The Musgrave PSNI station was a whirlwind of chaos.

Detectives of every rank were shouting over one another, phones rang off the hook, and stress levels were off the charts. This wasn't the first time they've lost an officer from Musgrave, but that never made it any easier to deal with when it happened. Mostly, the PSNI in Belfast was in shock, wholly consumed with the reignited hatred they oozed for those who fell into the category of dissident republicans. Ian Wright's death had the thumbprint of an IRA hit all over it, and why it happened, very few could comprehend.

It was just after eleven p.m. when Emmett Jones made it to the station. He was head of a counter-terror unit under the Serious Crimes Branch, pleased to see his small team of three officers was hard at work with the others.

Taking a sip of the coffee he'd brought from home, Emmett took a breath, knowing this would be his home for the next week. While it baffled most of the officers trying to figure out why their colleague had been the target of the sniper hit, Emmett prepared to spill the unfortunate truth about the respected constable.

He slipped over to his desk unnoticed, hoping to settle in before the shitshow fell solely onto his shoulders. Gavin — a young and ambitious detective on Emmett's team — spun around his chair, chewing on the cap of his pen.

"Where've you been? We all thought you'd be the first one here."

Emmett turned on his desktop computer while pulling the small steno pad from the pocket of his windbreaker. "I stopped by the house first to check out the scene and offer my condolences to the widow."

"Shite," said Gavin, pen still in his mouth. "How's she? The kids?"

"Just as you'd think. She came downstairs to find the back of the lad's head missing and his brain splattered all over the room."

Before Gavin said anything, Michael hung up his phone at the adjacent desk. "That was MI5. They have confirmation from the feds Stateside that Catherine and Jimmy are in Northern Cali right now."

"Any word on Dessie? The fellas down in Cross swung by the house and said it looked like no one was home. Fecker's probably in the Republic by now," added Gavin.

"My source spotted him in Belfast earlier." Emmett thumbed through the pages of notes he had taken over the last hour. "He was dropping the wee boys off with Patrick, but we all know he's got about a dozen alibis lined up already." He looked around the buzzing war room, realizing the last member of his team was missing in action. "Where's Zach?"

"He's working on the warrants. None of the judges he tried reaching out to answered their phones, so he's making house calls to see if he can find one to sign off on 'em. Once we've got the arrest warrants for Catherine and Jimmy, we'll submit the request with Interpol to have their notices upgraded from green to red so the feds in Cali can move in and send the arseholes back," said Michael.

Emmett nodded. He disagreed with the tactic, knowing well enough Zach was risking sending Dessie and his crew underground if they spotted him knocking on the doors of judges.

But what other options did they have?


Dessie sat in the car, dreading heading inside the house. The lights in the front room were still on, giving Dessie the obvious sign Patrick was up waiting for him. Shaking his watch into place on his wrist, he grimaced when he realized how late it was.

So much for this being a quick job.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Dessie stuffed when into the pocket of his jacket and hurried up the walkway. Patrick was furious enough with him already, the last thing Dessie wanted to do was give Patrick another grievance to add to the list.

When he reached the front door, Dessie noticed Patrick cracked it. Patrick must have seen him pull up… fifteen minutes ago.

Fan-fucking-tastic, thought Dessie.

Pushing his way inside, he quietly closed the door. To some extent, Dessie was hoping he could sneak passed Patrick and collect the boys from Catherine's old room without being spotted. Anything left behind was a casualty of war. He'd rather shell out the money for a new diaper bag, blanket, and toys before experiencing the wrath of Patrick O'Toole.

Throwing a Hail Mary, Dessie took the first step on the stairs. The wood groaned under his foot, giving him away. He gripped the banister and dropped his head.

"The news about the copper broke over an hour ago," said Patrick. He didn't even turn around in his recliner to look at Dessie. "Where've you been?"

Dessie braced the weight of the crushing question on his shoulders. That was Patrick's polite way of asking if he stopped to enjoy the company of a woman who wasn't Catherine.

