A/N: Thank you for all the reviews for this story and your patience while waiting for us to find the time to complete this new chapter.

Michael & Fiona are readying themselves to reach out to the Glenannes, while at the Coleraine's farm, Gerry is just beginning to realize how much trouble the charming young couple he invited into his home have brought down on his family.

BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL

Chapter Thirty One

"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...But she also knows I love her and I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe."

The man sitting behind the steering wheel of the gold colored 1971 Vovlo E164 heading towards the village of Manor Kilbride on the outskirts of Dublin's suburbs couldn't get those words out of his head. It was as if when he spoke those words to Liam Glenanne that he cut the final ties of his old life.

His name was Michael Westen, and he used to be spy, but who he was he now?

Certainly not Michael McBride… That man had a bounty on his head waiting to be collected by every covert operative and mercenary on the planet. He'd be lucky if they just handed him over the CIA considering how many foreign intelligence agencies he'd pissed off in his lifetime… He would be outed soon if he hadn't been already by his former employers. Fortunately it was in most of their interests to keep his secret so far.

If not the man from Kilkenny, then who? Bobby Creegan? An Irishman from Derry, a former soldier in the British Army, on the run with his new wife, a woman from a republican supporting family, and their child soon to be? That was closer to who he had become in circumstance, if not in emotional reality.

The dark haired ex-spy bit down on his lower lip and shook his head, his blue eyes narrowing as he thought about his future... Bobby and Kim Creegan were no more, the couple the Coleraine family knew had driven away and vanished into the ether.

His gaze strayed to the rear view mirror, capturing the image of the woman fast asleep on the back seat... No, not just his future, their future... He needed more than a few tactical goals and a rough approach on how to complete his self-appointed mission if they were all going to live long happy lives.

France was a good starting point. It had open borders to the rest of Europe which meant it gave them plenty of places to hide, access to excellent health care and, if they did things Fiona's way, lots of banks, post offices and jewellery stores to rob. But the CIA and MI6 had close ties to the French DSGE and the DGSI, and also the German BND. If they did things her way, it wouldn't be long before their names and faces would be plastered all over the media.

He had no friends to call on for help either, at least none he trusted not to turn him in when they found out why he was on the run. His former handler Dan Siebels would be the last person he would risk calling. It would be like putting a target on his back and any of his contacts would be just as bad...

"Mike, after your call I checked out your little girlfriend. She's a psycho, Mikey, and a bad influence. I hate to say it, buddy, but Card and everybody else is right. You need to turn yourself in... In fact, now don't get mad, but I made the call myself, ya know, just to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

He could just imagine the look of disappointment on Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe's face when he got the word on his friend's fall from grace. Although Sam might not actually put a call through to the CIA, he would certainly have no problem informing on him to a certain blonde Station Chief, who was more than capable of tracking him down and even less willing than Sam to see him discredit the Agency.

And there was definitely no family he cared to take the risk in approaching. When had they ever done anything for him other than make him sorry he had ever laid eyes on them again? Besides he had no wish to ever return to Miami even if it was possible.

Sighing, the former covert operative flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. Of course, all his thoughts for the future would be made null and void if the upcoming meeting with Fiona's family went the way he was expecting it to.

()()()()

At the sight of a plume of grey smoke rising in the distance, the dark red Skoda Favorit estate car that had been racing along the back roads between Naas and Lullymore began to slow before finally coming to stop next to a stone built bus stop set back a little from the road.

Inside the shelter, Maeve Glenanne got to her feet, wincing a little at the stiffness in her sore joints. After straightening her skirt, she picked her bag and walked over to the waiting vehicle.

"Twenty minutes... Ar' ya losin' ya lead foot, Claire Glenanne?" the tiny bird-like woman chided as she slid into the passenger seat, only just getting the door shut as her partner in crime wheel spun away from the bus stop with a screech of protesting tires.

"I got stuck behind a tractor. It took me a few minutes ta get past," Claire informed her as the older woman sped along the country road, cornering the ancient heavy vehicle as if it was a rally car. "Ya look like ya've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"Umphhh," Maeve snorted as she pulled down the sunshade so she could check out her appearance in the vanity mirror. "Tis nothin' thot a hairbrush willnae sort out."

"Well, thot's a weight off me mind… Though I think yar Shay is gonna have sommit ta say about thot black eye an' tha split lip when we get back." The former redhead answered with a slight smile, which faded immediately as she watched her sister-in-law's expression change.

"Seamus will – he'll just have ta deal with it, tha same as Liam will when he comes home." Maeve dismissed Claire's concerns, as her thoughts had already moved on. "D'ya see whot happened ta Connor? Tha young fella drivin' Seamus' car…? I saw him; I wa' told he wa' dead."

"Aye, me Maureen saw ham and she called me; thot's how I knew sommit had happened."

Taking one hand off the steering wheel, she patted the younger woman on the thigh. "I've one o' me nephews takin' care o' ham an' tha car, dontcha worry about it... Yar American is dead taa, if thot's any comfort. Thar's a big kerfuffle on tha roads over by Lucan."

