A/N: Thank you to icydragon14 for reviewing and to you for reading! Enjoy this next one.

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Chapter 6: Inquisition

Lourdes stared blankly at the humming laptop before her. Scattered around her lap, desk and floor were papers and papers of photocopied, printed and cut articles, interviews and classified reports. She continuously surrounded herself with anything and anyone that could give her valuable information, but even after three weeks in total now, she still came up with only high suspicion, but never any concrete evidence with which she could confidently point a finger at a specific killer. She had to admit, though, that Agent Connolly had been of great help to her during this investigation of both the IRA case and her own personal one, retrieving DNA results and other research that she desperately needed if she wanted to make any headway on the cases. Though he did prove to be more help than a hindrance, Lourdes still felt as though she was stuck.

"Pourquoi moi?" she asked herself in French, exhibiting her frustrations. Gazing up towards the ceiling, she searched for any sign of divine intervention, as she often prayed for. "Il y a beaucoup d'autres personnes qui peuvent le faire. Et maintenant, c'est moi qui doit faire attention ? Incroyable ! "

"Peut-être c'est seulement toi qui peut résoudre le crime. "

Rightly swirling from her chair, Lourdes was a bit startled by Connor's sudden and unannounced presence. As he entered her room with a knock, coffees in hand, she continued to stare at him in bewilderment. What surprised her even more than his appearance was that he had not only heard her, but had understood her as well.

"Thank you." Lourdes threw him a sweet smile as he handed her the cup of coffee, along with a folder with his new research. As he smiled at her in return while simultaneously plopping down on her bed, she inquired curiously, "Agent Connolly, do you speak any other languages?"

He merely nodded, the pleased expression on his face not swaying.

Lourdes cocked an eyebrow, as if waiting to be impressed."Spanish? Italian? German? Gaelic?"

His smirk widened with every language that she had listed. "Aye."

"¿Cómo sabes hablar tan muchas idiomas?" she questioned him with a cocked brow in perfect Spanish, as if testing him.

"Weil meine Mutter auf es bestand." Connor met her challenge easily, replying in smooth German. He inwardly chuckled as he recognized a glimmer of admiration in her brown orbs. "E voi, come conoscete tante lingue?"

"Mo athair seas ar phointe."

"Guess we have something in common." Connor actually smiled at this revelation, highly impressed by her lingual intelligence. For the past week that he had begun to 'work' with her, he couldn't help but take a natural liking to the woman. Her intelligence, wit and humour made his task less tedious, finding himself highly amused and intrigued from time to time. Although he continued with his façade, he felt as though a friendship was actually forming between the two of them. Just keep yer wits about ye, he constantly chided himself, especially when he found himself alone with her, just as this moment. If ye get too close to the fire ye'll get burnt.

As if on cue with his thoughts, Lourdes flipped through her notebook, skimming down her scribbled notes as she suddenly questioned, "What do you know of the Saints of Southern Boston?"

Connor's heart inwardly leapt at her unexpected interrogation. Attempting to clear his face of any expression that would betray his true emotions, he replied with a stoic face, "That they assassinated mob syndicates and men of scum all over Boston, and that Agent Smecker headed the investigation for months."

"He's still in charge of that investigation, and the Saints are still out on the loose." She recounted her research, almost bitterly, in Connor's opinion. "I still do not know who they are," Connor inwardly released a breath at this, "but I am gathering more and more evidence that would lead me to believe that the Saints were behind that IRA attack and, of course, our attack."

In an effort to halt himself from sputtering into chokes, Connor widened his eyes and scoffed, "Ye don't really believe that, do ye? The Saints only kill the bad guys. They would never point their guns towards good Agents, nor women, for that matter. I mean, not that I agree with their vigilante ways, but…" In an attempt to deter her from digging more about him and his family, Connor pointed out coolly, "I've spoken with some of yer team, Agent O'Callaghan and Agent Falkland, and they seem to agree on my find that Unionists were behind these attacks."

"You have no proof of that," Lourdes interjected, furrowing her brows.

