A/N: Once again we thank everyone who takes the time to read and especially to write reviews. We really do appreciate your comments and your enthusiasm for the story and hope to continue to keep you on the edge of your seats. Belated birthday wishes to theSeventhBrat, DianeDusko732 & BNlove120 and deepest sympathy to BeenBurned2 for your loss. BurnerClub rewatch is still going strong on Thursdays. Join us at 9 EDT for re-watching and live tweeting. Next week will be S4E7.
This is the second of two chapters of Be Brave Little Angel posted this week. A special Labor Day edition of Reconnecting 501 will post this Monday, the next installment of the High Risk, High Reward series. Then next Thursday, Life with Larry will return to its regular slot. Larry only has two more chapters of getting things his way before Michael gets the wake-up call of his lifetime.
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL.
Chapter Nine
Liam Glenanne stared broodingly at the front of the Excelsior Guest House, which overlooked the Suir River close to the center of Waterford. He sat on top of the waist high stone wall that had been built sometime in the previous century, partially in an effort to stop unfortunates from falling into the river, but also to hold back the waterway on the very few occasions the tides rose high enough to burst their banks.
From his vantage point, he not only had a good view of the front doors and the steps which led down to street level, but also of the length of the road in both directions. Pulling the collar of his long woolen overcoat up about his ears, the Irishman narrowed his pale blue eyes and tried to banish all thoughts of the cold, uncomfortable night he had endured on Seamus' powerboat and the dampness caused by fine drizzling rain that had been falling since they arrived in the southeastern town. A little discomfort was nothing compared to what he hoped to gain by talking to the two girls who were most likely sat eating a hearty Irish breakfast in the warmth of the four star rated guest-house.
From his home in the wealthy Belfast suburb of Holywood, Liam had traveled south to his brother Sean's home in one of the quiet areas of Dublin. He had ordered his driver and personal bodyguard to do nothing at all to lose the two cars being driven by the MI5... or was it MI6?... operatives following in their wake.
"I want tham basitds ta think thar smarter than us until tis time ta show 'em thar wrong."
He had already called Seamus to arrange for his sibling to have a fast boat waiting for them. So after a quick stop to pick up Sean, he made sure the two men were in place that he'd ordered to watch over Sean's family until they could be escorted to his mother's house in the morning.
Then Davy Doyle had put on a show of street racing which could have got him a career as movie stuntman, leaving the two cars following them in the dust. As soon as they were in the clear and they had checked there was no helicopter monitoring their path, Mr. Doyle had driven straight to Seamus' private jetty.
The journey on the powerboat had been rough as the family gunrunner had opened up the big twin engines and taken the boat out into the choppy waters of the Irish Sea. Sitting under the covered cabin, Liam had listened to Sean's long list of complaints about what the "Fiona situation" was doing to his love life in silence. The eldest brother had been secretly pleased he wasn't the only one dealing with a soft hearted woman, who in Rosie's case didn't understand the danger, or in Jeannie's case was blindly ignoring the consequences of risking Fiona being branded a traitor and a whore for sleeping with the enemy.
The doors of the guest house opened for the first time since the PIRA's premier interrogator had taken up his post. A couple in their forties with three children, ranging in ages from pre teen to mid teens, made their way over to a large estate car parked in one of the three spaces reserved for the guest house clientèle before driving off. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearly nine o clock, which meant breakfast time was almost over
Getting to his feet, the sandy haired man began to focus all his thoughts on the upcoming interview. He had only had their statements to the police to draw on as he considered the best way to make an approach. Usually this wasn't a problem for the head of the clan. Generally when he was sent out by his bosses on the PIRA ruling council to find answers, the people he was chasing down were guilty of something and he had no crisis of conscience when he was questioning those who threatened the cause his family had been wrapped in for close to a century.
However, two foreign tourist still in their teens were a whole different matter. They would have no idea of his fearsome reputation. So relying on the mention of his name to bring forward the desired answers was out, as were any threats or actual intimidation.
Four more people came out through the doors, two couples if he had to guess all in their twenties dressed for a day hiking with waterproof coats sturdy boots and with ruck sacks on their backs. Liam twisted his head from side to side and shrugged his shoulders in an effort to release some of the stiffness caused by sitting in the cold and damp, the two girls would be coming out soon unless Colin had messed up and the Canadian teenagers had already moved on.
