A/N:Many thanks to all the Burners out there for your continuing support of this story. We both really appreciate your comments and reviews. In this chapter, the hunters begin to close in on our favorite couple as they hide out in the shadows of the Slieveamon Mountains.

Next week, there will be another holiday edition of our Reconnecting stories, from the 401 AU When Irish Eyes Are Smiling series with a Halloween special which we are aiming to post on the 31st of October.

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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL

Chapter Fourteen

Liam Glenanne stared into the rear view mirror of his recently purchased, second-hand sports car and worked hard on keeping his emotions in check. As head of a large family involved in both fighting for an united Ireland and various unlawful activities, the Irishman was used to planning every move that he made and being in complete control of any situation he stepped into. To that end, he surrounded himself with relatives and trusted close friends whose loyalty was beyond question and did his best to steer clear of unknowns.

Yet here he was sitting behind the steering wheel of an aging Mazda 626 in the company of what had to be the biggest unknown he had come across in several years. Not only an unknown, but an anomaly and to say that made him nervous was more than a simple understatement.

Robin Hennessy was not at all what he had expected when the old tinker had offered him the services of 'tha best poacher in tha whole o' tha southeast.'

He had been waiting for somebody of about his own age, a younger, fitter version of the toothless old sot he'd left sitting in his dilapidated old trailer. But instead he had been joined by a young woman with thick black hair pulled back in a high pony tail, deep blue eyes and dressed in jeans and a top which left nothing at all to the imagination.

"Open tha door, will ya? Am getting' soaked ta tha skin out har..." And when he hadn't moved, she had continued. "Am Robin, me daddy says yer after some help findin' a loved one." She'd banged on the roof of his car as he'd been weighing the risks of letting the crazed young woman join him inside his vehicle against losing the goodwill of his only chance of catching up to his missing sister.

In the end, he had reached over and unlocked the passenger door and she had instantly thrown a heavy bag onto the back seat and then joined him in the front.

"Jayzuz, not much o' a gentleman, ar' ya? Am drenched ta me skin, so I am."

"It's barely raining," he'd contradicted. "Now who tha hell are ya?" He had let her see the handgun resting on his lap, the muzzle pointing in her direction.

But instead of being scared, the raven haired young woman had rolled her blue eyes at him and then gestured with a tilt of her head to the bag she had just tossed casually onto the back seat. "Am ta be yar guide, Mr. Glenanne. If ya doubt me, ya can take a look at me Remington 700 SPS."

Gyspy women stayed in their trailers or in their homes. If they did work, they begged on the streets of Dublin or any of the larger cities or went door to door telling fortunes. They definitely did not get into cars with strange men or make a living poaching wild game.

However, there were many in the PIRA who frequently spoke of a woman's place being in the home and how the fairer sex had no place in the front line in the fight for an united Ireland, even though there were more than a few women who had proven themselves more than equal to any man fighting for the Cause, including his own grandmother, his mother and his now errant sister who had all taken up arms more than once.

So in the end, he had returned his gun to his pocket and started up the engine of his car. "Sorry, yer not who I wa' expecting... Ya can call me Liam."

She'd rested back in her seat and much to his irritation lifted her boot encased feet up onto the dashboard. "Please ta meet ya Liam, so who am I chasin' down fer ya?"

It turned out Robin was the old man's youngest child and the apple of his eye. When her husband of less than a year had been thrown into prison for twenty years after the brutal murder of a member of another traveller family, Jack Hennessy had taken his little girl back and, going against tradition, had made sure the young woman had the means to look after herself.

"I think he wa' pissed thot nae one o' me eight brudders wanted ta spend thar weekends hiding out in tha woods shootin' an' gutting deer when they could be down tha pub gettin' bolloxed," had been her explanation for her father's actions.

He'd let the girl's chatter float over his head as he drove south towards the car park where his brother Colin had told him his unwitting spy in the US embassy had been informed a beige Land Rover Discovery had been found abandoned. By now he suspected Westen's CIA masters would have had the vehicle towed away. But it would give him a good starting point for his tracker to get on the trail of his sister and her Yankee spy boyfriend.

With no blue and white tape blocking off the entrance to the parking and picnic spot and no sign of anybody guarding the scene, Liam drove straight in and pulled to a stop close to one of the many paths leading out into the wilds.

"I trust ya have no problem tracking in tha dark?" The older man had glanced at his passenger as he cut the car's engine.

But before she could reply, he'd cut her off, cursing softly when he had spotted the lights of a single Gardai car coming to a stop behind him. "Feck! Feck it. Jus' keep yar mouth shut an' I'll deal wit' tham."

