Fiona
Something was resting heavily across my waist, and I could feel sweat trickling along my skin. Dragging my eyes open, I saw someone else's chest.
I shot upright, the arm falling away from me. Michael mumbled something and stirred. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me. Raking my hair back from my face, I let out a slow breath. It was just Michael. No one else. I was fine.
"you okay?" He asked softly, wrapping his fingers around the arm I was using to keep myself upright.
Nodding, I lay back down against him and dragged the sheet up. I wasn't in prison, I was in Michael's loft. I took another breath, and Michael slid his arm back around my waist. The night before came back, crying in Michael's arms, telling him what had happened.
"I'm fine." I made myself lie, and took in another breath.
The door swung open, and Michael and I both sat up. Clutching the sheet over my chest, I slid one hand under my pillow for my gun. It wasn't there. Glancing over, I saw Michael pointing my gun at the door, and at Sam.
"ummm… Right. If you two need alone time, you should lock the door." He said, gingerly walking past us to set a folder onto the counter. "I'm going to get… a beer… Or two… and step out onto the balcony. Come and get me when you're decent."
"I'm always decent." I retorted as he eased outside. "You forgot to lock the door last night." I told Michael and slid out of the bed. "I'm borrowing one of your shirts."
"Why one of mine?"
"It's faster. Put on your pants so we can get Sam out of here sooner." I pulled open one of his drawers in the dresser and grabbed a shirt at random.
By the time I had slid into the shirt, pulled my hair out of the collar and turned around, Michael was up and pulling back on his sweatpants, his eyes locked on me. Smirking, I waited until his pants were all the way up before going to yank the balcony door open. Sam was already on his second beer, and started when the door opened. Widening my smirk, I turned back around and slid into the kitchen to grab a pair of yogurts from the fridge.
"What did you find out, Sam?" Michael asked, joining me.
"Well, Mary's mother hasn't used her phone in three weeks. Not to call Mary, nor to call her husband. Not even to call for a pizza. Which would be consistent if she was overseas. The carrier is Verizon, and they apparently don't do international plans, where you can use your phone overseas. "
"Did you check the GPS?" I asked, taking a bite of yogurt.
Sam stared at me.
"She's one of those rich women you like to date. And you used to date her. I doubt that she would be the type that would have a phone older than 2005. Probably not one older than 2010. So, it would have a GPS chip. Mary said that it was ringing during that first week? Means it was turned on. You turn your phone off if you are flying a normal flight."
"Meaning, not one of your friends in the acquisitions departments with one of their own water-planes." Sam retorted.
"Of course." I replied and stole a bite of Michael's yogurt.
"Well, yeah. I did look at the GPS. Stayed in one position for each of the calls that first week. Her home. Maybe she left the phone there?"
"And the grandmother?"
"Dead. No record of her living in Ireland. My buddy is still looking into her paternal grandmother. I never heard Julie talk about family in Ireland though."
"Well, then why don't Fi and I go and visit the step-father. We can claim to be police, or just concerned friends of Julie's. Are you up for it, Fi?" Michael asked, brushing a hand against my arm.
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
Michael sighed. "Sam, you keep looking at the Ireland thing. Fi and I'll get dressed and head over to the step-father's."
Sam nodded slowly, and left with his beer. With a sigh, I finished my yogurt and sauntered back over to the dresser to pull out clothes.
"Don't ask me if I'm up for anything, or okay in front of Sam again, Michael." I called, knowing he was right behind me. "I'll kill you if you do."
Michael slid his hands around my waist. "Glad that you're back Fi." He murmured.
Michael pulled the charger to a stop across the street from a towering white house that probably had a dozen bedrooms. A ten-foot high wrought iron fence ran around the property with no rocks nearby that would help in scaling it. At the end of a concrete driveway that wrapped around the back of the house was a gate, latched with only a bike chain and paddle lock.
I sauntered up to it, and flipped it over. "I think that the FBI kept my lock-pick set." I announced to no one in particular, and pushed on the gate.
It wouldn't open far enough for me to squeeze through. With a sigh, I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair and unbent it. Flicking a glance at Michael, I slid the end into the lock and pulled another pin out of my hair, also forcing it straight.
"I suppose I'll have to get you a new one then." Michael said, leaning slightly against the gate.
His body was positioned to block the sight of my hands from anyone who might pass on the street. Biting my lower lip, I wiggled the pins around, trying to catch the lock and pop it open. A car passed slowly, and I took in a breath. It kept going, and a moment later the lock clicked open.
"Let's go." I murmured, slipping the pins into my pocket.
We slipped through the gate, and Michael refastened the chain and lock behind us. Slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I led the way through the thick trees that lined this side of the fence, making my way back to the garage. It sat just outside a fenced in pool, that was overlooked by a guest house that was a miniature version of the real one.
Two cars were inside, a red Jaguar, and a yellow Porche.
"Mary said the Jaguar is her mother's, and the Porche belongs to her step-father." Michael murmured in my ear. "To her knowledge, those are the only vehicles that are here. Except maybe the housekeepers, but she doesn't appear to be in today."
I nodded, and strode right up to the front door, ignoring Michael's attempts to stop me. Straighning my shoulders, I knocked hard. Michael caught up to me, and had just enough time to demand what I was doing before the door swung open. A man in his mid-fourties stood in the doorway, scowling down at us.
"Who the hell are you?" He demanded, in a much angrier tone that Michael's demand had come in.
"Hi, I'm Maried McBride." I said sweetly, adopting my former Irish accent again. "I'm from Kerry, in Ireland. Juliana's my cousin. Is she here? I wanted to come in person, to talk to her about what happened. She knew our Nan better than me, so I wanted to get her input for the funeral."
"Then call her." He made an attempt to shut the door.
I stuck my foot in the way. "See, Nan isn't dead yet. She's barely hangin' on. And she loved Juliana so much. Since I couldn't get a hold of Juliana, I thought I'd try and come here, to see if I could get her in person. She's always been such a busy person."
"And who's he?" He nodded at Michael.
"He's Sean Kelly. Nan's attorney. There is this thing with her will, and Nan wants Juliana to be there in person for the will reading, once she passes on. Apparently, Nan wants to leave this huge sum of money to Juliana, so she asked Sean to come with me."
The man paused. "Come in then."
He stepped back to let us in. As we walked down the wide hallway, Michael grabbed my arm.
"Maried McBride from Kerry? We don't even know if that's the region he used in his story."
"People think of three places when you talk about Ireland, most times. Belfast, Dublin, and the ring of Kerry." I hissed back. "Shut up and act like an attorney, will you?"
"Is Mrs. Roberts home?" Michael asked, slipping into his 'Michael McBride' voice. "I really can't discuss this information with anyone but her.
"She's with the girl up in Maine. Takes her there every year." He growled.
"The girl?" Michael pressed.
"Her daughter." He rumbled. "She usually turns off her phone for these trips. I have a number that I can reach her, for emergenices."
"Can I have it? I'm sure that Ms. McBride would love to speak with her cousin, they haven't seen each other in years."
"No."
"When will Juliana be back?" I asked, switching tactics. Unless there was another daughter, he was lying again.
"End of the summer. Give me your information, and I'll have her call you."
"sorry, but I am not allowed to divulge that information to anyone but Mrs. Roberts." Michael stood. "Come on, Ms. McBride, we should go."
Michael grabbed my elbow and steered me from the house, ignoring the man's attempts to stop us. He didn't stop until we had gotten to the fence, which was out of site from the front door, and tapped his foot impatiently while I slid my bobby pins back into the lock.