Sins of the Past

"If you don't believe in ghosts, why you wake up from nightmares screaming out the names of your dead friends?" -Peter John Fryer

Chapter Five - Ghosts

Location: Rockport, Maine

Date: May 3rd.

Time: After midnight.

Against his better judgment, he found himself putting on his boots and donning his jacket in a futile attempt to not end up soaked while bringing this total stranger into his home. He made sure to keep IRIS at the ready, just in case things went a bit south, but something told him the kid wasn't a threat and his gut was rarely wrong on these kinds of things. Something told him that a threat like this Neit fellow wasn't going to send a child after them to do his dirty work.

The first thing he noticed was how far off he was about the boy. Firstly, underneath the drenched, oversize hoodie, playing the part of a drowned rat, was a rather small for her age teenage girl. She had a bit of a wild look to her; her dark hair looked as though someone had taken a knife to it, making her ice blue eyes stand out even more among a sea of freckles. She was guarded, but that was to be understandable, she looked as though she had been through one hell of night.

"Are you Bannon?" she asked, gripping the strap to her backpack tighter.

He couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm a lot more ruggedly handsome. I'm Jonny." He reached for her skateboard, causing her to flinch and back up, before calming down as she realized she wasn't in danger. "Easy, I'm a lot more friendly than I look."

She seemed to relax at his joke and followed closely behind him as they made their way up the winding path back up to Quest Manor. He took notice to her paranoia, how she kept a tight grip on her backpack and an almost constant eye behind her as he lead her up to the front door. Once inside, he lead her right into the kitchen.

"You need to get something warm into you before you end up sick," he advised, taking the kettle from its usual spot on the stove and filling it up with water before returning it to the same spot. "What can I get you to drink before you tell me why you're here?"

"Irish coffee, extra Irish," she retorted, her eyes flashing just a hint of mischief.

"Hot chocolate it is," he chuckled, grabbing a pair of mugs from the cabinet to his right and turning on the burner. "Can I trust you not to steal my silverware or burn my house to the ground while I get you something warm to change into?"

She nodded slightly, letting her bag drop to her feet. He took that as a good enough answer and ran off the staircase to the left of the kitchen up towards his bedroom. Digging through the back of his closet, he found an old, but comfy, sweater and a few sizes too small pair of pajama pants from a few Christmas's ago that he figured would work for the time being. He thought about going into Jessie's room to grab an outfit for the girl, but the thought of going through her clothes was enough to make him glow crimson with embarrassment so for now, his old hand-me-downs would have to do.

"Some kind of guard dog you are, Bandit!" he laughed as he found the girl sitting on the floor in the same spot he left her, now giving his bulldog all the belly rubs he could ever want. "Make a right up those steps and third door down is the guest bathroom. Hopefully these fit."

"Thanks." she took the clothes with her left hand and stretched out her right one. "I'm Laney, by the way."

"You're very welcome, Laney," he smiled, shaking her hand. "You can leave your clothes in the shower to dry if you like and there's plenty of towels."

She nodded once again, before grabbing her bag and rushing in the direction he just came from. His mind raced, trying to figure out what this girl's angle could be in all of this. It can't just be a coincidence that this girl showed up just a day and a half after Race is bombarded with the news that an old nemesis is basically back from dead, no, there was more to this than he could ever dream off. His body flushed with adrenaline in anticipation for the adventure that laid in store.

Jonny couldn't keep his laughter inside of him as she appeared at the top of the steps. His body shook as he got a good look at the girl; she looked like an adult that had suddenly been zapped back into her preteen body, with her fingertips barely peeking out from the sleeves of the Rockport High School sweater and her feet barely visible under mountain of excess of pant leg that was his old pajamas. He handed her her cup of hot chocolate and can of whipped cream, before taking a seat at the breakfast table.

"So, Miss Laney, let's get to the meat and potatoes of the situation," he prompted, taking a sip from his cup. "Why are you looking for Race?"

"Are you his son?"

Once again, he found himself laughing. "Me? No, I'm not his kid. Race works for my dad and he is basically our bodyguard. But I bet you already knew that much."

She shook her head slightly and took a small sip of her cocoa, ended up with a bit of a whipped cream mustache in the process. "I was just given a name and address, the rest I figured he would know."

"There has to be more to it than that," he was growing a bit impatient now. "Someone just happened to tell you to come and find him, no questions asked. You see why that sounds a bit fishy, right?"

"Listen, I didn't travel all this way just to have some kid give me the third degree and some old pjs," she snapped back at him. "I'm telling you pretty much all I know. I'd rather tell the rest to the man himself...I can't trust anyone."

"Trust?" now it was Jonny's turn to snap. "I let you into my home! And kid...I'm at least two years older than you!"

Her cheeks grew a little crimson, but he doubted it was from embarrassment. "I'm sorry. It's just been a long few days."

