorry for the delay in posting, though at least we got it out early on Monday this time :-)and we appreciate that you appreciate the time that goes into making regular updates and long chapters, so thanks for the encouragement.
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Seven
With the freelance assassin gone from his temporary office, Tom Card placed a phone call requesting his prisoner be removed from the interrogation room and returned to one of the small holding cells deep inside the CIA's London headquarters hidden beneath the US Embassy. Then he had turned his attention to his other problem at the moment. Mason Gilroy was more than a pain. The supercilious hired gun was fast becoming the bane of his existence. The soft upper class British accent which grated on his nerves along with the ever present amused smirk on the younger man's face were just two of the many things which was driving the training officer insane.
Lifting up the handset, he dialed out another call, this one to his colleague at Langley, hoping that Bill Raines had managed to use his influence to get him sole control of the investigation and to find out what the hell was going on in DC that the State Department not only allowed but approved of the UK government bringing in one of their premier wet work specialists onto the case.
"How am I supposed to work with my hands tied, Bill? Did you know about Gilroy?" Card demanded once the pleasantries were over and done with.
"Calm down, Tom," Deputy Director Raines answered his friend's agitation with a composure that irritated the man even more. "We knew about Gilroy. He's an insurance policy, that's all. If Michael won't come in quietly, then we can sell it that a rogue CIA operative and an ex-MI6 agent turned paid killer got into a fight. No harm, no foul."
"That man is impossible, he's-"
"He's an unstoppable force. I've seen his dossier, Tom. Mason Gilroy is the ideal man to bring Westen in or kill him and he is renowned for being discrete."
"And Michael...? Has a decision been made on his future?" The training officer ran a hand over his thinning hair, his forehead creased with worry. If this was just going to be the young man's nine millimeter retirement party, he didn't want anything to do with it.
"Not yet. There's been some understanding. His last assignment with Sizemore, the injuries he sustained have gained him some sympathy. But they have frozen his assets and put his family under surveillance... The longer he stays out..." his long time friend let the sentence hang.
"And that's why Gilroy moved to the top of my speed dial," Card grumbled. The sandy haired man glanced at the monitor, seeing his unwilling guest arrive back in her current accommodations.
"Look, I'm working on finding them as fast as I can, Bill. I've taken all the intel available on Michael Westen and Fiona Glenanne to a couple of tech geeks and they've fed all the specs into the CIA, Interpol, & GCHQ databases. I've also tasked a low level gremlin at the NSA to use one of their super computers to scour every video on the global system in case they've already slipped out of the country and I'm about to send Michael's little fiancé off with Gilroy tailing her to see if she's hiding anything from me... So, you see I'm doing all I can at my end."
"And I'mdoing all I can to hold off the burn notice. The sooner you get him back under your wing, the easier it's gonna be to run damage control. We do this right and we can sell it that he's had some sort of breakdown, the head injury, losing a long term partner. I mean, you do know about the father-son crap that the DIA has written up about him and Sizemore? We can bring this home, but you'vegot to bring him in and fast, Tom."
And Tom Card wished, and not for the first time, that he hadn't ignored the advice to check in on his star pupil's progress in Ireland when the rumors had first graced his ears.
"I'm dancing as fast as I can, Bill." The American intelligence officer ended the conversation and turned to his next unpleasant task, updating Michael's last UK handler on his progress and seeing if he could pry any of MI6's secrets out of Richard Chambers' brain before the man's condescending tone caused him to give into the desire to put a bullet between the man's self-righteous eyes.
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"Michael, it's late, come to bed."
Fiona sat up, the bed covers falling down to her waist revealing that she was sleeping in one of the few t-shirts Michael had brought with him.
"Michael!" she called out louder when her lover didn't answer her straight away.
"Go to sleep, Fi. I'm just gonna sit up for a while longer." His voice drifted into the bedroom from the landing.
He was back on guard duty again.She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Come to bed," the petite redhead ordered. "You spent two hours setting up those motion sensors. If anybody goes near the car or comes close to the doors, we'll know about it. I helped you test them, remember?"
Fiona had hoped with the new security measures in place, he would begin to relax again. The ex-guerrilla knew that their close call in town had set his finely tuned paranoia off again, but the extra precautions they'd taken should have calmed his nerves. They'd even set small charges on the perimeter of the house; nothing too deadly, just enough to discourage anyone who got too close.
"Soon," came the softly spoken response.
