A/N: First as usual of late, an apology for the delay in getting out the chapter. We're pretty sure all you fabulous Burners would rather wait and get a better chapter, but we're still sorry for the wait. We hope that another longer than usual update will suffice. Thank you for your continued support.
This week, two chapters of Be Brave Little Angel will be posted, one today and one this Friday so as to make room for a special holiday edition of Reconnecting 501 on next Monday, which is Labor Day in the US. This will be the next installment of the High Risk, High Reward series, where Michael and Fiona learn to deal with some of the consequences of their former high risk lifestyle.
Then next Thursday, Life with Larry will return to its regular slot. For those of you who have been wondering, Larry only has two more chapters of getting things his way until Michael's awakening. So hang in there with us. Michael spent three years under Larry's influence, but that is almost over.
Meanwhile, all the forces aligned against our lovers begin to converge in a small Irish town….
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Eight
Samantha Keyes had breathed a huge sigh of relief when she'd reached her destination. Now, finally, she would get the answers she wanted… no, not wanted, the answers she needed.
Once the brunette had been freed from her holding cell in the CIA's secret facility hidden beneath the US Embassy, she had wasted no time in getting away from the building. She had known she was being monitored and followed. But her luck had held when they'd brought her here to London. The master thief had contacts, assets and friends in the capital city and she was soon making coded calls.
She had checked into the Holiday Inn London Heathrow near the airport in order to get washed up and rested before boarding a plane the next morning. Samantha had been looking forward to a hot shower, clean clothes, a decent meal and resting in a comfortable bed, free from the surveillance cameras watching her every move. At least whoever was tailing her, be it MI6 or her former fiancé's employer, they were doing it from a distance outside her room.
Former fiancé…the words had slipped from her lips with such ease and yet there was a part of her that still refused to believe it. It seems Agent Westen as it turns out was, uh... known to, ah, romance his female assets. Though umm, you are the only one we have managed to trace who was apparently engaged to him. You should take some consolation in that... her captor had told her
The weary woman had lain on her back staring at the ceiling, suddenly oblivious to the soft mattress and the fluffy comforter into which she had nestled. Once finally alone, Ms Keyes had given into her grief. Of course she and Michael lied to everyone. That was part of their jobs; they had even told lies to each other for practice and amusement. Had she been an utter fool to think she was exception to the rule? Being with him had been so easy. Had it been too easy? Had he taken what he wanted of her, used her like an asset and moved on? What other reason could there be for him to accept her proposal and then disappear from her life, only to take up with another woman?
The tears she had no longer tried to contain had fallen from her blood shot brown eyes, thoroughly wetting her pillow. It had been part of her job to be able to read people. How could she have been so wrong about him? Did he really have some sort of brain damage from the explosion? Or was it one more trick on the part of his CIA masters, playing her in an effort to retrieve their prized property?
Samantha had swiped at her eyes and had attempted to push away the conclusion that kept resurfacing in her brain over and over from the moment she had settled safely onto the plane having finally ditched her shadow despite her efforts to dismiss it. She couldn't think of another reason.
When she had proposed to him, Samantha had very carefully laid out an image of their lives, no kids, no entanglements, the high life they both enjoyed, him as an operative and her as an acquisitions specialist, aiding and abetting each other as necessary and then bedding each other when they were done. It had been the perfect vision of joining their lives together. But what if her suspicion was right and the Irishwoman was carrying Michael's child? If she was right, what then?
It had to have been an accident or the Irishwoman had trapped him deliberately... the master thief had told herself. Except the Michael Westen she knew would have never made those kinds of mistakes...
But that love struck man in that photograph very well might have.
Her jailer had also made another mistake, though she had a hard time believing the CIA officer who held her prisoner would have accidentally allowed her to learn what Michael's cover ID for his Irish mission had been. Regardless of how she had come by the intel, Ms. Keyes fully intended to use it to begin her search for the dark haired man and the auburn haired woman who'd broken her heart.
()()()()()()()
Jeannie Donahue carried two cups of tea from the kitchen through to the lounge and, after placing one down on the small table next to her lover's arm, the leggy blonde took a seat on the opposite arm of his chair. "Am sorry fer questioning ya," she spoke softly, letting the fingers of one hand play through Liam Glenanne's short sandy brown hair. "But thot donnae change tha fact yar sister is gonna be madder than all hell wit' tha lot o' us."
"D'ya think I don't know thot?" His arm snaked about her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "But thar's no other way... Our Ma wants me ta bring Fiona an' Westen ta her so she can talk ta them both, make 'em see sense."
