A/N: Because Jedi Skysinger and myself have created such a detailed back story for the Burn Notice characters, which we use in most of our stories and those posted as Jedi's Pal, I thought I would post another reminder that this particular story is completely separate to all my other stories.
This part of 'The Irish Assignment' continues on from the previous chapter set in S3 The Dark Road, as Michael and an injured Fiona reminisce about how she came to discover the love of her life was not who he claimed to be and what she did about it.
A very belated birthday present for Bejeed, sorry it's so late...
THE IRISH ASSIGNMENT
Part Five
ooOoo
Miami 2009
It had been a little after six in the morning when Michael Westen had quietly entered the home of Fiona Glenanne. After leaving his mother's with a stern warning about the potential pitfalls of her budding friendship with Tina, the Dade County records clerk, he had ridden around for several hours. Driving along the back roads outside the city, he had been hoping to work on his plan to get Fiona's client Calia free from the gang of insurance fraudsters threatening her and her child's life.
"We'll get these guys going on a scam, get them caught in the act and call the cops."
That is what he had told the young Hispanic woman they would do as he and Sam had sat at Carlito's, apparently acting as the Irishwoman's employees, and he just needed to figure out an angle to do so.
However, even as he doggedly worked through his options before his meeting with Ryan Johnson and, presumably his father Connor, at the bar on Fifth Street tomorrow at noon, he couldn't help but think about troubles that came with becoming friends with an asset.
"She's not an asset!" his mother had protested. "She's a person sitting at my dining room table.
"I know that. Mom, it's dangerous. She broke the law."
"You said that that job was over."
He had done his best not to lose it with her… His hands had suddenly taken on a life of their own and he'd had to physically restrain himself.
Remember, kiddies, the job is never over… Tom Card had drilled that into his head from day one at the Farm. But it wasn't his mom's fault she didn't know some of the most basic rules of tradecraft… weapons grade manipulation yes, HUMINT no… He'd never wanted her involved before… In fact, Michael hadn't wanted her involved this time, but had had little choice in the matter if he was going to get what he needed.
"Just don't get too close," had been his parting attempt at advice.
He was just trying to save his mother some heartache after all. Why didn't she understand that this was for her own good? But when had Madeline Westen ever taken anyone's advice? Least of all his…
How many times had he tried to tell her over the years they would have been better on their own, however much they might have struggled, than living with the unpredictable drunk that had been his dear old Dad?
The dark haired man shook off the bitterness of his childhood with the relative ease of long practice and tried to refocus on what required his immediate attention in the present. But as he gathered the medical supplies needed to change Fiona's dressing, he was forced to admit that he found the problem of retiring the Johnson crime family was far less challenging than his mom's disregard of the rules regarding assets
"What are you doing up so early?" the redhead queried as he tried to slip into her bedroom without waking her and utterly failing. Secretly, Michael had been hoping to watch her sleep a bit. It was a habit he'd picked up in Ireland once the spy had finally come to grips with the reality that he was going to have to leave her behind and one which had recently reasserted itself since he had nearly lost her… permanently.
Although he tried very hard not to admit that… even to himself…
"My mom…" Michael blew out a frustrated breath as he sat down on the bed next to his patient and began to cut the old bandages away to inspect the progress of the healing of her bicep.
Fiona tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully. She'd slept pretty badly the night before, old demons coming out of their closets as it were…. partial memories of other close calls that had involved gunfire…
"What about Madeline? Did something happen?"
"She was playing canasta and drinking with Tina last night."
"Well, that sounds dangerous…." she snarked, wincing as he cut the material away from her recently reopened stitches. "Your mom had some fun. Why is that a problem?"
"It's a problem because it is dangerous. Tina is the woman from the county records office." Michael deposited the used dressing in the bedside wastebasket.
Fiona sighed and sat up as he pulled off a strip of fresh gauze.
"What are you worried about? So, your mom becomes friends with the county records lady. So what…?" the petite redhead asked, extending her arm as Michael wrapped it with a little too much force.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him, but just barely.
Anyone with a brain could see that what Madeline needed was a companion who shared her likes and dislikes and Tina the county records lady fit the bill perfectly. After all, that was why Michael had recruited his mother for the job in the first place.
"You just never know how things are going to go," he muttered, his whole focus on applying a thick covering to her bullet damaged limb. "She's an asset. Things could get very complicated."
