A/N: Hello and Happy Mother's Day to everyone in the US and all the happy mothers around the world anyway! What better topic than another chapter about a mother to be on the run?

Seriously, thank you as always to everyone that reads and continues to review our little tale, which we appreciate VERY MUCH and to all the wonderful ladies out there in the Twitterverse who faviorite and retweet and too everyone out there in BurnNoticeLand for keeping the faith! THANKS!

BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL

Chapter Twenty One

()()()()()()()()

Target selection is one of the least glamorous but most important elements in any strategy. It can also be one of the most frustrating.

Tom Card scrubbed his fingers through his hair and got to his feet. He may have spent the last decade or more instructing the new generation of field agents on the rigours of running a high stress operation, but it had been a very long time since he had personally pulled so many all-nighters in a row and although the CIA's premiere training officer hated to admit it, he was no longer as youthful as the operatives he'd been teaching either.

He had been so wrapped up in finding a way to have a private meeting with Liam Glenanne that he had stayed behind in his office even after the remainder of his staff, including the redoubtable Mrs Joyce, had gone home to catch up on their sleep. Ignoring his formidable secretary's advice to get some rest and come at the problem with a fresh set of eyes in the morning, Card had chosen to stay and work through the mountain of intelligence on the head of the Glenanne clan and his inner circle.

But now at six AM on a Sunday morning, he was no further ahead than he had been when he had started going through the stack of files supplied by MI6 and the Irish security forces. There had to be someone Glenanne trusted who would be willing to take the risk of going to the head of the family with offer of an alliance with the perceived enemy. There had to be some low ranking foot soldier or ambitious middle manager hungry for more recognition. He just had to find them...

Sighing with frustration, the Company man left his desk to walk over to the window, staring out at the quiet street below, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in thought.

The trouble was that the eldest Glenanne had built an empire. He not only paid his men well, those in the inner circle lived in houses owned by the family, their relatives were employed in Glenanne's various enterprises, some legal and some positively criminal, their children all went to good schools and every single one returned Liam Glenanne's generosity with absolute loyalty.

Maybe he needed someone outside of the inner circle... Somebody who didn't rely on Glenanne for their living and the safety of their whole family and yet somebody the clan leader trusted and would listen too. Someone who could approach the throne with impunity as it were…

This new chain of thought had Card rushing over to another separate stack of documents. These were the ones he had been handed to read through on his long flight from DC to Belfast, in what he liked to call the Mata Hari dossier, a fat stack of paper between stiff cardboard containing all the intelligence the CIA had gathered on Fiona Glenanne and the gang of bank robbers she worked with.

Opening the thick folder, Tom Card skimmed the pages searching for the name of the man he was looking for, eager to confirm what he vaguely remembered. A slow smile grew on his face and the tension that had been building over the last few hours began to fade away as he read all about Ryan O'Keefe, a rising star in the Dublin underworld and Maeve Glenanne's only nephew.

Carrying the open file over to his desk, he sat down and continued to read. O'Keefe had no more connection to the PIRA or any of the disparate paramilitary groups infesting the South than any other criminal wanting to work in the city. He paid a tithe to protect himself and his men from the justice which was meted out by the various groups on the unwary or less generous crooks.

However, he was Liam Glenanne's cousin and he frequently worked with Fiona and Sean Glenanne when the younger siblings were fund raising for the Cause.

Rubbing his hands together, Card leaned back in his chair. O'Keefe was a good prospect. The man was obviously intelligent enough to understand the benefit of an alliance and, as a close family member, he had the right access to make the approach and most importantly as a criminal rather than a freedom fighter brainwashed by years of being inside the PIRA, Ryan O'Keefe was less likely to be prejudice against the idea from the start.

Even the most skilled operative knows a good plan is 10% execution, 90% preparation. Advance work is crucial if you want an operation to be successful.

He had his target; he was convinced of it. Now the CIA man just had to figure out a way to make his approach. Richard Chambers might not have thought to put a tail on the Dublin gangster, but the wily American operative was sure his counterpart would become pretty interested rather quickly if he caught wind of O'Keefe being invited into the US embassy for a chat.