"Andytown. If you haven't noticed, the area's buzzin' with peelers so I've been trying to keep out of sight."

"What are you so jittery about?" Turning off the television, Patrick got up and walked towards Dessie. When he was close enough, he slapped Dessie on the arm. "You've been here drinkin' with me all night. Liv, my wee boy, and his girl were all here, too. Even Owen McCool saw ya gettin' smokes at the newsstand at nine, and all the lads down at the Felons Club saw you havin' a pint around ten. You stayed there until closing for a wee break from the boys because your wife's gone taking care of her sick uncle in America."

Dessie was speechless. Patrick arranging his alibis was the last thing he expected given the extenuating circumstances.

Reaching for his jacket, Patrick put it on. "The boys knocked out and there's no point in you making the drive back to Cross this late so you can just crash on the couch. C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

"I appreciate the offer but I don't wanna put you out anymore since you've been watching 'em all day. And I'm sure Liv has gotten little sleep gettin' up with Danny."

Zipping his beaten leather jacket, Patrick clamped a cigarette between his front teeth. He moved it around with the tip of his tongue, staring Dessie down. "What does it matter to you, anyway? From what I hear, it's not you gettin' up with him every night. Catherine is. I mean I get it, havin' an infant at home can cut into the valuable time of gettin' pissed and your cock sucked by scrubbers."

Something in Dessie finally snapped. He pointed his finger at Patrick, speaking through gritted teeth, "You've no idea what the fuck you're talkin' about, so I think you 'oughta shut your fuckin' mouth there. What goes on between me and my wife is none of your busin-"

Patrick shut Dessie up by cold-cocking him right in the mouth. Dessie stumbled backward, pressing the tips of his fingers to the bleeding split in his lower lip. While Patrick admired Dessie's few found confidence to stand up to him, he wasn't about to let some fucking punk mouth off.

"What the fuck was that for?" Wiping the blood off on his jeans, Dessie tongued the wound.

Tucking the cigarette behind his ear, Patrick took a step towards him. They were equally sized, but Dessie was more intimidated than he will admit.

"Catherine may be your wife, but need I remind you how fast that relationship status can change? She will always be my child and what's goin' with her is my fuckin' business. You wanna screw around behind her back, go for it. I don't give a shite because it's not my marriage. The moment you come between me and my daughter, that's when you and I'll have some actual problems, mate. Ya hear me?"

Dessie locked eyes with Patrick. A chill ran down his spine to see Patrick's usual winter blue eyes were three shades darker with a murderous glimmer. This wasn't a bluff he dared to challenge.

"Aye. I hear ya, Paddy."

Patrick reached out and lightly slapped Dessie's cheek thrice. "Brilliant. Now, what do ya say we take a walk down the road? I dunno about you, but I need a goddamn pint."


Catherine needed to drink, and she didn't want to do it alone.

Hunched over her third dirty vodka martini of the night, Catherine's plan was simple. Get so fucked up she'd wake up tomorrow afternoon with the mother of all hangovers and zero recollection of anything that happened over the last day. It was a plan that seemed to work wonders for Patrick, so she figured there'd be no harm in giving it a go.

Fiona showed up to the pub sooner than she told Catherine she would. Traffic from Sacramento to San Francisco hadn't been nearly as bad as predicted, and the tone of Catherine's voice sparked her maternal instinct of concern. It was so out of character of Catherine to suggest they meet for a casual drink, so a million and one questions were sitting on Fiona's tongue.

Tossing her purse on the empty barstool beside the one she claimed, Fiona smiled warmly at the young male bartender who approached.

"Grey Goose," she ordered. "On the rocks, please."

Catherine slipped a green olive off the plastic spear with her teeth, slowly chewing as she turned to glance at Fiona. "I didn't think you'd show. Was gettin' worried you wouldn't be able to shake the fella Jimmy pinned on ya."

When the bartender dropped off the vodka, Fiona lifted the glass to her mouth. "Jimmy can go fuck himself." She took a sip. "I dunno who in the hell he thinks he is, tellin' me I can't go see my husband anymore."

