Chapter 11

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It was time out of time, time away from time, time alone, and Fi knew this time together with Michael was a gift from heaven, a star born wish she'd locked away in her heart for wanting too long.

Time lost meaning although the changing light patterns on the ceiling told them it was early evening now that they had found each other again. And again. It didn't matter that their bed was without sheets or pillows. All that mattered was they were together, they were alone with each other and the outside world was . . . outside.

Fiona turned to slide her arm around Michael's waist, rested her head on his shoulder and slipped her leg over his. "Tell me about this place," she said, kissing his bare chest, gently rubbing her fingers across his soft skin.

He kissed the top of her head, threaded his fingers through her hair and caressed her shoulder. "Do you remember the real estate agent who showed you that condo before you moved to the loft? I ran into her while I was waiting at Carlitos to take food back to the loft a couple of weeks ago. She asked me if you'd found a place and I told her I was looking for someplace for us, something private. This house belongs to her sister. She's a teacher who's studying in Japan. She wanted to lease it privately, and when I saw it, I hoped you might like it . . . so we can lease it if you'd like for a year or so . . ."

"What about the loft?"

"I didn't want to tell you, but while we were gone, the FBI moved a surveillance team into the loft. Four people. Jesse and Sam discovered it while we were in D.C. together. They trashed the place, confiscated guns and took the extra phones, slept in . . . the bed. Mom took all the bedding and stuff to a cleaners, but the more I thought about it, I thought you wouldn't want to go back there now. We're using it for work, but I want some place for us, something personal, some place where we can just be . . . us . . . and maybe not tell anyone where we are for a while . . . "

Fiona smiled. "When did you learn to read my heart so well?"

"It's what I want, too, Fi . . . "

She kissed his cheek before she rested on his chest again, listening to his heart beat.

"Whose car was that?" she wondered.

"Her sister's. She asked if she could leave it here, maybe have us drive it once in a while. I'm thinking this place is under the radar, but in plain sight . . . what do you think?"

Fi pushed up to place her hands on the mattress on either side of his head. She smiled and leaned down to kiss him, her hair a silken curtain around them. "Thank you, Michael. This is exactly . . . perfect."

One kiss led to two and then three before she sighed snuggled next to him again. "We need a few more things, like towels and bedding."

"They're in the laundry room. I didn't get that far yet," he said. "I did get some food. Are you hungry?"

Fiona sat up. "How long have you been here?"

"A little more than a week. I helped move her sister's stuff out and got the bed and table and chairs moved in and got some new sheets and towels . . . I was waiting for you . . ."

"I missed you so much," she said leaning down to kiss him before stretching the length of her body next to his, using her finger tips to softly outline his face. She pressed delicate kisses to his forehead and eyelids, his nose, his lips until he turned to take that pleasure for himself. They lost themselves once more in each other with a depth of tenderness that marked no other part of their lives except what they shared with each other.

And when they were complete, Michael's arms tightened around her and he trembled as he touched his face to hers. "I can't lose you like that again, Fi. I . . . can't."

When he moved to kiss her and opened his eyes, he could see they were sharing the same troubling wound. He brushed her tears away with his hands as she brushed his with her hands.

Abruptly, he pulled away and left the bed for a few seconds to get something from his clothing. "I know," he said very quietly, "this isn't what you said you wanted. And I know that this won't be what you meant when you asked if I would do this properly, but I've had it for long time, Fi and . . ."

She looked down to his hand, to what lay in his palm and felt her ability to breathe cease. With her hand over her heart, she found the memory rushed at her with the force of a cresting wave dropping into a trough.

It happened soon after they first met in Ireland, soon after she knew whatever grace made it possible for them to find each other in a world full of other people, was a lifelong gift some never receive and others spend their lives searching for.

It was a wintry cold day with a deeply blue sky that imitated the color of Michael's eyes. They had been working, scouting the area, walking hand in hand past shops and pubs when they sensed they were being followed so they stopped. Michael put his arm around her shoulders as they pretended to look in a shop window but used the glass reflection to see who might be behind them. Michael was ready to move on and started to step away, but she had been distracted by a small display of Claddah rings in the window. The elegant simplicity of one plain gold band with its hands and heart captured her attention.

Perhaps it was because her love for Michael was so newly realized. Perhaps it was because her soul recognized she had just made love to the only man she would love in her life, that when he asked what she was looking at she told him. Had she been able to protect her heart better in that moment, she might not have done that but her heart was burgeoned with honesty. She found herself explaining the meaning of the ring with its symbols for love, friendship and loyalty. And marriage. If there had been a wistfulness when she looked up into his face, she knew she had not been able to hide it. In that instant, she had been able to hide nothing from him. Not her heart or her love for him.

She remembered the moment so clearly, as she told him about the Claddah, watching his face when he'd listened to her explain the ring's message, that moment in time held an image that imprinted her heart. And now, to see the small gold ring in his hand.

When he started to speak, she moved her fingers over his lips.

"Is it the same one?" she asked in a whisper. "You've had it all this time?"

He nodded, and she could not stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks. "Please, Michael," she said, "please be my love, be my husband, be my loyal friend for the rest of my life."

His lips were sweet against hers. "Forever, Fiona," he said, as he placed the ring on her finger and sealed that promise with another kiss.

They sat there, arms around each other until Michael laughed softly. "We need a priest to marry us."