"I was an asset of yours once," she reminded him softly.
"And things got complicated." He glanced sideways at her, his expression deadly serious as he continued. "And people got hurt."
"True," she agreed, wondering as she often did how much Michael thought about their mutual past. "But in my experience people get hurt and things get complicated no matter what you do."
She relaxed back onto the pillows, hoping he would take the hint and join her. Was he thinking of the first time things got complicated for them? Images floated up from her sub-conscious. Back then, they both got hurt, just in different ways.
"Maybe…" Michael conceded before extending a pair of white tablets towards her, plastering one of his best pleading expressions on his face. "How about you try not to hurt yourself anymore and get some rest?"
"Maybe…" She hated taking the pain killers but she knew she'd get little in the way of good sleep without them and she was really tired. "Maybe we could both do a better job of not getting hurt?"
Fiona handed him back the water glass, waiting for an answer, trying to read emotions he was determined to hide behind a friendly façade. The exhausted redhead let her eyes slide shut just for a moment and when she next opened them, the man she'd once known as McBride was gone.
How did she miss him leaving the room? How long was she out of it? Damn him for being so good at sneaking off without a goodbye…
There was definitely something to be said for using Madeline Westen's personal pharmacy when it came to pain relief. Michael's meeting with the evil bastard that preyed on innocent people was at noon, so she had a quite a few hours to rest up before she needed to be up and ready to meet with her team to review the results of the dark haired man's approach. She was the best at tactical analysis after all.
As she laid there waiting for the chemicals to kick in, Fiona let her mind drift.
Yes, she was thinking of those wild days gone by when she was robbing banks for the IRA and he – he was Michael McBride, the man of her dreams... Until he wasn't...
That was why he had left without a goodbye then…
Except that first time, it had been her that had tried to make him leave.
Looking back on it, the former PIRA elite operative couldn't remember how long she had stood at her bedroom door inside her small terrace home in West Belfast, staring into the dark at the figure sleeping peaceful under the covers of her bed. She did remember it had been close to 4:00 AM on a hot sultry summer night and she hadn't managed to get any sleep at all.
ooOoo
Belfast 1998
Fer a patriot fightin' fer a cause, tha worse thing thot can happen is ta find yarself becomin' someone else's asset. Ya do all ya can ta avoid it, makin' sure thare's nothing tham bastid Brit interrogation squads can grab on ta and use as leverage. Ya move through life if nae exactly unattached, ya can never ferget thot tha only people ya can truly trust ar' yar family...
Fiona tried to tell herself that it was the warmth and humidity that had made her stealthily slip out of the bed she was sharing with McBride, but sadly it was not. It was other darker thoughts which had sent her tip toeing in to the kitchen not to get a cool drink of water to quench her thirst, but instead to collect a long wickedly sharp knife she'd carefully sterilized earlier that day.
Ya learn early ta keep tha rest o' tha world at a distance. Ya seal yar heart away ta keep yar few trusted friends an' family safe, or as safe as possible in these troublin' times. Tis a hard way ta live but thare's a cold hard logic ta it. If ya love nothing then ya have nothing tha enemy can use against ya.
Crossing the threadbare carpet on bare feet, the lithe woman slipped out of her cotton dressing gown before carefully climbing back under the covers. Concealing the blade wrapped in a clean white handkerchief under her pillow, Fiona turned to face the still slumbering form of her lover, her confidante and the reason for her lack of sleep.
Nar hare's a word o' warning, if ya violate thot rule an' find yarself making a connection with someone special, ya've just handed yar enemies tha key to destroying nae only yarself but tha very cause which is yar world...
Her dark haired lover was lying on his back, the bedding only covering his lower body. It felt like some sort of compulsion when she reached out to trail her fingertips delicately over his exposed chest, feeling the rock hard muscles under smooth soft skin and idly tracing an outline of a couple of the scars left by the shotgun pellet wounds from six months ago. Those holes in his hide that led to her first doubts about McBride.
The doctor, a devoted supporter of the cause to unite the island of Ireland by whatever means necessary and who had been supplied by her brother Sean, had made several idle comments about his patient's old wounds while repairing the latest damage.
"Am sure yar young fella will be fine, Miss Glenanne. Ya only have ta look at ham close ta see he has come through far worse than bein' peppered wit' shot."