Mr. Glenanne had no idea how he had missed the large Nissan Terrano in it's white and green livery and decked out with roof lights on the road. However, it was too late for recriminations. Liam was reaching for his gun when Robin handed him the biggest surprise of the last few years of his life.

Moving like lightning, the young woman landed on his lap, her fingers combing through his hair as her nails scraped across his scalp, holding him in a vice like grip while her mouth sealed tightly over his in a bruising kiss. For a heartbeat, he tried to throw her off before realization sunk in and he pulled her even closer.

They ignored the bright beam of a flashlight illuminating the inside of the Mazda and the first sharp rap of a fist on the glass of the side window, only breaking apart when one of the impatient officers tried to open the driver's side door.

"Whot?... Whot can I do fer ya, sur?" Liam wound down the window and grinned at the two younger men as he wiped off the red lipstick smeared around his mouth.

"Ya cannae be har," one of the Gardai announced, scowling as he took in the sight of the dishevelled couple.

"Why not? Wa're not hurtin' anybody, not out har." The young woman ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip before leaning into her 'lover' as if about to resume the making out session.

"Nar, luv, we should listen ta tha officers an' be on our way." Liam grabbed the young woman's hands and eased her off his lap and back over to her side of the vehicle. All the while, he was trying not to think of what his girlfriend Jeannie's reaction would be to finding out he had been caught by the police making out in a deserted car park with a gypsy girl young enough to his daughter.

"Sorry, sur, we'll be leavin' nar." The PIRA's most feared interrogator didn't have to fake the slight flush to his cheeks as he wound the window back up.

"An' don't be comin' back har. Tis a family place!"

Starting the Mazda's engine, Liam used the rear view mirror to watch the two officers walk back to their vehicle. The tinker girl was more than an anomaly; she was a bloody genius. He dropped the frown which had been creasing his brow and smiled at her.

"Whot made ya think climbin' onta me lap an' actin' like some sorta hussy would work?"

"Achh, ya donnae think I've played look out befer? Me ol mam taught me if ya get spotted ,ya have two choices: ya can run or ya stay put an' make it look like ya have a bloody good reason fer hangin' about."

He put the car into gear and drove back out onto the road, noting that the Gardai wasn't following. "If ya keep this up, when we find me sister, I might be convinced ta give ya a bonus."

()()()()()

"Yes, Mrs. Card, I'll be sure to tell him," she said pleasantly while the boss' wife was still on the phone. "Again," the older woman muttered after she terminated the call placed the receiver back in the cradle.

"Was that Nicole again?" her employer called over the intercom from the other room.

"No, sir," the lady with the gray hair and the distinguished air replied. "It was the first Mrs. Card."

The man she had worked for the last three years huffed in annoyance. "What does she want now?"

"The same thing she wanted the first two times she called. Your daughter, Tara, still hasn't delivered. So, little MJ still hasn't come into the world yet. If she doesn't in the next two hours, they'll be doing-"

"Doesn't she know I'm busy trying to stop an international incident over here?"

"I mentioned the busy part. I left out the part about rogue MI6 assassins missing their target and sending your new star pupil out after your former protégé instead," she answered in a dry even tone.

There was a long pause and then Tom Card's laughter drifted out of his office before his words issued from the speaker. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he chortled.

"Because I'm the only one who'll put up with you," his assistant informed him under her breath after punching the 'end' button on the handset and then went back to writing out the phone message from the former Mrs. Card, detailing the progress of their oldest daughter's pregnancy.

Mrs. Julieta Joyce had had a tough time since she'd arrived on the other side of the ocean. But the current accommodations in the Irish Embassy have been better than those at CIA headquarters buried deep under the US Embassy in London. Between meetings with high ranking politicians and Agency brass, she'd had to field calls from all the women in the life of the man she currently worked for. As his oldest daughter would soon be adding to the family, his first wife Jane had rang him up with updates every few hours, regardless of the time difference. His other daughters, Malena and Gabby, had also called in this week.

In between dealing with firing an ex-MI6 agent hired on by Michael Westen's former UK handler and overseeing the cover-up of an Agency-authorized helicopter crashing onto a thankfully deserted Irish road and leaving a group of dead US operatives at the site of what was obviously an explosion.

The silver fox chuckled quickly to herself. The man's hair was quickly going grayer than her own between losing his hold on his unofficial son and the lack of male offspring issuing from his loins. His second wife, Nicole, who was also with child had called today, though Julieta had yet to give him the message that Mr. Card's hopes for a boy had been dashed again, as little Christin would apparently be arriving sometime in the next four months.

With all the pregnancy hormones and excitement on the home front, she knew that Tom Card had jumped on the chance to jump on a plane and try to bring his former student home before Michael Westen could make a mistake that would disgrace the Agency and more importantly his training officer. Then she had gotten the call to get on the first available Transatlantic flight because her superior officer needed her immediate help. The past few days had been especially busy indeed.

