AN: For those that PMed me, yes—Cara's full name is Katherine, similar to Catherine Goode. I didn't realize they had the same name until later, so that's why she has a nickname, haha. I'm going to switch up my normal, limited omniscient tone and give some insight to other characters, as well. Reviews get previews, so remember to drop one. There's a big shift coming in this chapter, so expect to see the plot moving in a new direction after this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"What the actual fuck, Solomon!"

Joe groaned. He had heard her come into his house and hadn't made the move to greet her. His arm remained slung over his eyes, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are you listening to me? Get up, you son of a—"

He grabbed her flailing arm, and sat up higher in bed. Her voice grated against his ears and he grimaced as he pushed off his sheets, bare-chested and cold. "You shouldn't be cursing when there's a child present, Abigail," he said, pulling a blanket back to cover his torso.

Abby yanked herself away. "You brought Catherine Goode's son back into your house. I think this is warranted, don't you think?" she gritted.

He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly, and froze when he heard the front door open and close again, rapid footsteps thudding against the floor. "You called Matt," he said flatly, and sent a glower of accusation.

She narrowed her eyes into slits. "You should be happy I told him instead of Rachel," she harrumphed, turning her attention to the new occupant in the room. "Hello, darling brother-in-law. Have you seen what your best friend has done now?"

Matt shook his head, and grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of a chair to toss at Joe. "Get dressed. I'm going to escort Abby out, and we're going to have a little chat over a cup of coffee."

"Hey—" she interjected, offended. At the pointed look she recieved, she slumped in defeat and sighed dramatically. "Fine. You owe me big time, asshat."

As Joe wrestled the college football sweatshirt over his head, he heard the front door slam shut. "You all are going to wake up the kid," he muttered, dragging his feet on the floor as he walked towards the kitchen.

Matt was right on his heels. "He's out cold. Abby called me right at the foot of his bed in the guestroom and she said that he didn't move an inch."

"Figures. That boy looks like a twig. I don't know if she's ever fed him a proper meal or let him sleep more than the four hours that Blackthorne gives its students." Under his breath, he said, "I wonder who his father is."

The man raised an eyebrow. "He looks nothing like you, Solomon, so calm the hell down. Catherine wasn't one to stick around with a single partner, and I doubt even she knows." As an afterthought, he added with a peculiar tone, "He looks like he's only a few months older than Cammie."

Joe scowled, catching his hidden meaning beneath those slightly bitter words. "There isn't a kid in the world that's more important to me than yours. Don't put me through this. You know exactly why I brought Zach with me—the Circle's all he knows and the least I can do for the kid is make sure he doesn't turn out like his mother."

Matt put his hands up in surrender, and attempted to ease his way out of the boiling argument. "That's not what I meant. I was just commenting on how young he is," he said innocently. At the second, fierce glare he received, he sighed. "Not a word to Rachel. This time, I'll make sure my sister-in-law keeps her enormous vocal cords on mute, too."

The shrill siren of Joe's phone cut through their conversation, and he glanced at the screen with a frown. "Good riddance. At least Abby isn't here to chaperone my calls," he grumbled, clicking on the call.

Cara's voice carried over the line in an urgent tone. "You will not believe who visited me today," she said, moving the curtain an inch to glance outside at the retreating redhead. "Catherine Goode somehow knew that the story about the ambassador's wife was a coverup."

Joe exhaled, and ignored Matt's gestures for him to put the phone on speaker. "Where are you? How did she know where to find you?"

There was a short, breathy laugh. "London," she said, and paused momentarily. "At Max Edward's apartment."

His eyebrows shot upwards and he set down his glass of water, and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh," he said, his mouth unusually dry as he tried to formulate a response. "You might want to tell Maxwell to update his security perimeter. What did she say to you?"

Cara spoke with a low tone. "She wanted me to tell you to drop off her son at the Virginia Aquarium near the starfish exhibit, when she returns from Switzerland tomorrow night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"About that..." Joe trailed, chuckling dryly.

She groaned, closing the curtain and glancing back at Max, who had arrived immediately through a back door when she notified him of Catherine's arrival. "Solomon, please tell me you didn't—"

"How about you book a flight to Roseville and take a look yourself?"

Cara wound the cord of the phone around her finger and bit her lip. "Fine," she said. "Give me ten hours and I'll be there tonight."

With a short sound of affirmation, he hung up the phone.

"What are the chances that Cara Pierce is sleeping with her boss?" Joe said thoughfully, staring at the phone in his head.

Matt's eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth hung open in surprise. "Well," he said, and cleared his throat noisily, "I wouldn't be surprised if Edwards was using it to manipulate her into this mission."

Joe considered the glass on the table and hurled it at the wall. There was a faint sound of sniffling coming from the guestroom down the hall. "My mission partner, the person that's supposed to have my back, is in a romantic... something with the man that's been spending years to put me behind bars. Fucking fantastic, just what I needed."