She took one last sip of her drink and went for her bag, pulling out a decent-sized envelope. "My mother is missing and I think Mr. Bannon knows how to find her. She's been acing really cagey lately, since before Easter break. I tried to get her to let me stay home from school, just in case, but she said I'd be safer there. Then Friday night I got a call from her, telling me that her cover was blown again and to not trust anyone from our past. This-" she plopped the packet onto the counter in front of him. "-is my mother's fail safe, in case the worst happens. Well, the worst has happened, because she's missing and men are after me. She left me a bit of money and bus tickets from DC to Augusta and I took a cab as far as I could, before finishing the rest of the way on foot. I haven't slept really since my mom's phone call was cut short and I don't know if she hurt or worse and she's all I have left."

With that, the dam had broken, so to speak. Tears peppered her eyes and she put her head into her folded arms on the table in front of her. For a moment, Jonny didn't know what to do; this was a hell of a lot to take in all at once. If she was telling the truth, which it seemed that she was, this was a lot more than he could handle alone.

"Listen, let me call my dad and get an ETA on when everyone's gonna be home," he reassured her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. "After that, I'll set you up in one of our guest rooms and you can get some sleep."

She nodded solemnly, and Jonny showed the girl to his father's study. He took a few moments to collect his thoughts and figure out how he was going to explain letting in a perfect stranger while home alone and the soaking wet spots from where she had been. Finally, he bit the bullet so to speak and gave his father a call over the ISIS monitor set up on his desk.

"Jonny, I figured you'd be in bed by now," his father looked exhausted from the long flight. "Finales are tomorrow-"

"You guys might want to pick up the pace and get home…"

–

Charlie…

Race always had a bit of a, shall you say, reputation about him when it came to women. To quote Jonny, he was a certified himbo, and he couldn't help but agree with the kid. Estella, Natasha...Jade for crying out loud, he always had a knack for picking them, and while some meant more to him than others, Charlie was the one that took the most from him when it was over.

He wasn't an idiot, nor was his blind. He saw his wife's wandering eye first hand, but he never could blame her completely for it. The nature of their careers, the time apart, people have needs...besides, at the time, he hadn't caught her doing anything more than looking. He also saw the writing on the wall not long after the birth of their daughter, when this case came across his desk. George McCall, his mentor and friend, lost his life trying to get the little bit of information they had on Neit and he wasn't going to let it fall between the cracks, not again. He owed it to George's only daughter to see it through to the end.

Before his death, it had been George's idea to send someone in deep undercover as a potential love interest, never knowing that the best option for the job would be his beloved Charlie. For years he had issues with his baby girl following in his footsteps, so it was probably for the best that he wasn't there to see what would unfurl. Of course, she jumped at the chance for justice to be served and the two found themselves working long hours together to get her ready to be wooed by Riordan.

Falling for her had been easy, easier than it was with Estella, if he was to be honest. She was the only one he could talk to about his separation and how much he missed his little girl, while she opened up to him about living in her father's shadow and how his death left her feeling like a horrible daughter. The people around them whispered and she would laugh it off. Let them talk on corners, we know the truth. But they wouldn't stay rumors for long, would they...

He was her only contact while undercover and it was his job to get her out alive if the worst happened. Every few weeks she would find an excuse to slip away from the compound, always changing their rendezvous points, and she would disclose any new intel she had, while he caught her up on what was going on in the outside world. He lived for those days, to see her again. Unlike some that looked down on her for essentially whoring herself to a terrorist for information, he saw her for the brave and brilliant woman she was.

He blamed himself for her death.

It took several members of Interpol to hold him down after he was told of her brutal execution at the hands of the one he served her up to. They described in great detail how he used her as a human shield to keep them at bay when they stormed his compound, ready to bring him in and set her free, how he shot her in the head after they lowered their guns. He recalled how their faces remained stoic as their words sent him into a rage he had never once allowed himself to feel. But they had bastard in custody and to Interpol, that was all that mattered. They paid for her to be buried next to her father and Cillian was to be taken care of. For the first few years, he visited her grave on the anniversary of her passing, leaving behind a single red rose; a rose for his Irish Rose.

Interpol lied to him, right to his face. They watched as he mourned the loss of his dear friend, mourned what could have been, what all had been lost to him. His depression was used against him as they gave him what was seen by many as a demotion, shipping him off to The Quests and forgetting about him until it suited them.

When they needed something from him.

If this girl was telling the truth, Charlie was alive and in the clutches of the man that he believed murdered her in cold blood. Very few people that crossed Riordan lived to tell the tale, so there was a good chance she was now hurt, or worse, and if that was the case, he was going to do what he should have done fifteen years ago…

For now, though, he had a few questions for Charlie's supposed daughter.

A/N: Thanks once again to the guest that keeps reviewing...YOU THE REAL MVP! :D Also, I have moved this over to my AO3 account as well, under the name The_Last_Beneviento. That doesn't mean I won't be posting over here as well, I am making it a point to finish this thing come hell or high water. But I may post other stuff over there.