A/N: After that last evil cliff hanger, we didn't want to keep you waiting too long for the next chapter. So here it is, a little shorter than our recent chapters, but we hope you all enjoy finding out how- or should it be if- our heroes find a way to escape from Coleraine's farm.

As always, thanks for your enthusiasm and support for our little tale of 'what if' Michael had…

BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL

Chapter Thirty

When you work with someone long enough, you learn to trust them. When things go bad, that trust is the difference between life and death. Of course, knowing that doesn't make it less terrifying to back a play you know nothing about.

If it hadn't been for all her years of training and experience as a paramilitary, fighting a guerilla war on the streets of Belfast, Fiona would have dropped her guard the instant that the father of her unborn child did the unthinkable and stepped out into the open unarmed.

Whot tha bloody hell wa' Michael thinking?

But as it was, the best sniper in Ireland was ready to do her part in whatever crazy-assed scheme her beloved came up with and prayed that her skills were still sharp enough to back his insane gambit.

"Hey, hey, Mister, donnae shoot. Whot's goin' on har? Who ar' ya? Whot d'ya want?" He was walking with a slight shuffle, his head bowed and his eyes downcast, while angling his body to one side. In essence, doing everything he could to appear non-threatening to the man with the gun.

"Who tha feck ar' ya?"

She had to strain to hear their conversation, not that it really mattered to the redhead, as she was just waiting for O'Neill or Gerry to make one slight change in their position to give her the kill shot she was so desperately waiting for.

"Tha name is Bobby Creegan. Thar's no need fer guns har, who is it yer lookin' fer?"

"Creegan ya say?" Thomas O'Neill smiled like the cat which had just got the cream. This was all the confirmation he'd been hoping for. "Well, Mister Creegan or tis it McBride? Ya better call yar-"

And there it was, the moment she had been waiting for! O'Neill's over-confidence had caused him to shove his human shield to one side to get a better view of this danger in front of him, giving Fiona the clear shot she had been waiting for.

Her finger squeezed gently on the trigger, followed by the recoil of her Hecate II jolting against her shoulder and then, through the smoke coming from the end of the barrel, she was rewarded by the sight of only two men left standing.

"GOTCHA!"

Her voice rang out loud and clear as O'Neill's body collapsed to the ground in an untidy heap, his head nothing but a bloody mess. Scrabbling to her feet, Fiona was about to climb down the ladder in order to rush down and celebrate with her man when she realized something wasn't quite right.

Though the gaps between the slats in the barn wall, she could see Michael hadn't moved. He was still standing out in the open with his hands raised, while Gerry, clearly in shock, was looking from her lover to somebody who was standing out of her line of sight and then back again.

She'd missed sommit. Did O'Neill have a friend wit' ham? Had she just made things a whole lot worse?

Hurriedly the red headed sharpshooter reloaded her weapon and searched for somewhere on the upper floor of the barn where she could see into the back garden of the farmhouse. Whoever was stopping Michael from leaving only had moments left to live because as soon as she got a bead on them, she was going to kill them too.

()()()()

When you operate in the field, you expect your cover to be tested. To stay alive, you keep your facts straight, your lies simple and try not to come face-to-face with someone who knows your true identity. But, when that's unavoidable, you stare that person in the eyes and sell your cover with everything you've got and hope they play along.

Down below, Michael ran the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips as he stared into the pale colored eyes of death.

"Liam," he spoke the name with warmth he wasn't feeling while slowly letting his arms fall back to his sides.

"Bobby, d'ya know this man? D'ya know whot tis goin' on?" Gerry's worried tone broke through the deadly staring contest taking place.

"Aye, aye, tis alright, Gerry, but tis taa complicated ta explain right nar. Why dontcha go an' join yar wife an' Esme in tha barn wit Kimmie while I clear things up wit' har brudder here." He poured every ounce of false sincerity into his tone in an effort to dispel the old man's fears.

"It donnae look alright ta me, lad. Whot -"

"Honestly, Gerry, ta be truthful, I donnae know who tha other fella wa' who wa' manhandlin' ya, but I really need ta speak wit' Liam alone."

The elderly farmer looked from one to the other and then let his gaze fall upon the dead body of the man who had held him hostage. "He wa' lookin' fer somebody called Fiona Glenanne, so he said... He called himself Liam, Liam Glenanne... He said he wa' her brudder...?"

Michael opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap as his lover's big brother decided to intervene.

"Fiona Glenanne wa' a name me sister, Kimmie, used sometimes back in har younger days an' thot young fella thar, he wa' nae one o' tha family. He wa' jus' some gobshite who kept sticking his nose in whar it dinnae belong. But we'll sort it all out nar. So, why dontcha go join yar family an' ask Kim ta come out an' join us."