At the time, the doctor's diagnosis had pleased her no end. Knowing that McBride would recover had pushed her own thoughts about those old wounds to the far recesses of her mind. The feelings of such a near loss were too raw; she had nearly lost her lover the same way she had lost her sister, as another bullet riddled corpse on a Belfast street.
It had only been weeks later when the petite paramilitary had eventually asked about all of his old scars and McBride had, after a lot of cajoling, told her a tale of a daring robbery which had gone terribly wrong.
"Me two mates dinnae even make it back ta tha car. They musta triggered an alarm or mabbe some nosy passer-by guessed whot was goin' on an' called tha peelers. Anyhow, in tha end, I wa' tha only one who got away. But I caught a coupla bullets doin' it – nar how about ya tell me about thot little scar right thar?" and his fingers had caressed the pebbled flesh on her hip from a teenaged motor bike accident.
He'd had other stories too, describing a variety of childhood accidents.
"Nar luv, sorry ta be a disappointment. I wish I could say thot it's fram shrapnel. It would be a wonderful tale fer sure. But tis nothin' more than gravel rash fram a fall off a homemade go-cart…"
But these little hints of a past life had been few and far between and usually had been ended by her voracious lover drawing her into his arms as a precursor to his mouth and hands ravishing every inch of her.
Fiona was so ashamed over how she had so easily fallen for his lies at the time. Maybe it had been his honest expression or his slow charming smile, which curved his lips and made the corners of his eyes crinkle… whatever it was, she had believed every word he'd ever said.
Or maybe it had more to do with the way McBride could divert her to such a degree that she had accepted whatever lie he had told her as the truth because she had so desperately wanted it to be so. And he had been very good at being distracting, especially whenever they were working closely together…. Had she really been so easy to fool?
The anguished Irishwoman laid her hand flat over his deceiving heart, feeling the slow even beat of a man at peace with the world while her own heart was breaking as she prepared to end their relationship in the most permanent manner she could manage.
Watching him sleep, trying to steel her resolve to do what she had to do, memories began to swirl through her head of all those good times, like the time she had insisted on giving him a lesson in sniping. Lying side by side in the soft earth overlooking an old farm building on the outskirts of Antrim... Their bodies so close together…
The wavering woman gulped as a tear had formed in the corner of her eye. She didn't have to do this... There had to be another way... But the mind of the paramilitary guerrilla she was fought back against her protesting heart crushing the fleeting thoughts of mercy… Quit yar whining, he played ya and he's gonna get ya killed or worse...
Her fingers strayed to the concealed blade as her upbringing urged her to act without further delay, to end the traitor in her bed. But instead of freeing the knife from its improvised sheath, she stayed her hand…She was nae ready yet… She still had time. It wouldnae be light fer another hour... She had ta be sure…And she had wanted to know why, why her?
But deep down she knew she would never get a straight answer to her questions.
After Michael had been shot while trying to help her save a partner in crime, things had started to move far faster than she was used too. Before long, McBride had no longer been just a perfect boyfriend with a pretty face and a great body keeping her bed warm at night. During those short weeks of his convalescence, the bastard had used that time to burrow his way into her heart and set up little nest in her soul.
They had shared long lust filled stares over reloading bullets, hands lightly touching as they had both reached for the gun cleaner… Or the time where prone on the ground, her hands had wrapped round his, her voice in his ear, breathing in his scent… Her body had lain tight against his as she had tutored her lover in the fine art of using a sniper rifle…
Then there was the way he leaned over her shoulder, his body pressed firmly against hers, his breath tickling her neck or his teeth delicately nibbling on her ear as she had showed him her bomb making skills or more often when they had prepared a meal in their tiny kitchen.
One occasion had stood out in her mind more than the rest. It had been after one of those long intimate sessions of late night bomb-making that they had gone on an assignment for the Cause. They had stood on a hill a mile away from a factory that prepared and supplied food to Maghaberry Prison as the building suddenly erupted into flames.
She could have sworn on that night she had felt a spark of electricity passing between them, the intensity of his gaze telling her he shared her love for all things that went boom… Had any part of their time together been real?