Retrieving his cell phone from his jacket pocket, Card scrolled through his contact list. There was no way he was going to use any of the agents he currently had under his command for a job this important. He needed somebody with experience carrying out discrete extractions and, with Tyler Grey still incommunicado in the Irish wilderness, he could think of only one other person he trusted.

He just had to hope the skilled counter intelligence operative wasn't out of reach too.

()()()()()()()()

As the sky was beginning to lighten on what looked to be a cool crisp Sunday morning, a black Mercedes S class saloon sped eastwards through near empty streets of Dublin city center heading towards the deserted port area.

The man behind the steering wheel of the powerful car used the rear view mirror to glance back at his passenger. "If ya donnae mind me sayin', boss, ar' ya sure goin' inta this meetin' alone is tha sane thing ta do?"

Liam Glennane pursed his lips at the question and continued to stare out of the car window. The young man behind the wheel wasn't the first person to voice doubts about what he was doing. His mother and brothers had all tried to dissuade him from taking just one man with him after he had received the late night call summoning him to an early morning meeting with the heads of the executive council of the PIRA.

"An' whot d'ya think woulda happened if I'da tol' Val Temple ta go feck himself?"

He had asked Seamus the same question when his gunrunning brother had been informed that the phone call from the head of the Belfast division of the Provisional IRA was to summon their chief interrogator and enforcer to a secret meeting at a deserted warehouse close to the Dublin docks to explain why his little sister and her boyfriend were running amok in the southern most parts of Eire.

When his driver, just like Seamus failed to come up with an answer, Liam leaned forward and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Ya'll be fine, Joey... If it wa' ta be anythin' other than a talk, they'd a sent thar own men ta pick me up an' it wouldnae be happening in a warehouse wit' so many ways out an' tha Gard so close by."

It was true. As somebody who was usually the one who decided where to hold interrogations, Liam knew that a meeting in a warehouse next door to a busy international port with its surveillance cameras and security personnel close enough to investigate any screams coming from the other side of the razor wire topped fence was considered a sign of, if not exactly good intentions, at least that the discussion being held would not involve any sharp implements or a bullet to the brain.

"Am nae scared, Mr. Glenanne." The young man straightened up in the drivers seat, his cheeks and the back of his neck flushing pink, mortified at the thought his boss might think he wasn't up to the job he had been given.

"Ah know thot, Joe. Ya wouldnae be behind tha wheel if I didnae think ya wa' up ta tha task. All ya have ta do is get me ta tha meetin' on time an' keep yar mouth shut... Tis nae hard."

Having sent his principal driver and bodyguard off to Belfast with the remains of the dead sniper, and subsequently keep an eye on Colin, the head of the clan didn't want to leave the security of his Mother's house in the hands of anybody he didn't trust completely. That had meant that he'd have to rely on one of the younger, less experienced men under his command and they didn't come any younger or less experienced than Joseph Patrick Lovatt.

The youth was two months shy of his nineteenth birthday. Davy Doyle had spotted the youngster two years ago when he had accompanied his own son to a local West Belfast boxing club. The boy was a fighter and as it turned out good with cars too. It wasn't long before Mr. Lovatt, who had just been kicked out school due to his bad behavior, found himself with a job at an auto repair shop run by one of Davy's brothers and in his spare time working in the Doyle family's other enterprises. Then when they had thought him ready, he had been introduced to the man who was really in charge.

It was a risk using such a novice as his only back up, but Liam trusted Davy's judgement on his apprentice's character and there was the bonus that the boy's loyalty wasn't compromised by any oath to the IRA cause.

"War here, boss," Joe informed his the older man as the Mercedes slowed to a crawl as it passed between two ten feet high chain link gates topped with razor wire and then continued at the same slow pace towards the designated warehouse.

"Remember whot I said, yer ta stay by tha car an' watch yar back... Anythin' starts, ya get away as quick as ya can an' call Seamus, ya got it?"