For all the pleasant reassuring words, Michael could sense the head of the clan was not about to brook any more interference. Whether it was a conscious decision or not, the barrel of the AR-15 assault rifle was drifting away from the Irishman's primary target towards the elderly figure off to one side.

Trying not to draw attention to what he was doing, the former covert operative began to slowly shift his stance, his right hand easing closer to where he had concealed his handgun in case he had to intervene.

But fortunately it seemed as if the old soldier had recovered his powers of observation enough to read the situation facing him as he swallowed thickly before beginning to speak again. "If yer sure yer okay, Bobby, I'll go check on tha ladies."

"Am sure, ya go ahead nar. Let 'em know everything is gonna be alright." He flashed the old man a brief smile before turning all his attention back to the man he was pretty sure wanted nothing more than to send him back home to the US in a wooden box.

The two men waited in charged silence as Gerry Coleraine hobbled slowly off towards the barn, Michael, keeping a close watch on the man who one day he might call brother in law, had to rely on his hearing as the barn door creaked open and he heard the whispered voices of Cathy and Esme welcoming Gerry home and out of the line of fire for the moment.

"So, tis Bobby Creegan, is it nar?" Liam broke the quiet.

"Fer now," Michael agreed, his eyes straying to the bloody body. "Who was he?" he asked, dropping the Irish accent as he stepped a little closer, his voice dropping in volume and pitch.

"An ol' flame o' Fiona's..." Laim smiled maliciously. "Did she nae mention ham ta ya?"

The former spy shook his head, wondering once again what else his British handlers had chosen to omit from the files he had been handed on the Glenannes.

"Donnae worry about it taa much, twas a short lived romance… Nar, how about ya keep yar hands whare I can see tham? I promised me Mam I'd bring ya back alive, but nae necessarily unharmed, so donnae tempt me, lad."

The thought that Maeve wanted him in one piece didn't bring the ex-spy any joy. He still had a clear memory of his first meeting with the Queen of the Glenanne clan and what she had said to him on that cold Saturday afternoon in March.

It had been just over a year ago, on the Saturday before Mothering Sunday. As part of the Glenanne family tradition, Fiona always stayed over at her mother's the night before so she could be there to make breakfast and, against the better judgement of his MI6 handler at the time Robin O'Dowd, he had allowed the woman who already meant so much to him to drag him along.

"Yer barking mad, man. Ya have a death wish, so ya have, an' I'll have nae part o' it. Ya make one wrong move wit' thot lot an' it'll all be over an' ye will join tha rest o' tha disappeared."

But he had justified his actions as a chance to take a look around the headquarters of the clan and maybe pick up valuable intel on the family's other PIRA supporting activities.

"And if this works, I'll have solidified my cover and made more progress in four months than the every other agent you've tried to get in with the Glenannes in the last forty years." It had been a short list and every one of them had ended badly, but he had been certain he would succeed.

"An' if it donnae, tis yar funeral, me lad," his handler had finally grumbled. "Mabbe they'll leave enough o' ya lyin' about fer me ta ship home in a shoe box, but I'm nae thinkin' so."

However, within hours of his arrival at the seventeenth century manor house he had found himself alone facing the Queen of the clan.

"Fiona, love, why dontcha go an' unpack while I get acquainted wit' yar young man... Come wit' me, Mr. McBride. Ya can help me feed me pets while we chat."

She had handed him a bucket filled with a mixture of kibble and raw meat and then lead the way outside to a row of kennels where three large shaggy coated dogs bounced up against the chain link fences of their runs.

And then as they had walked along the line, stopping in front of each one of the slobbering monsters, the petite little old lady had filled their feed bowls from the bucket he carried and preceded to explain what she would do to him and how she would dispose of his dead body if he ever did anything to harm her daughter.

"Look, Liam, it doesn't have to be like this. We-" Michael's attempt to reason with the older man was quickly cut off.

"Ya think we'd jus' let ya steal away wit' our sister? Ya lied about who ya ar', ya spied on us fer tha British and ya expect us ta just fergive an' forget? Feck it, me sister fell in love wit' a man who donnae even exist!" he hissed low and deadly.

Forcing himself to remain relaxed, Michael knew his chances of slipping away were getting slimmer by the second. The dark part of his soul was already whispering in his head, telling him to end the standoff by drawing his gun and diving off to the side. "Finish this fool off, Kid. He just admitted he isn't going to kill you, so what do you have to lose?"

But now he was sure Fiona was no longer in danger, the cold logical part of his brain was back in control and advising another course of action.

In the world of deception spies inhabit, the truth takes on a peculiar power. The truth, the verifiable, unvarnished truth, becomes the ultimate bargaining chip. The irony is that the only time you can afford to play that chip is when everything is on the line...

Sucking in a breath, the ex-agent looked the older man straight in the eye.