The Irishwoman sighed with irritation and kicked the covers off her bare legs, shivering at the cold damp air which filled the room. "Come ta bed. Come ta bed an' help keep me warm." She attempted to entice the rock of a man who didn't even spare her a glance as she padded over to his side.
It was only when her slender hand landed gently on his arm that he briefly glanced at her. Smiling softly, he pressed a light kiss to her lips before turning back to the window. "Just a few more minutes, Fi, go back to bed before you catch a chill. I'll be there soon."
"If ya won't rest, well then, I will nae either," Fiona declared firmly. Stepping closer, she pulled his arm around her shoulders. "While we watch a country lane which has only maybe two dozen cars travel along it each day, ya can tell me, have ya given any thought ta where wa're ta go?.. Whar's gonna be safe fer us ta bring our babby inta tha world?"
"I don't know," Michael admitted. "At the moment, I'm just thinking about one problem at a time. We've got to give the agencies coming after us time to run out of steam. If we can stay hidden and out of sight," he added a slight emphasis to the last phrase. "If they can find no trace of us, eventually other jobs will come up. They'll keep a team on us for a while. But one team can't cover every exit and that's when we'll make our move. We'll most likely end up in France for a bit."
"I have several passports on me. Me brudders might be able ta trace me, but -" She stopped at the look he gave her and huffed. "Ya tol' yar MI6 masters about me selection o' travel documents, didn't ya?"
"Sorry, Fi… I was -" He grunted as she shut him up with a sharp kick. Annoying and painful as it was, Michael didn't comment as he had betrayed her trust at the time and her temper was even more hair trigger than before, thanks to the rush of pregnancy hormones and their stressful situation.
His lover turned in his arms so she could look into his eyes.
"I know... ya wa' jus' doin' yar bloody job... Am too tired ta fight wit' ya about it now..." Fiona tried to look contrite about the blow, attempting to keep her increasingly mercurial temper under control.
"So, how d'ya intend on us gettin' out o' tha country an' inta another?" she demanded when he wouldn't answer her. If they weren't going to rest, then they might as well discuss tactics. "We try ta get someone ta take us across, Seamus will know befer we've left tha dock. So thot leaves stealing our own boat an' prayin' fer good luck in navigating tha busiest shipping lanes in Europe or sneaking aboard a ferry."
"You know as well as I do there's other ways to get on a ship," the dark haired man reminded her.
"Ya plan ta have us stowaway? Aye, it could work, steal a coupla IDs belongin' ta baggage handlers or waiting staff," she agreed, nodded thoughtfully. Resting her cheek against her lover's chest, she listened to his steady heartbeat, snuggling even closer, her hands burrowing under his jumper to keep warm, seeking comfort and reassurance. "I've spent a lotta time in France, Paris, tha French Alps an' o' course tha Riviera... Have ya ever been thar?"
"No."
Fiona let her fingers wander over her lover's back and sides, tracing the lines of muscles under soft supple skin. "Nae France, how about Spain them? Have ya visited Madrid or Barcelona? I've been ta both, Gibraltar too."
"Fi…" His lover could feel him stiffen and attempt to draw away at her line of questioning and she hated the fact that he couldn't trust her with just a place name. How was this going to work if he couldn't even share some basic facts of his past with her?
"We need ta talk about this, ya know it. I'm nae asking fer tha details o' yar classified operations fer tha love o' tha Lord. We cannae stay anywhar we've been befer. It has ta be a completely new life."
"I've been to Spain, okay...?" Michael stroked a work roughened palm over her cheek and lifted her chin so he could kiss her lips. Fi was right; they had to work this out sooner rather than later. But at the moment, he was solely focused on leaving the country safely. "Now, I think it is time for bed."
"Ya comin' wit' me?" Ms. Glenanne pleaded, yet hating the neediness that crept into her voice.
"Aye, luv, am comin' wit ya…" He had let McBride answer, automatically responding to her tone; however, when he saw the look in her eyes and remembered their earlier conversation, he kissed Fiona again. Holding her in a tight embrace, he made sure she knew how much she meant to him.
"I'll keep you warm, Fi," he promised in his own voice and, with a bend of his knees, he lifted the lithe woman into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom.
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Samantha lifted her feet up off the floor and lay back on the narrow uncomfortably hard bed in her tiny six by six foot cell. She had been moved back to her cell from the interrogation room again after several hours of answering questions and now she was utterly exhausted. Closing her weary brown orbs, she tried to sleep. But her mind kept going back over what she'd been told.