Who allowed two children to travel half way round the world on their own? Were there adults supervising their holiday who had somehow remained off the radar? The Irishman scowled, this was another thing out of his comfort zone. When going into an interrogation under normal circumstances, he would have these answers already.
He let out a long sigh as finally he spotted his targets: two slender teenagers, one with unruly dark hair framing her face, the other with strands of blonde sticking out from under a white woollen hat.
Crossing the road, Liam timed his approach so he would intercept them as they reached the pavement.
Interrogations were all about finding a persons vulnerability and exploiting it. But there was no information and no time to gather the intelligence necessary to find their weaknesses and, as he could hardly kidnap the girls and take them back to the white tiled room with excellent sound proofing he kept for his PIRA work, all that was left was telling the truth.
Or at least a version of the truth…
"Excuse me, young misses." He made it just time to bring the two girls to a stop before they reached the side street which would take them up to the center of the town. "Would ya be tha two lasses who wa' mugged a coupla days ago?" Liam thickened his accent and did his best to soften his features, reminding himself he needed these young ladies to trust him.
The taller dark haired girl looked him up and down, her brown eyes taking in his dishevelled appearance before answering. "Are you a pol – what is it they call the police here? Ga-?"
"No, young miss, Am nae wit' tha Garda. Me name is Patrick and am lookin' fer somebody ya might have seen." Keeping up his act, he fumbled about, checking his pockets before coming up with a photograph showing his sister and McBride sitting at a table side by side with smiles for the camera.
"This is me sister. She's run away wit' this fella har... It's all a big misunderstanding, ya see. Har family jus' want her back safe an' sound."
The younger blonde dropped back a pace after glancing at the photograph, her downcast eyes and the way she chewed on her lower lip gave Liam all the encouragement he needed. Now he was sure the two girls knew something. He widened his smile and pressed on with the tale he was spinning.
"They've somehow got it in ta thar heads thot thar in trouble an' tis nae so. Wa're all so concerned thot she... well, tha truth is me sister barely knows tha lad. He turned har head, so he has, an' we jus' want ta talk ta tham befer they go and do sommit foolish, ya see?"
Kara, the blonde who Liam had rightly spotted was uncomfortable with his questions, bit down on a gasp as her best friend took the photograph from the stranger's hand and, after studying for a few seconds, looked up into the Irishman's piercing pale colored eyes.
"Oh yeah, they were both there." The blonde touched her friend's arm as a silent reminder to the promise they had made to couple who had brought down the two thieves. "To be honest with you, they were the ones who saved the day, totally kickass," Taryn added as she handed the picture back.
"So, they war thar an ya spoke ta them?"
"Oh yes...wow, and you must be one of the brothers Barbara mentioned."
"Thot's right, Miss." He hid his smile. He now had a name. "Did Barbara happen ta say whar they war stayin' and whar' they war going."
Kara gave her friend a not-so-gentle shove of her shoe to her friend's foot.
"No," the blonde declared, giving up on subtle warnings. "No, they didn't say much at all."
"Oh yes they did," Taryn replied eagerly. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about it already? I mean, catching those muggers was the most excitement we've had so far." Turning back to the older man, she beamed up at him. "This is our first vacation alone... We're meeting up with our parents in Dublin in two days before flying back home."
"Taryn..." Kara mumbled softly. She couldn't believe how her friend was just betraying the confidence of the two people who had saved them from being left penniless and without their passports. She stopped listening as her best friend started to give the Irishman the details of their European vacation and how, as a reward for their good grades and their good behavior, their parents had agreed to them having a week alone to explore the southern coast of Ireland.
"Thot sounds like a fine time ya've been having, but I wa' wondering about me sister. D'ya have any idea whar' I might find har?"
Kara blinked and her blood ran cold. Sitting in a large beige colored SUV, barely feet away from where they stood, were the very couple under discussion. The traffic lights began to change color from red to green. All she could think about was she had to make sure the Irishman didn't turn around and spot the car and the people inside.
"It all happened so fast. I mean, with the muggers and everything. Taryn, do you really think-"
As the young Canadians had intended, Liam's focus was now solely on the pair in front of him.
"Just a second, Kara... Oh yes, I remember now. Barbara's boyfriend said something about they were going to check out the harbor. They talked about paying someone to take them to America."
The dark haired girl raised a arm and pointed along the road behind her towards where it was possible to see the tops of several tall masts above the walls.
