Logan Airport, Boston –“Hey, Bailey!” John Grant’s voice carried across the airport terminal as he shoved a cell phone back into his jacket pocket. “You think I can get my ticket bumped back to a later flight?”
“Is there a problem?” Bailey asked as the younger agent approached. “I thought we’d wrapped up all the loose ends on this one.”
“It’s not about the case. I’ve been summoned,” he joked weakly.
Sam looked up from her notebook and frowned worriedly. She was beginning to hate Boston almost as much as John did. “Your father?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s... personal, though. And I think that I need to do this. I’ll come see you as soon as I get in.” He gave her a strange, unfathomable look. “I think it’s probably time... a little past time to get a few more things cleared up.”
There was an unsettling note to his words and Sam’s frown deepened.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a smile. “It’s complicated, but it’s...” He looked thoughtful for a moment then shook it off. “It’s okay. I’ll explain when I get back. All right?”
She nodded but still looked doubtful. “As soon as you get in?”
“I promise.”
“Be careful.”
He flashed her a trademark grin. “I think I’ll be pretty safe,” he said confidently. “The ticket?” he asked Bailey again.
Bailey studied him thoughtfully. “I’m getting tired of visiting you in Boston hospitals.”
“I’m not going to get into trouble,” John assured him.
“No lone wolf crusades?”
“I won’t step on anybody’s toes.”
Bailey gave him another long appraising look. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally.
*****
Boston Federal Penitentiary-The man looked up as the door to the visitation cell opened. The newcomer wore a dark suit and a darker scowl. Even a stranger would have been able to recognize the common heritage in their faces. They wore the same tense expression on their strong, sharp features. Two pairs of identical blue eyes studied each other carefully.
“Sit down, Johnny,” the man said. “We don’t have time to dance around here.”
“What do you want, Malcolm?” John asked as he pulled out a chair. “Why’d you call for me?”
“I need you to do something...”
“I can’t do anything for you...”
“Shut up and listen. I know better than you what you can and can’t do,” Colm snapped in frustration then stopped. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to exasperate the man in front of him. He had been planning for this eventuality for several months. Ever since the Organized Crime Bureau’s noose had started closing inexorably around his neck he had been trying to put his affairs in order. He had even thwarted a few of Cahill O’Connor’s recent plans to ensure that his own would come together. Now was not the time to blow it all. “I know you can’t do anything about the case,” he said carefully. “Thanks to you and Payton and the OCB I’m going to be in here a while. This is... personal.” He raised his hands to stop John from interrupting again. “I need you to take Jamie and Megan.”
“Take them where?”
Colm almost smiled. “Just take them. I don’t want them here in Boston while I’m...” He waved his hands at the concrete walls. “I want them away from all this. I don’t want the media all over them because of who we are.” He stopped for a moment and looked down at the table between them. “You know what kind of father our dad was,” he said finally. “Brandon wouldn’t be any better. There isn’t anybody else.”
John stared at him blankly. “Why?” he asked at last.
“I’ve seen you with Chloe,” he said. He figured that John had probably known about the surveillance for years. Still, John seemed surprised. “She likes you. You’re good with her.”
“But why?” John asked again.
Colm shook his head. “Because I don’t trust anybody else,” he said flatly. “If I give them to anybody else they’ll just be leverage. Nobody would dare touch them if they’re being protected by a Fed.”
John snorted. “*Being* a Fed didn’t protect me a bit.”
“You pissed people off. That’s been taken care of.” He took another deep breath and suppressed his rising impatience. He didn’t really have the time to be arguing with John. His children needed protection now. Protection from the media, protection from the Outfit, protection from their own family. Malcolm O’Doyle stared across the table at his little brother. “Do for them what Noreen did for you. There’s no one else who can.”
*****
John approached the house warily, silently wondering why he had agreed to this at all. It was insanity. There was nothing at all suspicious about the neatly trimmed lawn or the tidy flagstone sidewalk or the wide sparkling windows. It was a nice house in a nice neighborhood and on the whole it looked rather inviting. Except that John knew he would never be invited here. Colm's children had been living with their grandfather since Colm had been arrested and John prayed fervently that he wasn't home. Coming face to face with Patrick O'Doyle was extraordinarily low on his list of things to do today. He rapped lightly on the front door and waited more nervously than he would like to admit. After a few moments a young woman opened the door. Some sort of housekeeper or nanny, John thought.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely. She gave him a slightly puzzled look as if he seemed familiar but she couldn't quite remember where she'd met him. He smiled charmingly.
"Is Mr. O'Doyle home?" He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she shook her head. Behind her he could see a child's bookbag on the floor beside a couch. A good sign, he thought.