"You said it yourself before, Liam. She knows exactly who I am. She knows my name is Michael Westen and she knows I used to be a spy. She knows the dangers we face together. I have nothing, no cash, no credit and no hope of ever being able to give her the things she deserves..." He paused, breathing heavily as he put his heart on the line and, in a quieter tone, he continued. "But she also knows I love her and I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe."

Liam Glenanne read people for living and, as much as he wanted to, he could detect no deceit in the dark haired man's words. Even though the man was a professional liar and a damned good one at that, he couldn't doubt that Michael cared for Fiona. But thot dinnae make this sorry situation right.

"Safe?" Liam snorted. "Tis a piss poor job yer-"

But he got no farther in his assessment of his sister's boyfriend. During Michael's speech, the barrel of his gun had shifted ever so slightly away from its intended target and for the second time since his sister had lost her mind and run away with the spy, an AR-15 was shot out of Liam's hands.

"Don't move, Liam. I promised Fiona I'd keep you alive, but not necessarily unharmed," Michael parroted his early speech back to him as he quickly drew his own weapon from under his shirt.

Nursing his badly sprained wrist, the head of the clan glared back at the younger man and ground his teeth in frustration. There was no doubt that the man who had claimed to have come from Kilkenny was as agile as a cat and had nine lives to boot. He'd been so close to capturing them!

"We're going to leave now and in case you're thinking of following us, you should know I won't be giving you any more passes." Keeping his eyes on the man under his gun, Michael raised his voice.

"KIMMIE, BRING THA CAR AROUND, WA'RE LEAVIN' NAR."

Liam slowly inched forward, ignoring the weapon aiming at his chest as he saw his final chance at talking some sense into his little sister slipping away. "I need ta speak wit' har... Damn ya, Mc – Westen, ya owe me thot."

"I owe you?" Michael raised his eyebrows, his tone clearly indicating his surprise at the concept.

"Ya came ta our country, stuck yar nose in a fight which wa' none o' yar concern an' nar ya have turned me sister against har own family."

"You have seriously over estimated my charms if you think I brain washed your sister. She's not a child and it is about time you all backed off and let her make her own decisions. That's close enough, Liam," he cautioned. "You and I both know there are a lot of non-fatal places I can still shoot you."

Eye to eye and barely their arms' length apart, the two most important men in Fiona Glenanne's life stared each other down.

"Ya let har think, ya let all o' us think, thot ya war one o' us. D'ya introduce yarself as a bastid American spy or d'ya tell har ya war jus' a lad fram Kilkenny? Exactly how wa' ya expectin' har ta make an informed decision when she dinnae know who she'd let inta har bed? Ya lied ta har!"

Her brother paused and Michael swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his initial deceit.

"Maybe in the beginning, but I came here to do the same job the PIRA recruited her and Sean to do. We had a common enemy, Liam. We worked together and we stopped them. I never did—"

"An' Am sure tha Executive Council would see if jus' like thot." Liam barked a nasty laugh. "I can go back an' tell tham thot ya war jus' har ta help us, no need ta send a death squad after me sister."

Despite the firm stance and the steady gaze of the man facing him, the eldest Glenanne could see that his words were having an effect on the spy Fiona had chosen to run away with. Perhaps if he could get her boyfriend to see sense, he'd have a chance to convince his youngest sibling too.

"Ya claim ta love har an' ya'll do anythin' ta take care o' har, then how long d'ya think it will be befer more chancers like thot one…" The older man jerked his head towards the quickly cooling corpse on the ground between them. "Come crawlin' outta tha woodwork, eh? How ar' ya gonna protect har when thar's a line formin' behind ya fer tha chance ta put har on the auction block?"

Seeing the barn doors opening in his peripheral vison, Liam knew he was running out of time.

"She's nae gonna be able ta hide whot's happened in a couple o' months an' then tha blood's in tha water fer sure. Whot d'ya think will happen then? Let har come home, man, if ya ever claimed ta care fer har an' yar babby she's carryin' then let har come home befer ya get tham both killed."

As the gold Volvo headed for their position, the Irishman made his last desperate pitch.

"I promised me mam I would nae kill ya and AM a man o' me word. Come back ta tha house an' we'll figure this bloody mess ya've gotten yarselves inta. Ya owe it ta yar child if nae ta har."

Michael bit his lower lip and cocked his head to the side, weighing the man's words, but never letting his guard down for a second while the object of their argument barrelled towards the pair.

()()()()

The sudden retort of a high powered rifle broke through the comforting blackness which had enveloped Robin Hennessy after her crazed and ultimately doomed assault on Martin McCullough.

Thoroughly disorientated, the young gypsy woman sat up and looked around, trying to get her bearings. Still dazed, she reached up with one hand, her fingers gently probing for the source of the painful throbbing that she soon discovered was coming from a knotted lump just above her left ear.