"They said they wa' goin' ta try fer America?" he echoed, unsure about the information.
"Yes, I'm sure that's what he said, isn't it, Kara."
"Yes... America."
"Well, thank ya kindly. I'll go a take a look along thar. Maybe I'll be in luck an' they won't have found anyone foolhardy enough ta risk such a journey."
"Glad to have helped, Mr-?"
"Patrick, young miss, jus' call me Patrick. Now I've held ya up long enough, an' I need ta get down ta the harbor."
"Bye, Patrick." Taryn smiled after the man.
"You lied to him," Kara hissed. She couldn't believe the nerve of her friend. "I thought -"
"Ha, it was more of a fabrication than an outright lie, we made a promise, remember, and what about you? Barbara was right there in the car in front of you and you didn't give them away, not even by a blink."
They carried on, walking up the street where the Beige Land Rover had turned minutes earlier, chatting excitedly about how five quiet days exploring a little piece of Ireland was turning into an adventure with an eloping couple and a scary looking older brother giving chase.
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Mason Gilroy watched the exchange between Liam Glenanne and two unknown teenagers using a small discrete telescopic telescope from his position next to a large wooden hut, which when opened served as a fish and chip shop to the passing trade. Too far away to hear what was being said, he focused on the pair long enough to pass their description onto his support team supplied by the American officer he had been tasked to work alongside.
Having lost Samantha Keyes somewhere in the crowded Terminal Two of Heathrow Airport, it hadn't been until he boarded the Aer Lingus flight to Dublin that he realized the tall, slender, curly haired brunette was not the same one he had been tracking since she'd been lead out of the main doors of the US embassy by Tom Card. It had taken a rather brutal and speedy field interrogation of the young lady paid to masquerade as Ms. Keyes and her male companion to restore his good humor.
The professional killer's eye was drawn to the blonde girl's body language and he altered his field of vision to take a look at what had suddenly caused her to lose eye contact with Mr. Glenanne.
"Oh my…" He smirked, touching his ear piece to pass on this exceptionally piece of good news. "There's a Beige Land Rover, the last four numbers on the plate are seven, four, four, three, turning off Merchant's Quay onto the street beside the Excelsior Guest House, get a tail on it now."
This was just too delightful…
Collapsing down the telescope, the assassin dropped it into his pocket and sauntered away. The tactical team Card had lent him from their base in the US embassy in Dublin would track the fugitives to wherever they were going and then he would get to pit his wits against Michael Westen.
All thoughts of the man he had tortured to death and the young woman he had shot in the head out in the wilds of Kilkenny were gone from his mind. He had a family reunion to organize.
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"Just because Liam is here and he's talking ta tha girls we helped thot donnae mean they've said anything. I mean, whot do they know? They don't even have our names."
Fiona had been talking ever since they had followed the coastal road into Waterford and, at the second set of traffic lights, come across the sight of her oldest sibling talking to the only people in the town with which they'd had any sort of extended conversation. She had kept her eyes glued to Liam's back, while relaying that the young tourists they'd helped were in fact keeping her brother occupied and apparently misdirecting her family's pursuit of them.
His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes narrowed and with his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel, Michael drove in stony silence. It was all the ex-spy could do to drive away within the legal speed limit, as their saviors had indeed prevented the head of the clan from turning around and spotting them when they'd rolled into town, and he hadn't wanted to tip anyone off with too hasty an exit. Those girls shouldn't have had the opportunity to help them at all, Michael fumed inside.
"They've sent the boys off on a wild goose chase ta tha harbor. Liam cannae afford not ta check whotever story they've told ham. We just have ta go back ta tha cottage and pack up our things. We can use the back roads and stay off tha main road. They wonnae expect thot."
As much as he wanted to put his foot down and just keep driving, he knew they needed a better plan than that. Urban warfare was the Glenanne's specialty. They needed to head for the hills and drop totally off the grid, where not even the family hacker's computer skills could find them, and they would need their supplies for that. Michael sucked in his lower lip and bit down on the soft flesh. While she was going on about Liam, it was Colin who was the real threat.
"If we hadnae come ta town today, we'd ha' never known thot-"
Her voice trailed off as he glared at her from out of the corner of his eye before checking all the mirrors, refusing to face anywhere but towards the front windshield. He began to gather speed once they were out of town proper and heading down the road towards their former safe house.