Arranging for that training officer's other protégé to arrive in Ireland, making sure the tall muscular young man was supplied with all the intel and equipment required and then arranging his transport to places south and east had consumed much of her time. The blonde was due to call in soon.

At exactly 20:00:20 hours, the private line of the senior officer turned lead investigator for the moment rang out and was answered within seconds. "You're one minute late," he scolded his newest acolyte. "Now, give me some good news."

Mrs. Joyce listened with one ear while continuing to scan through the intelligence briefings.

"You can't be more than what… Ten hours behind? Tell me, what's the point of me getting you all that very expensive equipment if you're not going to use it? I'm not paying you by the hour, sport."

She knew the man in the other office had taken great pleasure in letting one Mason Gilroy know he was off the job and could take up his monetary situation with MI6, which was fine with her as the British hired killer with the smooth style and the cold dead eyes gave her chills. Then there was all screening of calls and coordination of reports in the wake of Michael Westen apparently causing a CIA chopper to crash with all personnel on board and then disappearing. Tom Card's face had been suffuse with rage after that one before he sent his assigned agents scrambling to get caught up.

"That was not my idea. That's why you're here… to get the job done, not go camping in Ireland on Uncle Sam's dime."

Julieta smiled to herself, shaking her head. The man in charge could really be an ass sometimes.

"Fine, but just remember this little assignment is time sensitive. I need Westen back here or eliminated before he can cause any more trouble for our hosts. Call me back when you have him."

The man's mood had improved greatly later on that afternoon when he'd finally gotten the pleasure of letting Richard Chambers know, after she'd gotten the MI6 official on the line for her boss of course, that their boy Gilroy was out and the Americans had their own man on the case, British hurt feelings notwithstanding. Then she had gone back to supervising the delivery of every bit of evidence from the explosion site and the remnants garnered from the scene of the fire that had burned down an abandoned cottage where the fugitives had apparently been living,

"This has to look like a dispute between Michael McBride and the Glenanne clan and, as there are no reports of any of them using an M82A1 SASR to settle an argument you'll just have to be satisfied with what you've been given. Improvise, adapt, overcome."

And sometimes Tom Card could be a class A douche bag, the older woman thought quietly.

But it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Mrs. Joyce had been with the Company for decades. She and her husband, a military attaché killed in Vietnam while serving as an advisor in the mid-60's, had been loyal servants of the intelligence community from the day they married. After his passing, she had thrown herself whole heartedly into her work as an administrator for various high ranking and not-so-high ranking officials.

"Remember, we don't want to stir up any more trouble. That prissy Brit Chambers already has his panties in a bunch. So, try to keep any collateral damage to the minimum. Can you do that?"

But smart people in the know were known to advance when she stood behind the leather office chair, so to speak. Sandy Miller, Card's previous assistant who had moved on to operations, had strongly advised her former boss to have Julieta replace her when the girl she had mentored had moved up in the organization.

"Good, you can go now. I've got a truck load of evidence to go through from the last attempt to bring Westen in. Try to make sure you don't come back in little pieces."

The Company woman thought about what she knew about the man they were hunting, what she'd skimmed from the briefings and what she'd heard from and discussed with Tom Card. Michael Westen had first come to her attention during her first years working for the training officer when he'd almost gotten himself killed in a oil refinery in Russia. She'd overheard multiple conversations between Card and his friend, William Raines. The two had built a reputation for talent spotting and training said talent in the early 1980's, as the Agency was trying to polish its tarnished ranks.

"I'll be going through that pile of charcoal they brought back, looking for a needle in a haystack!"

"Put some gloves on," she advised the disembodied voice. "Or you'll ruin your nice manicure."

From everything she knew, the serious young man was a top flight agent. Card had crowed repeatedly about his preparation methods being responsible for turning out such a gifted operative.

Westen had been the scourge of Russia, his name a Russian code word for a special ops team. His exploits with Larry Sizemore before that's man's death had been both famous and infamous. This whole scenario didn't make sense. What could have caused a man like that to abandon his post, ignore orders, kill fellow Americans? His dossier declared he was devoted to flag and country.

Mrs. Joyce wondered if perhaps his head injury had something to do with his actions. It was Card's favorite explanation for what had gone wrong. He'd told anyone who would listen that he'd had no reason to believe that Michael, once the reality of his situation was explained to him properly, would do anything but comply. A bomb making, gun dealing asset from a family of terrorists might be the perfect partner on the Emerald Isle to infiltrate the PIRA and maybe even the weapons dealers and blood diamond merchants on the continent... but to ask to bring her with him?