Catherine was none too pleased about being barred from seeing Chibs either, but she wasn't about to drop all the blame onto Jimmy.

"He has his reasons, Fi. I caught a fed at St. Thomas this morn' after I saw Filip and she seems keen to get to Jimmy."

"Jesus. How bad is it?"

Catherine polished off the rest of her drink and signaled the bartender for another. "I'd say bad. The bitch knew about Eamonn, Sean, and Danny. She knew my married name, and about how Jimmy used to beat me face in."

For Fiona, there wasn't enough alcohol in her glass nor her system to continue this conversation. If the feds had that kind of information on Catherine, she could only imagine what sort of notes they had on her. Polishing off the last of her vodka, she too ordered another round.

"You think someone's talkin'?"

"Aye. I do." Catherine ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Her face was flush and Fiona noticed how her eyes were glassy and bloodshot. "My gut is tellin' me it's Liam, but I don't understand how they would've gotten to him. Like, how would they even know he's here?"

"Filip didn't tell you?" Fiona asked, furrowing her brow.

Catherine's heart nearly exploded. "Tell me what?"

When she realized her husband was keeping valuable secrets from his niece, Fiona swore under her breath. She was tiring of the games.

When the bartender dropped off the fresh round of drinks, neither of them wasted time taking a large sip.

"Liam got arrested for drink driving and they tried to deport him. This is only what I've been told, so its secondhand information and shouldn't be taken at face value, but Filip told me his hearin' before the immigration judge was closed and I guess he had a bloke try to find the court documents, but they're sealed. I'm not sure if they dropped the case, but out of nowhere they released him from prison."

Resting her elbows on the bar, Catherine buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream and rip her hair out. Working with the police was how Liam got in this mess to begin with, Catherine couldn't believe he'd bury himself in the same whole a second time.

And for what?

"This day honestly just keeps getting worse and worse," groaned Catherine.

"Don't you be worrying about the feds." Fiona placed a warm hand between Catherine's shoulder blades, rubbing small, comforting circles. "It's nothing none of us haven't dealt with before. You've just gotta give Jimmy time to figure something out."

Catherine couldn't stop herself from laughing, confusing Fiona. "Jimmy's my bleedin' problem."

"What did he do now?"

Not daring to come right out and say it in the middle of the bar, Catherine grabbed her purse resting down by her feet and rummaged through it until she found her phone. Going straight to the Sky News website, Catherine clicked the link for the breaking news article, handing it off to Fiona.

All she needed to do was read the headline to get the gist of what Catherine was talking about. Locking the phone, Fiona set it down beside Catherine's glass. "You're better off staying here."

"Nope," said Catherine, popping the 'p' for dramatic effect. "The longer I'm gone, the more time the peelers'll have to stew. The second I show my face anywhere on that island, they'll be draggin' my arse in. I'm better off just gettin' it over with. I tried calling Dessie to see what's up, but he's not answering any of his phones. Dealing with that on top of what you just told me about Liam… what do you say we head off to some exotic place with the kids and leave these fuckwits to handle everything on their own?"

"That's a tempting offer, so it is. Those arseholes wouldn't last two days without us there to hold their goddamn hands."


Dessie jutted against the backrest of the barstool, burying his face in his hands. "I can't believe I made her fuckin' do that." Leaning forward again, he rested his elbows on the bar and gripped the nape of his neck. "It was a wee harsh, yeah?"

Patrick ran his thumb over a chip in his pint glass, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a drag and exhaled. "I love me daughter. I do. She made her bed with Ian and it was your call to make."

That didn't answer his question.

"But do you think it was the right call?"

Patrick took a sip of his warm beer, wishing Dessie would just drop it already. Thinking about Catherine and Ian were images he's spent a lot of time trying to ignore. Her abusive relationship with Jimmy, two illegitimate children, and her impulsivity were things Patrick would accept about Catherine. A romantic fling with an English constable that he could never forgive her for.

