Chapter 10

I woke up with a start to the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see my brother standing over me, a soft look on his face.

"Morning," he whispered, leaning back.

I pushed myself up, squinting and rubbing my eyes.

"You don't have to go," he said.

"No. No. I do," I said stretching my neck and sitting up on the couch.

"Here," Mike said bringing up a duffel bag and sitting it on the couch next to me. "I didn't get a chance to give this to you last night."

I recognized it as one of my duffel bags and when I looked inside, found it full of my clothes.

"How...?" I asked. Michael didn't know where I lived and he certainly didn't have a key. How did he get all this stuff?

"Mom gave me your address and Fi stopped by yesterday and got some stuff for you," he explained.

"Stopped by?"

"Yeah, you might want to look into getting some better locks." Michael said, turning to go back downstairs.

I shook my head. Having Michael and his friends around was going to take some getting used to.

I dug through the bag, happily finding fresh clothes, my hairbrush and makeup. I quickly gathered up the bag and headed downstairs to get ready.

Happy in my fresh clothes and with my hair in a ponytail I walked into the kitchen as Michael was pulling several containers of yogurt out of the fridge. He tossed one at me as I walked to the counter.

"You sure like your yogurt," I said catching the container.

"Of course. It's a perfect food. Just the right amount of protein, carbs and sugars," he said grabbing two spoons out of the drawer. "We'll take these for the road."

"Perfect food huh?" I said eyeing the container of peach yogurt he had thrown at me. "I think I have to disagree. The perfect food is chocolate,"

"Where'd you come up with that?" he asked, grabbing a gun off the workbench and putting in the waistline of his jeans.

"Years of PMS." I said.

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes at me. He grabbed a notebook and pen off the workbench as well and gathered up a set of keys.

"What car are you driving these days?" I asked as we walked out the door and Michael paused to lock it behind us.

"Whatever I can borrow," he said as we headed down the stairs.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and the dirty industrial lot by Michael's apartment was bathed in a soft pink light. It was cool morning, almost cold by Miami winter standards, and I was thankful I'd grabbed a jacket on the way out the door.

I followed him down the stairs and out to the street where we began walking toward downtown. Michael was scanning the area, looking for what I guessed would be our new ride. It was strange to be tagging along behind him again. As much as I wanted him to treat me like an adult, when we walked down the street with him leading the way I felt like I was 10 years old again. As a kid it was easy to follow his lead and as I scanned the streets looking for a good car I noticed that the years hadn't changed that much in that aspect. I subconsciously did what he did, looked where he looked and matched my movements to mirror his. It was why I didn't out myself with Omar in the Auto Shop parking lot, why I was willing to let Fiona punch me and why I was able to lie so convincingly.

"What about that?" I said nodding to a black Nissan parked near an office building.

Michael looked over and appraised the car, again scanning the area around us. He seemed to be hypersensitive to his surroundings at all times. I wondered if that was part of his old job.

"Its in tow away zone," I said, "The owner will probably never miss it. It will be forever before he even thinks to report it stolen,"

Michael nodded in approval and we made our way over to the car.

"Oh, I wish I had my slim jim!" I said as we approached the vehicle.

Michael studied the car for a moment and then took off toward the office building. I followed close at his heels unsure of what he was doing.

He walked up to the front doors of the office and grabbed on of the plastic doorstops that was lying outside the door. He then strode purposely over to alley beside the building where after briefly scanning the exterior wall, he grabbed and pulled down a thin piece of wiring, breaking it off by simply bending it back and forth.

I watched curiously. He'd no doubt need the wire to break into the car but what was the doorstop for? I'd never used that.

Michael walked back over to the car, glancing around surreptitiously before wedging the doorstop into the upper part of the driver side door, banging it in several times. With the doorstop in, the driver side door was cracked open enough for Mike to slide the wire in and easily hit the car's unlock button. The locks clicked and Michael opened the door, catching the doorstop in his hand.

"Here, go put that back," he said handing the doorstop to me.

I was slightly impressed. It wasn't rocket science, but it was neat to see Michael think on his feet. And leave it to Michael to steal a car, but want me to return the doorstop.

I scurried over to the building dropping off the doorstop where we found it, while Mike hot-wired the car. I hopped into the passenger side and we headed off back to Omar's drug house.

"So what about the Charger? Are you gonna take it?" I asked as we drove.