Falling in love was not a plausible explanation for someone with no prior attachments to suddenly at age thirty to decide that their asset was that important. There had to be something, some intel and/or connections that Fiona Glenanne had that were so invaluable that Michael Westen was not willing to leave them behind to be exploited by some other agency or enemy, something so urgent, so important that he didn't just retire his asset to keep those secrets safe.

She heard a shout of triumph from down the hall and then the next sight that greeted the long-time Agency assistant almost surprised her. Tom Card was standing in the doorway, dirty plastic gloves holding aloft a small charred snip of paper, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.

And a self-satisfied, triumphant idiot at that…

"Pour me a scotch neat, Mrs. Joyce," he instructed, entering her office to put his puzzling piece of prize into the sink next to the wet bar before dousing it with copious amounts of water, destroying the tiny bit of carbon. "I finally have something worth celebrating," he declared, peeling the gloves off and tossing them into the waste bin under the low countertop.

The older woman got to her feet, smiling in return. Whatever he had found, it must have been good.

()()()()()

"Ma'am, ma'am, you have to wake up now."

At the sound of the stranger's voice speaking directly into her ear, Fiona shot up, her hand reaching for a gun that was no longer where it should have been under her makeshift pillow. Looking around in confusion, she gasped at the sight which greeted her eyes.

"Whot tha -?"

"Whoa, easy there, Miss. We're not here to hurt you, but you have to get up now and come with us." There was three of them, three young men, all nearly identical with the same neatly barbered hairstyle, black suits, white shirts and dark ties with their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

When she didn't move fast enough, two of them leaned into the shelter and caught hold of arms, dragging her out into the open and onto her feet. Fighting against their vice like grip on her wrists, she twisted and tried to pull away but all to no avail.

"MICHAEL!" she shrieked loudly in rising panic, as she turned her head this way and that, searching for her lover. "Whot have ya done ta him? Whar is he?" Her auburn hair whipped about her face, getting into her eyes and across her mouth as she continued to struggle against her captors.

"Ma'am, you need to calm down. You're only going to hurt yourself." It was the same one speaking as before, his calm patient tone making her want to hit him all the more. "We're gonna take you to him now."

Whar ar' tha rest o' tham mutes? she wondered.

Narrowing her eyes, the petite Irish spitfire aimed the toe of her boot straight at a piece of his anatomy guaranteed to make him change his tone. However, the attack failed as he knocked her leg off to the side and stepped in close, his fingers closing about her throat cutting off her air supply.

Fiona could feel his breath on her face and, for several seconds, she truly believed he intended on killing her. Then all of a sudden, her captor let go and stepped back. "That's no way to act, not in your condition. But if you want, we can deliver you in chains."

At his words she stopped fighting a cold dread filling her soul sending chills up and down her spine. How did they know? How had they caught up so quickly?

Running her tongue over her suddenly dry lips, she nodded her assent.

"Promise me Michael is alive?" It was more of a plea than a demand and she hated her weakness.

"He's alive and we're taking you to him... Come along."

They walked out of the forest, the early morning sun filtering through the trees was dazzling her and making her eyes water. Several times she slipped and tripped on the uneven ground, but the two men restraining her kept her on her feet and moving forward. The young Irishwoman lost track of time as they dragged her onwards, her body becoming heavier and heavier, all the while she sunk deeper and deeper into misery.

Then, in what felt like a blink of an eye, the redhead was being manhandled through the departure gates at the George Best Airport in Belfast, hustled past the crowds waiting to go through security and into an empty corridor.

"I'll take her from here."

Fiona felt her arms released and winced as blood began to flow back into her hands. Looking down, she stared at the deep bruises which ringed her wrists from where the bastards had held her so tight. They had left the imprint of their fingers on her flesh!

And that was when she saw him. The beard was gone, he was clean shaven. His badly cropped hair was once again neatly clipped. But what stood out most of all was the expensive black three piece suit he was wearing and the shiny black shoes.

"Michael?" She went to step forward, but the man still at her side restrained her with strong fingers, which dug painfully into her bicep.

"It's okay." At Michael's softly spoken word, the man relinquished his hold and she rushed forward.

Fiona could barely breathe as they fell into each other's arms. Sobbing, she clung to her lover, not caring one bit about her tears staining his fancy new clothes.

"Give us a moment," he spoke over her shoulder before returning to kissing her neck, cheek and finally her lips. They lost themselves in that kiss. It was as if they had been apart for weeks rather than a few hours.

"You alright?" he asked when they finally broke apart. He stroked his fingertips along her cheek and into her hair, gently combing her long locks off her face.

"Yes." She sighed softly, unable to keep her hands off him. The one time PIRA operative placed her palm over his heart, letting the steady beat calm her shattered nerves, reassuring her all was well.

