Emily stood beside Tom as he knocked on the door of the little rowhouse on the end of the block. Only a matter of seconds passed between the knocking and the sound of someone turning a lock on the other side, but it felt like an eternity to Emily, who swallowed hard as the door opened.
"Yes? Can I help y…" Louise's voice died in her throat as soon as she glanced from Tom to Emily.
"Mother of God," she gasped. "Ms. Lauren?" Louise looked almost exactly as Emily remembered her, save for maybe an extra wrinkle or two starting to form around the eyes.
"Hello Louise," Emily said. "Can we come in?"
Louise seemed too stunned to do anything besides shakily step aside. Emily entered the home with Tom and Louise in tow. Soon a familiar blonde came bounding down the staircase.
"Who is it, momma?" Declan inquired sweetly. Before Louise could answer, his blue eyes locked on Emily and widened into saucers. "Ms. Lauren!" he cried, before nearly tackling Emily in the entryway, hugging her tightly around the waste.
"Momma said you died! Why did you say that momma."
"I don't know, Love.." was all Louise could manage.
"It's alright, Little Spider," Emily assured him, returning the boy's tight hug. "I'm okay."
"It's petite araignée," Declan corrected her, with excellent pronunciation. "I've been practicing French like you said."
Emily's heart swelled with what she imagined the pride of a parent might feel like.
"It's very good, Declan," she said approvingly. "Very good."
"Ms. Lauren, who's this?" Declan asked, pointing at Tom.
"That's Mr. Tom."
"Hi Mr. Tom."
"Hi there, Declan," Tom waived, before inclining his head toward Louise, "Ma'am." If Tom was confused by any of what was happening—and Emily assumed he had to be—he was doing a tremendous job hiding it. He was just as cool and collected as Emily always remembered him in South America.
"Would you, um, like to come into the kitchen?" Louise asked, beginning to collect herself. "I have tea on."
"That sounds great," Emily said. She, Tom, and Declan followed Louise through the sitting room into a brightly lit kitchen with a round dining table that looked into a small, neatly-kept back garden.
Tom picked up a soccer ball lying beside the back door.
"Hey Declan," he said. "I think your mom and Ms. Lauren need to talk for a little bit. What do you say we go kick around a football out back?"
"Can I Momma?" Declan jumped eagerly.
Louise looked uncertainly at Emily, who nodded subtly.
"Yes, go ahead love," Louise said. "Just be careful to make sure your shoes are tied all the way."
"Yes, Momma!" Declan chirped. "I'm happy to see you Ms. Lauren!"
"Me too, Declan," Emily smiled "Now go play with Mr. Tom."
As Louise shakily poured both herself and Emily a cup of tea, Emily watched Tom and Declan start kicking the ball around in the back garden. Soon both were laughing as Tom gamely let Declan dribble past him a few times. Emily found herself hoping her friend's dream of someday being a dad would come true. He'd make a natural.
"So," Louise said, taking a seat across the kitchen table from Emily, eyes darting variably between Emily and watching Declan outside, "do you want to tell me why you're here? How are you here? After that day you and Mr. Ian were arrested, Mr. Liam had the cars followed. They lost track of Mr. Ian but found you. They said there was an accident…"
"There was," Emily said. That part was at least technically true.
"But they said you died…"
"Well," Emily explained, "that's the part that didn't happen."
"But if you escaped why didn't you come back? Why didn't you come help them find Mr. Ian. Unless…"
A flash of realization hit Louise. Her look instantly changed from a confused one to one of anger, of accusation. Emily wasn't surprised. She'd always thought Louise much smarter than most people gave a housekeeper credit for. It was why Ian had picked her to raise his son.
"You?" Louise hissed. "Mr. Liam always said it seemed like an inside job. We thought someone had betrayed both of you. But it was you."
Emily was never going to confirm this out loud, but Louise rightly interpreted her silence.
"How could you?" she said indignantly. "He wanted to marry you, you know?"
"Yeah," Emily said, "and help raise his son—who's as good as your son—to be just like him."
"Mr. Ian was a freedom fighter," Louise said indignantly. "You wouldn't understand. Wherever you're from, it's not here."
"I'm not going to argue politics with you, Louise," Emily said, with all of the patience she could muster. "But whatever Ian was at one point, he stopped being a 'freedom fighter' long before I met him. He was just a fighter. Is that what you want for Declan?"
Louise didn't respond immediately.