"Aye, I've got it." Joe brought the car to a stop a short distance away from the five other cars parked outside the imposing building.

Nodding Liam climbed out of the car and then leaned back inside. "Har, keep ahold o' these fer me." He tossed the youngster three cell phones. "Donnae answer any o' tham if they ring, they'll go ta voice mail."

Straightening up, the eldest Glenanne slowly began to walk towards the open door of the warehouse and the six men he knew were waiting inside to talk to him. He had been confident that when he had handed over the bodies of Robin O'Dowd and Pat Mulholland that he had put an end to the hunt for a spy working within the PIRA... unless the British or the Americans had decided to stop trying to bring Westen in and had instead decided to cut their losses, throwing their rogue agent and his Irish girlfriend to the wolves.

Forcing his expression and body to portray nothing of his apprehension, Liam smiled and waved a hand in the direction of the six men standing in a huddle in the center of the empty warehouse... Of course, if the Brits or the Yanks had outted their man, whatever he did next was a moot point as he, Sean and Fiona would all be dead men walking.

"Well, Am har," he called out. "Nar whot tis so important we couldnae meet up at McGinty's over breakfast an' a hot cuppa tea?"

()()()()()()()()

"Michael!"

Fiona went from sleeping soundly under a flannel sheet, several blankets and a quilt, to wide awake and wide eyed in a heartbeat, her moisture filled blue-green orbs staring about in confusion as she tried to catch her breath and take back control of her shattered nerves.

The last thing she remembered was being out at sea with Michael trying to cross a deep dark ocean in the middle of the night, their small boat being tossed from one rolling wave to the next without end. They had both been so tired and sick with fatigue, fighting desperately against the currents to keep their little craft on course. Her arms still ached and her fingers were stiff from clinging on so tightly to the tiller as the swell had grown higher and more dangerous with each passing minute.

Gulping in several deep breaths, Fiona wiped away her tears with a shaky hand. It had been so real...

Too real… Running the tip of her tongue over her dry lips, she could still taste the salt from the spray, while the roar of the storm echoed loudly in the ears and adrenaline still ran high.

"Just a dream," she tried to reassure herself. "Just a stupid dream…"

Hugging her arms about her waist, the young woman waited for the panic that had filled her pounding heart to subside. Another dream… or rather nightmare… Just like the one she had experienced when she had fallen asleep in the forest, only that time she had dreamt the father of her child had abandoned them for the sacred calling of the CIA. This time...

This time it had been different. Another shiver went up and down her spine as she remembered the terror and despair that had struck when the churned up foamy water had begun to overwhelm their small vessel and the wooden hull had begun to crack and break apart from the assault of the waves.

The dishevelled redhead could still see it in her head, still feel it in her shaky body and shattered nerves. She had been sure they were both going to die clinging to each other as they drowned in the murky Atlantic Ocean, when suddenly she had been miraculously plucked to safety.

Standing on the swaying deck of her brother Seamus' cargo boat, surrounded by her whole family, she hadn't been given the opportunity to move, as she had been tightly wrapped in a warm blanket, enfolded in the loving arms of her mother before being taken below deck and out of the storm.

"Yer back where ya belong. We'll look after ya an' tha wee one." Maeve had promised, her small slender hand rubbing over the spot where her and Michael's child lay. "Nobody will ever know. We'll say tha father ran off an' ya have no idea whar he is, tis not a lie after all."

At her mother's words, she had struggled free of the blanket and shoved her well-meaning brothers and sister-in-laws aside to rush back the way she had come.

"Fer better or worse, we belong out thar wit' him. I cannae leave him behind!" She had jerked away when a strong hand had gripped her shoulder.

"Ya will die out thar, both ye an' yar baby," Liam had shouted a warning as she'd fled along the narrow corridor.

Reaching the steps leading to the deck, she'd looked back at her family for what felt like the very last time, knowing what fate likely awaited her and her child in those dark dangerous depths and she'd hesitated for a second. Wouldn't Michael want her to carry on, make sure their child was safe?