Claire chuckled low and then continued when her companion did not comment. "Am surprised he got thot far wit' tha dose I put onta thot receipt, but I'm guessing thot hand he ran through all thot slick hair dressin' o' his might have slowed it down a touch. Still dead is dead as they say... Have ya given any thought ta whot yer gonna be sayin' ta Liam about all this?"

"I saw a threat ta tha family an' I dealt wit' it," she answered flatly and then sighed. "Ya know I thought Fiona would see sense an' be back home by nar."

"Tis yar Fiona we're talkin' about, y'know. The girl's as stubborn as her Da and twice as determined. Besides, whot wa' it Patrick used ta say? If wishes war horses…?"

She suddenly smiled. "Hey, d'ya remember tha first time they let us poor, weak-minded womenfolk take part in thar mischief? Tha pair o' us walkin' along Crumlin Road as bold as brass on a hot Sunday afternoon…?"

"Aye, Pat Junior wa' six months old," Maeve smiled wistfully. "An' I'd nae long got me figure back. Tha two o' us struttin' down thar street, actin' like a pair o' hussies, all ta keep thot patrol busy while Pat drove by in thot old van o' his wit' half tha Belfast branch o' tha IRA inside along wit' thar home-made mortar an' a half dozen shells."

They both laughed at the memory from so long ago. "They made a right mess o' tha gates o' tha gaol. Even if none o' tha prisoners got out, it certainly stirred things up fer a while."

Maeve's smile fell away at her sister-in-law's words. The trouble that came their way after their assault on Crumlin Road Gaol was nothing compared to the trouble her only living girl's misadventures was about to bring about for them all.

"Are yar still worried about thot American? Or is it tha other one ya jus' blew ta kingdom come? Ya did whot ya had ta, ya know thot."

"I donnae care about either o' tham fools. They deserved whot they got." Maeve waved a hand in dismissal. "Nae, tis tha whole sorry affair... Thar's taa many bodies stackin' up, an' I swear tis gonna get worse befer it gets better..." She signed again, glancing at the other senior citizen's profile as Claire concentrated on negotiating another tight turn, suddenly feeling all her years.

"Thot the Brit bastid I spread across thot field, he wa' tha one who shot Sean an' threatened Liam. He wa' boastin' about how he'd been huntin' Westen down an' how he wa' gonna use me ta lure out Fi an' har man befer I shot ham... An' nar Liam's chasin' down Thomas O'Neill an' ya know whot's gonna happen when Liam gets ham, dontcha?"

"We'll manage." Claire answered firmly, her pale blue-grey eyes flickering from the road to her passenger. "We always do."

"I donnae doubt it, but Am just wonderin' how far wa're gonna have ta go ta keep Fiona safe."

"We've gone through worse than this an' come out tha other side."

The older woman slowed the car, until she brought it to a stop on the edge of the road. Half turning in her seat, Claire Saoirse Glenanne-Sullivan-Fitzpatrick-O'Donnell looked her most beloved sister in law in the eye. They had all lost so much over the years, there was no way she was going to let one devious snake in the grass, an American bastard destroy what they had left.

"When yar Patrick wa taken, when young Pat wa' murdered, we all pulled together an' we got through it. I think yar Liam surprised tha hell outta a lot o' people when he came home a' took over. Think about it... When has thot lad ever let ya down, ever let anyone down, come ta thot? He'll catch up ta tham, an' he'll bring tham both ta their senses. Ya have ta believe thot an' while he's gone, tis our job ta make sure tha sky donnae fall down on tha rest o' us."

Maeve took a deep breath before letting it out in another heartfelt sigh. "Yer right," she said, nodding her agreement. "I donnae whot's got inta me."

"Ya're tired, yar have a lot on yar mind an' yar hair is a fright." Claire smiled and then laughed lightly when she saw her companion crack a smile of her own. "We all have bad days… when it happens ta me I like ta count all tha Brits an' thar sympathizers I've help send ta ther graves."

Putting the old car back into gear, Ms. Glenanne pulled back onto the road, her lead-like right foot soon having them swiftly back on their way home. "An' at tha last count, it wa' seventy nine – not includin' thot arrogant yank who jus' buried his car inta a lorry on tha Lucan road."

()()()()

Liam Glenanne stepped out of the warmth of the Coleraine's farmhouse and walked slowly along the narrow stone path which led from the kitchen door to the little wooden gate that marked the boundary between farmhouse and farmyard.

Taking a deep breath, the bone weary former medical student turned PIRA interrogator and head of the Glenanne clan starred up at the rapidly darkening sky. It had taken him two hours to close the wound in his young driver's shoulder and, for the first fifteen minutes, he'd had the screams of wounded youth in his ear as Joey Lovatt had chosen the moment he was dropped down onto the Coleraine's kitchen table to finally come back to consciousness.

Pursing his lips, the sandy haired Irishman tried to forget the sounds of the teenager's panicked cries and that was before he had tied him down and gotten to work on removing the bullet, repairing the nick in the subclavian vein and finally sewing up the shoulder wound.

"I need ya ta keep still, boy, ya understand me? However much it hurts, stay still," he'd growled out the advice as he had set about cutting several lengths of cord from a roll he'd found in a drawer to secure the youth to the table.

Joey had tried to be brave once he'd come to his senses for a moment, but that moment had vanished quickly once Liam had actually started working on his damaged limb.