"Yes," she said somberly. "But not until we are free . . . "

Like many other times, the good that could be, the good they wanted, would to stay out of reach.

"Yes. Then."

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Fi examined the features of the coffee pot and found everything she needed close at hand. Coffee, Filters. Water. Cups.

Like all of the other items that Michael brought into the house, the coffee pot was new and had never been used. As she checked the kitchen cupboards and found the essential, basic items, and then the contents of the refrigerator, she smiled and wished she could have worn a cloak of invisibility so she could have watched as he went about choosing the things for the house.

How did he choose the small set of dishes and utensils, cups and glasses? It warmed her to think of Michael doing such small and important things. The sheets, now freshly on the bed, the towels. All new things. A washer and dryer were conveniently hidden behind a double door near the breakfast nook. She smiled. If she could have ordered a place to live, she realized it would look exactly like this.

When the coffee finished brewing, she poured a cup for Michael and another for herself and walked back to the bathroom where she found him shaving. She set his cup on counter and watched him, and when his eyes met hers, he nicked himself, something very un-Michael like. He smiled sheepishly and dabbed at his chin.

Fiona loved the intimacy of the moment, but as she watched him finish and rinse his razor and the sink, she realized what else she was seeing in his eyes.

"You sent yourself back to work."

He smiled. "You left. I had to do something."

"So . . . ?"

"Fi, I want us to have more time together. We haven't even had a day yet," he said reaching down to delicately caress her cheek with his hand before he leaned down to kiss her.

"We will. Bring your coffee. Let's have breakfast. You can tell me what you're working on. I'm hungry." She reached for his hand but instead he carefully took the cup from her and set it next to his before he returned to nuzzle her neck and ear. "I'm hungry, too."

Somehow the towel he wore and the one she wore landed on the floor together. Fiona's freshly made bed was no longer a freshly made bed, their coffee turned cold, and breakfast was delayed an hour.

When they returned to the kitchen the sun was much higher in the sky. Michael wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and Fiona renewed her acquaintance with an old friend, a short and sleeveless dress that was one of her favorites, something he'd packed for her in her overnight bag.

As they finished the blueberries and granola with yogurt, Fiona shook her head. "You know you're about ready to burst. Tell me, Michael."

He pursed his lips. "You won't like it. No one will like it, but it makes sense."

"Okay . . ."

"First, Larry got himself caught. That arrest at my Mom's was planned. I don't think he knew what Anson told us, or not all of it, and I don't think I read his reaction wrong. So what would he want? To get next to Vaughn. I think Raines and I played right into his hand on that.

"Next, the disagreement is personal with Raines and someone in the FBI. We can't fix that but Raines can. And, there is also someone or more than one someone on the inside who's probably being blackmailed the way we were which means they are in a position to do real harm. Like the harm you saved me from doing, Fi." He paused and continued. "And I think Management's been involved all along."

Fiona's eyes grew dark when Michael explained that.

"If Vaughn was right and they've brought the organization back online, you have to wonder why. And remember Sam saying how complicated the organization's structures were, layers upon layers of information, linking one thing led to another and then on and on? Impractical or impossible for one person to do in a that time span, but if Management and Anson were working together, maybe not. The weapons they sold to the operative they turned in MI5 . . . I think that's the tip of the iceberg. That weapons facility in Tampa was huge."

"It was," Fiona agreed somberly. "I saw it."

"And I did, too, a couple of weeks ago."

"No one's heard from Management in a long time, though," Fi said.

"It doesn't mean he's gone."

"But they stopped looking because . . . he disappeared."

"Think back to what Anson said to us . . . that he and Management were just two guys with a dream. Do you think if you build an organization like that, and have a chance to rebuild, that you'd just walk away? It'll get complicated now that Anson's on the international terror watch list. But Raines needs to add Management, too. And we all need to be very careful. He threatened me, and he threatened you with the same things."

The expression of Fiona's face was marked with worry. Michael took a deep breath and realized he needed to keep all of this conjecture at bay a while longer. For Fiona and himself. They needed to keep this light and pleasant place to be a nurturing alcove of comfort and peace.

"I'm sorry, Fi. You asked. I should have . . . "

"We need this time," she said quietly. "I want it with you."

"And I want it with you, too."

For a few moments they sat next to each other, each lost a bit in thought. Fiona rose and took their bowls and cups to the sink and rinsed them before placing them in the dishwasher.

Michael was looking out the door to the garden area when she finished. She stood behind him and wrapped his waist with her arms.

"So, what shall we do? I don't see a television. Or a book, although there are a couple with my things, books Pearce gave me. One is quite lovely."

"We could play tic-tac-toe," Michael suggested.

She smiled at that.

"Or," he said, turning around in her arms. "We can go back to the bedroom and . . . think of things."

"We could."

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It was sometime after five that same day when Michael finally looked at his phone, turned it on and endured the slew of voice and text messages. One by one he listened to them or read them before he snapped the phone shut.

Fiona was watching him listen and wince. "We have to leave, don't we?"

"I don't want to."

"But we're coming back here tonight."

He smiled. "We are."

When they left that day, Michael used the remote to engage the wireless sentry system and explained the excruciating ramifications of the system. He'd borrowed it from Jesse and had removed it from the loft to relocate it to the house.

He didn't think any of their enemies could find them quite this soon, but he was not going to take chances.