"I'm sorry. Mr. O'Doyle's out right now. Could I tell him who stopped by?"
"John Grant." He was surprised when the name seemed to make no impression on her. She merely continued to give him the same puzzled look. He gave a mental shrug. Might as well use the advantage. He pulled his badge and the paperwork out of his jacket. "I'm here for Jamie and Megan. If you could go get them, please?"
"I'm sorry. I'll need to talk to Mr. O'Doyle first."
"I've already talked to Mr. O'Doyle. They're coming with me."
Her face wrinkled into an even more confused expression. "You talked to...?"
"Mr. O'Doyle. Yes. He's already signed all the forms." He waved them at her quickly. "I'm just here to pick up the kids."
She frowned at him suspiciously and reached for the papers. He relinquished them as he saw a boy moving quietly behind her. John had only seen him in photos a couple of times, but even without that he would have been able to recognize his half-brother's son. The boy was typical O'Doyle - dark hair, blue eyes, strong jaw. He looked to be about ten or eleven.
"What's going on?" Jamie asked.
"Nothing," the woman said quickly. "Go back upstairs."
"Go get Megan," John interrupted. Jamie stared at him. "Please, go get Megan," he said again more gently. Jamie nodded slowly but didn't move.
"You're John," he said flatly.
John nodded slowly in return. Colm had told him that he'd explained his contingency plan to Jamie. He could only hope that the boy would be cooperative. As he looked at Jamie's stubborn frown his original doubts tripled. "Your dad wants you to come with me."
"Malcolm," the woman said suddenly. "You talked to *Malcolm* O'Doyle. You have to talk to *Patrick* O'Doyle," she smiled triumphantly. "Patrick is their guardian now."
"No," John said. "He's not. Check the paperwork. After Anne died five years ago Malcolm made sure that I was the one who would get the kids if anything happened to him." He glanced back at Jamie. The boy had paled slightly at the mention of his mother's death but he still stood firmly. A car accident, John thought caustically. The accident of choice for O'Doyle women.
"You'll have to talk to Patrick," the woman repeated. He could hear the panicked note creeping into her voice. She had finally realized who he was.
"*You* talk to Patrick. *I'm* taking the kids. Jamie, go get Megan."
"Jamie, no."
The boy looked back and forth between them indecisively.
"Do you really want to stay here?" John asked.
Jamie fingered a bruise on his arm. "Do we have time to pack?"
"Not really," John said as the woman began reaching for the phone. He had no idea how quickly his father's people could be here, but it didn't seem wise to risk it. They still had to get to the airport, too.
*****
John slouched lower in the airplane's aisle seat and frowned. How had his life turned back into an O'Doyle-melodrama in less than twelve hours, he wondered? He should have known better than to tempt fate by visiting Boston three times in less than a year after assiduously avoiding the city for more than half his life. Look on the bright side, Johnny, he told himself. This is the first time you've *ever* left Boston without bruises. Glancing back at the sullen children beside him he wondered if maybe he'd have rather taken a beating.
Jamie was in the middle seat of their row, kicking distractedly at the chair in front of him. Until the passenger in that unfortunate seat finally turned to complain John figured it would just be easier to let it go. Six-year-old Megan sat farthest from him; her tiny feet tucked under her as she curled up and stared out the window. She looked like a frightened kitten, he thought sadly. She hadn't said one word to him since he’d unceremoniously dumped the contents of her dresser into a duffel bag and carried both her and the bag out of her grandfather’s house.
"You look like Uncle Brandon," Jamie had explained. "And she doesn't like him much either."
John really didn't blame her. He wasn't particularly fond of Brandon himself. He found the comparison disturbing.
Brandon. Colm. Jamie. Megan. Patrick. The names bounced around the inside of his skull. For the thousandth time since he'd gotten the phone call from Colm's lawyer he felt a wave of nausea roll over him. He'd spent more than fifteen years trying to push all memories, all ties, all thoughts of the O'Doyles out of his mind. Now his mind was full of nothing but O'Doyles and it was beginning to make him physically ill. He closed his eyes and images of his family... yes, his family, he thought bitterly... rose unbidden to glare back at him.
Malcolm and Brandon had never understood why their father had remarried after their mother's death. The young boys had deeply resented the woman who soon took her place at Patrick's side and they had vehemently hated the child that was born not long after. Brandon had been nine when John was born; Malcolm was twelve. They had both tormented their much younger half-brother mercilessly. None of the three had *ever* left the "half" off of the appellation. John had been enormously relieved that the older boys had both moved out of the house by the time he was in the fourth grade. Unfortunately they hadn't moved very far away and were still liable to show up for dinner on random nights and knock him around a bit just for old time's sake. Even more unfortunate had been the realization that without anyone bigger around Patrick was reduced to taking out his frustrations on his youngest son. Given a choice, Johnny O'Doyle on the whole would have rather faced one of his teenaged half-sibs than their father in one of his moods.