"No! No! Nooooo! Stop! Please, oh feck, feck, please donnae!"

The sobs and shrieks had carried on for a full fifteen minutes, even when Robin had returned with the old man and the two elderly women. The gypsy girl had tried her best to help, stroking her fingers through the boy's tousled, sweat covered blonde hair and whispering words of comfort.

"Ahhhhhh! It hurts, stop! Stop! Mammy! I want me mammy." It was needless to say everybody in the room had been glad when the boy finally passed out from the pain.

Though a long way from out of the woods, Joey Lovatt certainly had the luck of the Irish on his side, Liam mused. A mere fraction of an inch and the bullet fragment would have clipped the artery instead of the vein and the young man would have bled out before anyone could have saved him instead of now laying in a comfortable bed being fussed over by a couple of old hens.

A coupla old hens wa' a good description o' tha two women… Cathy, tha wife o' tha old fella, an' her sister Esme. Liam shook his head and smiled. Once they had got over their fear, the pair of old biddies had fluttered about the cottage, welcoming them as if they were honored guests.

Cathy and Esme had been easy to win over, after they had harangued him for a full ten minutes for hunting his sister and her husband down as if they were animals meant for the pot and he had solemnly promised them that his feelings towards dear sweet Bobby were nothing more than those of a caring older sibling worried for his sister's safety. The duo then had set about making tea and a meal for Kimmie's family...

Oh, he had learnt all he had needed to know in that almost surreal half hour. His sister and her lover had spun a romantic tale of forbidden love fit for one of the Mills and Boon books his own Jeannie loved to read. A Protestant soldier who had fought for Queen and country or an American spy... He spat onto the ground and then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth; he wasn't sure which was worse.

Thinking about Fiona brought Liam's attention back to the other reason for him stepping outside. Having reached the low gate, he starred down at the body of Thomas O'Neill. Before the end of the night, he had a lot of clearing up to do. But the two bodies lying out in the open on a remote farm were the least of his concerns at that moment...

Reaching into his pocket, he brought out one of his three cell phones. With one eye scanning the horizon, he dialled in a long international number he knew by heart. "Tis Liam, have ya found har?" he spoke as soon as the other answered.

"Aye."

"Good, her an' tha husband, I'll transfer yar usual fee nar."

"I'll do it later tonight. Good doin' business wit' ya as always."

The line went dead. Liam stared at his phone for a few seconds and then pressed down on the key which would put a call through to his brother Colin. There was a large sum of money to be moved into a Swiss account and besides it was time to find out what his younger sibling and his mysterious friend Murph had found out.

()()()()

"Hey, sleepy head, time to wake up." At the sound of the softly spoken words, Fiona Glenanne groaned and reluctantly opened her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asked as she slowly swung her legs off the seat and sat up. Blinking, she stared between the two front seats to look out of the wind shield and was surprised to see it was already dark.

"Just after seven… We're ten miles from your mom's place, just outside Donard, behind a derelict garage on the Kilbride Road. I thought that was close enough until we can come up with some way of talking to her without getting my head blown off."

"No one is gonna blow yar head off, silly." Sliding forward, she reached across to stroke her hand over her lover's bearded cheek before drawing him into a kiss. "Ya heard Liam, they no longer want ya dead... Tis a good start, is it nae?" Fiona tried to put a positive spin on what they were planning to do.

"It's an improvement," Michael conceded with a nod, but then his gaze centered on her face and she could read the concern in his deep blue eyes. "But do you honestly believe after all what's happened that your family is going to just forgive and forget? Sean is -"

She cut his words off by placing the palm of her hand over his lips. "Sean will fall inta line wit' whotever Liam and our mam says and if not – I'll handle ham... Nar has thot sharp brain o' yars come up with a strategy ta get us inside tha house and out again if things donnae go how we want?"

Shaking his head, he took hold of her hand between his and stared back at her. "I have nothing that doesn't end up with us, best case scenario, disarmed, in handcuffs and me getting shipped off to, oh, I don't know. Where is the furthest away hellhole Seamus is trading with at the moment?"

"Well then, tis good thot I've come up wit' sommit in me sleep... Come har an' I'll tell ya all about it." Giving his arm a tug, she moved over to make room, wanting him come into the back to join her, but he resisted.

"First off, how about you come here?" He tugged back, urging her to accompany him in the front of the vehicle and then, as soon as she finished clambering between the seats, he continued. "Here, before you tell me your plan, you need to eat and drink," the ex-spy informed her, handing over a tupperware container holding carefully wrapped chicken drumsticks.

"Mmmmm." Popping the lid off the container, the young Irishwoman's mouth began to water at the sight and smell of the food. She wa' gonna end up as big as a house if she war nae careful.

"So, this plan of yours…?" An arm draping across her shoulders had her leaning awkwardly across the space between the bucket seats, the upper part of her nestled against the strong broad chest of her lover.

Despite the slight discomfort, she appreciated his apparent want of close physical contact, which was welcome given the slightly heated conclusion of their conversation earlier before she'd settled down for a nap.

"Plan…?" Fiona took a bit of a piece of chicken, savoring the taste of Cathy Coleraine's home cooking and stalling for a bit of time before discussing the potentially thorny topic at hand.