"Then I'll find some." rejoined Connor, though smiling now. He pointed out, "Look how much information we've recovered in just a week. This whole thing will blow over in no time."

"We do make a good team." Lourdes admitted succinctly in a lighter tone, fixing the papers that she held in her hands.

"Aye, that we do." Connor gave her another beguiling smirk, which, Lourdes had learnt quickly, was one of his most common and, yes, appealing, characteristics. He leaned in closer to her, elbows resting on his knees, hands loose in between his legs. He said in almost a whisper, "Before I take my leave, is there anything else ye need…or want?"

A cold shiver ran through Lourdes' spine, recognizing the flirtatious glint in the Irishman's blue eyes. Granted, she has grown accustomed to Sean's naturally flirtatious ways and good-natured advances, though this man was an entirely different case. He had an aura of such strength and sensuality about him that it made her heart jump to even think about him. It was only her strong will, self-control, and years of training with the Irish Forces that helped her keep her composure in his presence. The latter characteristics were definitely of great use to her now, for she felt another shiver run through her body as he stood up in front of her, still wearing his famous smirk. Running her eyes through the length of him, she found his sight incredibly pleasing: the dark-blonde hair mussed into haphazard spikes as though he had just woken out of bed; dark-green polo shirt, the top three buttons left open, exposing a strong chest; the beautiful rosary that he wore around his neck, running down the middle of his torso, resting on his hard abdomen; and his eyes – oh, those eyes – now a shade of dark-blue as he peered down towards her intently.

As she stood up, intending to lead him towards the door, Lourdes croaked out quietly, "No, Agent Connolly, I'm fine for now, thank you." What is it about this man that has me practically panting for him?, she berated herself mentally, annoyed by the fact that she was letting a practical stranger affect her like so. Keep your wits about yourself, Villamor…you might be playing with fire.

Connor could notice her discomfort from miles away, and feeling a little guilty for making her uncomfortable for the sake of his own pleasure, he widened the space in between them by taking a step back towards the door. "Alright. Ye know I'm here if ye do."

Before Connor stepped outside, he exchanged another glance and smile with Lourdes. Closing the door softly behind him, he chuckled to himself.

This could be fun.

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Murphy waited impatiently on his father's couch, leg ticking, mimicking the clock that chimed lightly above him. Il Duce merely sat on his rocking chair in silence, barely showing on his countenance any sign of the identical impatience that he felt. It was past two o'clock in the morning, and the agreement amongst the MacManus family had been to meet at Da's place by midnight. But Connor, as of yet, was nowhere to be found.

Just as Murphy bolted from his seat with a growl of annoyance, the lock of the front door clicked open. After a few moments, Connor stepped inside lightly, his mouth pulled into a smirk of amusement as he entered. Languidly closing the door and looking up, he immediately noticed the disapproving look from his father. He asked simply, "What?"

Out of nowhere, a pack of cigarettes flew from his left, hitting Connor right on his cheek. Before he had time to recover from the sudden and quite unexpected missile, Murphy quickly appeared by his side, picking up the pack of cigarettes, thrusting them hastily into his pockets, then proceeding to give his twin a shove. "Where the fuck were ye?" he boomed in utter distemper, face wrinkled with it. "Ye were supposed to be here two fuckin' hours ago! Those sons of bitches might be gone by now!"

All signs of irritation left Connor's expression, only to be replaced by a wince. "Oh fuck, the Yakavetta supporter hit!" He mentally berated his own careless forgetfulness. He groaned, "I thought that was tomorrow night."

"Yer such a fuckin' idiot, Con!" Murphy barked furiously as his father joined their side. "Why don't ye concentrate on yer real job instead of pretendin' to be a fuckin' FBI agent?"

"Fuck off Murph, ye know I'm doin' all of this investigatin' bullshit for all of us." Connor defended, though not making any excuses for his mistake. He proclaimed, arm held outwards, "These cases are our business too, ye know. Ye gotta realize that. These Unionists are on our hitlist."

"Bah." Murphy gave his brother a flippant gesture as he strode back unceremoniously into the living room.