But as suddenly as those recollections of their good times had arisen and stayed her hand from executing her plan, they were crushed mercilessly by a life time of memories of what happened to those who betrayed the Cause. She had come to terms a long time ago with her own risk of torture and eventual death, as it wasn't only the IRA who used violence to make a point. If taken by the opposing so-called loyalist forces there was an equal risk of a painful death. Her own father had been beaten to death while interned. No, to die for the cause was an honor, but to die a traitor's death that would bring shame to her family – never.
Fiona continued to gaze at her traitorous lover's slumbering shape, wondering how much of it all had just been a game to him. But then, as if knowing his life was on the line, one of his hands moved in his sleep, his long supple fingers interlacing with her own over his heart, a sigh escaping his mouth as he turned on to his side to face her.
The redhead found herself staring longingly at his mouth, his gorgeous very kissable mouth. She watched as the tip of his tongue flickered out to wet his lips, her eyes focusing intently on that oh so clever tongue, that lying, deceitful so very supple tongue that had on so many occasions driven her wild. She licked her own lips before giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lower lip.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt and a chance to defend himself. Even in his sleep, Michael returned the kiss just as she liked to be kissed, with the perfect amount of pressure – just like the highly trained professional he is, her suspicious mind added.
Was he even Irish? No, more likely he was English, working for either MI5 or was even one of the hated SAS murderers... It wasn't a conscious decision when her hand came free from his and her fingers stroked through his messy dark hair. Nor when a single tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek onto the pillow.
How had she got herself into this mess?
Trying to shore up her courage to do what she must, Fiona forced herself to review exactly how she had allowed herself so become so entangled with McBride, a man who could be the brutal and bloody death of her now at the hands of her own family and her associates
She had thought nothing of it when her usual driver Joseph Clayton had been dragged from his home during an early morning raid involving a half a dozen policemen. In their line of business, being subjected to dawn raids by the local law enforcement was one of the dangers of the job.
It had been bad for him and damned inconvenient for her, but not the end of the world. The PIRA operative had been convinced it'd been a mistake. After all, why was only he being dragged in for questioning and not her whole gang?
It had been later that day when she had gotten the news from his lawyer that Joe was being held over a robbery committed five years earlier. New evidence had come to light placing him at the scene of a brutal armed assault on a Derry bank that had left several civilians injured.
He wasn't going to be released any time soon.
Under normal circumstances, it would not have bothered her too much; after all, incarceration was an occupational hazard. But she'd had a big meeting coming up and had planned to use her most trusted driver.
Fund raisers from the United States were due to arrive the following day, expecting to be taken on a tour of the city before going to meet with senior IRA chieftains to see what their dollars were being spent on. Fiona had needed a good reliable driver, as she had been given the important task of ensuring the men's security for the duration of their stay.
"Ya would be doing me a big favor." She had stared up at her lover, her hands stroking down his strong arms. "Joseph's arrest means Am short a driver and I will nae have tham bastids on tha council sayin' I messed up." McBride had smiled back at her and readily agreed to help without even asking who he would be collecting from the airport or where he would be taking them.
The redhead recalled the warm glow which had filled her heart as he had taken those first steps fully into her world. They were working together officially for the first time! She had seen such a bright future for them, an unstoppable force, an Irish Bonnie and Clyde, creating mayhem and wreaking havoc on the forces which had invaded her beloved Ireland.
A month later, her whole world had collapsed about her.
It had been early in the morning that she had received a call from her commanding officer, a man she had known since childhood, whose orders she would follow without question.
"We have a rat, Fiona, a bloody fecking rat an' when I find tham whoever they ar', Am gonna make tham beg fer me ta end thar miserable worthless life." Her blood had run cold as her friend had raged down the phone, breaking all the rules of secrecy in the process.
"Whot's wrong? Whot's happened, Ioan?"
"Our American friends have been arrested by tha feds, thot's whot's wrong. One o' tham got away but he wa' wounded. Wa're waiting ta hear if he makes it ta a safe house."
"Should we be talkin' about this, like this, I mean– "
"Ya're nae listening ta me, girl, tis tha FBI thot is doin' tha arrestin' an' not only thot, thar Coast Guard has captured a fishin' boat carrying cargo fer us... We have a rat in tha ranks an' it wonnae be long befer we have Special Branch knockin' on all our doors. We need ta find tha Yank's informer an' fast."