As Michael drove, his mind was busy working on their exit strategy. They had supplies and the rest of their weapons at the cottage. With Liam so close, they would have to work fast, taking only what they needed and make a run for it. But where to go?
The ex-spy glanced out of the side window at the hills he could see in far distance: To the south, there was only ocean and, if Liam was in Waterford, there was a good chance that the other brothers were there too. So stealing a boat in broad daylight was out and the same reasoning applied to the east. There was less than a hundred miles in that direction before they would run into the Irish Sea. Either one of those choices put them solidly within Seamus's ample reach, which left going to the West, back the way they had come towards Limerick or north and those hills.
He could hide out in that remote wilderness for weeks if necessary… if he was alone. Could Fiona do the same? He risked a quick look in her direction while she was staring out the rear glass at the moment. The former guerrilla was as tough as any man and willing to try anything. Under normal circumstances he would have had no fear of her ability to survive a few weeks roughing it in the hills and bog. But she was pregnant and that, however much it made her mad, made a difference.
The drone of a powerful engine and the whirr of helicopter blades broke into his thoughts and, with his blood running cold, he tried to catch a glance of the aircraft. However, he was unable to spot it in the clouds. That meant there were far more dangerous things than the Glennanes chasing them.
"It's not following us..." Fiona had craned her neck to watch the flight of the chopper, flashing tail lights flying high above them, as it overtook their position and continued on its way westward. "Thar's no reason ta believe tis after us. Thar's an airfield less than ten miles away fram har. Ya'll recall thot helicopters an' light aircraft have been flying over tha top o' us all hours o' tha day."
The former covert operative clenched his teeth. He'd thought about leaving when they'd discerned their proximity to the small private airport a few days into their stay in the abandoned home. Another reason they shouldn't have left the safety of their sanctuary unless absolutely necessary.
He glanced sideways at her, still not trusting himself to talk yet. But it was clear she got his meaning as her mouth snapped shut and she drew her handgun, placing it on her lap.
"Fine, if it comes back around, shall I shoot it outta tha sky jus ta be sure?"
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Mason Gilroy sat behind the wheel of a bullet proof black Range Rover fitted with tinted windows, roll bars and specialized compartments for holding various types of ordinance. As the British wet work specialist listened to the flight crew explaining that they had an eye on the target vehicle and, after doing a fly-by, they were going to go a higher altitude and keep watching using thermal imagining, he continued to re-read the dossier given to him by Tom Card.
Spreading out the photographs, he pursed his lips as he stared at the image of the couple he was hunting down. The girl was going to be no trouble at all in tight quarters. She was barely five foot three and couldn't weigh more than seven stone. Her particular skills lay in planting bombs and shooting from a distance. Like most paramilitaries he'd encounter, her reputation was no doubt exaggerated. Up close and personal, he was sure he would be easily able to overwhelm her.
The man though was a completely different kettle of fish, Gilroy thought, barring his teeth in a predatory smile. Michael Westen had a very impressive résumé, though not so colorful as his own career. An Army Ranger then onto the CIA without a break for any of the pleasures of civilian life. He'd worked in all the hotspots and done quite a lot of damage along the way. The Brit brought out another photograph, one taken when the spy was posing as a diplomat in St. Petersburg back in '94.
"Quite the sharp dresser when the occasion allows, eh, Westen?" Mason murmured.
"Target vehicle has come to a stop," a voice buzzed in his earpiece. "It appears to be a cottage or an old farm building. I'm sending you the coordinates now, sir."
Closing the folder, Gilroy turned the key and started up the engine on his US embassy loaner.
"Thank you, Commander. You can leave this to me now. Keep your distance, but be ready to provide back up if they run."
Before pulling away, the assassin opened the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat and took stock of the variety of small arms he had been provided with to complete the mission.
Yes, today was going swimmingly.
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As soon as Michael brought the SUV to a stop beside the little abandoned farmhouse, the fiery Irishwoman had flung open her door and climbed out. Without uttering a word, she walked towards the rotted wooden back door. Fiona had stopped trying to draw her lover into a discussion on their tactics for evading her family after it had become clear to her that he was deliberately ignoring her.
Instead she had joined him in stony silence, making the rest of journey even more uncomfortable than before. Waiting impatiently at the entrance, she turned to see what was taking Michael so long.