"Aye, me luv, yar plan fer nae getting' me killed in tha next twenty four hours."

Normally, her elbow would have moved swiftly; however, in deference to her lover's injuries, she gently poked into the faux Irishman's ribs.

"I thought we'd agreed we wa're trusting Liam's word?... But, just in case tempers get frayed, I think I've come up wit' a neutral territory thot will work fer all parties." Taking a final bit out of the drumstick, she twisted around. "Put yar seat back," she laughed as he raised an eyebrow, his expression showing his disapproval before he even opened his mouth.

"Fi, I don't think now is the time."

"Thar is always time, Michael... Otherwise, whot's tha point o' livin'? Nar, move yar seat back."

After giving her one long look, which she returned, he leant forward to operate the lever that sent his chair sliding all the way back.

"Thank ya," she muttered as the flame haired former paramilitary awkwardly moved around until she was sat astride the father to her unborn child. Then, as his hands settled upon her waist, she reached down to wind down the window so she could toss the bone out on to the ground.

"So, now you're comfortable, are you going to share?"

She knew he already hated what they were doing. They had argued about it for a good half an hour before he had more or less ordered her to climb into the back to get some sleep while he took over the driving.

Part of her had wondered if he would do what she had asked or do what he had been arguing for while she settled down to sleep, but the young Irishwoman decided to see if putting her trust in him would inspire her tightly wound lover to put his trust in her as well.

"Fi…?"

Ms. Glenanne had also accepted that driving up to her mother's front door would be fraught with danger. Just because Liam had promised a truce of sorts didn't mean some hot headed family member or follower wouldn't take it into their head to put a bullet or two into the American spy who had fooled them all.

She stared into his deep blue orbs. Was she being selfish demanding they take this final chance for her to reconcile with her family? She sighed and her hand drifted to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. No, it was better this way. They needed them helping them and not hunting them.

"Fiona?" His hand joined hers and slowly lowered it back into the space between them.

Sucking in a breath, she tried to smile because she knew that even with his history of crazy-assed schemes and daring strategies, he would never think of doing what she was about to suggest.

"Michael, donnae take this tha wrong way, but we need ta go see a priest."

()()()()

Gerry Coleraine looked around his once immaculately kept kitchen with a sick hollow feeling slowly filling his heart. The once spotlessly clean table which stood in the middle of the room was stained with the blood of the teenage boy, who now lay recovering in the guest bed room upstairs. Bloody dressings littered the stone floor and a mixture of surgical tools and kitchen implements were soaking in the sink. How could he have been so wrong about the young couple Esme had brought to their home and he had allowed to stay?

His weary eyes strayed to the open kitchen door and to the shadowy outline of the man who stood by the gate at the end of the path talking into his phone, Kimmie's brother, Liam.

A shiver ran up the spine of the elderly farmer. He seen men like him before, towards the end of and then after the war, men who had been called on to do too many bad things for mostly good reasons and always for the greater good, whatever that was supposed to mean. The grim lines etched into the skin about the mouth and eyes, the set of the shoulders used to carrying the weight of the world and, most telling, the easy way the younger man had set about barking out orders with the full expectation of his wishes being carried out without question.

They were a strange group, the three of them. The man in charge was wealthy by the cut of his clothes and the car, which was now parked in the farmyard, his harsh Northern Irish accent softened no doubt by the university education he must have had to be able to perform what had looked like a complicated surgery on his associate. The boy too was from the North, but obviously no relation to the older man.

"No! No! Please, please, boss, I cannae take it. Stop! Stop! Oh Jayzuz, please, Am beggin' ya stop."

An employee then, but little more than a child...

And then there was the young woman, little more than a teenager herself. Battered and bruised, but from her attitude not by either the man or boy accompanying her.

The elderly farmer half smiled, the gypsy girl certainly had an attitude. He'd known what she was as soon as she had opened her mouth. Her soft lilting accent placing her from the South but the quickness of her speech and the way she rarely made eye contact had given away her heritage.

There had been a time when he had employed passing travellers for seasonal work on the farm, before machinery took over most of the work and then he became too old. He'd leased out more and more of his land over the years until all he had left was just the few acres closest to his home.

"Whar tha hell is Colin?"

Gerry paused as his feet crossed over the threshold; he hadn't even realized he was moving in the direction of Kimmie's brother. Balancing on his crutches, he listened in, trying the gauge the character of this stranger who had taken over his home.

"Whot's happened? An' why dinnae he answer his phone?"

Clearly things were not going as his gruff guest wanted them to and Mr. Coleraine wondered with a growing discomfort what that meant for him and his as the man listened for a moment.

"Ya think tha shite has hit tha fan at yar end?... He's dealin' wit' tha fallout fram one dead American an' I've got Tommy fecking O'Neill's body rottin' on tha ground in front o' me, so I donnae want ta har me brudder is taa busy ta take me call. Nar, why does everybody have thar knickers inna twist about one idjit Yank who couldnae keep his hire car on tha proper side o' tha road? Who tha feck wa' he thot he's more trouble than thot bloody hooligan's kin who'll be on thar way as soon as Tommy boy misses a check in? An' ya best be quick tellin' me."