Stunned by the news, Fiona had intended on waking her sleeping lover there and then, but her attention had been taken over by the TV screen in the corner of the living room. The PIRA operative had slowly sunken down onto the old sofa, the one they had carried together from the second hand shop two streets away, and listened as a representative of the Northern Ireland Police Service had smugly announced the discovery of two arms dumps believed to be full of weapons belonging to the IRA.
As the petite paramilitary had sat there and watched the interview continue, everything had begun to fall into place. It had felt as like someone close to her had died. With a cold and heavy heart, she had informed her lover of the loss of two weapon caches and then asked McBride to go out and see what he could learn from the streets.
"Go see Tracey down at tha bicycle repair shop. He has his ear ta tha underground. I'll stay har in case Ioan calls back."
With Michael out of the way for at least an hour, Mr Tracey could talk the hind leg off a donkey, Fiona had conducted a thorough search of their home and the discovery of several bugs had removed all doubt and at that moment, she had truly realized exactly how big a fool she'd been.
The Irishwoman had wanted to kill him there and then... She had wanted to rage like a banshee and smash up their home so it too resembled her broken heart...
But somehow she had done neither.
Killing him right then would not get her the answers to the questions that were burning holes in her heart and in her soul.
So instead, Fiona had returned everything to its place, including the bugs, and with great difficulty she reined in the killing rage burning in her heart. Then McBride had returned home with more bad news from bicycle shop.
"Word is thot tha police ar' preparing fer a whole bunch o' coordinated night raids on tha membership. We should leave, get ahold o' yar brother Sean ta help us."
He had wrapped his arms about her in a tight hug, the concern in his beautiful blue eyes appearing so sincere that it had almost made her doubt herself. But the guerrilla she was had forced her to stand firm.
"We stay hare fer now. It'll take tham days ta get tha numbers they'll need ta come after us all in one go," the fiery redhead had informed him coldly, using the flat of her hands against his chest to break his hold. Then picking up her coat, she had gestured to the door. "Right nar I need ya ta drive me across town... Ioan has called a meetin' an' when we get thare ya will have ta wait outside. Am sorry ta be draggin' ya out, but I donnae wanta travel alone."
The meeting had been exactly what she had been expecting, the big men of the Cause saber rattling and demanding revenge for the losses. Already numb with pain, she had listened to what was being said: The traitor was to be found and made an example of as a warning to anyone else thinking of betrayal. The infamous IRA interrogators were getting ready to do their work, implements of torture being unwrapped and laid out in secret locations. They were expecting to be kept quite busy.
When the talk had turned to what retribution would be taken on the lists of suspects were being drawn up, her thoughts had turned to the innocent men who were going to suffer because of her own bad judgment and cowardice at not putting Michael McBride's name at the head of the list of potential traitors.
But the thought of the man she had loved being broken and bloody, his handsome face unrecognizable, had been too much for her at the meeting and it had been too much for her in the early hours of the following morning as she had stood in the doorway of their bedroom before sliding into bed next to him, blade secreted under her pillow at the ready to do its deadly job.
So despite spending the wee hours before dawn reminding herself of when and how he had betrayed her, she was unable to help herself. She leaned in for another kiss. This one deeper, as her lips pressed tightly against his, her fingers scratching lightly along his spine.
In that moment, Fiona both loved and hated him in equal measure, her emotions confused to the point that she began to act on pure instinct.
His eyes flickered opened, still unfocused from sleep. She stroked his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble on the palm of her hand as another unbidden image flashed into her mind: Michael lying out in the street, his body desecrated beyond words as an example to the British and those who supported their overlords.
What would happen to him when the others realized the same things she had? If she didn't act now, sooner or later, she would see what was left of McBride dropped in some public spot, not to mention what might happen to her in the process…. He was a lying piece of scum, but she loved him. However, that didn't mean she could let him do any more harm to her people.
"Good morning, luv." His smile even upon first awakening was dazzling to the young woman and when he gently placed his palm against her cheek, she had automatically leaned into his touch.
"Have ya been cryin'?" He thumbed the moisture from her cheek and at the same moment rolled onto his back bringing her with him, so she ended sitting astride him.
"Bad dream?" her lover asked as his hands skimmed lightly up and down her naked thighs.
Why does he have ta look so bloody concerned fer me welfare?
"Am fine, Michael, better than fine. Yer right, twas just a bad dream which… " She tried to smile, but as soon as she looked into those treacherous blue eyes, Fiona found herself weakening, her smile faltering.