It was then she noticed the sadness in his eyes and the down turned tilt of his lips. His whole demeanor was beginning to worry her more than it should and, as Fiona looked around, she saw for the first time they were in a private part of the airport, sealed off from the rest of the world by more of the featureless figures dressed in black.

"I wanted to talk to you, before-" He was speaking to her, looking deep into her eyes, but the whooshing roar of blood rushing through her veins blocked out all other sounds as she began to realize the truth of their situation.

They had been alone in the woods, hidden away. They had destroyed the bridge over the ravine they had crossed to slow down any pursuers. But even if their hiding place had been discovered, why hadn't she been woken by the gun fire of Michael fighting back? Drawing away, sickened by the thought of his treachery, she fought back a sob and forced herself to ask the questions.

"Michael, what happened? Where have you been? I woke up and you were gone... I woke up and these men -" She glanced over to where her three abductors had been joined by five more of the same ilk. "What's going on?"

Her heart was breaking as he continued to just stare, silently pleading with her to understand. He must have contacted his CIA handler somehow. He must have let them into the camp and...

"Michael, you said you were out. You promised, it would be just us."

"I needed to protect you, I needed to protect -" He stepped in close, his hand landing on her very prominent baby bump, the child within moving under his palm. This was more than she could bear and she shook her head in denial. But that didn't stop him from rushing on with his explanation for his betrayal of everything they'd had together. "I couldn't - they weren't just going to forget about it all, Fi. The helicopter, all those people that were killed... They weren't going to let us go, not after that. So I made a deal. I did what I had to do. I -"

Unable to bear his touch any longer, she stepped back and nearly crumbled to the ground. "No, Michael, you did what you wanted to do. What you wanted to do all along." Tears ran freely down her cheeks as the pregnant woman turned away, running as fast as she could along the concourse.

"Fiona! Fi!" The former guerilla heard him calling after her, but she refused to listen to any more of his lies. Instead, she ran through the crowds of waiting holidaymakers and out into the fresh air.

Gasping, the young Irishwoman sat up abruptly, her hand curling around the handle of her gun as she frantically looked about.

A dream? No! She dropped her weapon and scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of hands, hoping the action would help to clear away the confusion and fear which still filled every inch of her being. A bad dream then...? But it had been too real. The petite fugitive could still smell the cologne her traitorous lover had been wearing, could still feel the burn in her lungs from running away so fast.

Scrabbling out of the sleeping bag, Fiona crawled out of the shelter and got to her feet. She needed to find him, she needed Michael, she needed to see him, to hold him and make sure it had all just been a nightmare. Tripping, stumbling and trembling, she paused only long enough to re-lace her boots before getting back to her feet and continuing her search.

"Fi, Fiona, what's the matter? Are you okay?" As soon as she stepped out from behind the boulders, which shielded the shelter from any prying eyes, she heard her lover call out from the sniper perch.

Looking upward, she watched as the dark haired man slipped and skidded down the hazardous incline, holding her sniper rifle in one hand while using his free hand to aid his rapid descent. Before Michael could reach the bottom of the slope, she was rushing forwards, throwing herself into his arms as soon as his feet reached terra firma. With her arms wrapped about his waist, she burrowed her head against his chest, letting the scent of stale sweat and wood smoke comfort her.

"Hey, hey, are you hurt? Has something happened to-?" She heard the sniper rifle drop to the ground so he could return her embrace, one large paw rubbing up and down her back in an effort to stop the shudders racking her small frame. Fiona swallowed hard, trying to calm herself as well.

"No, thar's nothin' wrong, am fine..." She sniffed, already beginning to feel embarrassed about her over reaction to what had after all been just a bad dream.

"Fine? Are you sure?" he persisted, concern etched into his weary features. The redhead knew her still pounding heart was contradicting her denials.

"I said am fine." Taking a deep breath, she let it go in a long slow sigh. The young Irishwoman been nine years old the last time a nightmare had had the power to turn her into a quivering wreck. Yet here she was, acting like a silly scared schoolgirl and that would not do.

"Ya shoulda woken me." Slowly, she raised her head so she could look into her lover's tired bloodshot eyes. It was time to deflect the uncomfortable conversation on to safer ground and show Michael Westen he wasn't the only one who knew how to dissemble. "Wa're supposed ta be a team, remember? Ya cannae stay awake all night an' expect ta be able ta walk all day."

Lifting a hand, she tenderly cupped his whiskery cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his bruised cheekbone and, when he leaned into her touch, she couldn't resist stretching up to place a soft kiss to his lips. After being to thoroughly shaken, she wanted to deepen their contact, but didn't in deference to the state of her own mouth after so many hours of sleep. Reluctantly, she pulled back.