"Okay, I'll tell ya whot I can, whot tis safe for ya ta know... Kimmie's brudders, well... one o' har brudders isnae exactly just a republican supporter... ya see, he an' Kim war..."

He remembered the fear which had clenched his stomach when Bobby had finally revealed who they were running from. That same fear filled him now. He had let "one of the boys" take control of his home and not just one of the foot soldiers either from the way this man was issuing orders.

"Shite! Feck! Bloody hell!" Expletives flew from the deadly stranger's lips as he listened to what had to be bad news coming from his associate on the other end of the call. "Who else knows? Have ya called Shay? Whot about Jeannie? She still has thot phone -"

Several seconds later, the anger had subsided, but Gerry could clearly sense even from the distance between the kitchen door and the garden gate the suppressed violence oozing from the younger man.

"Aye, thot war whot I was callin' about. I need Colin ta transfer fifty K in ta T's account... I have nae choice an' ya know it. It's kill or be killed as far as O'Neill's sister is concerned an' Am nae gonna take any chances wit' tha old bitch. Tis better she's six feet under than tha blood bath she'd bring ta tha streets. I'll come up wit' something ta tell tha council… Has Colin found out anythin' about thot fella I found in tha woods?"

The old soldier blinked and leaned even heavier on the crutches that were holding him upright.

"Tis true I like ta go back packin' and huntin' but thot wa' nae tha only reason we war out in tha woods... We left wit' little more than tha clothes on our backs and sommit to protect us from whotever we might run inta. But then thot damned ridge I wa' scouting fram collapsed under me and I thought I wa' done in fer sure. Twas a miracle I was nae killed. I coulda died an' left poor Kim out thar in the woods all alone."

Was this another lie told to him by Bobby Creegan? Had the young man with the easy manner and the charming smile killed a man and left his body behind in the woods?

Tham bruises ta his ribs, tha cuts on his wrists... Yer a stupid ol' fool Gerald Coleraine…Ya donnae get tham marks fram a fall an' well ya know it. He grimaced at his own folly and raised his eyes wistfully towards the sky. When had he got so old?

"Achhh, look at tha mess in har. I'll make a start on tidying up while ya get tha kettle on Cathy."

His sister in law's voice sounded loud behind him.

"Tis a mess ta be sure, Esme." His wife's voice carried also as she almost shouted at her partially deaf sibling. "I donnae whot wer gonna do about tha table... Gerry made it hamself; it'll be a shame if it's ruined. Nar, whar did I put tha bleach?"

"I'll give it a scrub. Never ya mind, ol' girl. Get tha kettle on an' how about making a coupla cheese sarnies? Thot poor girl looked like she could do wit' a meal or two inside har. Whot is it wit' these modern girls? All skin an' bone, so they ar'..."

Gerry carefully pulled the kitchen door closed behind him, shutting out the conversation taking place inside. Meanwhile ahead of him, Liam was still talking on his phone, seemingly oblivious to the former soldier and farmer's eavesdropping.

"Once Colin an' his friend have finished destroyin' tham hard drives, pay off thot Murph fella an' tell me brudder ta get his arse back ta our mam's. While yer waitin' ta do thot, call Jeannie an' tell har she needs ta take holiday, Majorca is nice this time o' year. Make sure she understands she's ta pack har bag an' get out right nar an' stay thar until I call har."

Whatever was going on was deadly serious and Mr. Coleraine hoped against hope that no more of Kimmie's republican family troubles would come home to roast along with his own chickens.

"After ya've done thot an' got thot money transferred fer T, I want ya ta pick up thot fella stayin' at Keiran's and meet me just outside Clonmel. Thar's an old gravel pit on tha Clonmel Road. If we do this right, I think we can make it look like O'Neill hadda run in wit' ham... Call me back once it's all done an' yer on ya way. I've got other calls ta make nar."

Ending the conversation, Liam closed his hand about his phone and turned to face the older man.

"Can I help ya wit' sommit, Mr. Coleraine?"

Gerry swallowed, and then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he sought to extend the time he needed to think. "I… I -" He resisted the urge to cringe back as the younger man strode back along the garden path, his intense pale colored eyes boring into the older man darker eyes.

"I want ya ta know I mean ya no harm. Fram whot I can tell ya wa' good ta me sister an' fer thot ya have me gratitude."

Liam stopped in front of the elderly farmer, causing Gerry to stumble back nearly losing his footing and only saved by the younger man's hand landing on his shoulder to steady him.

"Unfortunately, Am gonna have ta rely on yar hospitality a little longer. Tha young fella upstairs is gonna need a few days befer he's fit ta travel. I've gotta coupla men comin', thar gonna help clear up all this mess an' thar gonna stay behind after I leave. Thar'll be watchin' over tha boy an' Am sure they'll find time tha time ta help ya out wit' a few odd jobs."

The fingers of that hand now tightened on his shoulder. "As long as ya remain cooperative and quiet thot is, I'll see ta it yer well compensated fer yar time. Ya appear ta be a man who knows tha value o' keeping his mouth shut. Am I right?"

"Me an' me wife ar' happy ta be o' service." Whot else could he say? No, get tha hell away from me and mine, I neither want yar goodwill or yar tainted money?