This is nae who I am... Am Fiona fecking Glenanne... I have tha blood o' Irish kings flowin' through me veins. Am nae gonna let a pretty face turn me ta a snivelin' little girl…
"Ya look beautiful…" She was very conscious of his hands on her thighs, his thumbs lightly drawing circles on the inside of her legs, ever so slowly moving closer and closer to their ultimate target. "But ya always do…"
"Seduction o' tha enemy is a nasty job, but we bear it cuz we must. Thare ar' times when ya feel like yer wrestlin' an octopus an' others – well, ya… ya jus' have have ta close yar eyes an' remember why yer makin' tha sacrifice. Tis all fer tha Cause, fer our brave boys…. If one of us can distract a guard so our lads can slip by unseen or use our charms ta learn patrol routes an' passwords then every ugly second o' whot we do is worth tha shame... We do whotever it takes."
The voice of a distant relative whispered in the Irishwoman's brain, reminding her of her own special status as a highly skilled operative. Nobody would dare think of ordering her to sleep with the enemy to gain information... But Michael McBride, if that was even his real name, was doing precisely that.
All of a sudden, her conflicted emotions overflowed. He had done this to her, he had turned her into such a quivering wreck…He had used her own fool heart against her. Damn him!
With a passion filled growl, she threw herself forward until they were nose to nose. Fiona could feel the fire in her heart surging throughout her body into her heated gaze.
"Fi…" His voice cracked as he whispered her name and the slight tremor, that mixture of hesitation and lust, which she heard in that one word was like an aphrodisiac to her.
She was on him like a lioness, their teeth actually clashing as her lips sealed over his, refusing to let up the pressure until he surrendered and their tongues swirled together in battle. Meanwhile, her fingers like claws scraped across his scalp and threatened to rip out his hair as they combed roughly through the unruly curls.
When she finally allowed her dark haired lover to breathe, the fiery Irishwoman furiously rubbed her cheeks over his stubble, the friction heightening her pleasure-pain sensations, before she shimmied down his body, her teeth biting and nipping all the way. His chin, throat… then suddenly biting so hard into his shoulder his whole body bucked, but he didn't throw her off.
"Hey, no fair, I barely have me eyes open." Strong fingers dug into her arms as McBride, or whoever he really was, tried to take back some control.
"Whot ya made ya think this wa' gonna be a fair fight?" She snapped back then she bounced with as much force as she could muster, eliciting a pained filled gasp from the man she was riding.
Using the distraction to free her arms from his grip, the wild woman returned to her assault of the man writhing beneath her. Sharp nails dragged down his chest and over his nipples, evoking more pain-filled moans from her traitorous lover.
"Ow! Hey! Fi, whot tha hell…?"
The yelp was music to her ears as she sucked and then nipped where her fingers had just been. Fiona slid lower and lower… marking each and every rib with a scratch or a bite on the way down… and as she did, the flames burning in her soul spread outwards.
But along with the scorching passion came another distant memory, whispering a warning.
"Fall in love? Nae child…" The voice of that same relative laughed mockingly in her ear. "Though some did, Am sure, silly girls tha lot o' tham… I never forgot tham British bastids wa' tha enemy. Fer some though I guess it wa' hard, ta become someone's best friend, thar lover an' even their confidante as a ploy ta steal thar deepest secrets or even better ta make 'em betray their own men… But fer me, I always kept it in me mind it wa' a time o' war an' whot I wa' doin' was nae different than bein' a spy."
"SPY…!" The word rang through the petite paramilitary's head, making her pause in her efforts to give him some small taste of the pain he'd given her, and look up into the eyes of the man who had caused her so much soul wrenching anguish.
McBride stared back at her, his startled blue eyes gazing at her with such adoration that for a moment her fevered mind offered her a slither of hope. How could he not be in love when he looked at her that way?
Strong hands cupped her cheeks, calloused palms slowly drew her back up his lean muscular body until soft lips gently brushed over her own in a light kiss. Supple fingers were combing through her tousled auburn locks as he laid more and more gossamer kisses along her cheek and onto her neck.