She'd been arguing with the young idiot which Liam Glenanne had left in charge. The boy had insisted they follow his boss's orders to the letter and remain by the car, even after she'd told him that she'd recognized the driver of an old Land Rover that had passed by the top of the lane.

Fighting against a rising tide of nausea from what she suspected was a nasty concussion, the raven haired gypsy struggled to her feet, staggering slightly as she sought to keep her balance on legs which felt like they were made of rubber.

He'd refused to listen to her when ten minutes later she had caught a movement in the long grass out of the corner of her eye and had wanted to go off and investigate. The last of her attackers, the man who had beaten her daddy to death, was close by and the call of vengeance couldn't wait any longer.

So when he had grabbed a hold of her arm and had the temerity to demand she stay put, in a fit of frustration she'd broken away from him and done exactly what she had wanted to, running off armed with a handgun and her hunting knife with wholly murderous intent.

"Joey!" she called out as she turned, slowly searching for her companion. "Joey, whar ar' ya?"

A feeling of icy dread pierced through her confusion as her mind began to clear, adding a layer of fear as she frantically turned her head this way and that, scanning the surrounding area for the youth who she pretty sure had given his life to save hers.

The last of the McCulloughs, Martin, the bastard who had been in charge of the small group of sadists, the man who had shot her da's dog and pistol whipped an old man to the floor all while demanding information which neither of them could fully answer, when she'd glimpsed that foul beast sneaking along the wall, she had thrown caution to the wind.

But Robin had over-estimated her ability to take on a full grown man who had seen her coming.

They'd struggled briefly. For the first time, she became aware of her swollen puffed lips, he'd punched her before using his rifle as a club, knocking her to the ground. Then, as the world seemed to be spinning and blackness was about to take over, she had screamed. But her cry had been drowned out by the sound of a shot.

It was then her gaze fell upon the figure of the last of her tormentors, his motionless body laying partially concealed by a hawthorn bush and stinging nettles, one leg bent at an unnatural angle and covered in blood. But her pleasure at his death was overcome by her concern for her companion.

"Joey?" the young woman called again, her voice little more than a whisper while, as if in slow motion, the rest of the scene played out before her mind's eye.

Even with a bullet shattered leg, the vicious thug had managed to bring his weapon to bear and she had had to watch helplessly as her young companion was knocked off his feet. Then, as she had finally lost consciousness, there had been one more shot.

Her eyes went back to the man laying merely a foot or two away from her, settling on the blood covering the front of his jacket. If Joey had managed to fire off a second shot, then that had to mean he survived the first volley.

Moving on unsteady legs, the young gypsy made her way over to Liam Glenanne's car and there, beside the shiny vehicle with a bullet shattered window, she discovered the young man who had saved her life, his limp body semi-obscured by the long grass growing along the edge of the track.

"Jayzuz, look at whot ya done ta yarself!"

Jack Hennessey's daughter dropped down next to the boy, her heart almost leaping out of her chest as another shot rang out loudly in the deathly quiet of the countryside. Reacting on instinct, she threw herself forward protecting the unconscious youth with her body

When no more gunfire came, shaking a little, she risked sitting up and then ignoring what might be happening on the other side of the farmhouse, as the dark haired girl turned her attention back to the body laing underneath her. Blood was still leaking from a wound high on his left shoulder.

"Just, just, oh hell, donnae die on me, Joey, ya daft idjit." Retrieving her knife from close to the dead body of her foe, she returned to the unconscious young man and, after opening his jacket, used the razor sharp blade of her knife to cut away his jumper and under shirt.

Staring at the bloody hole in the youngster's shoulder, Robin wasted no time in removing her own jacket and then taking off her shirt, folding up the material to make a pad to press against the wound.

"KIMMIE, BRING THA CAR AROUND, WA'RE LEAVIN'."

The shout carried on the breeze from behind the farmhouse, causing her to purse her lips. She needed help or rather Joey needed help right now. By the sound of it, she didn't have much time left to get to Liam before the older man took it into his head to take off after his sister again.

But she had to make sure that pressure was kept on the wound before she went for help. Hurriedly the huntress undid the belt holding up the pants Joey had given her earlier that day and she used the thin strip of leather to bind the folded shirt in place.

Slipping on her coat, Robin got to her feet and ran as fast as she was able towards the farmyard.

()()()()

Having shot the gun out of her brother's hand, Fiona wasted no time in rushing over to the wooden ladder and with her rifle still in one hand swiftly climbing down to the floor below. Even with Liam disarmed, Fiona knew Michael's safety wasn't guaranteed. Stuck in the barn, she had no idea of the full picture, but was finding it hard to believe her brother with would have all this way on his own.