Liam's lips twitched, almost forming a smile before returning to their usual straight unforgiving line. "Thot's a very Christian sentiment... Nar, why dontcha go back inside. Ya could catch yar death out har in tha cold. I'll be joinin' ya soon an' we can discuss anythin' troubling ya then."

The former soldier nodded his agreement, accepting that he had no choice. Whoever this stranger was, he was clearly a man used to getting his own way by whatever means necessary.

Turning back towards the warmth and comfort of his home, Gerry paused just for a second to glance in the direction Kim and Bobby had taken in his beloved Volvo. Closing his eyes, he prayed briefly that the young couple would find a safe harbor before the man standing behind him rejoined the hunt for his sister.

()()()()

Seamus Glenanne sat at the head of his mother's large kitchen table, his fingertips tapping out a monotonous tune on the polished oak top as his eyes focused on his dark haired wife's shapely figure as she bustled about the kitchen clearing away the debris from the youngest generation's tea time.

Their oldest four had returned home safely from school well over three hours ago and were now ensconced in the family room either watching TV or completing homework assignments while the younger ones played under the supervision of Rosie and a very weary Sean.

All too soon, the men who had been on guard duty all day would be wanting feeding and he was going to have make a decision on what to do about his missing mother.

He could just imagine his older sibling's reaction to the news, the deathly silence and then the softly muttered words. "I'll take care o' it."

"Have ya decided on whot ya gonna do?" Isabelle placed the last bowl on the draining board and turned around to face her husband.

"Does it look like I've reached a decision?" The temporary head of the family leaned back in his chair. "Me mother lied ta me about whare she wa' goin', O'Toole isnae answering his phone. Davy calls ta let us know Colin is on his way home an' thot tha CIA has gone inta shut down cuz some bigwig in tha agency forgot whot side o' tha bloody road he wa supposed ta be drivin' on."

He took a deep breath and blew it out sharply before continuing. "An' ya want tae know whot me next move is, cailín stór? Jayzuz, woman, tis me mam wa're talkin' about har, – an' Liam. Am gonna have one or tha other o' tham at me throat whotever I do."

"Ahhh, ya poor, poor man…" Isabelle sympathized.

He stared as the woman who had been his best friend since primary school sauntered across the room, twisting his head around to keep her insight as she moved to stand behind him, her slender hands still damp from washing the dishes landing lightly on his shoulders.

"On any ordinary day, yar mammy disappearing fer tha afternoon wouldnae be a problem; everyone knows about har independent streak. But this isnae an ordinary day an' yar mammy isnae such a twit as ta disappear wit'out a word." Her fingers dug into his shoulders attempting to massage away the tension that had been building up all day. "Call yar brudder, Shay... Ya've done all ya can. He's tha one who has tha contacts who can find out if she's in trouble."

It was true he had run out of options. He'd called Father Conlon when Maeve hadn't returned home after two hours, only to discover there was no church meeting of the ladies guild planned for that afternoon.

He'd been calling Connor O'Toole's mobile phone until he had filled up the voice mail. O'Toole was Liam's man, not one of his inner circle, but a good man none the less. Definitely more than capable of taking the role of bodyguard for an afternoon… He should have answered his phone.

And then there had been the call from Davy Doyle to inform him things were heating up. O'Neill was dead, which in itself was going to take some cleaning up. But that wasn't all. Now another CIA man was dead and the American's were tightening up on their security. So there was to be no more piggybacking off the Yank's search for their rogue agent.

Seamus gulped… Pat Jr would have half killed him for his incompetence. Sean, so much like their long dead brother not only in looks but in character too, had cussed up a storm and wanted to go out looking for Maeve all by himself and had only given in to good sense when he'd nearly fainted on his way out of the front door.

His older brother rubbed one calloused palm over the sore spot on his cheek from the younger man's less than perfect punch. Even taking a beating would be preferable to having to face Liam's cold expressionless features and admit he had failed the whole family.

Their relationship had always been strange. They could fall into an easy comradery when working together. But personally, even though there were only a couple of years between them, it sometimes felt like a chasm, especially in their earlier days. The second eldest had always been the smart one. While the rest of them had been off playing football, climbing trees or fighting with the Protestant boys from over the other side of the Falls Road, Liam had been happy to sit in his room, reading reference books.

Later on, instead of locking himself away to study undisturbed, Liam had gone off to university leaving the rest of them to face the wrath of their British oppressors and their loyalist supporters. Seamus paused in his thoughts. Thot wasnae exactly true, wa' it?

"Whot does Sean say, nar he's calmed down a bit?" Belle asked, as her fingers turned their attention to the stiffness in his back of his neck.

He let out a sigh and let his chin drop towards his chest to allow his wife better access to his taut muscles.

"Sean is still goin' on about how I shoulda called Liam as soon as we knew she'd lied."

The woman working over his over wrought muscles has always been an island of calm in his sometimes stormy life. He'd known Isabelle Callan all his life and by the time Liam left home for University, they had already gone well beyond being just childhood friends. Had nae he as good as turned his back on tha cause an' tha family ta spend his time down on tha docks helping his future father in law out on his boat?