Then, clutching hold of the hand rail, Fiona had rushed up the steep steps and into the raging squall. She could not, would not abandon him… They would all go together…

"Michael!" she had howled his name into the wind, but all to no avail. When she had looked down at the swirling turbulent water below, all she had been able to see was a few pieces of shattered debris, which was all that was left of their little boat...and her hope…

"MICHAEL!"

It had been the searing pain of her heart breaking which had woken her from the nightmare and even now there was a hollow ache in her chest, a near irresistible urge to seek out her lover's arms.

Throwing back the covers, she got to her feet and realized that before seeking out the father of her child, she had another overwhelming need to deal with first. Slipping on a dressing gown, she found at the end of the bed over the top of the T-shirt and panties she had slept in Fiona hurriedly crossed the hall to the bathroom.

Having alleviated her most urgent need had helped the rattled young Irishwoman calm her nerves slightly. Standing at the sink and waiting for the water to run hot, Fiona stared morosely at her reflection in the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet in front of her. She looked positively dreadful… puffy red eyes and tears staining her cheeks... This would never do...

Picking up the cloth, she held it under the stream which was now running tepid from the tap and then set about removing the evidence of her terror-filled nightmare. It didn't matter whatever name she was hiding under, she was and always would be a Glenanne and the former guerrilla wasn't going to let a few bad dreams turn her into a hysterical mess.

Back in control of her turbulent emotions, Fiona ran a critical eye over the rest of her appearance before deciding there was little she could do about the lack of make up; her mascara, foundation and other essentials hadn't been considered necessities when Michael had filled their back packs for their trek through the Slieveamon Forest.

Turning away from the mirror, she walked over to the door. Twisting the handle, the redhead paused before stepping out into the hall to run her fingers through her tangled hair, thankful that at least her boyfriend hadn't needed reminding to slip her favorite hairbrush into her pack.

"I donnae care whot ya have ta say about young people today, Gerald Coleraine. In my day an' in yar's taa, it dinnae matter how tired or worn out ya war, ya attended church on a Sunday."

Esme's voice sounded loud and clear, echoing up the stairs.

"Aw, quit yar fussin' now. Tha good Lord tis nae gonna worry about one day."

Fiona turned from the stairs and rushed back to her bedroom, Gerry continued to loudly remonstrate with his sister in law near the front door.

It was Sunday… Her mother would have been horrified that her girl hadn't even given it a thought. They had been running so hard and without any proper breaks, she had lost track of the days.

Back in the Coleraine's guest room, Fiona threw off the borrowed dressing gown and, after briefly glancing at the flowered dress three sizes too large draped over a chair in the corner of the room, she turned her attention to her own freshly laundered and neatly folded jeans, T-shirt and jumper stacked on the mahogany dressing table placed under the rooms large sash window.

As she quickly changed her underwear and reached for the jeans, Fiona couldn't help but wonder what was going through her usually highly paranoid boyfriend's mind. Admittedly stopping their hosts from leaving the farmhouse would have involved effectively having to take them hostage, so why hadn't he insisted on them attending Mass too? It wasn't like he hadn't played the good Catholic before.

Blinking, the young woman froze mid-thought, as she struggled with the zipper on her jeans... This was ridiculous, hadn't she bought this pair during their shopping trip in Waterford? Sucking in a breath, she fell back onto the bed and raised her knees and then with a determined expression pulled on the zipper until it reached the top.

If Michael was letting the Coleraines and Esme leave the farm unsupervised it had to mean he had some other strategy in mind. She needed to be ready for whatever he had planned and there was no way on earth she was going on the run in that nineteen seventies flowery creation of Cathy Coleraine's.

With her socks on, she searched the floor for her boots before remembering that they were downstairs in the kitchen where she had left them after their reconnaissance of the farm yard and buildings the night before.

"Esme, will ya quit harrassin' our guest an' get yar coat on?"

The sound of frustration in Cathy's tone as she urged her sister to get ready to leave the house brought a smile to Fiona's lips. How often had she heard something similar in her own home, especially as a child, yelling at her own little sister to hurry up?