It was strange, John thought, that twenty years later Colm would turn to the much-detested half-brother over the full-blooded one.
*****
Hartsfield Airport -
Chloe all but skipped down the moving sidewalk toward Concourse C. She loved coming to the airport. It was always so busy and exciting and the sidewalks were fun. They were going to pick up John, she thought happily as she jumped off the end of the sidewalk. She looked back to see her mother step off more slowly. Her mother had seemed kinda distracted ever since John had called from the airport in Boston to ask if they'd come pick him up when he got in. Chloe thought she had an idea about why her mom seemed so worried. Every time John went to Boston he got beat up. Mom said that it didn't quite work that way, but that's sure what it looked like to her. At least he was okay this time though. And her mom said that he was bringing somebody with him. He didn't say who they were, but Chloe thought that if they were friends of John then they were probably pretty cool.
They rode the escalator up to the concourse and headed for gate 34. They were late because Mom had underestimated afternoon traffic and the plane had already arrived. Chloe scanned the departing passengers for a familiar form and gave an excited cry when she saw him walking up the tunnel.
"John!"
"Hey, Chlo!" he said, scooping her up in arms. "Miss me? I've got some people I want you to meet," he said when he set her down again.
It was only then that she noticed the two people with him - a boy who looked a little older than her and a girl who looked a little younger. The girl looked kinda scared, but the boy just looked mad.
"This is Jamie and Megan," John said. "Guys, this is Chloe and her mom, Sa... Dr. Waters."
"You can call me Sam," her mom said. "It's very nice to meet you both. Chloe?"
"They're kids," she said and then felt her face go red. "You didn't say they were kids."
John looked sort of red too. "They're my niece and nephew." He gave her mom a weird look, almost like he was embarrassed. "I know I should have told you on the phone... or even before... But I wasn't sure..."
"It's okay," her mom said. "We can talk about it later. Do you have any luggage?"
"A couple of bags."
Chloe frowned as she trailed behind the rest of them as they headed back to the escalators. Niece and nephew? *Real* niece and nephew, she wondered? Despite all her honorary aunts and uncles, both of Chloe's parents had been only children. John, she realized suddenly, wasn't even one of her honorary uncles. He was always just John. Her frown deepened.
*****
"I’m sorry, Sam," John said quietly as they stood at the baggage carousel. "It's just that I've spent so long trying not to think about any of them that I just didn't know how to tell you. I would have. I mean I was going to." He gave her an apologetic look. "Soon. I really was planning to take you up to the cabin one weekend and tell you everything. If we're going to get serious, Sam, there's a lot of stuff you need to know about me."
"Like the fact that you're obviously not an only child," she said lightly. It earned her a weak grin.
"Yeah. For starters."
Sam looked up into his anxious blue eyes. Worry-lines creased deep furrows across his forehead and between his eyebrows. Stress and strain showed clearly in his every feature. She reached up to brush his cheek lightly. Despite her own surprise at seeing to two young children get off the plane with John she knew that his shock at the whole situation had to be considerably greater.
"It's okay," she said softly. "I know that you would have told me when you were ready. I know how hard it is to talk about your past. I was willing to be patient."
"I should have told you," he interrupted. "God, Sam, I know *everything* about your life and I never tell you anything."
"You don't know *everything*, Mr. Grant," she smiled. "And believe it or not, I do understand why you wanted to put everything about..." she glanced at the tired children sitting on the edge of the carousel. "Everything about Boston behind you. You never thought any of this would happen."
"Not in a million years," he agreed.
"So, what *did* happen?" She gave him a gentle smile as his expression became even more harried. He looked overwhelmed and she could almost see the wheels grinding in his mind. "Start with the sibling," she suggested. "I never would have guessed that you were somebody's little brother."
"Yeah, they kind of had a problem with the concept, too."
"They?" She looked at him sympathetically as he exhaled a weary sigh. "This is going to be a long story, isn't it?"
*****
Atlanta, the firehouse-"You live in a fire station?" Jamie asked incredulously as they pulled into the parking lot. The blonde girl nodded. Chloe, he thought. What a weird name. And whoever heard of a lady called Sam? He shook his head and climbed out of the back seat, pulling Megan with him. He didn’t want to be here, he sulked as they walked toward the big building following the grownups. It was stupid and didn’t make any sense. His dad had told him once that the next time John came to Boston he and Meg were supposed to go with him. Jamie thought at first that he might be kidding because nobody seemed to like Uncle John very much. But his dad had gotten mad even though he tried not to show it for once and he’d made Jamie promise. Jamie had promised without really understanding and then not thought anything else about it… until Dad had been arrested and everything had gotten crazy.