"I'll get an hour now while you have some breakfast," he offered. "There's not much, some canned fruit and cereal bars. But the fire is still lit, so you can have some tea. There's a few teabags in my pack." He released his hold about her waist and took a step back to cover his mouth as he yawned.

It was plain to see Michael needed more than an hours rest. But she knew that if she tried to convince him of that, he'd dig his heels in and fight her over it. So, instead she squatted down to pick up her discarded rifle and then took her lover's hand, leading him towards the shelter she had recently vacated in such haste.

"An hour is hardly long enough, Michael..." She pushed him down and then, in a copy of what he had done for her the night before, she unlaced his boots and eased them off his feet.

Shaking his head, the dark haired former spy made a grab for his footwear. "Fi, I don't think-"

"Shut up," she commanded. "Thar's sommit I have ta say ta ya," Her slender hand snatched the boot away and tossed it deeper into the shelter. "How many times d'ya have ta be reminded wa're a team befer it registers in thot thick skull o' yars?"

"I just thought-"

"I have plenty o' ammunition on me." Fiona gestured to the sniper rifle on the ground at her side. "If ya feel tha need ta keep testin' me."

She sent his other boot to join the first at the back of the shelter and then locked her blue green eyes on his tired deep blue orbs, daring him to continue arguing. Only when he sighed softly and eased his body onto the sleeping bag did she relax her gaze.

"Ya cannae keep this up."

"Fi, you were sleeping so soundly that I-"

"Shush!" The irritated Irishwoman raised her hand to stop his words. "I appreciate ya want ta look after me, an' maybe a little part o' me understands why ya feel yer tha only one who can stand guard an' make decisions. I know I've not been at me best this last week ,but ya cannae keep burning tha candle at both ends, Michael. How do ya expect ta stay focused when ya exhaust yarself like this? Yer gonna wind up dead; it's just basic operational sense."

She waited with baited breath as he continued to stare back at her, his mouth forming a faint smile as his hand slipped behind her neck, drawing her closer.

"Are you finished?" he murmured into her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

"Yes." Their lips touched in another light kiss.

"I know I'm not making things easy for you... I'm just used to working in a certain way and I guess -" He paused while his fingers gently massaged the back of her neck. "How about we stay here for the rest of the day? We're concealed with a good vantage point and, as you pointed out, we are both tired and need some down time."

That wasn't exactly what she said, but Fiona couldn't deny after her disturbing dream spending a day together was exactly what she needed. "I'd like that."

"Good, then how about you stay here with me until I go to sleep?" He lay back and pulled her down on top of him. She could see him suppressing a grin at her startled expression.

"Michael?"

"I just walked the perimeter right before you woke up and there wasn't sight or sound of anybody on our trail. I think we can take two minutes to be together." The ex-spy yawned massively. "I don't think I'll be awake much longer than that and then you can have breakfast. I'm sure you're hungry."

Ms. Glenanne settled into his side carefully as she thought of all the things for which she hungered. But she would take the respite she was offered, sternly reminding herself not to fall back asleep.

()()()()()

Tom Card's shiny new star operative bit down on his bottom lip as he stood at the edge of a deep ravine, staring down at the fast moving water below. It was too wide a gap to risk jumping, plus the ground on the other side looked like it could fall away at any time. He had enough rope on him that climbing down into the water below was a possibility; however, the sides were too steep and slick to offer a way out on the other side. Stepping back, he turned his gaze to the left and then to the right. There had to be some way round, but which way was going to be the shorter route?

With a frustrated huff, the former Marine lifted the binoculars which hung from a strap about his neck up to his eyes. Studying the other side of the ravine, he concentrated on looking for sign as to which direction his quarry had taken. Faint imprints in the soft earth and a few broken twigs showed that the couple were still heading upwards towards the mountain.

Ever since he had taken up the hunt for Michael Westen, something hadn't been sitting right with him. The dossier he had been handed by his former training officer was that of one of the CIA's legendary unstoppable bastards. A man who would do whatever was necessary to protect his government and the country he loved. A man who had put himself through hell, who had done some terrible things, most of which had only been alluded to in the heavily redacted document he had spent a twenty fours reading from cover to back several times over. This had been a dedicated and relentless operative who let nothing get in the way of his mission. But that wasn't what the former military sharp shooter was seeing when he read the signs left by the fugitive couple he was chasing.

The Michael Westen he had read about was quite capable of crashing a company helicopter, killing all on board, or shooting another agent in the back if that was what it took to make an escape. But nowhere in the dossier did it make any mention of Westen being the sort of man who would sit on the cold damp ground, cradling his alleged girlfriend in his arms or assist the same woman in climbing down a slippery slope, especially when he was obviously nursing several injuries of his own. Spies of Michael Westen's caliber did not form attachments. Or if they did, they were disciplined enough to cut themselves loose as soon as they were required to move on.