Claire… Fiona's smile fade, and she swallowed thickly, forcing the memory back into the deepest parts of her brain as she rushed down to see what was happening. She just reached the bottom of the stairs as Esme came out of the living room to collect her coat off the line of hooks by the front door.

"Ahh, ya up, lassie, tis good ta see ya lookin' so bright eyed after last night." The elderly woman turned to where Michael was stood peering over Gerry's shoulder at the back of the line of folks trying to reach the front door. "Make sure ya look after har now... An' behave yarselves while wa're out," she chuckled, as she finished pulling on her coat and opened the door to the outside.

Fiona stood on the last step nonplussed as Cathy gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek before hurriedly following her sister out of the door. Then Gerry winked and gently patted her arm. "Ya make sure ya catch up on yar rest an' donnae be takin' any nonsense off this un."

He prodded Michael's bare toe with the end of his crutch before he too made his way along the path to where his wife stood holding open the front passenger door for him and Esme already had her little car running.

Slowly closing the door as the elderly trio drove off along the lane, Fiona turned to face her lover.

"Fi…" he breathed her name on a sigh of relief, and moved towards her, reaching out for a good morning kiss, but then came to a stop as she held out a hand, palm outwards.

"Okay, who ar' ya?" she demanded, her eyes sparkling with amusement which belied her harsh expression. "And whot have ya done wit' Michael Westen?"

He stopped and tilted his head to the side, desperately trying to analyze the situation. Was she angry about something? It was harder than ever to keep up with her now hormone-fueled mood swings.

"Why have we just waved tha only three people in tha world who know our position g'bye? Should we nae be keeping tham har wit' us? Whot if they talk? Could ya nae have thought o' story ta-"

He moved fast, cutting off the rest of her words with a deep lingering kiss, holding her tightly in his arms and refusing to let go until she melted into the embrace.

"Michael?" she gasped when he finally released her from his hold.

"I was… I mean, I wasn't sure…"

She watched as he half turned away, the fingers of one hand raking over his short cropped hair. As his partner in crime on and off for the last eighteen months, she had seen this behavior before, usually when he didn't couldn't or wouldn't give her all the facts and she hated that there was still this wall between them. Stepping closer, she pressed the flat of her hand against his back.

"Jus' tell me," she urged, her normal temper at his secrecy somewhat mollified by their kiss.

"I wasn't sure if something was wrong… if you and the baby were okay…" His bottom lip disappeared as he stared at the floor, as if afraid to strengthen his fears by giving them voice.

"Oh…" His admission caught her off guard and made her wonder what she'd done to scare him so.

"And not knowing that…" Fiona could see him shift into tactical mode in order to get himself under control again. "I couldn't risk of alienating the only people who've been any help to us."

He sighed heavily and turned around, looking up to face her. "I don't like them being out there on their own, but I couldn't think of any logical reason for them not to go that wouldn't end up with our hosts insisting on you seeing a doctor and I wasn't about to tie them up either."

Spies don't always make decisions based on training, experience or potential success of a mission. Sometimes it's just a matter of doing what you think is right even if it means putting your fate in the hands of a stranger.

"I did think about us attending church with them, making sure they got the cover story right, you know, the distant relatives in town for a visit. But I'm guessing two strangers at a small country church would have become the talking point of the whole town, so it kinna defeats the whole purpose of us coming along. I'm positive Gerry believes wa're a couple o' star crossed lovers on tha run fram yar wicked brothers an' they cannae say a word thot might give us away..." his lilting accent returned as he grinned at her and tried to ease the tension he felt over his decision.

"An' war ya nae tha one thot told me I had ta learn ta trust, me luv?"

"Aye, t'was…come along then, Bobby. Am fair famished." She reached up onto her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek before taking his hand and leading him back towards the kitchen.

Fiona knew that wasn't the whole truth, but it was a start. She had been there when he tossed and turned at night, reliving terrible things in his past that he would dismiss or deflect in the morning. However, she had also heard him express more of his true feelings than she ever had before, so she would try to be patient although that had never been her strong suit, especially now in her condition.