The older man interrogating her had told her that Michael had ruined his career by running off with another woman, a terrorist he was supposed to be using to gain information on all the various factions of the IRA. The man she had been waiting for the last two years had sacrificed everything to be with a petite, auburn haired bomb maker. The master thief clenched her jaw and held back the tears by sheer willpower. Without the danger of dealing with the sandy haired man to distract her, images would dance on her eyelids and threaten to break her tentative hold on her emotions.
Samantha saw the dark haired man she loved over and over: talking her through an op, that look of concentration he got when they were working; that scowl he wore when things weren't going as they should; the forced pleasantness or blank look on his features when a question bordered on out of bounds; that pleased expression he always had when things went well; that devilish grin when they had down time and were busy lying to one another about what they had been doing while they were apart, stealing one another's keys and wallet for practice and fun and that satiated smile after they made love, them lying together in bed, a moment of peace before he was off to the bathroom to shower off and dress again…. But even as these thoughts were swirling about in her head, her mind's eye kept torturing her with the one of Michael staring into the eyes of Fiona Glenanne, reminding her that her lover had neverlooked at her in the same way.
With a heartfelt sigh, Samantha opened her eyes and sat up. It was no good. She couldn't sleep locked in a tiny room when all she wanted was answers and she wasn't going to get those answers stuck here while the CIA spent days making up their mind what they were going to do with her.
What would make the Michael Westen she knew destroy his life?The slender brunette combed her fingers through her chocolate-colored curls. The spy she remembered was a single-minded, career driven patriot, who could be incredibly self-centered in the pursuit of his passion, which was his work. Could he really have changed that much in the last eighteen months or did the petite auburn haired terrorist have some other hold over him?
Ms. Keyes bit her bottom lip hard, a tick she had picked up from the man who had lived in her head since the day he'd gone back to whatever work he was doing on that fateful day. Her interrogator had informed her that Michael had nearly been killed in an oil refinery explosion; he'd been in the hospital for months and was obviously still suffering from the aftermath of a serious head injury.
Her captor had been oh so sympathetic to her pain, how terrible it must be for her to realize that the man she loved was no longer himself, thanks to that Irish colleen who had warped his already damaged brain, how much she must want to help them find his star pupil and bring him home before he finished throwing his and their lives away. Ms. Keyes knew she was being played. But she did want those answers just as badly as her jailor did and she wasn't going to get them in here.
The master thief ground the heels of her hands into her eyes in an attempt to banish the exhaustion and the images that kept her from resting, the pictures of her comatose fiancé in ICU, her own memories of their naked bodies entwined together and the other surveillance photographs of him and those of him with that woman, holding hands, walking side by side, looking at her that way...
When the door opened and her interrogator, or was he her tormentor, stepped inside her cell she found herself grateful for the distraction.
"You're free to go." He held the door open and gestured with a hand for her to get up and walk through.
"What's happened?" She got to her feet, but hesitated with fear filling her heart for her lover. Or was it more like her ex-lover now? How could Michael have done this to her, strung her along…?
"Happened?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Why, nothing... It's simply that after our lengthy conversations, I went over your file again and realized my mistake."
He dropped his gaze to the floor and then, when he looked back up, there was pity in his eyes.
"It seems Agent Westen as it turns out was, uh... known to, ah, romance his female assets. Though umm, you are the only one we have managed to trace who was apparently engaged to him. You should take some consolation in that..."
Her jaw tightened. Despite Michael's acceptance of her proposal, her captor had let slip that apparently the dark haired man had done nothing about clearing their engagement with the powers that be while subsequently petitioning to have his Irish asset be granted protected status.
"But I've kept you too long. What I have here should speed you on your way." He handed her a large envelope. "There is a passport and travel documents, plus some cash in payment for your time. The passport will be cancelled after it's been used for one trip, to wherever you wish to go."
"Thank you," Samantha answered stiffly, not trusting herself to say anything more, before stepping forward and taking the envelope, peering inside to see a large sum of money and the documents. The brunette knew exactly where she intended to go once she had been let loose.
Stepping out into the hallway, Ms. Keyes let him guide her along the maze of corridors towards her freedom. She knew the CIA was going to send someone to follow her. But she was confident and determined that she would give them slip soon enough and then the master thief would get the answers she needed when she finally located her wayward ex-fiancé and his Irish lover.