Jeannie raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "It wonnae help. Fiona's in love an' she's not gonna listen ta anything ya have ta say. They stayed wit' me, las' year jus' befer Christmas. I saw 'em together. They fight like cats 'n dogs, but I could tell he loves har back. There's only one way you'll get em apart an' if ya do it, Fi will hate us all." The blonde pressed a kiss to Liam's temple.
"I have ta think o' tha whole family, not jus' Fiona. Sean and Seamus have children. Me Ma is nae so young any more. If anyone on tha council gets a whiff thot I've lied ta them, ya know whot will happen. Am tha head o' tha family. I make tha hard choices an' I have ta live wit' whot I do."
"I know ya do, an' I won't say another word against whot ya have planned." She trailed kisses from his ear to his lips. Her fingers, which had been playing through his hair, now slipped around his neck as he deepened the kiss. When they drew apart, she stroked a hand down his cheek. "Jus' promise me ya'll think on it some more?"
"Bloody hell, ya have a perfectly good bedroom fer all thot stuff." Colin came to a stop in the doorway, a grin lighting up his features just for a second before he entered the room completely and handed his older brother the information he had found. "Am pretty sure thar in Waterford. All tha details ar' har."
Liam was on his feet in an instant, nearly dropping Jeannie to the floor in the process. The older man opened the file and skimmed over the printed sheets, ignoring the glare from his girlfriend.
"Took ya long enough," he grumbled and then cracked a smile at his younger brother. "See whot else ya can find... They have ta be hiding out nearby. Check tha estate agents fer empty houses and buildings while I let Sean and Seamus know whot's goin' on. Wa're gonna need o' way of losing thot MI6 shadow we picked up yesterday..." the eldest Glenanne continued, already thinking of what his next moves would be. "Jeannie, I want ya ta stay har wit' Colin. Am gonna have somebody watch house while Am away. Will ya pack me a bag, darlin' ?"
Liam's long-time lover got to her feet without speaking. There was little point in it as the remorseless predator who lived in her lover's soul had taken over now that he had a direction to aim his wrath. Pushing by his younger sibling, whose confused expression told her he had no idea what he'd done to earn the death stare she'd sent his way, Ms. Donahue went up the staircase to the large master bedroom at the back of the house.
As much as she wanted to continue arguing for Fiona's happiness, she knew the head of the clan would not listen to her any more, especially as she'd already made a promise not to say anything else on the subject. Jeannie had already said as much as she could. She just hoped she'd given Liam something to think about. The blonde had always known there was a certain price to be paid for choosing to stay by her man's side and she had done so for the last fifteen years without a single regret.
Michael McBride or Westen or whatever ya call yarself, if ya wa' har in front o' me right now, I'd put a bullet through yar heart meself fer whot yer doin' ta this family.
With that thought foremost in her mind, she began to pull a few days worth of clothes out of the drawers in the bedroom dresser, stuffing them into a bag while trying not to think about what her man was plotting downstairs with his kin.
()()()()()()()
"Will ya stop pouting, Michael? I swear ya'll thank me for this after you've hadda hot steamy shower an' got inta some clean clothes." Fiona walked out through the back door of their hideaway, plastic carrier bags filled with their dirty clothes in each hand, while Michael walked ahead of her with the canvas bag containing the emergency supplies he insisted on taking along, just in case.
"I'm not pouting," her lover muttered. "I'm -"
"Sulking? Moping?" She offered alternatives.
He stopped by the trunk of the BMW and turned to face her. Even in the dark, she could tell how uneasy he was about leaving the safety of their nest.
"Fi, I get that you feel the need to be doing something. But each time we show ourselves, we risk being exposed. The intelligence agencies are on high alert at the moment. They'll be flooding any location they think we're hiding in with people whose sole purpose is to bring us in or ..."
His words dried up, not wanting to finish the sentence.
"And that's why I suggested that we plant those little devices you've got in yar bag along our escape routes as insurance."
Although the spy had agreed at first to venturing out to find a vacant holiday cottage so they could bathe and wash their limited supply of clothing, as the day had gone on she had sensed a reluctance creeping into the discussion about the logistics of their trip.
"Yer worried about somebody trailin' us back har an' trappin' us inside? We have tha hole in tha roof ta get outta any trap they set, an' how about if I cut down tha size o' tha warning charges outside an' make sommit we can use ta throw up road blocks ta cover our escape?"
So, the ex-guerrilla had sweetened the pot by suggesting they lay some explosive charges against the stone walls that lined the narrow road outside the abandoned cottage. This way they could block the road behind them if they were discovered and had to run.