"You turned our lives upside down," Louise said, slightly changing the subject.
"I know that."
"Who even are you?" Louise demanded. "Is Lauren Reynolds even your real name?"
"No," Emily admitted.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you that right now," Emily said calmly.
"Where is Mr. Ian?"
"I couldn't tell you that if I knew, but I don't." That was true enough, Emily thought. Sean told her Ian was in Russia, but Emily had no idea where in that giant country he was. And probably never would.
"Now," Emily said, "why don't you ask me the most important question? Why don't you ask me why I'm here?"
"Why are you here then?" Louise glowered.
"Because you and Declan are in trouble," Emily explained. "There are people who are trying to find any edge they can get against Ian, any edge. They're going to start going through all of his old associates. All of his old staff. If they haven't already started."
"I would never give up Declan," Louise said adamantly. "I promised Mr. Ian I'd always protect him, and I will."
"I believe you," Emily assured her. "But how confident are you there are no mistakes? The birth certificate is airtight? You would never slip and make the slightest mistake under pressure?"
"Pressure?" Louise demanded. Emily could tell she struck a nerve. "People are going to apply 'pressure' to me to give up an actual child? Nice people, eh? Is this who you work for?"
"It's more complicated than that," Emily said, a bit defensively.
"Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night," Louise retorted.
"Look," Emily said, growing impatient. "I know you're a smart woman, so explain this to me. You and I both know that if any of Ian's men see my face around here, they'd figure it out and shoot me faster than I can blink. And you can probably also understand without me spelling out the details that if my employer finds out I'm here to warn you, I will go to jail for a very, very long time. So why would I be here if not to help Declan?"
Louise took a long pause to consider Emily's words.
"What exactly do you want?" she finally answered.
"I don't have a full plan yet," Emily admitted. "But the people who are going to come for you, they really only operate well in Europe. Come to America with us, I can protect you there."
"You want me to uproot our lives again and just come to America with you?" Louise demanded.
"That's the only way I can protect you."
"Who in God's name is he anyway?" Louise demanded, pointing outside to Tom, who was still actively engaged in a soccer battle with Declan. "Did he have anything to do with all of this?"
"He had nothing to do with Ian's arrest," Emily said. "He's just a friend here to help."
"Well at least he's doing it out of the goodness of his heart and not trying to fix a mess of his own making," Louise said bitterly.
"Louise, I'm not going to make you come with us," Emily said. "It's your choice. But I will tell you now, soon someone else is going to come who does not give you a choice. And if that day comes, I'm not going to be able to help you protect Declan."
Before Louise could respond, Tom came in from the back garden.
"Hey, I hate to interrupt but I think we might have company," he said quietly.
"What?" Emily demanded.
"I don't know who it is, but the house behind here, someone's been watching us through their back window. Can't make much out, but definitely a man. He's been watching way too long for it to be a coincidence," Tom explained. "Unless he's just a run-of-the-mill pedophile or something."
Emily did not care for the idea of a pedophile being her best option.
"Louise, did Ian set anyone up to keep an eye on you?" Emily asked.
"No," Louise answered, concern dawning on her face. "He always set us up with money just in case, but nobody to watch us. In fact the man in the house behind us just moved in."
"How long ago?"
"A week or so."
"Louise," Emily sighed. "I'm sorry. But you're going to need to make a decision now."
"We'll go with him," Louise said, nodding towards Tom. "Not you."
"Louise, that's not how this is going to work," Emily started, before Tom interrupted.
"Actually, that's a good idea," Tom agreed.
"What?!" Emily recoiled.
"I don't completely understand what's happening here," Tom said, shrewdly switching to Spanish so he and Emily could talk in semi-private. "But whoever is watching doesn't know who I am. But it's possible they'll know you."
He had a point, but Emily wasn't inclined to just leave Declan so soon.
"I can't just go," Emily argued.
"Go back to London. Lie low for a few days and go home. We'll meet you there. I'll take care of them, I promise."
"What are you two talking about?" Louise demanded sharply.
Emily paused.
"You'll go with him?" Emily asked.
"Him, not you," Louise agreed. "Otherwise I'll take my chances."
"I want to say goodbye to Declan."
"You've broken his heart enough once," Louise said acidly.
Emily was about to protest before Tom interrupted again.
"Hey, I promise," he said. "You'll see them in a few days. But you need to go."
"Alright…alright," she agreed, very reluctantly. "A few days."