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On this morning, Fiona Glenanne woke with a smile on her face. She was lying on her side with the man she loved spooned up tight against her, one of his arms resting over her hip, his hand splayed protectively over the spot where their little one safely resided within her still-so-small belly. While no longer taut, her stomach still appeared flat. She could feel each of her baby's father's breaths as his lips brushed softly against her ear and the stubble of his growing beard tickled her neck.
This feeling was so completely right, cocooned in her man's embrace, safe and warm and free from cares the outside world. The auburn haired Irishwoman wished they could stay wrapped in each other's arms for the whole day, basking in the glow of their togetherness. It was a pleasant contrast, after the last few days of quiet desperation on her lover's part, to finally see him relax enough to…
"Fi, you awake?" The words were whispered, just as his lips sucked on her neck, finding the sweet spot behind her ear.
"Mmmm…." She hummed contently, wriggling slightly as her lover's hands began to wander.
She had missed this level of intimacy since they had gone on the run, most especially these past few days while Michael had silently stood watch, waiting for their pursuers to descend upon their position because of herindiscretion, though he had never said as much verbally again.
She'd missed their early morning ritual which had begun not long after Michael had started staying overnight, first in her Belfast City flat and later in their Dublin home. His mouth was sucking and nipping on her throat, her shoulder and his hands moved against her body with a determined touch that reassured her anxious emotions as much as it set fire to her flesh. When she could stand it no more, she twisted in his arms and they melded together, strengthening their bonds.
Wrapping her legs about his trim waist, moaning aloud while her strong fingers played over the taut muscles of his back and then over his scalp, Michael had raised himself up on his elbows, gazing into her blue green eyes with adoration, as they swiftly soared upwards on a wave of passion before crashing back to earth, clinging tightly to each other as they waited for the aftershocks to cease.
"Stay here," he finally said afterwards, the gentleness in his voice making her believe this would all work out in the end. "I'll go boil some water so you can wash and then I'll make us some breakfast." He was half way out of bed, pulling his boxers and his pants back up when she stopped him.
"I have a better idea. Thar's plenty o' holiday homes, or second homes, out this way. A lot o' tham will be empty this time o' year. Why don't we find one an' treat ourselves ta a hot bath," and her smile implied more than cleaning up would be taking place. "An' wash our clothes as well?"
"Fi, I don't know. What if we're seen or someone comes in while we were in the middle of...?" He dropped his eyes for a second, acknowledging what they would most likely be caught doing wasn't laundry. "Don't these places normally have somebody keeping an eye on them, cleaners, handymen? It's too much of a risk." He put his shirt on and then pulled a face at the stale smell emanating from the garment. Michael stood up, his eyes scanning for his boots that she'd finally convinced him not to wear to bed.
"I know it's a risk, but wouldn't it be worth it fer a hot steamy bath or a shower?" She knelt on the bed unashamedly naked, her smile making him a promise of more than just a cleansing bath.
"Yes it would be nice," he agreed, thinking almost as much about clean clothing as about repeating what they had just done. It had been awhile since he'd had to wear the same dirty outfits for weeks on end and the memories were not pleasant ones. "But every time we take that car out, the stolen car, we're taking a chance on being seen by the cops and, after that encounterwith those girls, we need to be even more careful. We can't get too sloppy, Fiona. This is too important."
She crawled across the bed until they were face to face, her grin widening as she watched his resolve crumbling. She had lived her whole life on the edge. There was no such thing as safe, only varying degrees of less dangerous. She wasn't completely reckless, but life should be lived full because Fiona Gleanne knew all too well how swiftly it could be over in the blink of an eye.
"How about we go tonight under tha cover o' darkness? We could get another car like ya wanted ta. Thar's an airport not too far away an' a movie theater, plenty o' places ta find a new ride. Two birds wit' one stone... I promise I'll try my hardest to be a good quarterback or whotever it wa' ya called me." She took hold of his hand and coaxed him closer so she could press a kiss to his chin and then his lips. "It'd be fun, Michael. Lotsa fun and ya cannae deny ya'd like ta smell alittle fresher."
With a long sigh, he nodded his agreement. "Fine, but not until it's dark and, if we don't find an empty house within an hour, we give it up and we get the new car first, one with a full tank of fuel."
"Thank ya." She beamed and then rewarded him by wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing her body up against his before kissing his breath away. He reluctantly released her to head into the bathroom to wash up in the cold water, which was necessary to return his focus to the tasks at hand.
Once she was alone, the young Irishwoman pulled on her clothes, grimacing when the jeans she had been wearing for the last two days felt tighter than they had the day before. Tugging on the zipper, she got the denim pants done up and then braced herself to enter the chilly morning air in the en suite with the hole in the roof.