"And that's another reason why I'm agreeing to this crazy idea." The main reason being that before they found a property to break into, they would first find another car as the details of the stolen BMW had to have gone national by now and, as they only had one county between Limerick and Waterford, it seemed prudent to exchange the high performance vehicle for something less showy and more common to the area.
With the bags full of clothing in the trunk of the car, Fiona unzipped the canvas hold all containing their emergency supplies and pulled out four small bombs wrapped in cling film to make sure the electronics stayed dry. "I'll go plant two o' these along tha road west o' har, while ya clear tha driveway so we can be on our way. Then I'll plant tha other two on tha eastbound road as wa're leaving."
Nodding his assent, Fiona watched as the former operative began the arduous task of removing the branches which kept the car hidden from any passers-by before jogging away to take care of her part of the plan.
Finding suitable spots in the waist high walls was easy. Digging holes right up against the structures, Patrick Glenanne's little girl made sure the blasts, when activated, would send the stones into the road, blocking the path of any vehicles chasing after them.
Once the charges were set in both directions, Michael drove towards Waterford and the new Odeon multi-screen cinema complex, a place with a large car park, very little security and said car owners who were guaranteed to be away from their vehicles for at least the duration of a movie.
Leaving the BMW parked on a back street nearby, the couple waited in the shadows until the last of the crowd going into the late night showings had disappeared inside and then began their search of the car park. Michael had made it very clear that they wanted a vehicle which would fit in with the local area, nothing flashy but in good condition.
It was Fiona who had pointed out the beige three year old Land Rover Discovery. Her lover pulled a face; it was a big lumbering vehicle with terrible handling and no great turn of speed. He shook his head and went to move on when the petite redhead caught hold of his arm and pointed to her choice and then gestured with the same digit for him to look around.
"Ya want sommit thot will nae stand out or d'ya want sommit flashy?" she hissed.
The ex-agent pursed his lips. She had a point. At least a quarter of the parking spaces were taken up with similar heavy 4x4 vehicles typical to the farming area.
"Fine," he capitulated. "But let's take a few precautions." He knelt down behind her choice and began to remove the number plate from their chosen ride. "We'll swap a few number plates around. People only tend to notice if their plate is missing. With a bit of luck, it will take the Garda a while to work out which ones we've put on this one." The former spy smiled smugly.
It took up extra time. But well before any of the movies being shown had finished, they managed to exchange the number plates on four different Discovery's and made their escape in their chosen vehicle. They drove over to where they had left the BMW and quickly transferred their supplies and dirty laundry into their new auto. Then, with Michael behind the wheel of the BMW and Fiona following in the Discovery, they left Waterford behind heading eastwards away from their hide out.
Time passed until eventually the dark haired man saw what he was looking for: a break in the dense bushes and thickets which lined the road, exposing the deep ditch which ran behind the hedgerows. Slowing down, he drove the car off the road and into the ditch, filled with foul smelling water from the run off of the fields and masses of weeds.
Clambering out once the wheels were no longer moving it forward, Mr. Westen flashed a grin when he realized he had chosen just the right spot. Standing at the roadside, the only part of the little blue car visible was a glimpse of the red and yellow rear lights. After a little bit of rearranging of the tall weeds and wild flowers growing out of the damp soil, the discarded vehicle was completely invisible. Now the BMW was literally ditched, the couple drove towards the coast in the Land Rover, searching for a suitable holiday home to borrow for the night.
"We'll drive to the edges of Wexford and then drive back towards Waterford. But if we don't find anything by the time we reach the bridge over the Suir, we forget about your plan, okay?"
"We'll find somewhar, Michael. I promise," Fiona replied firmly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead but also briefly glancing to the side every time they passed by a likely cottage or farmhouse.
()()()()()()()
"Ya cannae do this." Rosie Glenanne slapped her hand down over the top of her husband's rifle bag, her blue eyes filled with not only unshed tears but determination too. "It's yar sister an' yar friend."
"Friend," Sean spat out the word. "McBride wa' nae me friend. McBride donnae even exist, ya daft woman. Michael Westen used me ta get his hooks inta Fiona. He sat in our house, lying ta our faces... We let tha feckin' bastid babysit ta give him an' Fi some alone time. We left thot fecker alone wit' our babbies, Rosie! He's no feckin' friend o' mine an' he shouldnae be yars either." He lifted the rifle case and a rucksack holding all he would need for a few days away hunting down his sister and an American spy.
"Sean, please..." Rosie pleaded as she caught hold of her beloved's arm.
The PIRA enforcer turned quickly, prepared to continue the argument. That is, until he saw his wife's tear streaked face and then he drew her into his arms, letting her cry into his chest while he ran a soothing hand up and down her back.
"It'll be alright, sweetheart, I promise it'll be fine."