They’d had to go live with Grandpa O’Doyle. Grandpa wasn’t much worse than Dad. Both of them yelled a lot and seemed angry a lot of the time, but Dad said that they had stressful jobs. Jamie had heard that a lot every time his dad apologized for getting angry… and stuff. He pushed that thought away and thought instead of Uncle Brandon. Uncle Brandon was the worst one, and he spent a lot of time at Grandpa’s house. Dad said that Grandpa depended on Uncle Brandon more than anybody. Jamie didn’t particularly like his father’s brother. He didn’t just yell. And he got angry a lot more often than even Grandpa did. Jamie’s hand rose to unconsciously trace the fading bruise on his arm again. If Uncle John was as bad as Uncle Brandon, he thought, then he was just going to run away and take Meg with him. He wished for the millionth time that Dad would get out of jail soon.
Jamie was momentarily startled out of his mental moping when they stopped beside an elevator. A fire station with an elevator. He would almost admit that it was kinda cool, he mused reluctantly. Even if it did have guards. He could see two of them in an office in the garage and was pretty sure that he’d seen another one in the parking lot. He knew what security looked like and wondered why Chloe and her mom seemed to need so much.
“Chloe, why don’t you show Jamie and Megan your room?” Chloe’s mom asked when they got off the elevator. “Maybe you can pick out a video to watch while John and I talk.”
“Okay,” Chloe said. She looked at Jamie and Megan with a weird expression. She looked like she’d rather shove them back on the elevator. That was fine with Jamie. None of this was his idea anyway. He and Meg slowly followed the blonde girl down the hall.
Her room was okay, Jamie supposed as he looked around. There was a girly bedspread on the bed and a giant stuffed panda bear sitting in one corner. Those were kinda dumb. But there were also lots of cool-looking books on the shelves, and the ice skates at the end of the bed were definitely cool. They were hockey skates. He could tell just by looking at them. He gave Chloe a new appraising look as Meg stared at the big dumb bear.
“You play hockey?” he asked skeptically. He knew girls at school who played, but somehow he hadn’t thought that there would be girls’ teams in Georgia. Chloe scrunched up her face in another weird look.
“No,” she said. “Not yet. But John is going to teach me. He’s already taught me to skate.”
“My dad got me new skates for my birthday last month,” he told her. “They’re a lot faster than those old ones.”
“Mine are fast.” She frowned at him. “John gave them to me for Christmas last year. The videos are over there. We can watch ‘Robin Hood’. That’s John’s favorite movie.”
“Whatever.” He didn’t care what John’s favorite movie was. He didn’t care that John had bought her those stupid skates either. She probably didn’t know how to skate anyway. He followed Chloe back into the living room.
*****
"So Megan won't talk to you," Sam asked after John had finished telling her the whole convoluted story. They sat at the kitchen table with their coffee. John shrugged noncommittally and stared down into his nearly untouched mug. She studied his shadowed profile. He had always been reluctant to talk about his family. She had thought that she understood why. It was a bit disconcerting to learn that she had only known half of the story. It did a lot to explain why he was so protective of Chloe's "normal" childhood though.
"Megan doesn't like me," John said finally. "I look like Brandon. Apparently she doesn't like him either." He shook his head. "I hate this," he said. "No matter what I change... my name, my accent, anything... I still look like them. I look like an O'Doyle. I have my father's eyes, my father's build... I even have his damn hair," he laughed bitterly.
Sam raised her hand to touch his cheek. "You have your mother's smile," she said. She smiled at his startled expression. "I saw the picture at your cabin."
He gave her a weak, lopsided version of the smile she loved. "Thanks."
"And I think that you'll do fine. You're great with Chloe. They'll come around."
"I hope so," he said without conviction.
"Have you started thinking long-term yet?" she asked, changing tracks. "What school district do you live in?" He gave her a blank look. "You're in Fulton County, right?" she persisted with a small smile and continued at his weak nod. "You can call the Board of Education. What grades are they in?"
"Wait," he grinned suddenly. "I know this one. I asked Jamie on the plane. He's in the fifth grade. Megan is in first."
"And you really don't have any idea which elementary school is closest to you?"
"Not a clue. Guess I'm going to have to take a few days off and get all this sorted out, huh?"
"If you need any help..."
"I'll manage. How hard can it be?"