"Maybe." he said, not taking his eyes off the road. "You know it doesn't run. Needs sparkplugs I think,"

I nodded. I wasn't aware the car didn't run, but I wasn't surprised. Leave it to Dad to leave a project undone. He left millions of things around the house halfway complete, under the guise that we'd need him to fix them one day. It was annoying as hell.

Soon we were nearing Omar's house and Michael called Fiona to let her know. She met us about two blocks away, handing over her notes while yawning.

"Have fun Michael," she said as she drove away.

Michael parked the car, again three houses down, but this time in the opposite direction of where Sam and I had parked. I didn't think this side of the street had as good of a vantage point, but I kept my mouth shut, opting to let Mr. Military lead the way.

We soon settled in, Michael reviewing Fiona's notes and me investigating the house through binoculars. It didn't look like much had changed since I was here last night.

"Look at the car in the driveway," Mike said.

I directed my gaze to the lowered silver Volkswagen Passat in the driveway.

"Do you see any dew on the car?"

I looked over the car, pausing on the hood, roof and windshield.

"No, none at all."

"That's because it was moved during the night. Checking for morning dew is a way to see if things have changed in the night, if you don't have the luxury of 24 hour surveillance," he explained.

"Oh. Very nice Mike," I said lowering the binoculars to nod at him. "I guess surveillance is all about the little things huh?"

Michael nodded handing me Fiona's pad of notes, motioning for the binoculars in return.

I scanned through the notes and sure enough at 3:15 a.m. Fiona had recorded that the silver car had left and then returned about 45 minutes later. I wondered what other things Michael would notice that I had missed.

"So what's the play here Mike? I mean we are watching the place but what next?" I asked, absently flipping through the rest of the notes.

"Basically we have to find a way to get the police to respond to this location and discover the drugs."

"That seems pretty simple, why don't you just call it in as a tip?

"The police need to have probable cause to go into the house. If we just called in a tip, they'd have to stop by and ask permission to examine the house and that would tip off Omar. I want these guys to get caught red handed."

"Oh."

"The plan is to get Omar to give me a tour of the facility, have him show me all drugs and how they process it as a sign of good faith. After that we will call in an emergency to the police, get them to respond and catch Omar in the house with the drugs," Michael explained.

"Hmm," I said nodding in approval. "So how are you gonna make sure Omar doesn't get away?"

"Sam is working on that now."

We settled into silence, both staring at the house Omar was using as a drug distribution facility. Such a normal looking house on such a normal looking street, it reminded me that you never know what's going on behind closed doors. Our childhood home was the same way. Although we might have gotten into trouble in school or elsewhere, our father was very careful to make it appear that our family was the epitome of middle class normality. Regardless of the fact that he never held a steady job, or that he forced his kids to help him steal, or that he blew his paychecks on booze, the most important thing was that everything look good on the outside.

"So…." I started, considering what I could ask Michael about his mysterious return to Miami now that we were confined to the car and he couldn't evade my interrogation.

"Don't ask me about my job, Liz." He said cutting me off.

"I wasn't!" I lied, biting back my question. Damn. "I was going to ask you how you met this Clint character…" I said quickly covering.

"He's a friend of a friend."

Oh great that again.

"Seriously Michael? Why do you do that? Why do you have to put up this wall against me? I'm your sister- your family. You're supposed to be able to trust family."

"Really? And where would I have learned that?"

I sighed. Good point, I thought to myself. We were both quiet again. While I wanted desperately to talk to him and get to know him again, he was making it impossible. Was he this cold and distant before he left? I didn't think so. The Michael I remembered was stoic maybe, but always tenderhearted. He was quick to wipe away any tear that fell on my cheek or to bandage any injury. Growing up I never felt more calm or safe then when I was wrapped up in a tight hug against his chest. I missed that feeling. I have yet to meet another man in my life who has made me feel as safe and cared for.

I sighed again quietly and looked out the passenger side window. I might never feel that way again. Michael seemed so adamant about keeping me in the dark about his job that he was keeping me at arms length. He been back for over a week, hell I'd been living with him for two days, and the only physical contact we had was when he held a gun to my head in front of Omar.

"Fine." I said gritting my teeth. "Forget it. I'll just ask Fiona."

"Fi?" Michael said startled, turning to evaluate me. "What has she told you?"

