Thank you Petronille, FrostyAutumn, MDawn, FuchsiaGrasshopper, and elbowwwo for reviews!


He wondered why it had been Grady but in a sense, he hadn't had much choice in the matter. He craved respect, control, and on a deeper level understanding and she had come to him will all of these things. He had thought that perhaps if he satisfied his urges once, his curiosity... maybe, it wouldn't disappear entirely but it may lose some of it's pull. But why should it? It had never been the case with anything else like blood and pain and adrenaline and caffeine and success. No... in fact, his desires may have grown stronger.

After a long day he would watch her working, fingers giving a deft touch to small wires and fine tools as if they danced on piano keys. He would watch the play of thin bones on the back of her hands and when he couldn't watch any longer, he would bury his face into her neck. Grady would protest that he was bad for business but abandon her work all the same and follow him into shadows and cool sheets. It was here he found her softer and more tractable than she was in the light of day when she was all sharp words and focus. And it was so fascinating to discover what could make her squirm. That there came a point when she was briefly helpless. He found that apart from necks, the insides of wrists and elbows were particularly sensitive as well as thighs. So in the dead of some nights when they recklessly traded their fear of death for another kind of small death, he found he didn't regret it.

And Grady couldn't stop the feeling that she was running. Running from what, she couldn't be certain. There were strange noises outside the shop at night. Small disturbances to the plans she set with Oswald concerning the Burrow Boys. Nothing too obvious, things that could be explained as accidents. But there were just enough... she prided herself in her ability to see patterns. And there was something at work here.


Grady hired Florence to take some of the pressure off. She was tall and classy with Irish heritage though not from the Burrow. Connor seemed to have taken a fancy to her but most important to Grady, she was bright. She did large sums in her head and when Grady threw some calculus at her for fun, she took it in stride.

"I think I like her," Grady told Oswald. "That brings the total up to about four people."

Oswald meanwhile was beginning to understand the Burrow. He found Connor easier to work with than he could have imagined. He followed direction but was able to think on his feet when things went awry. Something that seemed to be happening more frequently as time went by.

He had taken to following Connor on some of his jobs. The more involved he could be in Burrow affairs, the quicker he learned their ways, and the more effectively use them. He learned to let jokes roll off him, he learned to speak of loyalty, he learned to enjoy a dark stout at the pub while everyone around him sang of their past. He learned that the Burrow Boys had fury and a drive for money and respect, but that they would never contend with Falcone. They were't cold enough. But that was something they didn't need to know.

He sat with Connor in his car on a small hill overlooking an abandoned factory. It was here the boys were making a weapons deal for stolen merchandise smuggled in by sea.

Connor had his binoculars ready, but their dealer hadn't arrived yet.

"Made a killing at the races last week. Grady and Sweeney are geniuses at that sort of thing," Connor said.

Oswald rolled his eyes. "She's still playing with the horses? It's small change."

"You'd be surprised. Have you checked the accounts?" Connor asked.

"No," he shook his head.

"You might want to. Go check up on Florence if you know what I'm saying. I've never been so interested in bloody accounts," Connor laughed.

Oswald made no comment and instead kept his eyes glued on the Burrow vans.

"So tell me," Connor continued. "How'd you manage to get cozy with Grady?"

Oswald cleared his throat. "I'm...not."

"Please mate," Connor snorted. "I've known Grady since we were seven. The girl's piss and vinegar but with you, well she's practically sweet if I could ever call Grady such a thing."

"If that's sweet I very much want to avoid angry," he meant more to avoid the question than to joke, but Connor laughed all the same.

"Well fair enough, but I know she's fond of you," he said. "'Leave it to Oswald' she'll tell me. 'He's very clever. That's as close to compliments as you get from her."

"I'm sure you realize that while Grady may be...eccentric, she's likely a genius," Oswald said, not wanting to get into it. "Not to sound conceited, but I believe I'm one of the few people she's met that can truly keep up with her. Even Grady needs someone to confide in."

"Aye, she is human after all," Connor chuckled. "You can't blame me for being curious about the shagging though. Grady's a pretty enough girl, but she's mad. I never dreamed of making a pass at her. Not that I never wondered what it would be like though..."

Oswald was somewhat surprised by the anger that flared up in him. He breathed slowly through his nose and told himself to stop being ridiculous. Connor could look at Grady if he wanted. As long as looking was all he was doing...

His thoughts were interrupted by the popping of guns.

"What the hell is this?" Connor grunted.

A spray of bullets greeted the Burrow Boys below. The men scattered, dove for cover behind their vehicles.

"Get down," Connor seized the back of Oswald's collar and shoved him below the dashboard. He pulled his own weapon and hung out the window, firing at the offending van below. A string of curses that may have had a question thrown in crackled through their radio.

"Fall back," Connor spat into the radio.

There was a static snarl punctuated by another gun shot. The drive by van squealed it's tires as it circled around and made it's escape.

"The weapons?" said a voice from the radio.