After letting go of the binoculars so that they went back to dangling from the strap about his neck, the ex-Marine made the decision to search for a way across upstream. With a bit of luck, he would find away over sooner rather than later and would get back on the trail of the rogue spy before dusk.

()()()()()

"Ya can see har..." Robin knelt down on the soft earth, her hand ghosting over the ground as she pointed out the indentations that were telling her a story. "See how close they sat together? Yar sister is a lucky girl ta have someone who loves har so much."

After their narrow escape in the car park, the young woman had directed the older man to another, more remote parking spot and there they had spent the night, her curled up on the back seat, him staying behind the wheel of the car. As soon as it was light, they had made their way out onto the moors and into the trees. It had taken her just over two hours to find the tracks she was looking for, a man and woman traveling together and apparently being followed by another man who was moving far quicker than the couple.

"O' course if we donnae get a move on, this other fella is gonna catch up ta them befer us an' then I guess it would all be over?"

Robin knew who her client was. She had spent her first and only year of married life living in Dublin on one of the many traveller camp sites which were dotted around the city. It was said Liam Glenanne was a heartless killer, though she was finding it hard to believe that at the moment.

Now, her Jimmy had been a nasty piece of work, though unfortunately that sad fact hadn't come to light until after their wedding night.

She spotted more foot prints. The couple she was helping to chase down had stood face to face, the woman's smaller imprints inside the larger ones belonging to her beau. From the depth of the boot treads, she could tell they had leaned into one another.

"I donnae need a running commentary, girl."

She stared up at his scowling countenance and grinned. Thar he went again, but he dinnae fool har one bit. Along with the hard eyed stares, she recognized all the signs of a man concerned for the well-being of his kin.

The night the Gardai had invaded the camp with riot shields and dogs to take away her husband had been the happiest time in her life since she'd stood before the priest and said I do. And when the judge had sentenced her husband to twenty years, her joy had been complete.

"So, which way have they gone?"

"Thot's easy..." She pointed to a narrow path between the trees, leading deeper into the forest. "But ya should know, yar sister's boyfriend is injured or maybe ya already knew thot? Anyway, tha other fella, he's moving fast an' if he keeps up tha pace, he'll find 'em befer us."

"Get a move on then. Remember I'm paying fer results," he scolded lightly.

She led the way into the trees, making sure she pointed out every little romantic gesture she saw and a few she didn't in an effort to soften the heart of the man following in her wake. She knew other men like Liam Glenanne, hard men and certainly dangerous, but not the monsters they were painted by those who chose to judge them.

"So whot's so bad about this fella yar sister is datin'?" She slid down a steep slope into the bottom of a long gully.

"None o' yar business. Jus' do yar job," was a terse reply as he joined her.

"Ya know tha more I know about who I'm trackin' then tha easier me job becomes." She picked up her pace, squelching through the muddy ground.

"Tough," came the even shorter rejoiner.

"Oh, look, they picked some mushrooms." She gestured to where several oyster mushrooms had been cut from a rotten log. "I hope they know whot thar doin'. Livin' off tha land isn't safe fer tha ignorant."

"Me sister's fella, he wa' in tha army."

"Tha army?" That admission brought her to a stop, her eyes going wide in shock. "Faith! Bloody hell, I bet tha news o' thot went down well wit' ya mammy... Jayzuz, no wonder yer lookin' ta skin ham alive." She chuckled and shook her head in disbelief. "Fiona Glenanne takin' up wit' a Brit soldier boy, who would've guessed it?"

"Tha tracks..." Her employer reminded her pointedly. "How about ya jus' concentrate on whot am payin' yar fer and stop askin' questions?"

Biting down on her lip to stop herself laughing at Liam's obvious discomfort, Robin found the point where the runaways had left the gully and climbed out, moving ahead rapidly as the tracks of three people became clearer.

()()()()()

Lying flat on the ground, concealed from sight by a large elder bush, Tom Card's sniper used the telescopic sight fixed to his hunting rifle to watch a young woman sitting on a log before a small camp fire, stirring some sort of stew bubbling away in a small pan.

Apart from her auburn hair being far shorter than in the photographs he had been shown, there was no mistaking the slender figure and sharp features of Fiona Glenanne. His trigger finger twitched, but the blonde hunter kept the digit outside the trigger guard. There was no way he was going to take a shot without knowing the position of his primary target.

Considering the time he had wasted finding a way around the ravine, the former marine had been pleasantly surprised at how fast he had come across the fugitive couple or least Ms. Glenanne as he had yet to see hide or hair of the rogue spy.