Biting back an angry retort about his lack of trust in her judgement while he remained driver's door of the large vehicle looking skyward, squinting up at the clouds obviously still searching for any sign of the helicopter which had buzzed by them earlier, even though she had told him it had continued on its way west. Only when he was sure the only sounds he could hear were birdsong did he join her at the door.
"Ready?" she asked while slowly twisting the door handle.
He nodded and pressed himself up against the wood. While she inched the door open, he reached inside through the narrow gap, his fingers finding a single thin strand of wire. As soon as he disengaged the wire from the hook, which would have enabled the shotgun aimed at the door to fire, they went inside.
As soon as Michael's feet cleared the threshold, he crossed the living room to snatch up one of the new canvas back packs they had bought on their first shopping expedition into Waterford before heading into the kitchen. Ms. Glenanne trailed after him, determined to clear the air before they moved on.
"Michael, I think -"
"Not now, Fi."
Those three words were the most he had spoken to her since they had spotted Liam in Waterford. In fact, it was the most he'd spoken to her in half an hour. But there was none of the love in his tone he had displayed earlier that morning as he began to throw the tinned food they'd bought into a bag.
When she didn't move, the ex-spy paused just long enough to look her in the eye. "What the hell are you waiting for, Fi? You do realize the danger we're in? Your brothers are less than twenty miles away looking for us. How long do you think it will be before they decide to widen their search parameters to include abandoned buildings and remote farmhouses?"
His cold icy glare chilled the petite redhead to the bone. She had seen that same look on his face before, but never aimed at her. But that didn't stop her from closing the gap until there was only the rickety old table between them.
"Michael, ya jus' said it yarself. Me brothers are in Waterford. They could be there for a few hours or maybe a few days. Whot I do know is thar not har right now."
"Is that what you think?" The words came out in a snarl as he forgot about packing the food and leaned across the table.
For a brief second Fiona felt real fear, as her lover gazed back at her with eyes filled with nothing but rage and darkness. Even so she held her ground and watched as he suddenly relaxed, dropping his chin and taking a couple of deep breaths. When he next locked eyes with her again, the former guerrilla could see he had taken back control.
"You need to go upstairs and start packing... We can talk later. I'm serious, Fi."
"An' this seriously cannae wait, Michael." She fixed him with her own version of a death stare.
"Fine," he ground the word out from behind clenched teeth. "What's so important it can't wait?"
"Ya know whot tis. We've talked about it befer. We have ta be able ta work together. Ya can't keep cutting me out and ignoring me when things start ta become tense."
"What do you want me say, Fi? When I tell you we have to stay out of sight and do nothing to attract attention you blow our cover chasing after a couple of muggers. How's that for cutting me out of your decisions?" he spat back at her. His fingers which had been splayed out on the table top now formed into tight fists.
"Yer still blaming me fer saving those two girls?" She felt her temper rise up, engulfing her in a red haze, taking the all the fragile remnants of her control not to round the table and punch his lights out.
"They didn't need saving, Fi. That's my whole point. So they would've lost some cash. You got us noticed, noticed enough that your brother Colin was able to find our location."
"D'ya har yarself, Michael Westen? D'ya har tha type o' man ya have become? Tha man I fell in love wit' wouldnae have stood in tha shadows while innocents got hurt."
He sighed heavily. "I'm doing this for you… for us, for all of us."
"You cannae be like thot, not if it changes ya from tha man ya are, from tha man I love."
The anger faded from his eyes as he stepped around the table so they were face to face. She looked up and watched his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed before his hand rose as, if reaching for her, before falling back to his side.
"I've got different priorities now, Fi... I can't save the whole world and keep you safe too. I told you this before. You're my mission now, the two of you, my only mission. Can we please talk about this later? We really need to pack and get out of here. Your brothers might not be the only ones who know we're here."
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The drive from Waterford to the abandoned cottage where his targets were hiding had taken the British hired killer less than twenty minutes as he had blithely ignored all the speed limits and rules of the road. In his not so distant youth Gilroy had done two tours in Northern Ireland at a time when being sent to Belfast was considered a baptism in fire, as well as several over the border incursions as part of his time with the SAS. He had no illusions about the way the Garda in the rural areas worked and knew that the chances were that the only law enforcement outside the towns was underfunded and for the most part non-existent except during the holiday season.