"H-h-how c-can ya say thot?" she stuttered.
"Cuz it will. Fi has jus' got pulled in by thot man. Once she's away fram him, she'll understand."
"Nar she wonnae, I tell ya. She'll hate us all."
"She knows tha rules, darlin'. She wonnae like it. Thot's why we cannae give har tha choice. But she'll come round in tha end."
"Ya could get 'em outta tha country... help 'em ta hide…"
"An' whot happens when thot bastid Westen gets bored o' hidin' an' goes back ta MI6 an' sells us all out ta get his job back? Or mabbe tha Brits get tha word out thot Fi has run off wit' one o' their spies an' she's not around ta call tham a liar? No, sweetheart, it has ta be this way." He kissed her head and then backed away just as a car horn sounded outside. "Thot's Liam. I have ta go. He's leaving one o' his men ta watch tha house tonight an' he'll take ya all o'er ta me Mum's in tha morning. Yer ta stay thar 'til I come an' get ya...d'ya understand me, Rosie?" He waited for her to nod her assent. "Nar give tha kids one fer me. I'll be back soon."
After an all too short embrace, Sean's wife stood at the doorway and watched her husband and his oldest brother drive away. Once the door was closed, she slipped down to the floor and let the tears flow. She was scared, more scared than the day she'd kissed her own family goodbye at seventeen and already pregnant to live with Sean Glenanne and his kin across the water in a country she'd only heard stories of in the past.
She had never thought of herself as living a sheltered life, born and raised in the East End of London, part of a large community of first and second generation English Irish. Her father had worked on the docks until they closed and then he had found work on the building site, which was turning rundown dockland into luxury offices and flats.
But in his spare time, Mr. Flanagan was also one of the main fund raisers for the boys back home, walking around the pubs and clubs on a Friday and Saturday night with a bucket collecting the money which would find its way into the war chest of the PIRA.
Listening to stories about the Troubles, how her dad had run the streets of Belfast and Derry with Patrick Glenanne Junior and his gang of miscreants had not prepared her for this reality. Oh, she knew of the punishment meted out to traitors and informers. She had washed the blood out of her husband's clothes too many times to mention. But this wa' Fiona and McBride…they'd drank together, broken bread together, played cards together, trusted her wee ones ta the pair o' tham...
"Mammy…." A two year old year little girl with a head of soft white blonde curls stood at the top of the stairs peering down over the baby gate at her. "Mammy down now?"
Sniffing and wiping away the tears, Rosie got to her feet. "Whot are ya doin' up, Sian? Tis still night. Ya should be asleep."
"Dwink please…" Two pudgy hands lifted up, opening and closing.
"No drink. Tis bedtime… Ya should be asleep, little angel."
With a sigh, the young mother reached the top of the stairs and opened the gate, lifting her baby girl into her arms. Hugging Sian tightly to her chest, she walked back slowly to the little's one room.
"Ya donnae ask whar' they go or whot thar doin'. Trust me, ya donnae wan' ta know. Tis better this way," had been her sister-in-law Isabelle's advice when she had complained that Sean would never talk about what he did or where he went when he went out in the evenings.
But how could she do that, remain silent, when all she could see was the destruction of the family she had grown to love?
()()()()()()()
The journey between Wexford and Waterford took just over an hour in the middle of the night when there was no other traffic on the roads and, as the minutes ticked by, Fiona was becoming more and more frustrated. There were plenty of places with boards up outside, declaring that they were available to rent. However, for one reason or another, they were unsuitable for their needs.
"It's straight onto the road. Where are we gonna leave the car without it being seen?"
"This one's no good, Fi. It's right next door to another house. They probably own both. It's too much of a risk."
"I know they're all holiday homes, but what if one of them is rented out for tomorrow? The cleaning staff will spot our car or they could be cleaning them all and barge in on us. No, we need something more private, more remote."
"Fi..." Michael tapped her arm and pointed to the lights up ahead which signified they were getting closer to Waterford. "I think we should forget -"
"No.. I want a proper wash with hot water," she replied stubbornly, her slender fingers flexing around the steering wheel.
"It's too dangerous. We shouldn't be out in the open."
"We'll find sommit." She turned off the main road onto a back road, which was so narrow twigs and branches were brushing against the passenger side of the large car.
"We're not going to find anything up here."
"Ya cannae know thot. A lotta people like these outta tha way cottages. Ya said ya wanted remote." Then, as if just to prove her point, she took a tight bend and up a hill and there it was: a small whitewashed farmhouse with security shutters over the windows and no other houses nearby.
Bringing the car to a stop, they both stared at the outside of the property.