He remembered the argument he'd had with his Da when he informed the old man he was quitting school at fifteen to go work full-time for Brendan Callan, little knowing at the time that Isabelle's father was secretly running guns between France and Ireland to supplement his income from his fishing expeditions.

"Yer brother jus' frustrated because he's laid up nar. It'll be—"

Her speech was broken off by the sound of footsteps in the hall.

"Granma's home! And Auntie Claire is wit har!" Patrick's excited shout, had the boy's father jumping to his feet and heading for the door.

"Seamus! Remember, she's yar mother!" Isabelle's shout barely registered as he strode purposefully towards the front door.

"Get back inside, boy." He caught up to his oldest, just as the pre-teen was about to open the door. "Ya can see yar granma an' auntie after I've spoken ta tham."

"Are ya gonna tell granma off? Can I watch?" Patrick grinned up at father and then ducked as the older man raised his hand, the mock scowl on his face letting the youth know there was no real threat.

"I'll be more than tellin' ya off, boy! Nar, get back ta ya home work." As soon as the youth disappeared back into the family room, Seamus threw open the front door and stepped out on to the porch, just in time to witness the two elderly stateswomen of the clan exit Claire's ancient car.

"Whar tha hell have ya been!?" He stepped down to meet them on the drive. "An' whot have ya done ta O'Toole?"

"Whar ar' yar manners, Seamus Glenanne? Have ya forgotten how ta greet yar elders?" His aunt looked her third born nephew up and down, her expression daring him to say another word. "Be a good boy nar an' get tha fire stoked up in yar mammy's parlor an' pour us all a drop o' brandy. We'll tell ya all about our day once yar mammy has had a chance ta clean up."

Then, after delivering a soft pat to his cheek, Seamus' elderly aunt stepped past him, clearing the way for his mother to enter the house.

Ten minutes later, the fire in Maeve's personal domain was blazing and three glasses of imported brandy stood waiting on top of an oak side board which doubled as a drinks cabinet while Seamus was impatiently pacing around the small cozy room waiting on his mother and her equally formidable sister in law.

Even in the dark, he had seen the dishevelled condition of his mother's clothing, the bruises she had been sporting, and had noticed the stiffness in her gait. In fact, it had only been Claire's over protective attitude hidden behind an air of nonchalance that had kept him from demanding answers there and then.

"Ahh, thot's nice, is it nae, Maeve? A nice roarin' fire ta warm tha outside an' some fancy French brandy ta warm up our insides ta." Claire took two of the bowl like glasses from Seamus and handed one to her sister in law.

The younger man pursed his lips and for the first time took a good long look at his mother's face.

"Nae more wastin' time, whot happened?" he demanded, his blood pressure rising at the thought of someone putting their hands on his mother.

"Inna minute, son, come sit down wit' me," Maeve's voice sounded tired, which only added to her third born's concern.

"Har, give me thot…" He took the glass back off her and then carefully aided her into her chair. "Get thot down ya an' then fer tha love o' Christ explain ta me why ya had ta sneak outta tha house like some teenager."

They made him wait a few more seconds, both ladies taking their time to get comfortable in front of the fire before Maeve began to explain how much worse thing were than they had all thought.

"I had nae choice, ya see thot, son, dontcha?" she concluded at the end of her tale of her troubles.

Seamus blinked his mind trying to come to terms with what he had just learned. That his mother was capable of murder was nothing new. He couldn't remember a time when his family hadn't been at war. Even fifteen years later, he still had nightmares about the soldiers breaking through the doors of the family home, of the screams of fear coming from his younger siblings and his mother's rage filled shrieks as six men cut down Pat Jr with a volley of gunfire.

No, the fact his Auntie Claire had poisoned one man while his mother shot and then blew up another were details he easily washed away with one large gulp of the amber liquid from the glass in his hand.

What had him reeling was that Fiona could be such a complete fool. Falling for Michael McBride was easy to explain, the fake Irishman with the easy charm and streak of recklessness had come along at just the right time to sweep an angry and bitter Fiona off her feet. But, to be so stupid as to get pregnant... that was a bridge too far for him to cross…

As far as Seamus knew, his sister hadn't been in a real relationship since her romance with Armand Andreani. He had been there when his twenty two year old sister had first met the international arms dealer.

"Fi, thar is a man he wants ta meet ya. Take ya out fer a meal, show ya tha town, ya know tha sort o' thing. He's a very important man an' he could be a very valuable asset ta tha cause."

"Are ya pimping me out nar, Shay?" she had answered softly, standing with her back to him so he had been unable to see her face as all her attention had been on the tall dark exceptionally well dressed stranger standing below them in the middle of the empty boathouse.

"Never... Ya know ya donnae have ta if ya donnae want ta. But will ya do it? Jus' one dinner…"

He hadn't had the heart to tell her then that the date was in payment for Armand taking care of a nosy customs officer who had been on his trail and later on, when he had seen how happy the arms dealer was making his sister, Seamus had decided it no longer mattered how they had met.

But then after five years, the romance had ended and Fiona was back home with all the airs and graces of an international jetsetter and the temper of a fishwife. Not even Liam had had the nerve to openly ask her what had gone wrong… although Seamus was pretty sure the head of the family had made his own inquiries. How had she gone from having the world at her feet to on the run and carrying the child of an American spy? He'd always known Fiona was crazy, but this….?