She had done all she could from the cover of the barn. With O'Neill dead and that danger passed, it was time to get out there and back up the man she loved, to explain to the head of the family that this was her decision and, if he had any feelings for her, he would want her to be happy.

But her hope to rush to her lover's side was dashed. Because as soon as her feet touched down on the hard concrete floor, she found herself facing Cathy and Esme, the two elderly ladies demanding answers from her, their faces filled a mixture of fear and confusion at the chaos which had descended upon them all without warning.

"Ya shot at yar brudder, Kimmie." Cathy clutched at her arm. "An' ya killed thot other man. Ya have ta tell us whot's goin' on!"

"Oohhh, this is bad, Kim. Whot wa' ya thinkin'? Whot are ya gonna do nar? Tha Gard will have ta be called," Esme added.

But before she could answer another voice overrode whatever explanation she was about to come up with.

"KIMMIE, BRING THA CAR AROUND, WA'RE LEAVIN'."

At the sound of her soul mate calling out, the petite redhead carefully brushed by the pair who had done so much for them both.

"Am sorry, Am so sorry, but I have ta go nar." She set her rifle onto the backseat and then, after a moments hesitation, reached into the bag they had brought from their home in Dublin, retrieving two smoke grenades from the depths and tossing them into the front seat.

"Gerry, talk some sense inta tha young lass," Cathy ordered her husband, who was resting on an upturned steel drum near the large double doors where he could keep an eye on what was happening outside.

"I cannae do thot, Cathy," the old soldier solemnly informed his wife and then turned the young woman standing beside his pride and joy. "Kim, I believe ya should get in thot car and go get yar young man befer he gets hamself killed." The sight of Bobby Creegan walking out, as calm as he could be, to face down an armed man was going to stay with him for a long time.

"Thank ya, Gerry, an' I -"

"Donnae say another word. Ya go nar. Cathy, Esme open tha doors fer Kim, an' close 'em again once she's outside... G'bye nar, Kim Creegan, an' take care o' yarself, me darlin' girl."

With moisture filling her eyes, Fiona nodded her thanks and without uttering another word started up the engine of the powerful car. With both hands on the wheel, she pressed in the clutch and selected first gear. When the large wooden doors swung open, she sent the car hurtling out toward the duo standing over the corpse of her hated enemy, preparing to run her brother down if she had to.

As the redhead brought the vehicle to a screeching halt between them, Liam made a desperate gamble and moved to block the front of the Volvo with his body while Michael slowly circled around to the passenger door, the gun still firmly fixed on the older man's chest.

"Kimmy," her brother shouted to be heard over the motor. "Mammy wants ya ta come home. She's made me swear against me better judgement ta nae harm yar man thar. Jus' come home and we'll sort this out. Thar's more like O'Neill out thar an' ya know it. Ya cannae run fram them all."

Fiona gunned the engine as Michael slipped into the front seat, never lowering the Sig Sauer he had trained on the man he was about to make an uncle.

"Wa're leavin' nar, Liam," she yelled back. "Stand aside. Donnae make me mow ya down cuz I will."

Taking another calculated risk, the head of the clan moved to the driver's side of the classic auto.

"Come home befer ya get yarselves killed. Think about whot's best fer yar babby, girl." Obviously trying hard not to glare at what he saw as the cause of all this madness, Liam kept his features soft. "As much as I'd like put a bullet in yar boyfriend thar, I wonnae hurt ham, I give ya me word."

Fiona stared at her brother in shock. They knew? Her mammy knew about tha babby?

"Yer breakin' Mammy's heart, Fi, donnae do this ta har. Tha pair o' ya, come back wit' me nar."

"We need to go, Fi," Michael urged before her brother could lay hold of the door handle. "Now!"

Stamping on the gas pedal, the car shot forward as she tossed one of the smoke grenades out the open window, leaving a fog behind them and obscuring the sight of her older sibling. Biting down hard on her lip, Fiona forced herself to focus on what was in front of her instead of what she was leaving behind.

They set off out of the farm, crashing through an old wooden gate which was only being held shut by a single loop of baling twine, the heavy Volvo fishtailing badly as Fiona fought to keep the automobile on the dirt track which cut across a stretch of open pasture before descending into a small wood and the road beyond.

"Which way…?" she asked, keeping the tremor out of her voice as her dark haired lover returned to her side, having had to climb out to open the metal stock gate barring their exit from Coleraine's Farm, her heart in her throat the entire time.

"Keep going west for now, then we'll turn back in a few miles. Once it's dark we'll head straight to that airfield and we'll be free."

The former paramilitary kept her eyes on the road and tried not to let what was on her mind show on her face. Her head was awhirl, caught between with the knowledge that her family knew she was pregnant and her brother's promise not to harm the father of her child. But she couldn't think about this right now… All she would let herself think about at the moment was putting as much distance as possible between them and the place that had been their sanctuary.