His friend dropped his voice to nearly a whisper, upon the indication that the boy was awake. "I have to disagree with Rachel on this one, Joe. Max can be a convincing son of a bitch. She definitely knows what he does—about you being in the Circle—but I think he's the one that forced her into this."

Joe snorted, and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I knew it this whole damn time, yet I didn't stay away. She knew this whole time, too, and let me get invested and absorbed into this mission. What the hell am I doing?"

Matt pursed his lips, and glanced towards the rustling of bedsheets. "You're going to do what you've done this entire time: finish the mission, get debriefed, and have another success noted in your file. If you drop out if this or even distance yourself because of your own suspicions, then that raises enough red flags for Max to pin you down. Play this smart, Solomon, and make sure you come out the winner at the end."

"God, those things I did... it's been nearly six years since I withdrew myself completely from the Circle. You'd think I would be able to leave this behind."

The older man shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "Unfortunately, that isn't how our world works. People keep digging and digging into your past until they find a mistake they can capitalize on."

Joe gave a heavy sigh, his emerald eyes dull from exhaustion. "You should leave. There's no guarantee that she isn't lying about London."

"I think a meeting with Agent Pierce is long overdue. I want her to know I'm here—that Edwards is going to have a hell of a time trying to take down some of the world's best American operatives, " Matt countered. He pointed towards a laptop set on the coffee table. "In the meantime, I'll confront the intelligence portion of the Internet to get acquainted with our latest nuisance."

"Before you do that—" Joe interjected, smiling at the drowsy figure that lumbered into the kitchen, clad in a pair of Power Rangers' pajamas that he had picked up at Walmart last night. "Maybe you should channel your parenting skills towards breakfast for a third-grader."

From what she had read, Matthew Morgan had a multitude of talents on his profile that took eons to scroll down. However, his most prominent one was undoubtedly his ability to make her feel like a caged animal.

When Joe texted her the address to a small cabin located at the outskirts of Roseville, she knew that it was a private piece of him that she could never bring herself to disclose to Max. The area was secluded, comfortable, and practical—but most importantly, safe. Yet when she walked through the front door, through the foyer, and met the eyes of his handsome companion, she felt the absolute opposite of secure.

There was a fierce protectiveness about him, and his walls were built high and impenetrable. Despite Joe's experience and expertise, he had the advantage of living alone, and didn't have the air of accountability that Matthew did. His speech was cool and collected, but every syllable held one threat.

If you hurt my loved ones, you'll be next.

Something told her that her con against Joe wouldn't work with Matthew Morgan around. Regardless, Max Edwards' dislike for him seemed to be misplaced—her perception was that he was hellbent on bringing the Circle down. His past was clean, and he put his life on the line during every side mission. The disgust she had for Joe's past actions just weren't there when it came to Matthew, and she sensed that he was the anchor amongst his friends and family that kept everyone steady.

He stretched out a hand for her to shake. "Matthew Morgan. You must be Agent Pierce," he introduced.

"Call me Cara," she replied, and bristled when he tightened his handshake and looked her directly in the eye. When he made no move to offer an informal nickname, she shuffled awkwardly.

Joe cleared his throat, and winced when he heard a stream of coughs echo down the hall. "I'm going to go check up on him—his fever was raging this morning."

"Only one tablespoon of cough syrup, Joe. Not the whole damn bottle again," Matt called after him, flashing a crooked grin at the rude gesture he was sent. He returned his attention to his guest, offered her a seat and a bottle of beer.

She waved him off. "You can imagine why I'm wary of accepting drinks from strangers," she said lightly.

He chuckled good-naturedly, and sat opposite of her on a recliner. "I've heard a lot about you," he started. "Gallagher alumni, went straight to the CIA for five years during college. Kill missions thereafter, and they occasionally send you out to other ally agencies on contract. Stellar record, clean counseling sessions."

Her eyebrows shot upwards at the last statement. He had done his research extremely well, and delved deep into her private files. She didn't let his snooping faze her, and kept her composure. "I went through quite a bit of training to get where I am," she replied.

"I can imagine," Matt nodded, propping his forearms on his legs, and leaned forward. "But there was something interesting I found. You're cited to have—and this is verbatim—'a moral streak'. I always wondered how assassins could con their way close to their targets, and take them away from their families, loved ones... and yet still have a justification for it."

For some reason, his inquiries were worse than debriefings done with her superiors. She lifted her chin, trying to maintain her dignity in the face of his hidden insults. "I don't do anything that reflects poorly on my country. My mission is the same as yours: keep the bad guys out."

He hummed under his breath in agreement. "I've always wondered, though, if you ever took missions that weren't directly involved in the welfare of your nation, but rather, some old quarrels. Maxwell Edwards seems like an odd choice, doesn't it?"

Cara shot up from her seat immediately, steam nearly pouring from her ears in rage. Her skin was flushed and her eyes narrowed. However, Matt grabbed her arm and stood barely two inches away.

"I know what you're doing, Agent Pierce," he spat. "Your moral streak seems to be very faulty this time around, because you're falling into all the right traps without looking properly." Her skin was turning red as he tightened his vise-like hold. "I hear even the smallest amount of chatter about you stepping the wrong way..." he trailed. "You'll be a pretty useless assassin if you're dead."