"I think we can safely assume tha house tis unoccupied," the redhead smirked.
"It's nearly two in the morning, Fi. We need to be -"
"Hot water cascading down yar back an' over yar head, Michael? Soap ta wash away tha stink -"
"Stink?" His eyes widened at her accusation.
"Aye, Am sorry ta be tha one tellin ya, but ya stink, Michael.., An' ya say yer worried about us being seen and yet ya have us sat in the middle o' tha road, lookin' like a pair o' amateur burglars."
"We can't leave this on the driveway. We'll be announcing to anybody passing by that somebody is inside." He peered through the wind shield and then out of the back window. "There was a farm track or a footpath just before we went up the hill. We'll leave the car there and come back on foot."
Cupping her cheek, he stared into his lover's blue green eyes, his own blue orbs pleading with her to listen. "Remember, any trouble, any trouble at all and your job is to run... I mean it, Fi, I – I can't do this if you don't stick to the rules."
She solemnly nodded her head in agreement. She wasn't sure if she could keep the promise, but she would do her damnedest to follow his lead. Unless o' course he rushed headlong inta a do-o'-die situation and needed har help ta escape and then all bets war off.
After using the driveway of their chosen residence to turn around, Fiona drove back down the hill and maneuvered the Land Rover onto the narrow track. Then, with all their bags in their hands, the pair made their way quickly back to the whitewashed farmhouse.
The door lock took Fiona less than twenty seconds to pick and once inside the alarm took Michael ten seconds to disable. With the shutters still down blocking out the outside world, the former covert operative deemed it was safe to flick the light switch and illuminate the hallway.
"We should clear the rooms first," he whispered drawing his hand gun from his waistband.
"Aye, we should," the paramilitary soldier agreed. Leaving the bags full of laundry on the floor, she drew her own weapon and they began to move room to room, making sure there was no surprises lurking the dark shadows.
Downstairs consisted of the hallway where they had started, a large living room tastefully decorated with comfy looking furniture and a lots of pictures and paintings of the local area on the walls. At the back of the house was an equally large traditional looking farmhouse kitchen with a utility room at the side where plenty of coat hooks hung with room for muddy walking boots on the floor along with an indoor washing line and a large washer/dryer in one corner.
A quick look in all the cupboards and fridge showed there was a full compliment of utensils, including plates, bowls and cups and saucers, but no food and only a small jar of coffee, a few teabags and bowl of sugar.
"Well thar's nothin' ta eat," Fiona announced before twisting the hot tap and watching the water rush out, splashing in the sink and, after a few seconds, steam rose as the cold liquid turned hot. "But plenty o' hot water. C'mon lets checkout upstairs and find tha bathroom." She grabbed his hand, turned off the tap and lead them towards the carpeted staircase back in the hall.
He stopped along the way to put the security chain on the front door and wedge a chair under the handle. It wouldn't stop anyone determined to get inside but it'd be enough to slow them down.
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"Here, I've taken tha liberty o' packin' a few things fer Fi. They barely took a thin' wit' them when they ran. She's gonna be grateful fer a change o' clothes." Isabelle handed her husband a second bag from the back seat of the old Mitsubishi Shogun that was their main form of transport.
They were standing on Seamus Glenanne's private jetty hidden amongst the small bays and inlets along the eastern coast of Ireland, preparing to take his power boat which was usually used for gun or people smuggling between the Ireland and the English coast when it wasn't speeding over to the west coast of France or Spain.
Staring up into his wife's green eyes, Seamus let his fingers brush over Isabelle's hand as he took the small back pack and, not for the first time, thanked his lucky stars that she had accepted his proposal all those years ago.
"Ya think it'll be enough ta stop har puttin' holes in tha lot o' us?" He dropped the bag down onto the floor of the boat, next to the one with his own personal belongings and the larger bag containing the hardware he thought might be necessary to bring down an American spy.
"Ya could leave tham be," Isabelle replied softly. "Ya know damn well ya could get them away, set tham up far away fram here."
"Aye an' I would if I could. Ya'll be getting no argument fram me abou' thot. Ya know thot already, darlin' an' ya know tis nae me decision ta make."
"Aye, well maybe after a few days on tha run, tha romance will have run it's course an' yar sister will have come ta har senses."
Seamus chuckled and made a grab for his wife's hand, pulling her down so he could plant a kiss on her lips. "Ya donnae believe thot any more than I do. Thot's me Mam's wishful thinkin'. Speakin' o' which, Liam wants ya ta take tha kids over ta tha old girl's house. He says it'll be easier if every one is in one place."
"An' he want's someone ta keep an eye on Rosie... Tha poor girl is mortified by all this."