Slowing down as he neared the coordinates, the former MI6 agent came to a stop when he could see the top of the damaged roof and the remains of a half tumbled down chimney. Getting out of his CIA-provided transportation, Gilroy took his time stripping off his shirt to don his state of the art bullet proof vest. Once fully dressed again, he began to load up on the weapons: two handguns, several knives and lots of ready loaded clips of ammunition.
"Time to go to work," he intoned, closing the SUVs door and quickly scanned the perimeter, quickly spotting two members of the tactical team which Tom Card had insisted on sending with him. The Brit had ordered the other two to remain aloft in the helicopter. "This is my assignment, chaps, so you stay back until I call you in to sweep up the mess. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir," said the taller of the pair.
"Jolly good, now let's have some radio silence and try to remember the plan is to allow the Glenannes inside the perimeter, shall we?"
Moving forward slowly, using every bit of cover available, Gilroy crept closer to the run down property. Finding a gap in the fence which separated what once had been an old fashioned country garden from the corn fields behind and to the side, the assassin crossed the open space without being seen. On his way across the weed and wild flower strewn grass and avoiding the large patches of stinging nettles and wild rose bushes, the contract killer noted several spots where the earth had been disturbed.
"If you have to come in, watch out for the IEDs... Ms. Glenanne is living up to her terrorist reputation," he murmured to the waiting support team.
Passing by the targets getaway vehicle he noted that there were already several bags on the back seat and more in the boot space. Gilroy drew one his knives and bent down to slice the tire but stopped himself just as the blade pressed lightly on the rubber.
He had already underestimated one of Michael Westen's women. He was not about to make the same mistake again. He had seen evidence of Ms. Glenanne's work in the booby traps hidden in the long grass. It was entirely possible that the guerrilla fighter had rigged the car to blow if it was interfered with in any way. He still had memories of his time in Ireland, having to check under his vehicle and the engine block each and every time before getting inside. The IRA had lots of talented explosives experts and Fiona Glenanne was considered one of the best.
Returning the knife to its sheath, Mason Gilroy moved on to the side of the house. Taking a quick look through one of the dirt encrusted windows, he caught a glimpse of a shape moving around in what would have once been a living room.
Changing position, he went to the door and smiled when he saw it was unlocked and partially opened. Carefully drawing his favorite SIG Sauer, the assassin slipped inside the cottage and pressed himself flat against the wall. He knew where his primary target was, but had no idea where the woman was or what she was doing.
Taking a couple of shallow breaths, Gilroy knew he had to act before he lost the element of surprise; however, he was equally not about to risk his life because he couldn't wait to have all the necessary information. Pausing there, he listened intently for any clues as to her whereabouts.
"Fi, aren't you done yet? Ten minutes are up."
"Stop nagging me, Michael. I'm working as quickly as I can."
This was it… Westen was alone… Glenanne was on the upper floor…There was no time to lose.
The assassin came out of hiding in a rush, one arm snaking around his opponent's neck while the other wrapped about his head in a devastating choke hold.
Gilroy knew all about Michael Westen. He had read the dossier handed to him by Tom Card cover to cover five times. The Brit had even asked his remaining few friends in intelligence circles about the man he was trying to choke out. But nothing prepared him for the instantaneous reaction of the former spy, who threw himself backwards, kicked out with his feet and used his hands and nails to attack his assailant. As soon as Michael broke the stranger's hold, the two men were facing each other, both breathing heavily.
"Who are you?" Westen asked as he moved to put himself between the new threat to his life and the stairs which led to where the woman was on the second floor.
"Tom Card sends his regards, old boy." Gilroy spat a mouthful of blood onto the dust covered floor.
"You're CIA?" the ex-operative demanded, his disbelief plain to see.
"Not exactly…" The knife appeared in Gilroy's hand and he sent it spinning end over end straight at the rogue agent's chest. Smiling grimly when Westen did exactly what he expected and ducked to the side, the killer launched himself forward, delivering several lightning fast blows to the other man's head and torso. But his adversary responded to the punches with a roundhouse kick, which snapped Gilroy's head to the side.
"Fi! Run!" Michael followed up one kick with another, the second one failing to find its target as his attacker dropped to the floor and rolled clear. Kicking out with his legs, the Brit knocked his quarry to the floor.
"Michael?" A shot rang out as the Irishwoman came down the stairs.
"Fiona, get outta here!" The agent turned fugitive threw himself at his foe before the assassin could draw his firearm. Westen didn't know that he had no intention of killing her just yet.