Joe's call floated down to the living area and Matt released her. "His fever is down, but he's coughing his lungs out. I think I'll just hand him over to his mot—" He stopped short, regarded the enraged look on Cara's face and the satisfied expression on his friend's. "Is everything okay?"

"Rachel wants me home by eleven to take over while she goes out with Abby," Matt said smoothly, grabbing his windbreaker. "Have a good night." His eyes slid to the woman and remained for a split second too long, and he departed for the front door.

Joe regarded her with a concerned glance, and instantly understood what his friend had done in his absence. However, despite her troubled frown and flushed skin, he gestured at the back porch as if nothing had happened.

"Would you mind? I know it's a bit cold out, but he's a smart kid and it's likely that he'll eavesdrop."

She nodded slowly, but remained fixed in her spot. "Could I..." she gestured at the hall he'd disappeared down earlier. "Out of curiosity. I've only seen him in blurry photographs."

Joe pursed his lips and considered her offer for a brief moment. Though he had only had the boy for forty-eight hours after years of separation, he felt an intense protectiveness over him. He nodded, and waved a hand to lead her into the bedroom. He watched her carefully, watching her guarded expression slide down and conflicting emotions flicker past her face.

"He doesn't have her hair," she said quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. "It doesn't look like dye, either, so thank God for that."

He chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets and watching from the threshold. "He has her features, but definitely not her coloring. Must be the father," he mused silently.

"Did you try any tests? To find out who it is?"

Joe shook his head. "He's an eight year-old boy. I don't think it would matter even if we did know, so it'll be useless to spend days on a database, trying to match blood samples."

She hummed under her breath in agreement, watching his chest rise and fall with his breathing, his ruddy cheeks twitching as he snored softly. She could have never imagined that such innocence was a part of Catherine Goode, and that she was capable of sustaining a human being other than herself. She step backwards as lightly as she could on the floorboards, and tilted her head towards the door.

"Outside?" she suggested, and he nodded.

The air was moist from the short rainfall that occurred earlier that evening. When he flicked on the porch light, the surrounding foliage was a brilliant green, sparkling from droplets of water that rolled down leaves. Though it was nearly spring, it was chilly and a breeze swept through the forest. She squinted, catching sight of something shimmering only a few yards away in the dark.

"Is that a lake?" Cara inquired, impressed.

He made a sound of affirmation. "There's a dock only a short hike down. It's great for fishing in the summers." The silence that followed their polite conversation was filled with the buzz of insects, and he cleared his throat. "Not to come off as rude... but Edwards? Really?"

She cracked a grin, and met his amused and astounded green eyes. He was staring at her with a joking kindness that was the polar opposite of Matt's prior harshness. "It's not... a thing," she stressed, her words sounding lame to her own ears. "I'm not sure, but it's something. He's a very nice person, once you get to know him."

Joe snorted, shaking his head. "You and I both know that isn't true. But whatever it is you see in him, I wish you luck with that bastard."

Cara rolled her eyes at his dramatic cursing and pulled her thin jumper around herself tightly. His gaze fell on her shiver, and he excused himself briefly. She rocked back on her heels and surveyed the land surrounding the safe-house as best she could in the darkness. She had always hated the darkness, but the pitch blackness didn't seem as intimidating when there was the comfort of knowing it was likely equipped with some of the best security technology issued by the CIA.

She heard him before she saw him, and felt the thick fabric of a coat drop onto her shoulders. The scent of musk and cologne flooded her senses. When she turned around, he was standing next to her with his hands buried deep in his pockets again, making no acknowledgement of his actions other than a slight smirk.

"For the record," Cara said, grinning, "Edwards always told me off for not bringing a jacket before he gave me his."

Joe shook his head incredulously. "I should be getting bonus points for this. What an annoying, British prick."

She snickered. "Actually, his great-grandparents were American. The later generations ran off to England, for some reason."

"Really?" he said, feigning astonishment. "I thought he was related to Her Royal Highness."

They fell into a comfortable silence again, and Cara glanced at her clock, chastising herself under her breath. "Oh, God. I have to go—I'm supposed to be meeting someone at midnight."

Joe raised an eyebrow, and slid open the back door for her to return inside. "Do you have a place to stay for the night?"

She shook her head. "Abby wanted me to go bar-hopping with her through the morning. I'll probably end up holding her head over a toilet and missing out on all my sleep."

He laughed, and waved her off when she tried to return the black coat. "Return it to me when we're back in London. The next few days in Roseville are going to be chilly."

Cara slid her arms through the holes and buttoned the oversized piece of clothing to the top to amuse him. She was starting to appreciate its musky scent, and the mirth in the man's eyes.

"I hear there's another Cold War film coming out in a month, " he said cryptically, and she understood immediately, stepping out the front door.

"Four weeks, Solomon. Don't be tardy."

He grinned. "I wouldn't miss a game of blackjack for the world."