"Plenty." I replied smugly, ignoring his stare. Even though our brief conversation on the way to the loft after my first meeting with Omar didn't yield any results, I now knew that Michael didn't want her to tell me anything, which meant I'd be asking her endless questions next time we were alone.

I could feel Michael staring at me, but I refused to look at him instead choosing to continue to stare out the passenger side window. If he could keep secrets then so could I, even if I didn't have any yet.

"Look," Mike said with a resigned sigh. "Clint is a guy that Sam met when he went to get his girlfriend's car repaired. He's just a guy who needs help."

I continued to stare out the window, but had to stifle the smile threatening to spread across my face.

"So you aren't putting out ads for this little Robin Hood thing of yours?" I asked, glancing at him.

"No. Trust me. I don't go looking for this kind of stuff."

"Trouble just finds you doesn't it? Must be the Westen curse." I said shaking my head. Michael shrugged in agreement as he studied Omar's house once more.

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to decide if it was worth it to push Michael for more answers. Just getting one detail out of him was like pulling teeth and that wasn't even about his old job or where he'd been. I was afraid that demanding more answers might lead to another screaming match between us and really one fight in 24 hours was more than enough. Instead I settled back into the leather passenger seat keeping my eyes trained on Omar's house watching for any activity.

Several hours later the hot Miami morning sun had fully risen over the horizon and was bearing down on the little black Nissan and I was beginning to bake.

"Can we turn the air on?" I asked.

"No." he answered shortly.

"Because…?"

"Because a running car sitting on the street for hours draws attention," He explained. "Here you can crack your window."

"Its fine," I said brushing him of, moving to take off the light jacket I had thrown on as we left the loft that morning.

As I turned to pull the jacket off my right arm, I could hear Michael's breath catch in his throat as he saw my back. I instantly felt my chest get tight and my face flush red. I knew he was seeing the scars on my back that my tank top didn't cover. The three red stripes that crisscrossed and ran from shoulder to shoulder just below my neck. I shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, wishing for the millionth time that I didn't have them. I was so self-conscious as a teenager I couldn't wear a bathing suit around my friends, a major problem in Miami. It wasn't until freshman year of college that I came up with a reasonable lie that explained those stupid scars away. Even so, I still tried to avoid having to show them.

I couldn't bring myself to look at Mike. He knew where those scars came from. Though I hadn't seen him without a shirt since he was a teenager I knew he had several reminders across his own back from the times he tangoed with dad's belt. I stared down at my hands, nervously picking at my fingernails.

"Nate said they had faded -that they're hardly noticeable anymore. I should have known he was lying."

"Uh... no…no… Its not…" Michael said tripping over his words.

"I told you it was bad when you left Mike," I said cutting him off as tears started to prick the corners of my eyes.

"I…uh.." he said, struggling. As I turned to look at him his cell phone rang loudly, breaking the mounting tension in the car. He grabbed it, quickly answering the call, a look of stricken relief crossing his face.

"Yeah? Yeah. Clint hold on!" he said firmly. "Alright…. Look I'll come by today ok? Just don't do anything. Ok?"

Clint's panicked phone call had released the pressure in the car, bringing me back to reality and away from the emotions that threatened to overtake me. I could feel my tears instantly dry up and my painful memories snapped right back into the tight little box in my mind where I had held them for years.

Looking at Michael he seemed to have also recovered from his momentary speechlessness.

"Clint said he got a call from Omar," He said, nodding to the drug house.

"Guess he's freaking out."

"Yeah. I'm gonna need to go meet with him today and calm him down. Just give him some reassurance,"

I nodded in response.

"Look Liz…" he began.

"No Michael. It's fine. Lets not do this ok? We aren't good at it and honestly I don't really wanna deal with our emotional baggage today."

This time it was Mike's turn to nod. He turned away from me and started up the car.

"What about Omar?" I asked, confused that we were leaving the house unwatched.

"We have a basic understanding of his operation and its comings and goings. I'd like to get more, but right now we have to see about Clint before he does something stupid."

"You think he's gonna do something stupid?"

"Undoubtedly." Michael said disdainfully. "People under that much pressure usually make the wrong choices. I just wanna get there before it happens."

At that we sped away from Omar's neighborhood, presumably off to stop Clint from making his bad situation worse. Michael called Fiona on the way there and asked her to meet us. From what I could hear, she sounds less then excited to be woken up after so few hours sleep to save this guy from himself.