"There's no weapons coming," Connor shouted into the radio. "Fall back."

"Kerry, we should tail the bastards," shouted another voice over the radio.

"Don't be daft. We'll find out whose behind it and get 'em all back in due time."

"But boss," the voice whined.

Connor tossed the radio into the cup holder with some violent swears. He flung his hat on the dash, raking his hands through his hair. Oswald peered out the windshield, counting Burrow Boys.

"No one's hurt," he reported.

"But someone set us up," Connor blustered. "Sixth time in three weeks. Beginning to look like it was towards the end of Hannigan's run. What the bloody hell is going?"

"I'm not sure," Oswald said. "But I'll find out."

"You and Grady better think of something quick. The boys are going to get edgy," Connor said darkly.


A red jacket. Grady first spotted it two nights previously when she ran down to the pub to sort out a last minute plan with Mad Sweeney. She would not have thought anything of it if she hadn't seen the figure in red several blocks behind her on the way to the pub. But then she saw it again on her way home. Coincidence? There was rarely such a thing. And then when she opened her door Fionn came snapping and growling into the room as if he would tear her arm off. The dog seemed convinced someone was sneaking around. That afternoon she was working on orders with the windows open to let in a breeze. She kept hearing the wet slap of footsteps on the puddles in the alley. After awhile it became strange. The alley was used as a shortcut among Burrow residents but there normally wasn't much traffic. Fionn whined at the window and Grady poked her head out with caution. She caught a flash of red swishing around the corner at the end of the block.

"That's it," she slapped her hand on the windowsill. Anger burned at her cheeks.

She wrenched open the seldom used door in her kitchen. "Go on Fionn," she told her dog. "See what's what."

Fionn tore out the door, barking all the way. She didn't let him loose often so the bark was more jubilant than frightening. Still, if someone was creeping in the alley that shouldn't be, Fionn would find them.

She jumped a mile when she heard Oswald come in through the front door.

"The weapons deal was interrupted," he said. "Someone set us up."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, damn it all to hell," Grady muttered. "No one set us up. Someone found out about it and stuck their nose in." She paced back and forth, glancing at the window as she went.

"Ideas?" Oswald asked. He didn't like the way she paced. She was wound tight.

"I have no idea," she sighed. "Let me think..."

Fionn wandered back in through the kitchen wagging his tail and carrying a stick.

"Nothing?" she said to the dog. "Nothing. You've brought a stick. Brilliant."

She cursed and kicked over a stacks of papers then knocked over a tin of bolts and screws for good measure. Fionn whined and gave the stick to Oswald instead.

"Grady...it's alright. We'll find them out." He frowned at her back, hunched over her work table. "This is child's play for us."

"It's not so much that," she muttered.

He took her by her the shoulders. It wasn't right. He knew how her shoulders should feel and her back. It was as if something painful were coiled up in her muscles.

"You're afraid," he said and she turned to face him. "What are you afraid of?" he muttered against her temple.

"I'm not sure if I'm more afraid it's something or nothing," she said.

"I don't understand," he said.

"I feel like I'm cracking," said Grady.

He was reminded of the night they looked in the window at the Christmas tree. "Let me help," he said.

"That's part of the problem," she said with a light laugh.

"You don't want my help?" he scowled, offended.

"No, it's not that I don't want it..." she touched his frowning dark brows. "You don't understand. It's different for you I think."

"You are a mystery sometimes Grady," he said.

"I know," she sighed.

"The man who was angry with you at the meeting about Hannigan's death..." Oswald suggested.

"It isn't him," she shook her head.

"How can you be sure?"

"Would it make you feel better to do something about him?"

"It would," he admitted.

"Then by all means..."

"Grady, is someone watching the shop?" he hissed with murder in his eyes.

"Someone's either watching the shop or I'm losing my mind, that's what I'm getting at," she rubbed at her forehead. "Someone in red. Have you seen anything?"

"No, but it won't escape my notice now..." He glared out the windows. He didn't like this. Not at all. And what's more, he had Maroni right on his heels. This was not the time for Grady to go to pieces.

It was very lucky for him that at moment, Grady got an idea. A theory...but the pieces fell into place as her mind followed the theory. It was an utter mess. But it may not be too late...

"Look Grady..." Oswald began, but she put a hand on his cheek.

"It's going to be alright," she told him. "You're right... I'm just tired. But now's not the time to go to sleep."

"Or maybe it is. You don't look well. Have you slept in the past two days?"

"Not enough sleep," she agreed. "And whose fault is that?"

"I haven't been here the past two nights," he said, catching her sly look. "I should have Gabe watch the shop. Until we figure out what's happening."

"No," Grady shook her head. "He has enough on his plate keeping you safe from Maroni. It's nothing I'm sure. Just mad Grady and her lack of sleep..."

"I'm not sure that's a risk I'm willing to take," Oswald said.

For a moment Grady felt like she was drowning. Back in the river the day they sunk one of Fish's vans. How had she let herself get pulled so far under? If she was right, she knew now what she had to do.