"Ya shoulda told me an' not taken off like thot," he finally replied. "Nar Am gonna have ta let Liam know whot ya've done... Are ya sure ya left nae evidence? He coulda had somebody watchin' ya or a bug. Dontcha be tellin' me ya searched him."

"I watched ham," Claire answered her nephew's questions, "I wa' thar tha whole time an' Am sayin' nothin' will come back on us... Nothin' as long as Ryan has done whot I told ham ta an' made sure he has an alibi."

The temporary head of the family sighed. Although grateful his mammy was home safely, this very long day was about to turn into another long night.

()()()()

It was maybe an hour before dawn, the sun just beginning to show on the horizon, lighting the sky with rich shades of dark orange and deep blue. But neither Michael or Fiona were showing any interest in one of nature's wonders. After an uncomfortable night, they were on the move again, less than two miles now from the first stop in instigating their own version of the peace process.

Target selection is one of the least glamorous, but most important elements in any strategy. You want to take out the people your opponent depends on, the ones his organization can't function without... It was a sound strategy, one he had used many times in the past.

Michael glanced over to the woman who was back in the passenger sit of their borrowed car, picking her way through the last of the chicken drumsticks that Cathleen Coleraine had made for them both to share.

It had been that very piece of strategy that had made Fiona Glenanne his target. After one read through of the MI-6 dossier on the Glenannes, he had known without a doubt the young woman was going to be the better asset to cultivate. With her looks, skills and contacts in the gun running world, he knew she was going to be the one the Real IRA would rely on, at least far more than her hot headed brother, Sean. It had certainly made the assignment more interesting for him personally as well as professionally.

You should take your time and weigh up the risk-reward element of your strategy, as the last thing you want to risk is taking out the wrong target and alienating the whole organization you're trying to infiltrate.

Unfortunately for this op, there was no time to run hours of surveillance or the opportunity to plant bugs to lower the risk. Their window of opportunity was closing rapidly and he was sure after their last run in with his beloved's older brother, they had used up the last of their luck. Another fact he was sure of was that unless they used a very sensitive touch acquiring the services of this particular asset, things could and no doubt would go downhill very fast.

When you're working a target, it's all about getting a good read. What makes him tick? Is he insecure? Does he have something to prove? It all factors into your approach.

Of course none of that helps when the man you're about to approach is your future mother in law's family priest.

"Fiona, I know I agreed to do this." He brought the gold-colored classic car to a stop in the gateway to a farmer's field. "But do you really think breaking into a priest's home is the best way to go?"

"Michael…" He waited as she finished swallowing down the chicken, her blue-green eyes going wide, a sure sign that she wasn't as sure as she was about to pretend to be. "We're not breaking in, we're just making sure we get a private word with him to convince him to help us," she contradicted. "It will work. Father Conlon is a trusted family friend and me mother would nae allow a hair on his head ta be harmed. This way we'll have a place and the time ta talk wit'out havin' ta worry about somebody getting shot."

"You mean me getting shot... Don't you think there's a chance your mom might take the whole holding her priest hostage the wrong way?"

The church had a long history of offering sanctuary to those in need, but somehow he didn't think Maeve Glenanne would see it as anything other than a piece of manipulation by an American spy.

"Well, there is always thot chance Michael," Fiona huffed, leaning forward to search through one of the bags of supplies for a bottle of water, though her lover was convinced the maneuver was more to hide her expression as she was clearly trying to hide her nervousness with exasperation. "But I know ya an' I know fer fact ya have done far more crazy things than this and walked away."

Now she was looking at him a smile curving her beautiful lips, making him want to forget his worries and kiss her instead.

"Is this about me breaking cover when that guy was holding Gerry hostage? Because I thought I explained, I knew you could cover me."

"An' yer just gonna have ta trust thot I'll be thar fer ya this time taa." One greasy palm landed lightly on his cheek. "Neither Liam nor me mammy want ta welcome ya ta tha family wit' open arms, but they nae want ya dead, nae anymore. This is just a little insurance policy thot's all. Once Father Conlon knows why we've run off together he'll help us convince them to see reason."

"Are you sure he's not going to insist on a shotgun wedding before he-"

Those soft lips were now gently caressing his mouth, cutting off his protests, the tip of her tongue running enticingly against his teeth until he gave in, letting the kiss deepen.

"Would it be so bad if he did?" She whispered softly when they finally broke apart.

Michael stared into those blue green eyes, seeing a world of conflicted emotions shining there, knowing that she would never demand that of him yet fearing his reaction, seeing the hope, but also her willingness to do whatever it took for them to be together. Unlike himself, she had people dear to her she was abandoning for their future.

"Tis probably long overdue, me luv," the soft lilting tones of her Irish lover replied before kissing her again soundly.

Because in the grand scheme of things, compared to walking away from the calling he had dedicated his life to for the sake of the woman in his arms and their child she was carrying, the prospect of holding a priest hostage who might insist on a marriage to keep her family from capturing or killing him and to ensure Fiona got a chance to say a proper goodbye to her mother might just be a price he was willing to pay.