Once they were in the kitchen, the redhead found herself directed to sit in a chair while her lover set about filling the kettle to make a pot of tea and fetching the makings for a full Irish breakfast out of the fridge. It was apparent that their hosts had set a large portion aside for her.

"Yer full o' surprises today, Mr. Creegan... I'm more used ta ya handing me a cup o' yogurt first thing or mabbe a slice o' toast if yer feeling generous."

"Well, Am under orders ta look after ya an' see thot ya eat a hearty breakfast," he replied as he brought over a teapot and a couple of mugs to the table.

"Ordered?"

"Aye, ordered..." His expression turned serious again. "And there's something else I need to tell you, Fi..." He bit his lip again briefly before dropping his gaze. "They know…"

"They know whot?" Though she had a good idea what he meant from the way he was staring down at the taut waistband on her jeans, she wondered if there was something else he wasn't telling her.

"It was Cathy, she asked... Well, she told me she used to make all her own and her kids' clothes and when she handed me your things, she mentioned that—" His words trailed off for a second. "She noticed that your jeans were a little too small for you – annnd that's when she asked if you were—"

She had been wearing size 4 clothes, or size 0 depending which country she was visiting since turning twenty one. However, in the not quite two weeks since they had been on the run, she had already gone up one dress size and it now felt like she might be looking to go up a size again.

"Whot d'ya tell har?" she interrupted.

"What could I say? You demolished your dinner like you hadn't eaten for a week and then slept all evening. It was all I could do to wake you enough to climb the stairs last night. I couldn't even wake you up when they called us down to breakfast this morning." And she still could see how much that in itself had bothered him, the worry still lingering in his tired blue eyes. "So, I told them the truth or a version of the truth... I told them I suspected you might be."

"And you still let them go? What wa' ya thinkin' Michael?" She was on her feet now, wondering what was going through the usually over cautious spy's mind.

"That them knowing would work in our favor. Gerry had already told Cathy and Esme our story and he took me aside after we ate and wanted to know if it had been a shotgun wedding, more or less. But I assured him I would have never taken you out in the woods if I had known you were pregnant. So, now they want to help us even more. Cathy's going to ask the community nurse to check you out when she comes out here to check on Gerry's leg."

"Whot? Ya wanna let more people in on this? Have ya lost yar mind, Michael?"

"She's Gerry's second cousin, or something like that. We need to find out for sure how far along you are if we can and how the baby's doing, too. It'll be fine, Fi…" However, she could tell that he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. "And look..." He delved into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out two sets of car keys. "I haven't completely lost my mind… or my touch."

"An' those would be tha keys ta…?"

"Gerry's old truck and the Volvo that's under the tarp out in the barn that he was complaining about…He's said it wouldn't start, but it's got oil and gas and should be running. I'm hoping I can fix whatever's wrong with it cuz I donnae fancy tryin' ta go on tha run in thot broken down ol' tank o' his. We'll go take a wee look at it after ya've had yar breakfast, Mrs. Creegan, so we make sure ta be ready fer whotever comes our way when our new best friends come back fram tha mass."

"Well then, Mr. Creegan, ya best get on wit' servin' up me meal," she declared, smiling and settling back down into her chair. "Ya have a lot ta do this mornin' while I'm eatin' and washin' up."

"As you say, lass," and he pressed a kiss to the top of her messy hair as he set her tea in front of her.

()()()()()()()()

Two hours after he had entered the disused warehouse, Liam Glenanne stepped out into the mid-morning sunshine and, as he slowly made his way back to where the newest young man on his large payroll waited beside his car, the PIRA's chief interrogator ran through the outcome of his early morning meeting with the executive council.

He had been informed that there were growing concerns about the divisions which were appearing within the Glenanne family. They were particularly concerned that all the time his sister had spent infiltrating and bringing down the Real IRA had radicalized the young woman.

