Jimmy's gut knotted; overwrought nerves strangled. As he reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself another three fingers, a sense of dread and panic unlike anything he's ever experienced crashed over him, sucking him down so deep in a trench of despair just breathing became a chore. He gulped down the booze, its harsh burn not even registering.

Sliding the empty glass across the table, he picked up the crinkled pack of Marlboros and lit one, not wanting to face the truth that the reality now staring him in the face resulted from his own doing. He never should have let Sheehan and Gallagher continue on—not putting a bullet between each of their eyes was a rookie mistake he knew better to make. In hindsight, he should have seen this coming. Neither of them were particularly well at holding up under pressure, a clear warning sign he ignorantly ignored, thinking they'd stare death in the face like men and refuse to give up the one person who'd helped pull them out from under a mountain of suffocating debt.

And now, here he was. Thousands of miles away from home, unable to remedy the situation himself so he could make sure it was handled right. Not like taking out Sheehan and Gallagher now would change anything at this point. The damage was done. Dessie knew and Patrick knew, and the only thing Jimmy could do now was try to keep the truth from reaching Catherine, all the while mitigating collateral damage.

He had to get her out of the safe house in Lodi, back under his supervision. He had to get her away from her cellphones and all other sources of communication, but that was only half a solution. No way Dessie was dumb enough to tell her while she was away from home; the real firestorm would ignite the moment she stepped back onto Irish soil. If only there was a way he could keep her in the States for good. Or somehow convince her for real this time that leaving Belfast for Berlin or Moscow with the boys and away from Dessie was the only chance she had at survival.

But even then, he couldn't tell her why returning to Northern Ireland wasn't an option without divulging his knee-jerk plan of action all those years ago.

Before he could even think about how to handle Dessie, Patrick, and Catherine, Jimmy knew what he had to do first. Picking up his phone, he flipped it open and typed a cryptic message to Sean Casey, one only he'd understand. But before he had the chance to send it, a call interrupted him. The number of Catherine's burner phone splashed across the screen.

"Hello?" he answered.

He heard rustling around before her hushed voice.

"I know it's super late, but I'm gonna have to rain-check our plans for tomorrow; something came up and I'm not gonna be able to make it for breakfast, so you and Fi should just go ahead without me. I'll call you when I can."

The line went dead.

The blood stopped flowing in Jimmy's veins. He went lightheaded, stars dancing in his vision. Even though he was already sitting down, his knees went weak.

As if things could get any fucking worse.


Once she had her jeans buttoned and zipped, Catherine slid the flimsy piece of plastic off the back of the phone. She tossed it on to the mattress along with the battery, removing the SIM card. Without a second thought, she shoved it into her mouth and swiped the fifth of vodka off the floor, guzzling. She gagged, forcing the SIM card and vodka down into her soured stomach. It wasn't ideal, but when seconds mattered, she didn't have time to stop and think.

She could hear the ATF agents making their sweep through the safe house, and she wondered just how much longer she had until they kicked in the bedroom door. Fully dressed and with her boots laced up, Catherine stood in the middle of the room. There was no use in hiding; they'd find her. Standing shoulder-width apart, she put her hands up, spreading her fingers to come across as non-threatening as possible. She was going to scare them far more than they were going to startle her. The last thing she wanted to do was give the agent on the other side of the door any reason to empty their magazine into her chest. Though bleeding out in the safe house didn't seem so bad compared to the outcome she envisioned.

Holding her breath, Catherine braced herself.

The door burst open, the wood splintering from the force.

"Get on your fucking knees, right now!" screamed the agent. Staring down the barrel of a Glock, Catherine didn't think twice. She dropped. "Hands behind your head!"

Lacing her fingers, she rested them exactly where she was told. Her heart was pounding so hard, the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, clogged her ears and drowned out the world.

The agent crossed the threshold into the bedroom, inching his way towards her. Despite the pistol being pointed at her and the agent's shaky finger curled around the trigger, an odd sense of calm swathed Catherine. It was no different from the three other times she'd been arrested, making her wonder if those were just the universe preparing her for this very moment.

Or maybe it was the weed.

Either way, Catherine didn't care.

"What's your name?"

Licking the corners of her dry lips, she met the agent's gaze.

"Catherine," she croaked, "Catherine O'Toole."

There was no point in saying otherwise. Even if she gave them an alias, she made peace with the fact she wasn't walking out of there on her own recognizance. Once they dragged her into the station and took her fingerprints, it would only take the ATF about a half-hour to put the puzzle pieces together. Offering her true identity to police on her own free will went against everything they had taught her, but so long as it lessened the time she'd have to spend in an American jail cell, Catherine didn't care. All she cared about was getting home because at least then she'd be in the hands of her trusted lawyers, not under a judicial system she vaguely understood.

"Holy shit," the agent muttered. He didn't lower his weapon as he yelled over his shoulder, "June… you're going to want to see this."

Catherine rolled her eyes, more so feeling like some sort of prize worth being showed off rather than the violent criminal she was.

Looking over the agent's shoulder, Catherine saw the same blonde agent who'd cornered her in the elevator at St. Thomas. Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. Catherine had expected some sort of self-satisfied smirk to spread across her aging face, but her brow furrowed and her eyes glazed over with a glint that told Catherine her very existence just shot their entire plan to shit.

"What's your name?" June asked.

"Catherine O'Toole."

June placed her hands on her hips, staring at the ground for a moment before meeting Catherine's gaze. She asked again, "What's your name?"

Uneasiness seeped deep into the marrow of Catherine's bones. She'd given the wrong answer and was being given the chance to amend it. All that did was set off alarms in Catherine's mind. Why would the feds be so willing to let her walk out of a house stocked to the brim with high-powered rifles?

She didn't like where this was going.

"For the third bleedin' time, my name is Catherine O'Toole."

Pursing her lips, June unclipped the pair of handcuffs from the holster on her hip and pushed her way past the other agent. Walking behind Catherine, she secured one cuff around Catherine's wrist and locked it tight before twisting her arms behind her back and closing the other.

As she was helped to her feet, all Catherine could think about was how she was going to watch her boys grow up from behind four inches of bullet-proof glass. She'd never have another chance to hold Danny, or hug and kiss Eamonn and Sean; she'd never again feel the safety and warmth that came along with being wrapped in Dessie's arms.

"Catherine Dennehy-O'Toole—" June urged Catherine to walk out of the room and down the hall— "You're being taken into custody by the United States government under section 412 of the PATRIOT Act on suspicion of terrorist activity. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…"