()()()()

Back at the Coleraine's farm, coughing and spluttering Liam fell back, losing sight of the gold colored car as it disappeared through the smoke. He had to hope his plea hadn't fallen on deaf ears and that his little sister would see sense.

"Liam! Liam!"

With one hand covering his mouth, he turned and walked swiftly out of the cloud of fog released by his youngest sibling and toward the panicked voice calling his name.

What he saw as soon as he was clear of the smoke caused him to momentarily forget about his misguided relative and her bastard boyfriend. Robin Hennessy, the young woman who had already suffered so much, was running towards him, half naked with swollen lips and the signs of a new bruise spreading over the left side of her face.

"Thank Jayzuz... I thought... I thought ya mighta left us." Speaking in between gasps, Robin came to a stop in front of him, her hands clutching at the lapels of his coat to stop herself falling.

"Whot tha hell happened? Whar's Joey?" He gently cradled her cheeks between the palms of his hands as he examined all the signs of her having being attacked. "I told ya ta wait wit' tha -"

"Ya have ta come wit' me nar… Joey, Joey's been shot. It war my fault." Her long slender fingers dug into the sleeve of his coat as she began to drag him back the way she had come. "Tis his shoulder, he's lost a lotta blood an' I couldnae wake ham."

"Jayzuz!," Liam cursed softly under his breath. Had nae he told tham both ta stay outta tha way…? Look out duty, whot wa' so feckin' hard about followin' simple feckin' orders? he silently fumed.

"Wait! Hold yar horses fer one second, will ya?" Jerking his arm free of the panicked girl's grasp, he came to a stop. Quickly removing his coat and then pulling off the jumper he was wearing, he handed it to the girl.

"Put this on," the head of the clan commanded, staring her down until she obeyed the order.

"We have nae time fer this, Joey is mortal hurt, Am tellin' ya," the younger woman continued as she dropped the jacket and started to slip the proffered garment over her head.

"An' ya gonna freeze ta death runnin' around like thot, never mind needin' both yar hands free. Whot happened ta yar top?"

"I used me shirt ta pad tha wound, can we go nar?" Robin concluded as she put her coat back over the oversized clothing.

"Aye," he agreed. "Nar, tell me exactly whot happened?"

As they jogged back along the lane, Robin explained how she had ignored their orders and had taken off after the man who had murdered her da. "He musta seen me comin', I donnae know exactly but he wa' on me befer I could bring me gun up. I thought he wa' gonna murder me thar an' then but, but then – " Her words trailed off as they reached the scene.

Pausing, Liam took a moment to survey the carnage which had unfolded, his years of experience leading him to quickly work out what had happened. The body lying furthest away was obviously dead; if McCullough hadn't bled out from having his leg blasted in two, the hole in his chest had certainly finished the job.

Only once he was satisfied there was nobody lurking nearby or that the last of Thomas O'Neill's friends wasn't faking his death did Liam turned his attention to the still form lying beside his car.

Joey Lovatt was pale, his lips taking on a decidedly bluish tinge, the padding strapped over the shoulder wound was soaked in blood. Kneeling down beside the youth, the older man tentatively eased one corner of the makeshift dressing away from the wound and sucked in a deep breath.

"Robin, sweetheart, do me a favor an' go inta tha boot o' tha car an' get thot bag out, tha one wit' all me instruments in it."

He checked the unconscious blonde's pulse and frowned as he counted the weak thready beats coming from beneath his fingertips. "Robin, get a move on, tis one feckin' bag!"

The bullet had undoubtedly broke a rib, possibly tha clavicle ta. Thar war major blood vessels under thar, tendons an' ligaments taa… But the damage to young Mr. Lovatt's arm wasn't going to matter one bit because Joey was going to bleed out very shortly if he didn't get the wound closed.

"Ferget tha bag, get in tha back! Wa're takin' ham ta tha house," Liam snapped, carefully slipping one arm under the unconscious youth's shoulders and the other under his knees before struggling to his feet while gently balancing the bloody form against his upper body.

"Ya keep puttin' pressure on tha wound," the former medical student ordered as he slid Joey onto the back seat and into the waiting gypsy's arms.

Getting behind the wheel, the head of the clan Glenanne began to slowly maneuver the large saloon car back along the track, doing his best to keep the ride smooth and to give him time to explain the situation to the young woman behind him.

"Thar's three o' tham inside thot barn thar, an old fella wit a broken leg and two auld gals I think. Thar all gonna be scared an' likely full o' questions. Ya let me do tha talkin'. We gotta get tham on side or Am gonna have ta-" he paused, swallowed, and then continued.