It had taken him several hours out of his way, but the expert tracker eventually found a spot where the ground gave way to a natural ford. Stepping into the fast moving stream, he'd been relieved when the freezing cold water hadn't quite reached the tops of his heavy laced boots. After half a day of tramping through the woods and his feet had already been wet clean through and he knew from experience how badly wet pants would chafe if you were forced to live in them for days at a time.

Once he had made it across to the other side, the top flight operative had rushed back as fast as he could through the heavy undergrowth and closely grown trees to where he had lost the trail.

Intent on making up the lost time, he had eaten and drank on the move as he got back to the task of catching up to his target. He had promised Tom Card that he would have the threat posed by the disavowed agent neutralized within a day or two at the most and he had no intention of letting his training officer down.

The sun had just begun to set when he got his first clue that he had caught up to his prey. Squatting down beside an area of flattened grass, he had studied the mass of large boot prints criss-crossing the area, the indentations had still been clear and sharp telling him that they were very recent.

From that point on, the muscular man had shrugged off his backpack and continued on at a snail's pace. However, it seemed now that either Westen's injuries had to be worse than he had first suspected, as the man was nowhere to been seen, or even more worrying, the former Ranger had decided to make a stand before heading up the mountain.

Would Michael Westen use the girl as bait to draw in anybody sent to capture him? That was the question the ex-Marine was having a hard time coming up with the correct answer. The spy whose career was documented in the dossier was definitely capable of putting his asset in danger. But the former reconnaissance expert was having a hard time believing that the man who had taken a beating and killed a whole team of agents for a woman would then leave her sitting out in the open.

A few minutes later, the auburn haired woman in question turned her head to look towards the boulders behind her. She smiled and said something, then turned back to watching over the food.

Changing position was always a risk, but he needed to double check that Westen was somewhere behind the boulders. The angle was awkward and though he still couldn't get a positive ID, he could just make out the roof and one side of a shelter behind those large rocks.

Studying the clearing, the special forces trained tracker came to a decision. Glenanne was in the open, an easy target. Westen's position offered the spy good cover, but with nowhere to run. As soon as he left the protection of the boulders, he would be in the open. The blonde sniper couldn't see any reason not to bring his mission to a satisfactory conclusion right there and then.

Changing position again, he lined up a shot on the unsuspecting woman. Taking Glenanne down would surely flush Westen out and leave the ex-spy with a clear choice to surrender or die. Slipping his finger around the trigger, he breathed in deeply and began the let the breath out slowly. He was the best shooter Force Recon had ever turned out. This was an easy shot. He watched as the young woman half turned, her face registering confusion as his finger tightened on the trigger and he waited for the recoil to hit his shoulder.

()()()()()

"So, how do we get across thot?" Liam stared at the ravine as his guide walked back and forth along the edge, examining the flora for clues.

"Wit' out a set a wings, I'd say wa're gonna have ta make a bit o' detour... But wa're not gonna follow tha mystery man chasin' after yar sister cuz tha idjit has taken tha long way round."

Liam had given up deflecting the curious young woman's questions over an hour ago and taken to just ignoring her chatter and innuendo regarding his sister and her "Brit" boyfriend. The girl had skills when it came to tracking and he wasn't completely oblivious to her obvious charms. However, she was also irritatingly out-spoken. She reminded him far too much of his missing sibling.

"Whot d'ya mean he's gone tha wrong way? They've been headin' up stream all this time."

"Look har," Robin huffed as she pointed to a set of what she had already told him were deer tracks. "They know tha quickest way down. we'll let tham show us tha way."

Mr. Glenanne forced himself not to roll his eyes at her latest instructions. The tinker girl knew her business, but she didn't understand just how much trouble Fiona had gotten herself into. As soon as the woman he'd hired let him know there was another hunter on his little sister's trail, the PIRA enforcer was more desperate than ever to catch up with the fugitive couple.

The CIA would not forgive the murder of its own even though he was certain that had not been Fiona's intention when she had set off the explosives. She had obviously mined the road as a line of defense for their hideout or their escape route. There was no way the young woman had meant to bring the helicopter down like that.

They had already sent one assassin after the pair. Whether American or British, the man tracking the runaways would certainly consider his youngest living sibling a liability easily eliminated now. There would be no thought of capture or using her as a bargaining chip any longer he was certain.

The sharp crack of a high powered rifle echoing through the forest jerked the eldest Glenanne out of his dark reverie and caused him to spin around, searching to locate the origin of the sound.

"Which way?" he demanded. He couldn't have hid the concern in his voice even if he had wanted to.

Had the man chasing after Fiona and the American bastard she'd taken up with found them first?

There was only one way to find out and too much distance and forest between him and the answer.