"I promise," Tom said one more time, gently patting Emily's shoulder. Louise stayed silent.
Emily stole one more long glance out the window at Declan—who had cast aside his soccer ball and was playfully flicking bugs off of Louise's garden plants—and tore across the street back to the bed and breakfast. Within half an hour, she had re-packed her sparse luggage and was headed in a cab back toward the City Centre for trek back to Belfast an onward to England.
Emily hadn't originally planned on spending any extended time in London, but Tom was right. She couldn't return to the States after a few short days without drawing attention. She was sure the Agency was tracking her travels, and it wouldn't do to return home early when Peterson was expecting her to take a week. It looked like she might have to call in a favor to her parents after all. While en route back to Belfast, Emily dialed Richard's phone.
"Emily?" her father answered.
"Hey, sorry. I know it's late there," Emily started.
"No, its okay, I'm not asleep yet. We went out for some nightcaps," Richard answered. Emily suspected her father might be slightly drunk. "What's going on?"
"Short notice, but the house in London…is the security code still the same? I need somewhere to stay."
"You're in London?" Richard inquired.
"I'm on my way," Emily said.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Richard said.
"Why does it matter, you're in Singapore," Emily said.
"Sure, but your mother is still working in Paris. She could come see you."
"She hates London," Emily reminded him. Elizabeth was as temperamentally different as her father—Emily's maternal grandfather—as possible, but she shared his Frenchman's Anglophilia.
"Ah, she'd still come see you," Richard insisted. Emily wasn't so sure. And in any event, Emily wasn't in the mood to deal with the Ambassador while she had so many things on her mind.
"Maybe next time," Emily told her father. "It's just a short thing for work. Anyway, is the code still the same?"
"Yeah, code's still the same," Richard confirmed. "And I'll let the cleaning staff know you're coming. You remember Agnes?"
"Agnes is still there? She's been taking care of that place since I was like ten," Emily said.
"Well, you know, when you find good help you have to keep it," Richard said. Emily silently rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'll let her know not to freak out if you show up."
"Thanks," Emily said.
"Hey," Richard chimed, "unrelated, but I wanted to talk to you about something."
"What?"
"Craig Stephens told me you've been making big withdrawals from your trust accounts lately. What's going on?"
Emily groaned audibly. Craig Stephens was the financial advisor whom Richard had set up to help Emily administer the money she was inheriting.
"I thought you said that money was mine when I graduated?" Emily said.
"It was. It is," Richard insisted.
"Then why do you even know about this?" Emily protested. "Doesn't Craig owe me like a duty or something?"
"A fiduciary duty, yes."
"Then why the hell is he telling you anything?"
"He's an old family friend, Em," Richard reminded her. "And you're usually very disciplined. He was just concerned."
"It's none of his business," Emily retorted. "There's still plenty of money."
"I know that. It's just unusual."
"Alright," Emily said, deciding to tell her father a very loose version of the truth to keep him off her back. "Not that it is any of your business, but I had a friend who needed some help and I helped them out. It's about done. No more."
"Friends with problems can be a financial black hole, Emily," Richard began to lecture.
"Dad, stop. It's done." Emily retorted. "You should go to bed anyway. Thanks for letting me stay at your place."
"Alright," Richard relented. "Goodnight, Em."
"Goodnight Dad."
…
By the time Emily wound her way back through Belfast and Liverpool to London, it had been nearly 24 hours since she left Dublin. She hadn't heard one way or another from Tom, but hoped he had documents in hand and was preparing for that night's flight to Boston with Louise and Declan.
She arrived at her parents' flat in The City and punched in the security code—the European variation of her birthdate. She found relatively fresh baked scones on the counter with a handwritten note.
"Ms. Emily – Welcome back to your home away from home. Best, Agnes."
Emily noshed on a strawberry scone and flipped on a BBC four documentary. After an hour or so, Emily received the first message she'd been waiting for from Tom.
"Boarded. No incident."
Emily exhaled slightly. The biggest test would be when they got to Boarder Patrol in the States. But at least they were on their way out. And Louise hadn't had a last minute change of mind—something Emily'd thought was a distinct possibility.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. Emily made it through three more documentaries and began absentmindedly gnawing on her thumbnail before she got the second message well into the early morning hours in London.
"Landed. Will call when through."
Now, Emily's stomach started churning in earnest. She chewed down a second thumbnail and was starting on an index finger when her phone lit up.
"Give me good news," she answered.