"Jus' do as I say an' keep yar mouth shut around tham as much as possible. They think me sister's name is Kim an' har fella is called Bobby Creegan. Donnae confuse tham by tellin' tham anythin' different. My names Liam, an' ya -" he paused again, thinkin' fast. "Ya an' Joey har ar' family friends, helpin' me ta find me missing sister. Donnae give out last names at all an' donnae add ta tha story. Tha pair o' them ran off together cuz har family dinnae approve."

That much of the cover story Liam could safely assume they would have used. As for the rest, he'd just have to piece it together once Joey was no longer in danger of dying from blood loss.

Coming to stop only inches away from the now cold remains of Thomas O'Neill, Liam climbed out of the driver's seat, stepping over the corpse of his enemy before going around to the other side of the car to ease his young driver out of the back.

"Tha family in tha barn, go convince tham ta come inta tha house."

"Whot? Wouldnae be easier ta leave tham whare they ar' outta tha way?"

"I donnae need them wandering in tha middle o' me stitching up Joey har. They took in a pair o' strangers. Go play on thar sympathies. Am sure ya know how ta do thot."

Robin didn't have the time or the sense at that moment to be insulted. After holding the front door open for her employer, she turned and ran quickly to the barn.

()()()()

With her right foot pressed down firmly on the accelerator pedal and her left dancing nimbly from the brake to the clutch pedals as needed, Fiona drove the vintage Volvo as if the hounds of hell were chasing them along the Irish back roads.

Even though the large cumbersome vehicle required all her driving skills to keep it on the road, it didn't stop the thoughts nagging at the back of her brain... Liam and her mammy knew about tha babby... And if they knew, who else had discovered their secret? Who else knew? Her eyes flickered over to the man at her side. Had he told Liam? How else could her big brother have found out?

They had been driving at highly dangerous speeds for over a half hour and there was still no sign of pursuit. She glanced sideways and noted her overly cautious lover was no longer gripping his handgun as if he was expecting to defend them at any second. Another glance in the rear view mirror convinced the petite paramilitary that it was safe to ease up on the acceleration.

As soon as the car begun to slow, Michael sat up a little straighter. "What's up?"

"Nothin', but if I keep goin' at thot speed, sooner or later we'll attract attention."

"You're right," he assented, smiling across at her, his hand reaching over to join hers on the gear lever, gently squeezing. "I think it's about time we begin to circle around. I'd like to be at the airfield before dark."

"Did ya tell ham?" Now the immediate danger was over, all those questions which had been bubbling away in the back of her mind burst forth.

"Huh? Tell who, what?" Her partner in crime jumped a little in his seat, his hand slipping back to his lap as he stared at his beloved quizzedly.

"Liam, he knows am pregnant!" she elaborated with a huff. "Why did ya tell ham? Whot wa' ya thinkin', Michael?"

"I didn't tell him, he already knew. By the way he said it, um, you know, about your mom making him promise to bring us both in, I'd say he's known for some time."

"Whot d'ya think it means? D'ya think –?"

"I'm less concerned about how he found out than who else knows," Michael interrupted her chain of thought. "And who was that other guy? Liam said he was one of your exes?"

"O'Neill wa' never me boyfriend... I woulda never bought tha guns off ham if Liam had nae-"

Fiona cut her herself off quickly as she realized suddenly she was on the verge of saying way too much. Reining her temper in, she continued. "He musta heard I'd broken away fram me family and thought he hadda a shot o' getting at me. Tis old business an' has nothin' ta do wit' this." She refused to think any more about the bloodthirsty hooligan.

"It's just that it seemed to me that your brother was -"

"I donnae want ta talk about Thomas O'Neill. Am more interested in whot me brother had ta say an' whot thot means." She pouted and then, as she thought more about what had happened back at the farmhouse, her eyes narrowed. "Unless thot is ya'd like ta explain whot tha hell game ya war playin' at walkin' out in front o' thot murderin' piece o' scum unarmed, especially after tha way ya have been lecturin' me about nae taking risks!"

And in her head, she was back in that instant, watching the man she loved willingly putting himself in danger, her heart pounding in her chest, a sick feeling knotting her stomach... Only her training and experience had kept her hands steady and her eye focused.

"Fiona, I-"

Her right hand left the steering wheel, her slender fingers curled into a tightly packed fist and as she twisted around in her seat, the incensed former guerrilla let fly, putting an end to whatever useless excuse he was about to come up with to justify his reckless disregard for his life.

Even as the car veered towards the edge of the pavement, there was a satisfying thud as her fist connected with the side of his whisker covered jaw.

"Owww! What the hell, Fi?"

Her beloved's yelp was like music to her ears.

"Thot's fer bein' a reckless idjit, d'ya think fer one bloody second about whot coulda happened?" Tears of hormone fuelled frustration welled up in her eyes and she let her fist fly a second time.