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Colin Glenanne ran his hands through his bright red hair and then scrubbed at his weary green eyes. His brother Liam had set him an impossible task, but no one would dare disappoint the head of the family, most particularly not him. This intelligence work was hiscontribution to the family.
The head of the family had always been supportive of his love of technology. Long before Liam had taken over the role, his older brother had been the one who had talked their Da into letting him join the after school club when the first computers had arrived at the local high school and, after their oldest brother's murder at the hands of the British, it had been Liam who had bought him the best computer available at the time to use his fledging hacking skills to search out the regiment and then the names of the soldiers responsible for the attack on their house and ever since then he had been employed as the family's communication and information gathering expert.
From one computer and six nights spent searching for a back-door into a government database, he now worked with over a dozen, all wired together to form one supercomputer which was working away on the problem of finding two needles in the giant haystack that was the Emerald Isle.
Wherever possible, he was piggybacking off the various agencies which had access to cameras covering all the official ways off the Isle by air and sea. He was also keeping watch on all the public spaces in the major cities and any police reports which contained a mention of a couple involved in petty crimes. All this information was then being analyzed by a complicated algorithm which was supplying him with a list of probable locations. He then had to check out the data by more traditional methods. So far, he had lots of small pieces of a puzzle, but no corner pieces which could help him build up a full picture of where his sister had fled with her boyfriend and Yank spy.
From the airport CCTV cameras at Shannon Airport, an image of McBride had been captured, the video capturing the man crossing the road, as if about to enter the terminal. But there had been no other images of either the American spy or Fiona inside the building. Having discounted the sighting as a ruse, he had set about backtracking the couple's possible routes out of Dublin to Limerick, searching for more clues to find their true destination.
On the night their youngest sibling had turned her back on her family, a small service station in Portloise had been broken into. A petrol pump had been switched on and used, the missing fuel roughly the amount necessary to fill up the tank on a medium sized family car, such as a Toyota Corolla, and stock had been taken off the shop shelves.
The list of missing goods had convinced him the breaking and entering had been done by his fugitive sister and her boyfriend, food, drink, batteries and a few magazines, which hadn't been named. But if he had to guess, he would lay money down it would be ones about fast cars, guns or fashion to keep Fiona entertained while the pair would have conducted whatever surveillance was necessary to ensure their safety. The local police report said it looked like a professional job, albeit cash had been left on the counter. Colin knew that meant the crime would be close to the bottom of the list to be investigated if it was on the list at all.
As well as the minor crime at the petrol station, a vehicle had been stolen that same night from a nearby hotel car park, a powerful BMW 6 Series, which was the type of vehicle Fiona would take and an ideal replacement for the Corolla, which had been discovered at the airport where McBride had conveniently let his face be seen. As it was obvious the couple hadn't escaped through the airport, Liam had ordered him to widen the search for the BMW and any sightings to the East.
"If it wa' me on tha run an' I'd laid down a trail in one direction an' then turn tail…" His brother' s pale blue eyes had narrowed in concentration. "Thar' either headin' ta tha North o' Limerick or gone East... My money tis on tha East... Find 'em fer me, Colin, an' donnae take ta long."
That had been Liam's words of advice forty eight hours ago and he was no further forward. Getting to his feet, the exhausted Irishman sighed and headed for the door. He needed to take a break, clear his head and try to come up with some way of speeding up the search.
Leaving his office in the back room of the house he shared with Liam in the leafy suburbs of Holywood, Maeve Glenanne's fourth born child made his way into the kitchen for a cup of tea and something to eat. In a few hours time, the program he was running should have sorted through the police reports from the previous few days and supplied him with a list of petty crimes, such as break ins and car thefts, which might match what they knew of their sister and McBride and then would begin the tedious task of crossing each incident off the list.
How he wished he could bring his friends in to help him out. When not working for his brother, Colin was part of a hacking ring. It was those people who had helped him find the names of his little sister Claire's killer. They had also worked with him improving the firewalls on his own systems to keep MI5 and all the other intelligence agencies from discovering the family's secrets.
He trusted them with his life. Unfortunately, Liam didn't trust anybody outside the family with this particular secret. So he was on his own, main lining cans of Red Bull in an effort to stay awake the last thirty six hours with barely any sleep. Hearing the mechanical clatter of the garage door opening, Colin turned his attention to the screen displaying the images from the security cameras which surrounded the property.