"We're through," Tom confirmed. "US Passports worked like a charm."
"Thank God," Emily exhaled fully this time.
"Kid's tired and Louise is a nervous wreck. They need sleep. Thought I'd get us hotel rooms for a night or two and then take them back down to DC and we'll meet up with you."
"I owe you, forever," Emily told him.
"Hey, compared to what I normally get up to, at least I can feel good about this one," Tom said. "We don't always get those."
"No we don't," Emily agreed.
Suddenly, her phone started buzzing with another incoming call from a Brussels prefix Emily recognized as Interpol.
"Hey, I've gotta go," Emily said. "I'll call you later when you can get settled."
"Talk to you soon," Sean said, hanging up.
Emily answered her other line.
"Emily Prentiss," she answered automatically.
"Em, I didn't think I'd get you at this hour," Sean McCallister replied. "How's London?"
"How did you know I'm in London?" she demanded snappily.
"Clyde and I get notification anytime one of our former agents enters the UK or the EU."
"So, you're spying on me?" Emily replied.
"Only somewhat," Sean said calmly. "Have to know when you come to our turf. You can't honestly tell me you don't track known agents coming into the US?"
Emily thought that was probably true, but it didn't make her any less irritated.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Do you remember when I told you Clyde and I were looking into tracking down some of Doyle's old staff to see if we could shake anything out?"
Emily's heart sank.
"I do," she replied, as cooly as possible.
"One of them suddenly vanished. Louise Jones."
So that was your man looking into the back garden after all, Emily thought. She felt a strange sense of dread mixed with triumph. She'd beaten them right under their nose. At least so far.
"The housekeeper?"
"Yes," Sean confirmed. "You remember her?"
"Yeah, I remember her," Emily replied. "What do you mean vanished?"
"We tracked her and her son to Dublin," Sean explained. "We'd been keeping an eye on them. A day and a half ago an unidentified man showed up at their home. Now they're gone."
"Okay," Emily said. "A day and a half they could have gone anywhere."
"They could have, but this is where you come in," Sean said. Emily felt her pulse quickening. She was thankful Sean could only hear her and not see her. Faking things for a profiler as good as him would have required the acting job of her life.
"What's this have to do with me?" she asked, hoping to sound convincingly ignorant.
"I was trying to track any of their movement out of the EU, and I believe they may have been on a flight to the States," Sean said. "Boston specifically."
"They're allowed to be there, Sean," Emily said. "Lots of Irish Americans in Boston, maybe she has family there."
"Yes, but the thing is, they never arrived," Sean said. "I have a notice put out for all Irish or UK nationals coming in from that flight. All passengers are cleared and US customs said nobody of those names came through. So that means one of two things – either they never got on the plane and they're still somewhere in Europe, or they did get on the plane but didn't get screened at foreign nationals' passport clearance for some reason. Do you now whether they have US passports? Dual nationality or something?"
Shit, Emily thought.
"Not that I know of," she fibbed. "Can't you just ask Homeland Security?"
"Your government isn't as quick to share information with us about its nationals as they are foreign nationals, there's a process."
Emily'd generally found red tape between governments more of a hindrance than help in her career so far, but now she was silently thankful.
"I was hoping you could help me circumvent it," Sean continued.
"By doing what, exactly?"
"Just use your connections to find out if they came in with a different passport," Sean said. "I'm working on trying to get some boots on the ground in Boston to check it out, but it'd be helpful if you could confirm for us whether they came in one way or another."
Emily thought fast.
"I'll see if I can cut some corners for you," she agreed. "Just at least give me a little time. Ian Doyle's not as high a priority for the Agency as he ever is for you guys."
The last part of it at least had the benefit of being true. Now that he was no longer selling weapons in the Middle East, the CIA barely gave two shits about an ex-IRA man. Sean would know this.
"Thanks for trying," Sean said. "Just let me know."
"Will do. Bye Sean." Emily hung up before waiting for a reply. She was probably re-dialing Tom before Sean had even realized she was gone.
The call went to voicemail. Emily dialed again.
"Pick up, pick up," she muttered to herself.
"Hey Em," Tom answered on the second call, he sounded a little exasperated with her. "We're not settled in yet."
Emily thought she could vaguely hear Declan crying in the background. The poor thing was probably beyond his limit with exhaustion and confusion.
"I know, I'm sorry. But you need to listen. Do not use their names to check into the hotel and do not leave it once you're checked in. I'm coming home now."