(((A/Ns: This chapter doesn't run quite as smoothly as I would like, but I hope you will excuse the awkwardness. As always, I will correct mistakes as I find them, so if you see any, please point them out.
I had planned on making this longer, but hey, it's Valentine's. Ya'll deserve a treat for being so patient. Love ya!)))
Chapter Five: Confused
Brianna returned her attention to their more current dilemma. "We can't stay here," she said matter-of-factly. "Yochlov knew exactly where to find me. The Russians could send someone else. But Murphy is in no condition to go anywhere." She sat down in her bloodstained chair and considered.
"Knowing Murph, he'll sleep the night through," Connor thought aloud. "It's how he regains his strength. When he wakes up, he'll have a hangover and an empty belly. He'll be fuckin' narky."
"Great. An injured, cranky, gun-toting Irishman with a hangover and his crazy blonde brother. Ideal traveling conditions."
"I am not blonde," Connor informed her, supremely insulted. "My hair is light brown."
"Whatever, Irelandskii. When Murphy wakes up, we need to feed him, give him some Aspirin, and be on our way. We'll have to find some sort of hotel or something." She looked at Murphy and frowned. "Firstly, though, all of this needs to be cleaned up." All business, she rose and walked over to Yochlov's corpse. Placing her hands on her hips, she mused, "We'll have to burn the body so it can't be ID-ed. These chairs, the table... they all have to go. If CSI came in here and looked around for five minutes, they'd have the whole story, and we don't exactly want them to know that I was here."
Connor nodded. "I'll move Murph to the couch, then come back in here to help ye move the furniture."
Soon, the kitchen was clean and Yochlov's body had... ahem... mysteriously vanished. Connor was kneeling by the couch where Murphy slept.
Brianna came to stand beside him. He tilted his head back to look up at her. "Look here," he said softly. Reaching for Murphy's hand, Connor presented the dark-haired man's wrist to Bri.
She hissed through her teeth. There were long, thin gashes where the wire bonds had sliced into his wrists. She was reaching forward when there was a harsh knock on the front door.
Bri's head jerked up. Speaking quickly and quietly, she said, "Connor, take Murphy out the back way and put him in my car. Pick up your guns and crucifixes on the way. Leave everything else."
Connor nodded, his face unreadable. He slung Murphy carefully over his shoulder and left the room.
The pounding on the door had become more insistent. "Boston Police," said a voice. "Open the door, please, ma'am."
"Coming," Brianna called sweetly. She kept one eye on the back window, through which she could see Connor sliding Murphy into the back seat of the car. Nodding in satisfaction, the redhead turned and opened the front door.
The officer smiled politely at her. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am. I'm here as an investigator in a planned murder."
"Oh, dear," Brianna said, all wide-eyed innocence. "Someone has been killed?"
"We don't think so, ma'am, but someone was planning on it. I'd like to ask you..." he pulled out a photo and showed it to her, "have you ever seen this man before?"
Bri kept her face carefully blank when she saw the blurry photo of Yochlov. "No, sir. Did he die?"
"No, ma'am, not that we know of. He's our number one suspect. We think he helped to plan the attempted murder of an unknown young girl, probably about your age. She may have been involved in Russian government work. Do you know anything about that?"
"No, I'm sorry, sir." Brianna batted her eyelashes and sighed. "I wish I could help more."
"That's quite alright. Thank you for your time."
"Thank you for doing what you do." Brianna strongly respected police officers, really. They risked their lives to do what they knew was right--just as she did. They were two sides of the same coin.
Brianna turned away from the lobby counter. Walking back to the door where Connor was supporting Murphy's dead weight, she quietly said, "Take him upstairs. Room 254. Here's the key. I need to make sure everything is sorted out with our check-in."
"May I ask how the fuckin' hell ye got us in?" Connor asked, just as softly.
"I'm an assassin, love. I always keep several backup plans in case things turn sour. And certain backup plans require backup identities. Now take your brother upstairs and let me handle this."
He nodded and started the trek to the elevator.
After making sure everything was settled, Brianna caught up with Connor outside the door to their room. He was trying to support Murphy's full weight with one arm and get the key card into the slot with the other hand.
"Here." Surprising herself, Brianna--instead of taking the key card and opening the door--reached over and pulled Murphy's weight into her arms. Ignoring Connor's sideways look, she nodded impatiently at the door.
Connor quickly unlocked the door and held it open for her. Dragging Murphy's arm around her shoulders, she pressed her other hand to the small of his back to help move him along.
Murphy arched his back with a low moan. Startled, Brianna jerked her hand back sharply, but found it difficult to bear his full weight with only one arm. She cautiously eased her arm back around his waist, hugging the small of his back in the crook of her elbow. He leaned even more heavily against her and moaned again, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
Stumbling forward, Bri gave Connor an imploring look. His lips twitched, but he showed no other expression as he shut the door behind her.
"Connor?" Brianna said softly, almost fearfully. "Did I... I didn't hurt him...?"
He shook his head. "No, Bri... he's just..."
Bri laid Murphy down gently on a bed and looked at Connor expectantly.
Without speaking, Connor stepped forward, rolled Murphy onto his side, and pulled his shirt up behind. There was a deep, jagged scar on the small of the younger twin's back.
"What...?" Brianna gasped. She reached out, then reluctantly drew her hand back.
Connor was watching her. "There was an accident," he said softly, "when we were young. Neither of us made off unscathed."
She looked at him with question.
"Between me shoulders," he answered.
Biting her lip, she tried to communicate another question. He seemed to understand. For a moment he hesitated, then he sighed. "If what ye've done already isn't enough, nothing is," he told her. Turning his back to her, he pulled up his shirt.
Right between his shoulder blades was a rugged scar. Brianna caught her breath. "That looks painful."
"It was, but not anymore." He turned back to face her and saw the troubled frown creasing her brow. "What's amiss?"
"Why are you telling me this?"
Connor's hard and weary face softened. He didn't smile, but his gentle expression could almost be mistaken for smile. "Because the look on yer face when ye saw Murph's scar was enough to convince me that ye'll do well by him. That's good enough for me."
She took two steps backward. "I don't understand."
He shook his head. "Ye've been too long alone. Ye'll learn, Brianna O'Keefe. Ye'll learn."