"Calm har down, Belle. Help har understand." Seamus placed a kiss to Isabelle's forehead and then let her stand back up. "Now ya best be goin'. Liam an' Sean will be har soon an' ya don't want ta get seen by tha Brit spooks he's tryin' ta lose."
He watched the love of his life climb in behind the wheel and close the doors on the large SUV.
His Belle had been like a rock for him to cling onto ever since they had first met while still at school. She had seen him through the bad times when his father had been murdered in prison and then later when he had returned from his second time in internment to find he had missed his older brother's funeral. The green eyed beauty had been at his side when Claire had been murdered and even worked at his side when he was short handed, smuggling guns past army check points or negotiating with arms dealers when he'd been too ill to make it to a meeting.
With a sigh, he turned his attention to making sure everything on board was tied down securely. As soon as his brothers arrived, they were going to have to set off fast if they were going to stay ahead of their pursuers... This business with Fiona and her boyfriend was just another storm he and Belle would have to weather together.
()()()()()()()
Venturing upstairs to the second floor, the fugitive couple found two double bedrooms and a single large bathroom with a roll topped bath and a double shower cubicle.
"Can't ya just feel all thot lovely hot water? God, it'll be good ta wash me hair." Fiona combed her fingers through her short boyish locks, grimacing at both the feel of her unwashed hair and the unaccustomed length. "Am glad ya' cut it, if this is gonna be our lives from now on."
"It won't be," Michael promised, stepping out of the bathroom to place a shotgun at the top of the stairs and another outside the bathroom door. "We should leave this door open. In fact, we should leave all the doors open so we have a clear view just in case."
"I donnae care," she replied as the petite woman took his gun from his hand and placed it under a towel on top of the toilet before turning on the water in the large shower cubicle. "All I care about is thot I've left yar gun nearby an' safe fram the moisture, an' now, Michael Westen, yer strippin' off or d'ya intend on showering wit' yar clothes on?" As she reached for the zipper on his jacket, his hand closed over hers, his deep blue eyes pleading for her to stop.
"I thought we'd take turns that way -"
She pursed her lips and then nodded, backing away from him heading for the door.
"Fine, you go first."
"Fi -" He knew he had hurt her feelings and didn't want to start another argument. But from her expression, she was in no mood to listen to his reasoning.
"No, you first. Jus' throw out yar clothes an' I'll stick 'em in tha machine."
"I -"
"Thar's a towelling dressing gown hanging on tha door. Yer gonna have ta wear thot while yer waiting fer yar clothes ta dry," she spoke over the top of him, while crossing her arms across her chest. "I really donnae why yer bein' like this. Thar's no cleaners or gardeners gonna be around at this time o' night. Will ya calm down already?"
She was right. No one knew they were inside the house and nobody would be checking on the property in the middle of the night. But that didn't mean he was the least bit comfortable making himself vulnerable like this. Sucking in a breath, he let it out slowly and then began to disrobe.
Flinging each item of clothing out on to the landing, where Fiona waited to pick them up and carry them downstairs to the laundry room, he thought about calling her back and offering an apology however, he didn't have the strength to deal with the added drama while fighting down his paranoia.
Living with Fiona Glenanne was never easy. She was passionate, strong willed and had a fiery temper which could spark without warning, all things which had attracted him to her in the first place. He didn't know if it was the pregnancy hormones or just their present situation, but now every facet of her character seemed magnified and it was driving him nuts.
The hot water eased away the tension in his muscles and washed away the grime of so many days on the run and sleeping in a derelict cottage. He had never wanted things to go the way they had. He should have done what Card wanted and left. He could have quietly resigned in another three months and sent word for her to meet him in another country. Pressing his knuckles against the tiled wall, the former spy shut his eyes and tried to clear his head.
He was so lost in his thoughts that the first he knew of the figure behind him was when she pressed her naked body against his back, reaching around for one of the complimentary bottles of body wash on the shelf embedded in the shower wall.
"Let me help ya with thot and then ya can do me."
Her hands smoothed over his taut frame, working in the cleaner, massaging away the last bits of tightness from his muscles. Her lips following where her hands had been down his back before she moved around to face him, her slender fingers skimming over his chest and down his torso.
The tactical part of his brain wanted to tell her off for deserting her post, the spy in him was screaming in his head to remind her of their situation, that now was not the time for this. But his heart knew that she needed this and that in truth he needed this too.
His own heart stuttered when she dropped down in front of him, her hands stroking up and down his thighs and over his calf muscles, making his whole being hum with the prospect of what was coming next.