Connor's eyes then met his father's. To try and avoid further reprimand, he quickly blurted, "Look, Da, I'm really sorry for forgettin'. I lose all sense of time when I'm workin' on the IRA case." When his father did not respond at all, Connor tried again in a hopeful tone, "I feel like I'm gettin' somewhere, gettin' closer to the information that we need so that we can identify the bastards. Ye gotta know that at the same time, I gotta get these agents off my back – our backs. If we're gonna continue to make these hits under heightened radar then we gotta do it carefully."

Il Duce paused momentarily to consider his son's reasoning. Understanding their present predicament, he scolded him simply. "Just remember yer responsibilities. Ye can't let yer charade get in the way of your real duties."

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Lourdes forced herself, through her growing fatigue, to continue her investigation. Having had the time to finally organize her research, Lourdes collected a pile of newspaper clippings with two hands and dropped them onto her bed. With a sigh, she sat down beside them, methodically looking through the clippings. As she picked up a random article, a name caught her eye. The sentence had read: Two members of the Russian mob were found dead yesterday morning in an alley not far from the popular club, Cu Cuchulainn, and the neighbourhood pub, McGuinty's.

"McGuinty's?" Lourdes repeated to herself out loud, eyebrows furrowing at the familiarity of the name. In an instant, a surge of memories flashed through her mind, remembering the last time that she had visited the local pub: or, in her opinion, the potential meeting place for gangland members. It was near where she had bumped into a man, who, after spilling his belongings on the snow-covered sidewalk, was carrying newspaper clippings of articles dealing with the mob and, to her high suspicion, guns along with the bullets.

Not being able to take anymore of her nagging instincts nor the confines of her hotel room, she decided to execute some practical investigation. Tying her hair in a ponytail, she shoved her hair underneath a forest green army hat. Next, she placed on a dark green scarf and a long, black winter coat. Making sure that her disguise was inconspicuous enough, she took one last look at the mirror and bolted out of her hotel room.

Jumping into her Camaro, she made her way towards the Irish part of Boston. She had no recollection as to what street the pub was on, but she would not rest until she had found it. After about a few minutes of zigzagging through streets and driving through familiar roads, a large sign welcomed her at her destination. Relieved that she had found the pub in less than thirty minutes, she found a parking spot just perpendicular to the street where the pub was situated. Looking over at the entrance, she didn't see anyone standing in front of the door, nor feel that anything was amiss. Thinking it was safe for her to make her way inside, she stepped out of the car. Just as she turned to face the entrance of the pub, a familiar face appeared.

Lourdes was just about to call out Connor's false name when another man that she recognized followed him outside. Squinting her eyes in confusion, she identified the second man to be the one whom she had bumped into, coincidentally enough, right where she was standing, just a few weeks prior. Placing her head down so that the front of her hat could cover her face, she watched from the corner of her eye as the two hopped into a nearby car, mirthfully whistling Irish tunes.

Disregarding at the moment that Connor planned to drive while intoxicated, she wondered, with much discomfort, what he was doing with a man whom she suspected to be a mob criminal. Confused, she merely stood beside her car in silence, quietly watching as Connor's car disappeared into the night.

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Translations

 Pourquoi moi?: "Why me?" (From French)

Il y a beaucoup d'autres personnes qui peuvent le faire. Et maintenant, c'est moi qui doit faire attention ? Incroyable : "There are many other people who can do it. And now, I'm the one who has to be careful? Incredible!" (From French)

Peut-être c'est seulement toi qui peut résoudre le crime.: "Maybe it's only you that can solve the crime." (From French)

¿Cómo sabes hablar tan muchas idiomas?: "How do you know how to speak so many languages?" (From Spanish)

Weil meine Mutter auf es bestand.: "Because my mother insisted upon it." (From German)

E voi, come conoscete tante lingue?: "And you, how do you know so many languages?" (From Italian)

Mo athair seas ar phointe.: "My father insisted on it." (From Gaelic)

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A/N: Did you guys like that? Let me know and review! xx