"Michael, get outta tha way!" She fired a second time. But the fast moving hit man had his own weapon in his hand and fired back, the younger woman catching her heel on the steep, uneven steps as she tried to duck for cover and then landing hard with a gasp of pain.
"Fi!"
For a split second all of Michael's focus was solely on his fallen lover, who was about to get gunned down by the British wet work specialist, and that small piece of inattention was all that the experienced killer needed to strike down his target. As the American agent grabbed for his gun hand, Gilroy smashed his other fist into the ex-spy's jaw, stunning the man. An immediate follow-up blow to the head with his SIG dropped his prey to the floor.
The bullet from her Walther hit the wall behind her enemy's head, the heat from its passing singeing his neatly styled hair.
"Oh no, I don't think I would do that again if I were you," the smooth voice advised, as the recovered redhead aimed her automatic in his direction once more. Gilroy smiled up at the wide eyed woman from his position behind her boyfriend with his pistol pointed straight at former agent's temple.
"Now, you listen to me, be a good girl and drop your gun or my next shot goes through dear Michael's skull." For several seconds they locked eyes, each looking for a sign of weakness. "I'm sure you're a crack shot, but are you willing to bet your lover's life that you can kill me before I kill him?"
If the little colleen didn't do as she was told, he was prepared to shoot her down right there and then.
"For what it's worth, I've been ordered to bring Michael in alive if at all possible. Now wouldn't being alive be a better prospect than him having his brains splattered all over the floor of this delightful residence?"
"Who do you work for?" She wasn't quite ready to give up; he could see it in those stormy eyes and in the way her finger was tightening on the trigger of her weapon.
"I suppose I'm what's known as a private contractor... Now, your time is up, surrender or no more Michael." His smile grew as the Walther was slowly lowered and then held out on the flat of her hand in submission.
"You win."
"I always do, my dear. That's why I'm so well paid. Now, put the gun on the floor and kick it away."
With the weapon now out of the reach of the young woman, Gilroy dug into his back pocket and pulled out several cable ties, tossing one in her direction. "Think of it as a new bracelet to add to your collection. Be a love and make sure you do it up tight or sleeping beauty here will be the one paying the price."
He watched her intently as she obeyed his orders, making a loop and then using her teeth to tighten the band around her wrists.
"I hate to tell you, my dear, the new look does nothing for you." A sneer formed on his lips as his eyes racked over her disheveled clothing. "It makes you look like a twelve year old boy."
The tiny terrorist was fuming. He could see it in the way her muscles trembled and the glint in her eyes. If he didn't need her alive, she'd be dead on the floor right now. But until he was ready to leave, she was his insurance policy against Westen doing anything stupid. Besides there was some fun to be had making her to be the one to chose who lives or dies.
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Fiona had never felt so beaten and afraid as she did standing in front of the steps with the plastic of the tie wrap biting into the wrists, while the British bastard who had appeared out of nowhere roughly maneuvered the limp body of her lover so he could use another tie wrap to secure his prisoner's hands behind his back.
"What have ya done ta him?" She asked unable to hide her concern at livid bruising slowly coming out on Michael's forehead and jaw.
"Nothing he won't recover from, as long as you continue to do as you're told."
"And whot d'ya intend ta do wit' me?" She tensed as the stranger rose back to his feet and walked towards her. She could see the predatory glint in his eyes and her stomach flipped as her fear levels went up another notch.
"Oh, not what you're thinking, my dear girl. Sorry, but you're not my type." He dragged her over to one of the wooden dining chairs and forced her down onto the seat. "I just need you to ring your brothers and invite them to join the party." He handed her a mobile phone and with his other hand pressed the barrel of his gun into her face.
"I will nae help ya slaughter me family." She attempted to turn her head, but the pressure from the still warm barrel kept her eyes facing front.
"It's your choice, of course, but you should spare a thought for poor Michael. He gave up a promising career for you."
The petite redhead closed her eyes as she attempted to come up with some way out of their present situation. If Liam was in Waterford, there was no doubt in her mind he wouldn't have left the North alone. Her eyes opened and she nodded her head, sadly in defeat.
"I'll do it. But ya'll have ta dial as I'm tied up at tha moment."
If this English psychopath wanted to meet her brothers, who was she to interfere?
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The next chapter of our story will be posted next Monday, September 8th. This Monday, a special holiday edition of Reconnecting will be posted for Labor Day! Burn on!