Looking down he saw, despite the water pouring down upon her face, that she was watching him a with smile on her lips. "Ya feet... Pardon me fer sayin' this, but they need a real scrubbing. Yar socks near on walked themselves into tha wash."
They locked eyes as she massaged one foot and then the other before she went back to stroking her hands up over his calves and thighs and higher still, her lips pressing kisses, licks and doing other things until his legs trembled and he sagged back against the wall of the shower cubicle, breathless and shaking as she took him all the way to heaven.
Smiling brightly, she rose up and picked up another of the bottles and handed it to him.
"Now, yar turn ta do me."
"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered as his lips grazed hers.
()()()()()()()
Tom Card poured himself a large glass of whiskey and stared into the cut glass tumbler at the rich amber liquid, wondering how in the hell he had let himself be dragged into such a colossal pigscrew as he found himself in right now. Pursing his lips, he glanced at his watch. It was only a few hours off dawn and, in the last three days, he had managed no more than a few hours sleep.
With an annoyed huff, the CIA officer took a long sip from the glass and began to pace about his small office, deep underground. He glanced at the wall. That was another thing to add to his irritation. What he would give for a view right now instead of a plain off white wall with only a large map of Ireland to break up the monotony.
Dan Siebels, Michael Westen's US handler hadn't been much help. Once he'd known he was unlikely to get anything useful from the rogue agent's fiancée, Samantha Keyes, he'd called Dan back to ask if he knew of anybody else who might shed some light on Westen's suicidal flight. After all the man was suppose to monitor the agents under his control. But all Siebels had offered him was Rayna Kopec, the Russian Station chief who had been Michael's previous boss and the name of a SEAL commander who had worked several missions with Westen both before and after Raines had enticed the young recruit to join the Agency.
He thought about contacting SC Kopec, but only for a second. They had been contemporaries at the Farm and had been professional to one another at best. Siebels had already informed him about the women's interference after the Vedeno fiasco. He wondered briefly whose bright idea had it been to partner his star pupil with that maniac Sizemore for a second time after their previous assignment had come within an inch of causing an international incident. Card was sure there was more to that situation than Michael's handler was letting on. The Michael Westen he had trained had more sense than to risk his career by blowing up a factory full of civilians...
But then again, he'd just thrown his promising career away on a pretty face. So maybe he and Raines had been wrong about the young agent's potential. However, even as he was thinking it, Card knew that was a lie. Michael had a natural talent for the job. They had both seen it. The training officer swirled the fiery liquid around the glass again before taking a sip.
There had to be another answer to the question... His star pupil had almost died, suffering a serious head injuries both times, before he had done something complete aberrant to his character in Vedeno and in Ireland. Perhaps Westen had been returned to duty prematurely after all. There was no way the man he had trained would let a woman go to his... well, maybe somewhere lower than his head... but Michael had never been one to think with his balls. There had to be more to it than a girl who had somehow gotten into the covert operative's head and turned him around.
Dropping into a chair, Tom Card finished the whiskey and slapped the glass down on his desk, kicking himself again for not looking into the situation earlier when he'd been surreptitiously warned about what was going on in Ireland. It had been a long day, well, a long week in truth and he was beginning to give serious thought to causing his own international incident by putting a bullet between the eyes of his UK opposite number, Richard Chambers. The MI6 officer had made it very clear that he wanted Westen out of Ireland, yet at the same time the upper class pain in the ass was blocking his every move to get his guy on a plane back to the States.
"I have a full team of men running surveillance on the Glenannes around the clock. You would only be in the way, old boy... I'll keep you informed if they make a move. Shouldn't you be gathering intelligence on Westen's international contacts? It might give a clue to where he is going to run to... Not that I should have to tell you that, Agent Card."
Tom pursed his lips, unsure whether to hang around the office in case Chambers deigned to update him on the manhunt or go off to his bed in his assigned quarters within the embassy.
"To hell with it." He grumbled, getting to his feet. The sandy haired man yawned, stretched and walked towards the door. After a few hours sleep, he would be ready to do battle with Chambers and get some of his own team involved in the operation. Or better yet, maybe that British psychopath Gilroy would remember to follow procedure and actually check in.
He was just heading out of the door when his phone began to ring. Rushing back, he picked it up, silently praying for some good news. "Tell me you've found him."
"I beg your pardon? Found who? Oh, Westen. No, sorry. I'm calling you because Liam Glenanne is on the move. Liam left his home in the north and is making his way to the south. He has a driver with him and has left two other men on guard outside his house."
"You have air support. From what I've heard-"
"We know what we're doing, Agent Card. This was just a courtsey call to keep you in the loop. When I have more news, I'll pass it on."