For several seconds as they lay, bodies molded together, she allowed herself to think things were going to be alright. But then she remembered:
Joey Clayton locked away on trumped up charges…. Two important fund raisers imprisoned or on the run… The loss of a shipment of arms… Two local stashes in the hands of the police… And whatever else he had discovered while betraying her confidence…
The reminder of his crimes swirled through her brain breaking the spell. Pulling away abruptly, Fiona sat up, her sharp features twisting into anger as she drew her right arm back, her open hand swiftly delivering a stinging blow to his left cheek, hard enough to hurt but insufficient to do any serious damage.
"Whot tha hell, girl…? Whot's wrong with ya?" She saw the confusion in his eyes and then as a tightly packed fist came towards his lying mouth, his own hand swept up and blocked the attack.
"Yer a bastid, McBride!" Fiona declared furiously, sending a punch with her free hand flying towards his face.
"Whot did I do ta ya?" he demanded, capturing her other hand before she could deliver the blow, fear beginning to taint his expression of confusion.
"Fight me," the petite partisan ordered with a growl. "Fight back... I want ya ta try ta take me."
Suddenly, his look turned into one of pure lust. The mere hint of danger and the chance of violence was foreplay to them both. But this time, Fiona was struggling within her own soul as much as she was battling with him in the bedsheets.
From being almost placid, McBride now used his superior strength to twist and turn, wrestling with the fiery virago perched on his chest. A violent twist and he had her beneath him, pinning her down to the mattress, his hands gripping her wrists and pressing them down into the pillow above her head, his thighs separating her legs, legs which were now raised and wrapped about his hips holding him fast. For a second or two they stared into each other's eyes, almost nose to nose, each breathing heavily.
"D'ya surrender?"
"Never…!" She lifted her head and attempted to bite the nose which was so temptingly close, but Michael jerked back before her teeth could snap together.
Not to be thwarted, the auburn haired siren tightened her grip on her lover's hips, her heels beating a tattoo on the faux Irishman's behind.
"Never ya say? Well, I'll have ta see about thot." McBride's smile grew wider, as he lifted his hips, his stiffened manhood sliding down over her belly, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake, a sure sign of the dark haired man's arousal.
Her eyelids fluttered as her heart beat faster. She wanted him… She hated him… She needed him inside her now…! Fiona could feel the tip of his member lightly rubbing over the folds of her womanhood and her hips lifted to meet his, her mouth closing over the lips of the man she loved in a long deep kiss.
After the merest hint of resistance, she opened up to him completely and he slowly slipped inside. Then he was pounding into her, his hands planted firmly on either side of her head, the friction of their joining driving her senses wild and for a brief time driving all thoughts of traitors and spies from her tortured mind.
A thin film of sweat covered both of the lovers as they writhed and tumbled on the bed, the sheet which had earlier covered them now tangled around their feet. Suddenly feeling the need to be back in control, the Irishwoman shoved on his shoulders, twisting until she was back on top.
Tossing her long hair back, she mercilessly rode McBride towards their joint orgasms. Closing her eyes, Fiona was barely aware of her lover's hands tight grip on her waist, his fingers digging into her hips as he urged her on with each rise and fall of his pelvis. She felt his release as warmth spread through her belly and then with a soft cry, she allowed herself to come, her body shaking as she was engulfed in a tidal wave of euphoria.
Collapsing forward as her limbs continued to tremble, the young Irishwoman raised her head to look into the eyes of the man she loved with her whole heart. They could make this work… He had to love her as much as she loved him.
"Fiona, me darlin' girl, I cannae think o' finer way ta be woken up." Michael followed up his words by a deep long lingering kiss. When they broke apart, the adoration shining in his clear blue eyes was more than she could handle. "I'd love nothin' better than ta do thot every day fer the rest o' me life, me luv…"
Maybe she could turn him to her Cause… He really did love her… She would find a way….
Her sated lover lazily lifted one arm to take a look at his watch, his eyes widening as he realized exactly how early it was in the day. With his arm back in place resting over her back, he spoke again.
"Whot d'ya think? As wa're up so early, why dontcha give yar brudder a call? We really should get over ta tha south befer tha army comes looking fer us... Ya war as white as a sheet last night after tha meeting… Mabbe Sean could put us in touch wit' tha underground –"
She didn't hear the rest of his words. Tha underground! Tha bastid made love ta me an' then tha first words outta his mouth wa' ta ask about tha underground. It was more than she could bear.