"Quit it!" He caught hold of her wrist. "Pull over, before you put us into a ditch," he ordered and when she didn't immediately do as he commanded, his voice took on a harsher tone. "I mean it, Fi. You put us in a ditch or into a wall, we might as well hand ourselves over to Liam or the Gard right here and now."

"Fine..." She sniffed and angled the car onto the narrow grass verge beside the road. "Thar…we've parked. Nar, whot d'ya have ta say fer yarself?"

Michael undid his seat belt and turned so he could face the Irish spitfire who was glowering back at him with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Tentatively reaching out, he wiped away a couple of stray tears which were trailing down her cheek with his thumb.

"When I stepped out from cover, what I was thinking was that I knew you were up in that barn with your rifle waiting for the chance to take out the guy holding Gerry hostage." From gliding lightly down her cheek, his fingers were now combing through her short hair and caressing the back of her neck, gently drawing face closer to his.

"What I was thinking was that all you needed was for that guy to move just a few inches one way or another and, more importantly, what I was thinking was that I trust you and your ability with a sniper rifle to save my worthless hide."

His whiskers tickled as he drew her into a kiss, his lips brushing against hers, his tongue gently probing asking to deepen their contact. Closing her eyes, Fiona raised her right hand again; however, this time instead of forming a fist, her fingers carded through his hair while her lips parted with a sigh. She let all the tension and the fear dissipate beneath the warmth and the adoration in that kiss.

When they finally broke apart, the duo gazed at one another lovingly before sitting back in their seats to stare straight ahead. For a moment, both were lost in their thoughts. Michael was running through strategies to get them out of Ireland before his lover's big brother came after them again while Fiona was thinking about that same sibling, only she was remembering his last words before she had thrown a smoke grenade at his feet.

"Yer breakin' Mammy's heart, Fi, donnae do this ta har. Tha pair o' ya, come back wit' me nar."

"Michael," she said softly, before turning her head to find herself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes. "I – I know this isn't what ya wanta hear, but befer we –I wanta see me mammy. I need ta see har, ta explain-" She shrugged her shoulders and looked away. "Liam promised we'd be safe, he might even be convinced ta help us."

"You gotta be kidding me," Michael blurted out. "Your family's chased us all over Ireland and you—"

He watched as she bit down on her bottom lip, her expression saddening.

"Fi, I don't think that's a good idea. I know you want to see them and what Liam said is very tempting to believe, but you gotta remember that the CIA and MI6 are both watching your family right now. It's too risky. We have a plan already. We're leaving Ireland tonight."

"And whot happens if sommit goes wrong wit' thot plan? Would it nae be better ta have tham on our side, helpin' us instead o' runnin' us down?" she argued, her troubled blue green eyes misting over. "Liam promised ta nae hurt ya, he wonnae go back on thot. They'll help us nar, they have ta."

"Fi…" Michael bit his bottom lip, not wanting to point out that there was a lot her family could still do to them that didn't involve hurting him per se and Liam wasn't the only member of the clan that had an axe to grind with him. Thoughts of facing Sean's unbridled rage sprang to mind immediately.

"Nar thot they know tha truth, they have ta accept thot wa're together an' they cannae separate us."

He shook his head, not believing that for a second as he dropped his gaze to the weapon in his lap. He had walked away from his own family over a decade ago to join the Army and had never regretted it for one minute. The last time he'd been back home, he had fought with all of them, no great surprise there, and had left feeling if he never saw Miami again, it would be too soon.

"I'll see you in hell, boy!" had been the last words his father had spoken to him.

Nate had been nothing but a blur. After the kid had hit him on the back of a head with a phone book, his brother had set off running. But only as far as it had taken the younger man to steal the rental car he'd picked up on his arrival in South Florida, which Nate had subsequently lost in a poker game.

That had been a real joy to explain to the Agency after being sent home and ordered to resolve the problem of Madeline contacting everyone everywhere for information about him, never mind the credit cards Nate had managed to take out in his name, after he had been mistakenly declared dead.

And as for his mom- the former spy sighed. His last memory of his dearly beloved mother was her berating him for defending himself and knocking his drunken bully of a father on his ass.

"Ya jus' said ya trusted me wit' yar life. Can ya nae trust me wit' this taa?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, the soft touch of her palm lightly rubbing on the arm of his jacket breaking through his reverie and plucking at his resolve to stick to their original strategy.

Fiona's family wasn't like the one he had run away from years ago. She was extremely attached to them and he knew what running away with him had cost her. But tactically what she was proposing was an absolute nightmare and idiocy of the worst kind. He could already hear the voices of his mentors gathering in his head to berate him for even considering this. Hadn't they just narrowly missed getting killed, not to mention the three strangers who'd been kind enough to take them in?

But when Michael risked looking up again into her watery blue-green orbs, her dark haired lover knew he had already lost the argument and his sigh was deeply resigned.

"We'll need a plan..."