"Chambers? CHAMBERS? Dammit!" Card slammed the handset down, his face suffused with anger at being treated like some minor annoyance by the MI6 officer.
He was all too aware how tailing an expert, which he believed Liam Glenanne to be, was going to be near on to impossible without the back up of a helicopter providing support from high above.
To hell with protocol! This was the first bit of actionable intel since Westen disappeared. Whatever the oldest Glenanne sibling was up to, it had to be worth investigating. He snatched up the handset and put a call through to the State Department and, after some fast talking and a little bit of exaggeration, he managed to get the authority to by pass MI6 and get his own helicopter up into the air to follow the target.
Feeling a rush after getting the first bit of good news in a crappy week, Mr. Card paused to revel in the moment when the phone lit up, indicating an incoming call. Another wave of adrenaline flowed through him when he saw who it was and all but shouted at the man on the other end of the phone.
"Gilroy, nice of you to finally check in," he bellowed, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Now it was time to find out if the former MI6 agent had any news on Westen's ex-fiancée.
"Careful, old man, my mood's a bit dodgy today. Things did not go as anticipated and I have to confess I considered—"
"Wait a minute, sport, what do you mean, didn't go as anticipated? What the hell happened?"
"Turns out our little thief was a bit more clever than you or I gave her credit for. She managed to give me the slip in the airport…" Card could hear the fury simmering beneath Gilroy's cultivated accent. "But no matter, I sussed out where she's headed and I can be—"
"Forget her!" the CIA officer cut the assassin off again. "I have credible intel on Liam Glenanne. I'm getting a chopper on him now and we're going follow him right to our little lovebirds' nest."
"Sounds promising," the Brit agreed. "I'm near Kilkenny. Can you sort out another one of those fancy birds of yours to come pick me up at the airport there?"
"As soon as we hang up," the senior agent affirmed. "Don't waste any time getting there."
"Hopefully you'll have their location by the time my ride is here. A good manhunt will be just the thing to settle my nerves."
"Remember, I need Michael alive," Card cautioned.
"Oh, I'll take special care of our lad," Gilroy promised. "I'm rather looking forward to this."
And the Company man wisely kept the rest of his comments to himself as he terminated the call.
()()()()()()()
Cleaned up and with fresh clothing, Michael and Fiona wiped down every surface they had touched and made sure the house looked no different than it had been before their arrival. Resetting the alarm, they left the property just before dawn making it back to the Land Rover in time to avoid being seen by the milk lorry making its way to all the dairy farms in the area.
"We should get a cooked breakfast," Fiona suggested. "I'm famished. Aren't ya fair famished, Michael?"
He smiled at her but shook his head. "We've taken all the risks we're going to. In fact, we should get back to the cottage and stay there until the food runs out... I'm not joking, Fi. Sooner or later, hell is gonna rain down on us. We need to start being more careful."
"Yer still worried about tha girls, ar' ya nae? I swear I can read people an' those two girls willnae give us up ta tha Gard or me family."
He shook his head again and then winced when her sharp little fist punched his leg.
"Michael, stayin' in thot cottage is driving me insane. All I can think about is I shot at me brother and is this gonna be our life from now on. I need sommit ta keep me occupied. One hot meal is not gonna hurt. Besides, I'm meant ta be eatin' fer tha babby now too. Nobody knows whar we ar'. We've avoided traffic cameras an' CCTV, an' we've nae even seen anybody who looks like a spy."
"By the time we spot a field agent, it'll be too late." He paused and took a deep breath held it for a second and then let it out. "I've been on the other side of man hunts. I know they'll be using every bit of tech they have to track us down. If they pick up on the police report from that mugging, if anybody passed on our description, however vague, it will be enough for some analyst to send out someone to run a check... I wanted to stay in one place so you could rest and we could come to terms with ah, you know... what's happened. But to stay in one place, we have to stop visiting the nearby town and hide."
"Yer right," she agreed sadly. "We should stay hidden away an' wait fer everyone ta give up on us. But thot's not me way, an' until tha other day, it wasnae yars either. I promise I won't chase down any more muggers and I'll try ta do things yar way."
She laid her hand on his thigh, rubbing the sore spot she'd just created.
"Tha pair of us cooped up in thot little house is gonna drive us both insane. As fer what's happened, it's a natural part o' life. I know whot tis like ta live on tha run. But, at tha moment, all me body wants is some decent food. I promise we'll pick up some groceries and hide out until we stink ta high heaven again. But would ya begrudge me one last hot meal, Michael?"
The ex-spy glanced at her, the woman he had given up everything for, the woman carrying his baby and he smiled softly before nodding his assent. One last trip to town and then they were done.
If only he had known then how right he would be.