She gave him a look of sincere pity.
*****
After John and the children left and Chloe was tucked safely into bed Sam sat curled up on the sofa trying to sort through it all. John had given her a great deal to think about. Now that the original surprise was wearing off she was beginning to wonder just how much she *didn’t* know about the man she had fallen in love with.
Another carbon copy. She could hear an echo of John’s voice in her mind. He had used the phrase once when talking about his father. His mother had been afraid that Patrick would turn him into another carbon copy. Something about John’s wording had struck her as peculiar even at the time, but she hadn’t pursued it. To be honest, she had simply attributed it to bad grammar. He could be incredibly blunt about most things, but when it came to expressing his feelings, John was frequently less than explicit. She realized now that he had been perfectly clear in this instant and she had missed it.
His childhood hadn’t been quite as solitary as she’d somehow always expected. He had issues with his past that she hadn’t even begun to suspect. But at least now he was finally opening up to her. Sam had no doubts that if John’s niece and nephew had arrived just a few months ago he would have tried to shut her out. After a lifetime of having to deal with troubles on his own he probably would have felt that he needed to shoulder all of this alone too. It would have caused a huge step backward in their already unpredictable relationship. Now Sam had finally admitted to herself that she did want this relationship. She was working on allowing John completely into her life she could see that he was slowly doing the same. He was actually going to let her help him.
Nobody ever said that getting involved with John Grant was going to be easy, she told herself wryly. It’s a good thing he’s worth the effort.
*****
John’s apartment-
John ushered the children into his apartment and dropped their light luggage in the living room. "Bathroom's there," he said, pointing down the hallway. "Why don't you two go brush your teeth and get ready for bed? You did pack toothbrushes, right?"
Jamie rolled his eyes wordlessly and began rifling through his duffel bag. In a few moments both children were in the bathroom. John listened for the sound of running water then shook his head wearily and started taking the cushions off his couch. Nate's wife, Michelle, had insisted that he buy a fold-out model several years ago. He'd thought it was a little irrational at the time, but now he was belatedly grateful that she'd talked him into it. The convertible bed had never been used and he was wondering absently if he even had sheets to fit it when the phone rang.
He stared at it. It rang again. Three guesses who that is, Johnny. Not giving himself long enough to reconsider he picked up the handset.
"No," he said flatly without waiting for even a greeting. And hung up. A small movement caught his eye and he turned to see Jamie leaning on the doorframe, toothbrush jammed crookedly in his mouth. The boy blinked at him with an expression which clearly belied a belief that grown-ups were completely incomprehensible. He shook his head at John's admittedly immature behavior and went back to the bathroom.
John looked back at the phone. It could have been anybody, he thought with weak rationalization. He'd received more than one extended lecture for hanging up on Bailey at three am in precisely the same manner. And plenty of other people had perfectly good reasons for calling him at ten o'clock on a Thursday night. He sighed and waited for it to ring again. Forty-five seconds later it did.
"You can't have them."
"You are, without a doubt, the most impolite child I ever raised."
"I find that hard to believe," John said tiredly. "Look, there's nothing to say. I have all the paperwork. It's all legal. They're staying with me. Get over it." The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the low, mirthless laughter that echoed through the line.
"It's not that simple and you know it."
"Just let them go."
"I can't do that," Patrick said. The soft tone of his voice did nothing to hide the implicit threat that John was all too familiar with. "They're O'Doyles. They are my grandchildren. And they belong here."
"You know better than to even try that crap with me," John snapped.
"Do you really think that you're stronger than Noreen was? You can't hide from this, Johnny, and you can't hide them."
"You do realize that my phone is always tapped, right? Keep it up. Just keep talking."
"Tomorrow."
He felt a brief surge of satisfaction as the line went dead. Then mentally kicked himself. He really *should* get a tap on the phone, he thought wryly. Any thoughts of wondering what his father had meant by "tomorrow" were pushed to the side as the sounds of quiet sobbing reached him. Now what? He followed the noise to the bathroom and found Megan sitting on the floor, her back to the door. Jamie hovered over her protectively and glared at John.
"What's wrong with her?" John asked.
The boy looked at him as if he was an idiot. "She wants to go home.”
John rubbed a weary hand across his face. “I know,” he said. “But right now we’re just going to have to manage together here for a while.”
"I want to go home!" Megan wailed. John blinked in surprise. It was the first thing she'd ever said to him.
"But Megan, honey..."
"I want to go home!"
And I want an aspirin, John thought. And maybe a good stiff drink. If I'd known this is what would happen when Colm went to jail maybe I wouldn't have been quite so helpful to the OCB.
***** *****