Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Hey, it's me again, back after a long break. Thank you for last chapter's comments – it's

good to see that you are still paying close attention to the story. Keep the comments coming,

enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*

(Picks up directly after the last chapter)

True to his word, they arrived at a clearing half an hour later, at the edge of which stood a large

but quaint log cabin. It was surrounded by a riotous little garden, split in half by a stone walkway.

It looked like a giant gingerbread house.

"Welcome to my humble abode," announced Michael, cutting the engine at the edge of the

walkway.

"It's beautiful," Terri commented, getting out and staring at the cabin in appreciation.

"All the comforts of home," he replied, coming to stand beside Terri and wrapping his arm around

her waist.

"I can imagine."

"Come on," he urged, stepping away from her. "Let's get Alex and the rest of our stuff and get

settled inside."

"Of course. I can't wait to see inside."

*~*~*~*~*~*

From the shadows of the trees that surrounded the cabin, three men watched. The leader of the

men, a brawny redhead, quietly whispered into a walkie-talkie he pulled from his waistband,

"Connagh Lake, this is Emerald Isle, they've arrived at his cabin. Repeat they've arrived at his

cabin."

An electric squawk followed before a voice, thick with a Northern Ireland accent replied, "Copy

tha', Emeral' Isle. Stay put till you receive the signal."

"Roger that, Connagh Lake. Emerald Isle signing off."

In the dark, there were five other similar teams of men scattered around the perimeter of the

cabin. Each had heard the announcement as well as the orders to stay still. Fifteen pairs of eyes

remained pealed on the windows, not losing focus of their target when a lamp was snapped on

inside, bathing the cabin with golden light.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Half an hour later Terri had set Alex, who had not even stirred when Michael lifted him from the

backseat of the car into the house, into bed and after taking off her boots, padded barefoot down

the small flight of stairs to see Michael in the final vestiges of lighting a cheery fire.

"Thank you," she replied, accepting the glass of red wine, he handed to her after she'd made

herself comfortable on the thick blankets he had laid out in front of the fire.

"You're very welcome," he answered, sliding in behind her. Terri settled herself comfortably

between his thighs and leaned her head back against the broad expanse of his chest.

"This is very good wine," she commented, swirling her glass in the firelight.

" '88 Pinot Noir."

"Excellent year," she replied.

"Yes," he replied, misty sentimentality clouding his emerald green eyes, "it was."

As the minutes stretched into hours, and the wine level in the bottle steadily dropped, Terri found

herself strangely more aware of her surroundings, as though she had detached her from her body

and was watching what was happening floating above. She was aware of the scent of apple wood

in the fire, the cheery snap, crackle, pop of the flames, the soft cashmere of her sweater rubbing

against her skin, the warm hard length of Michael behind her. She became aware suddenly that

Michael had taken her glass from her hand and placed it next to him on the small coffee table

behind him, and was now running his long tapered fingers along the soft smooth column of her

neck. Terri sighed in appreciation as his fingers brushed the sensitive hollow between the back of

her right ear and her neck.

She arched her back into him as he trailed a steamy path of kisses down her jaw to her mouth,

cupping the back of her neck as her tongue snaked out to meet his. Terri moaned, as she tasted

the heady flavour of the wine, smelt his cologne. Her senses were on fire. All she could feel was

the taste of his lips, the smoothness of his fingertips as they trailed under her sweater to caress

the smooth skin beneath. He gently cupped her lace-covered breast in his large palm and Terri

bucked against him. It felt so right… yet so wrong. Only Stiles had ever made her feel like this.

Like she was spiraling out of control. She mentally kicked such thoughts of her son's father out of

her head and tried to lose herself in the sensation.

Michael dragged his lips from her and whispered against her ear, the words rough and grated,

"Are you sure, Terri?"

Terri looked at him, her brown eyes huge in her face as she gazed at the beautiful man, features

etched with obvious control. Slowly she nodded, her eyes following him as he quickly stood up

and offered her his hand. She took his hand, allowing him to slowly draw her to her feet and she

followed him as he led her upstairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Terri slowly came awake. Her head was fuzzy and her tongue and limbs felt

heavy as she tried to lift her arms to stretch. It was cold, frightfully so. Alarm bells started clanging

in her head. **What the hell is wrong with me?** Mentally she screamed. It hurt to even think!

Cautiously she turned onto her side and drawing the sheets closer around her naked body as she

sat up. As she slowly opened her eyes, she caught sight of a shadowy figure sitting directly in

front her. She blinked rapidly to focus, ignoring the pain shooting into her head at her actions.

Steadily her eyesight cleared, bringing Michael, clad all in black watching her, into focus.

Her ready smile faltered on her lips. She didn't recognize this man. This wasn't the same Michael

who had whispered quiet nothings in her ears as he drove them towards Nirvana the night before.

He was replaced with a grim faced statue, with green eyes as hard and cold as the emerald chips

they so closely resembled.

Her eyes widened as, seemingly in slow motion, Michael whipped a wicked .22 calibre, equipped

with the long lethal-looking barrel of a silencer and pointed it at her forehead. "Good morning, Ms.

Lowell," the false pleasantness in his voice causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on

end, "I trust you slept well."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Back in his apartment, Stiles snapped suddenly awake from his drunken stupor. His stomach and

heart were clenching. Something was terribly wrong….

TBC…

A/N: Well, this chapter has settled plenty of people's questions as to whether Michael was good

or bad. Well, obviously, now he is. Don't forget to read and review folks and let me know what

you think. BTW, updates will come about once every week or every two weeks. I know it seems

like an awful long time to wait, but since I'm back in school, I'm very busy with my work. Hope to

still hear from you all. Ciao for now!