It had been touch and go for a while, especially when it had been brought up that the Glenannes had been in Waterford when an American helicopter had gone down nearby, suspiciously causing far more damage to the countryside than the six very knowledgeable men thought likely unless it'd had some help to fall out of the sky.

He'd done his best to assure the council members that the divisions they were seeing were nothing more than a family argument getting out of hand, rather than the ideological split they had feared.

Fiona had run off with Michael McBride because she had discovered her brother had been investigating her young man. And although McBride had helped them bring down the RIRA, Liam had still considered some of his ideas dangerous. In the end, however, the head of the clan had had little trouble convincing them his sister might have had concerns about him having a talk with her boyfriend that had nothing to do with any potentially political conversation they have.

And as for the crash, neither Fiona nor McBride had been involved in the explosion that brought down the helicopter. Hadnae tha press said it wa' nothin' but a tragic accident?

Once he had finished convincing them that the youngest Glenanne wasn't about to go rogue, he had then taken the opportunity to give the six most powerful men in the organization something else to worry about by reminding them of the team of masked men who had ambushed Sean while they had been in Waterford.

Reaching the vehicle, he nodded a greeting to the young man holding open the door for him and slid down onto the back seat. "Ya can relax, lad, tis all sorted. Get me back ta me mam's."

Closing his eyes, Liam rested his head back and waited for the tension to leave his body. He had lied to the executive council and broken the sacred oath of loyalty to an organization his father had help found and one he had served for the last fifteen years. Now there was no going back. He had put every member of his family at risk, all to save a sister he wasn't sure even wanted his help.

Sighing heavily, he opened his eyes as the car cleared the tall wire-topped gates and headed westwards. What he needed to do was take his mind away from dwelling on the problems he could do nothing about and instead get back to thinking about a strategy to find the couple at the center of this trouble.

He had a few trusted men driving around the general area the gypsy girl had pointed out as the most likely spot the fugitives had come out of the forest. But the chances of one of them coming across his sister were slim to non-existent and unless either of them stood in front of a CCTV camera and committed a crime, there was little chance that Colin would pick up any decent leads either.

"Boss, yar spare phone has been ringing off tha hook."

Leaning forward, he held his hand out for the phones he had left in the car when he had gone into the meeting. Checking each of the phones in turn, Liam pursed his lips when he realized all the messages were on the phone he used for people outside his circle of family and close friends. Not recognizing the number, he paused and then listened to the first of the voice mails as the Mercedes began to pick up speed.

"Mr. Glenanne, I have ta see ya… Ya have ta come, me da…he's…" The words choked off. He turned to the next message.

"Tis me, tis Robin... Me daddy… three men came har an' they…they beat him, they beat him until…he's dead, sar… and then they-"The next ended with a sob as the recording cut off again.

There were three more messages, each more desperate than the last.

"Please, ya need ta call me nar, they war asking about yar sister..."

The head of the family cut the rest of the message off and turned his intense pale blue eyes to the rear view mirror and to the face of the inexperienced and untested employee he was about to take him into a potential hornet's nest. But he had been a mere lad the first time he'd taken up arms too...

"Joey, lad, fergit goin' home, get us over ta Killarney nar."

()()()()()()()()

And on a small airstrip that no one was supposed to know existed, a dark skinned woman moved with a purpose as she departed the private plane that had carried her from a place where she officially had never been to accomplish deeds that would never be known outside her inner circle.

The serious looking man waiting for her next to the black SUV with the dark tinted windows silently held out a cellular phone as she approached. Taking it without comment, she slipped into the back seat and listened to the message on it without speaking to her companion sitting there.

A predatory smile formed on her cold visage as she stuffed the device into her black suit coat pocket.

"Shut it off," she ordered as the driver fired up the big block engine. "I need the jet fueled again."

"Ma'am?" the younger man to her right questioned as she reached into her other pocket for a lighter.

"There's been a change of plans."

She slipped out of the door again and pulled a cigarette from a well-worn case. Lighting the long thin stick of tobacco, the woman took a deep drag before sending a plume of smoke into the air.

"We're going on a little side trip."