"Great," he breathed and stood up straighter in preparation for the head of the family's arrival.
Liam Glenanne unfurled himself from behind the wheel of his girlfriend's bright red Lotus Esprit and, as he slammed the driver's side door shut, the passenger door opened and four little Yorkshire terriers clambered out, milling around the feet of the shapely blonde in skin tight clothing who rose gracefully from the passenger seat.
"Any news?" were Liam's first words, spoken as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen.
"Am waitin' fer tha latest police reports ta finish being sorted," Colin answered while squatting down to pet the small dogs which were now sniffing at his feet and trouser legs.
"We've not got long, brudder. Once tha next round o' talks are done an' signed, we cannae trust tha Brits ta keep thar big mouths shut."
"Yeah, well, I might have sommit fer ya on thot." Colin was pleased to be able to give his big brother some good news. "When tha CIA opened Westen's MI6 debriefs, I got us a copy. Thar's plenty we can use if we need some leverage. Fiona tol' Mc- Westen about tha Omagh bombing hours befer it wa' due ta go off... If thot comes out, wit' all tha authentic documents, wit' Fiona's name removed o' course, it'll cost tha Brits dear."
"Aye, thar's been rumors o' a conspiracy since it happened. But blackmail tis a risky business I'd rather not get us involved in, especially wit' tha Brits. It could bite us in tha arse." Liam paused for a second and then he reached a decision. "If we have ta, I'll have somebody approach Westen's bosses wit' tha news... But only as a last resort."
"I donnae know why yer so fired up about all this. Tis obvious Fi loves tha man an' he must love har back. Why else would he run off wit' har? Ya should be helpin' tham keep thar secret an' get outt tha country," Jeannie spoke up, as she opened the large refrigerator door and peered inside.
"Tis nothin' ta do wit' ya, woman," Liam growled at his girlfriend of close to fifteen years.
"Nuttin' ta do wit' me? Who'll be puttin' Fiona back together an' stoppin' har tryin' ta kill ya if ya harm har man? It'll be me an' yar Mammy, thot's who," his paramour retorted angrily.
Colin blinked and began to back away, not wanting to be dragged into an argument which had been going on ever since Liam had told the shapely blonde why he had lost his Mercedes and had come home stinking of burning tires and petrol.
It spoke of how strongly Jeannie felt about Fiona's love affair with a spy, as their distantly related cousin rarely disagreed with her long-time lover, at least not where others could hear her voice her ire. Leaving the couple to their war of words, the family communications specialist returned to his office and the next round of police reports on break-ins, car thefts or usual activity in the small towns throughout South Eastern Ireland.
"I suppose ya would have me tek on tha whole feckin' army an' destroy tha family jus' so me sister can keep a spy in har bed? Ya wan' ta go back ta tha days whar ya couldnae open yar front door wit' out fear o' bein' shot in tha face or get inta yar car an' wonder if ya had missed tha bomb planted tha night befer? Only difference it would nae be tha Proddies comin' after us this time, it'd be our own side."
Liam rarely raised his voice, but these last few days it had been happening a lot. Colin closed the door to his inner sanctum and turned to his computer screens for comfort. He had to find something soon, anything which would give the family focus and stop all the discord.
Sitting down at his desk, he pressed down on several keys and brought up a list of reported petty crimes from shoplifting to speeding cars. Nothing jumped out at him at first until he noted the report of two seventeen year old Canadians on holiday making a citizen arrest on a pair of muggers who had stolen their handbags.
With the click of a key, he had all the details up on the screen. The two men were taller and heavier than the girls who took them on. One of them had been to prison for an assault and the other had a long list of previous convictions. This had promise... The red headed Irishman checked for witness statements and there it was… the mention of a tall, dark haired man and a smaller woman, hair color unknown, who had been spotted at the scene. But they had left before the police arrived.
It wasn't much, but it was more than they'd had before. At least it would give the head of family something to do besides fret and fume over his powerlessness to control the situation.
Colin packaged the details of the incident along with a few road maps and pressed 'print.' Liam could be in the town of Waterford well before morning the way his big brother drove. With any luck, this would be the lead that broke the case and ended the family crisis...
Except if he did find them, there's no telling what Liam would do to Mc—his sister's boyfriend…
The redhead found his hand shaking as he lifted the paper from the printer. No, it wasn't the end of the family crisis, it was just the beginning. Because no matter what happened from here on out, the Glenanne family, which had suffered so much death and tragedy, would never be the same again.