"We both know she never would have given the lad a bell if Jimmy hadn't made her think Casey was ready to pop me off, too," Patrick lowly said. "What we planned, she had it coming. And since you need me to coddle you, no, ya weren't too harsh, and you made the right call. If it were up to me, I would have made her stand in the same goddamn room with him while you pulled the trigger."

"I'm gonna tell her," Dessie declared. He took a swig of beer. "When she gets home, I'm gonna tell her about the scrubbers and why we really took Ian out. No more bleedin' secrets."

Patrick slowly drank the last of his beer, his eyes menacingly fixated on Dessie. He set the glass down. "Are you fucking stupid? You honestly think telling her is the best thing to do?"

"You fucking told me to!"

"About the whores," Patrick clarified. "You're a fool if you tell her about Ian. Do you've any idea what sort of shite your wee revelation'll kick up?"

"She deserves to know, Paddy. I said from the very beginning she needs to know just how badly her poor decision to fuck the lad ended up gettin' all of us fucked. You just said it yourself that she deserves everything she has comin'."

"If you say a goddamn word about the bastard double-crossing her, it'll send her so far underground, good luck gettin' her back up here with the rest of us."

Dessie dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Once the investigation into Ian gets goin' it'll be on the front page of every newspaper from Tralee to Glasgow that he was in bed with us."

"That won't happen," Patrick said with conviction. "The PSNI is gonna do everything they can to cover up the fact we flipped one of their officers. They're probably shittin' themselves, accusing each other of bein' a rat. She'll never find out as long as we can keep her from bein' arrested."

Dessie snorted. He knew the reality of the situation, appreciating Patrick's overly optimistic view even though that wasn't exactly what he needed right now.

"And if she gets arrested?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Not to hijack the conversation here, but you mind telling me what's been going on with you two lately?"

Staring straight ahead, Dessie realized he couldn't keep this weight on his chest anymore. Even if he were coming clean to his vexed father-in-law, it was still oddly comforting.

"Catherine had a miscarriage. It happened like a week after we brought Danny home. Neither of us knew she was even pregnant, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with, ya know?"

Patrick froze, his heart falling straight into his stomach. His eyes brimming with hot tears, he took a sip of beer in hopes it would relax the lump in his throat. He couldn't figure out why Catherine hadn't told him.

"So that's why there's been tension."

"Oh, no. It gets worse." Throwing Catherine under the bus to her father wasn't something Dessie would normally consider. However, he lost his inhibition somewhere between his second and fourth beers. "When I took her to hospital to get checked out, I learned this wasn't the first time our wee Catherine Mary lost a pregnancy."

Straightening up in the barstool, Patrick gripped his glass so tight it was a miracle it didn't shatter.

"What? Did she and Darragh try for another after Seany?"

"That was my first thought, too, until she told the doc it happened in," Dessie drummed his hands on the bar, "1998!"

Patrick shot up, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer in the ring. Dessie swiveled, polishing off the rest of his beer. Watching the way Patrick reacted to the news only vindicated how he reacted, too.

Slapping his hands on the top of his head, Patrick pulled his hair. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him, and then I'm gonna fuckin' kill her."


Gavin and Zach rolled the whiteboard out of the conference room they've been using as a make-shift office for the last several months. It was littered with driving license photos, grainy shots from the surveillance team, and handwritten notes on Post-Its about each of their targets.

They brought it to the font of the war room where everyone had gathered for a briefing on the case. The fury was palpable, and once they all saw who the prime suspects were, it only made the officers angrier. Collecting the files he had on each person on the board, Emmett got up from his desk and headed to the front of the room.

"Based on the information we've been able to gather throughout the last few months and tonight, these are our key suspects." Emmett pointed to the three photos tapped to the top of the board. "Jimmy O'Phelan, Desmond Dennehy, and Dessie's wife Catherine Dennehy. In the folders Michael gave each of you, you'll notice they're respectively code-named Ace of Spades, King of Spades, and Queen of Spades. Zach, do you wanna take it from here?"