Tears sprung into her eyes, misting her vision. But that didn't matter because her hand had already closed about the handle of the hidden blade. Rising up so suddenly he didn't even get a chance to see the razor sharp weapon in her hand, Fiona struck downward the deadly blade slicing into the spy's side, covering her own leg with warm wet blood.
"Yer a bastid, McBride, if thot's even yar name," she choked out, barely able to speak between the sorrow and the fury fighting for control of her voice.
ooOoo
Miami 2009
Fiona Glenanne's eyes flew open and sat up, her breaths coming in short sharp gasps. Still partially in shock, she looked down at her shaking hands expecting to see blood dripping from them. Her arm protested the treatment and the pain seemed to help her center on the present.
Michael McBride had died that morning, at least he had to her. He had been replaced by another man, a man who had been there earlier bandaging her bullet wound. She took a long deep shuddering breath in an effort to push away dark memories of her past. That was another time.
On the bedside table her cell phone was vibrating its way across the wooden surface. Reaching for the device, she stared at the small screen. It seemed while she had overslept, she had missed a series of texts and apparently a phone call just now. But the burned spy was not the only person who had been trying to get ahold of her. There were messages from her client as well.
Fiona laid back sighing as she glanced over to where the sunlight was streaming through the gauze curtains surrounding her bed through heavy eyelids while rubbing her fingers lightly over the cloth that covered her wounded arm. She had been out for more than six hours… Madeline's choice of pain killer was potent indeed…But the drug induced memories had left her feeling anything but well rested, her heart beat only now beginning to return into a normal rhythm.
Scrolling through the messages, the unsettled redhead learned that Michael's initial meeting had been a success and he was on his way to Boca Raton on some further mission to gain the confidence of the Johnsons, which meant he'd be gone for a couple of hours at the very least.
Ms Glenanne also discovered that some men had followed Calia to her apartment block from her son's school, which made her very angry at both their presumption and her current lack of tactical awareness. She should have seen this coming…
With their plans clearly moving forward to get the murdering bastards caught committing a crime, her client was going to be a sitting duck staying at home. As much as she enjoyed having her own space, the mother and child would be much safer temporarily hiding out at her place.
A quick call settled the matter. While Calia had tried to refuse her hospitality, Fiona knew the young Hispanic woman was actually relieved by the offer. That done, the Irishwoman stretched and yawned, belatedly realizing as she went to clear the voicemail that it was from Michael.
When had Michael Westen ever bothered to call and check in during an operation?
Listening to the whispered words of his cover ID's southern accent set her mind at odds again.
The former PIRA operative had gone from reluctant acceptance that the handsome dark haired man with the devil may care smile whom she thought had loved her back in Ireland was not the man she'd been helping these past couple of years in Miami and their long term relationship was over to the cautious anticipation that there might be something more for them in the future.
"People are who they are. They don't change just because you want them to."
"So you're still in love with him."
But it seemed as though the super spy had changed… and she was still in love with him…
Michael had shot Tom Strickler, effectively burying his chances of getting back in along with the hot lead in to that insufferable weasel's body. Michael had been at her side night and day since a stray bullet had clipped her bicep and O'Neill's words had gotten her permanently banned from returning to Eire. Michael had agreed to help her client instead of pursuing his own interests.
As hard as it had been to make the choice a few short weeks ago to permanently leave the States and Mr Westen behind and go back home, thinking about it now she knew that decision had been nothing compared to the conflict within her when she had discovered who and what McBride was on that too warm summer's day back in Belfast. They had come through so many hard times and despite his selfish insistence on getting his old job back, they were somehow still together…
Fiona licked her suddenly dry lips as she remembered the look on his grief stricken face once he had pulled her bleeding from what had almost been her watery grave.
Heaving another sigh, the redhead set about trying to regain her feet. Calia needed her help before the next phase. She needed to get up and get moving and stop lying about uselessly.
Shooting off a coded text promising to meet him later, the young Irishwoman stood up, feeling dizzy at both the sudden drop in blood pressure and in the renewed hope of something more.
They truly were no good at this… but at least now they would get the opportunity to try to be better…...
OOO
Lastly a big thank you to Jedi Skysinger, not only for the BETA, but for all her extra input into this chapter which is really a collaboration between us both.
Coming very soon on the main page revised and new chapters of one of my old stories, Two Hours Too Late.