Zach leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "We've confirmed Jimmy and Catherine are out of the country, so we're working with the American authorities to locate them for extradition. Based on his conviction for being part of a sniper team for the Provisional IRA, Dessie is the person of interest to be the triggerman. We know he has access to about ten mobile phones which he'll frequently change, and several vehicles and an abundance of number-plates because of his job as a mechanic in Crossmaglen. He has a vast collection of firearms, the location, and quantity of which we're unsure of, so we should consider him armed and dangerous at all times."

"He has associates all over the United Kingdom," Michael cut in. "And in the Republic, so we've asked the Guards for help in locating him because he frequents Dundalk and Limerick. If Catherine and Jimmy aren't apprehended in America, we're confident they'll come back to Northern Ireland through the Republic. She also has three children, so we need to be mindful when arresting her — the goal is to do it when they're not around."

Emmett took over. "We will hunt them down, and it may take a little more than basic police work. These are dissidents we're dealing with; they may not be as sophisticated as they once were, but the three of them are smart. They'll spot you before you have the chance to spot them. The biggest priority is building a case that will stand up in a court of law, and the goal is to get enough evidence that will convict them on severe charges. If you see them engaged in petty bullshit, let it go. I want these fuckers put away for a long time so there shouldn't be any short cuts."

"Will there be a surveillance team tasked with watching them once they're located?" asked a voice from the back.

"Unfortunately, no," answered Emmett. "Full, twenty-four-hour surveillance and overtime aren't in the budget so we have to be smart."

"I'm guessin' that means we can't have a wee bit of fun with 'em?" Johnny Harris tried to hide his smirk but failed.

Gavin didn't find the question as humorous as the rest of the room did, not wanting to see his hard work circle the drain. "Absolutely no mind games. If they get paranoid, it could be six months to a year before we see 'em make any moves. Dessie and Catherine aren't afraid to close up shop if that means keeping everyone they're involved with out of Maghaberry."

"How do youse know it was them? As far as any of us know, Ian never ruffled their feathers. He questioned Catherine a few times when she was hauled in, but he said nothing if they harassed or targeted him."

Reading the crowd, Emmett decided that piece of information was something he needed to keep close to the chest, reviled only when it was necessary. The officers needed to take this time to grieve, not fall into a pit of their cognitive dissonance on top of everything else. "We believe Ian's work on his cases connected to Catherine put him in the middle of a predicament he was ill-equip to handle. We also have very high confidence this is an isolated incident and there's no immediate danger to other officers."

At least that's what Emmett hoped. If Catherine charmed one of them, God only knew how many others there were.


"Filip told me I should ask you about what happened between him and Jimmy." Stepping outside of the bar, Catherine lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to Fiona. "Why won't he just tell me?"

Having heard from Chibs earlier in the day, Fiona had been expecting this to come up. It surprised her it took Catherine almost five martinis and four cigarettes to muster the courage.

"Because if you haven't noticed, both of 'em are stubborn bastards. Neither of 'em'll ever admit they overreacted."

"Jimmy told me it was because Filip touted to the RUC about my Da."

Fiona shook her head, taking a drag of her smoke. Her head was swimming from the alcohol and nicotine buzz. "This may come as a wee shock to you, but Jimmy's an arsehole. He'll say just about anything if it'll get him what he wants, and he wanted you to stay away from Filip."

"Why?"

"Because none of us wanted you to find out you were the one at the center of the entire clusterfuck." Looking at Catherine, Fiona knew she would not come right out and ask. A part of Catherine was hesitant, still believing ignorance is bliss. "Ya want me to tell ya what happened?"

"Aye."

Pushing her thick ringlet curls out of her face, Fiona tried to figure out how to approach this. No matter what she said, it would leave Catherine feeling like utter shit. With everything that's happened in the last handful of years, there was no way to predict how she would react either. Fiona didn't want Catherine to write Chibs off as the awful guy and immediately jump to Jimmy's defense, but she didn't think that would be a problem after Catherine told her what role he made her play in the shooting in Belfast.

Stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette, Fiona dumped it and pulled her sweater tighter around her torso when a chilly breeze off the ocean came rolling in.

"Filip forgot about you," she said. "Do you remember when you were at the train station in Newry by yourself? I like you were like ten or eleven."

Catherine stared at the cracks in the pavement, trying the best she could to digest what she'd just been told. Did she remember? She fucking remembered. There was no way she could ever forget sitting outside of the Newry train station for nearly four hours after returning from her weekend in Dublin with Patrick.

"That makes little sense. My Da told me Jimmy'd be waitin' for me and he's the one who eventually showed up."

At this rate, Fiona wondered if opening her mouth had been a superb idea. If she would have known Catherine blamed Jimmy all this time, telling her the truth seemed futile. Better for her to think Jimmy was in the wrong and not Chibs.

She couldn't back out now.

"Jimmy was supposed to, but the night before, the lads in Cross called him and asked for help in the morn' because they didn't have enough hands for the shipment. Filip said he'd get you… that was until he started drinkin' after a wee row he and I had. When Jimmy found out you were still in Newry hours after your train came in, he went lookin' for Filip once he got you back to Belfast. Found him still sittin' in his favorite chair at the Rock Bar. Seein' you all upset the way ya were — Jimmy lost it, Catherine. When Filip came home all beaten up, I thought that was the end."

"Jimmy wouldn't banish him over that. Somethin' else had to have happened!"

"Aye. Somethin' else did. What happened with you was only the start of it. Filip was so furious and embarrassed by what Jimmy'd done, he went off the fuckin' rails, so he did."

Catherine slapped a hand over her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes when she started connecting the dots from what she remembered. There was one particular incident she recalled all too vividly. It made her feel like an idiot for not having put the two-and-two together sooner.

"Oh, Jesus, Fi. It wasn't Filip who did that to Jimmy, was it?"

Fiona reached around Catherine and took the pack of smokes from her back pocket and lit up another one. Exhaling, she slowly nodded.

For the second time in less than six hours, Catherine's world came crumbling down.

"Why? Why would you let him do that?!"

"I had no idea what he was plannin'!" Fiona yelled, only to lower her voice. "If I had known he was gonna throw that pipe bomb through the front window of Jimmy's house, you think I wouldn't have stopped him?"

Catherine kicked the defenseless metal garbage can in front of the pub as hard as she could. "Motherfucker! So that's why Jimmy slashed his face. Because the lass he was seein' at the time ended up gettin' her face all sorts of fucked up."

"I know Filip," defended Fiona. "He never would've done it if he knew Jimmy had a lass there with him."

Trying her best not to burst into tears, Catherine swallowed hard. "Doesn't fuckin' matter. You should have kept your eye on him, you knew he'd be out lookin' for blood."

Sick of having the finger of blame pointed in her direction, Fiona spat, "Why don't you ask Dessie why he didn't stop him. He's the one who gave Filip the hardware."

"Don't you fuckin' dare go off draggin' Dessie into all this. When he's asked to put that shite together he doesn't ask questions because it's none of his goddamn business."

"It wasn't my business either. I always stayed out of the shite goin' on between those two."

Unsatisfied with the answer she got, Catherine brushed Fiona off and headed back inside. Back at the bar, Catherine grabbed her purse, setting it on the barstool to dig through it for her wallet. She slapped a fifty-dollar bill beside Fiona's drink.

"Where the hell are you runnin' off to?" asked Fiona. "You're too drunk to be goin' anywhere alone."

Catherine shoved a stick of gum in her mouth. "Back to Oakland. I need to have a wee chat with Jimmy."

That was the worst idea she's had in a long time, Fiona thought. Grabbing her purse too, Fiona tossed down a small wad of cash to cover the rest of the bill and the tip. Catherine armed with this fresh information, in good faith she couldn't let Catherine walk into the lion's den alone. Drunk out of her mind and angry, Jimmy would rip her to shreds.