The Dangers of Holy Ground

Disclaimers: If you recognize them from the show, they're not mine and belong to whoever has legal claim to them. If you don't recognize them, then they're mine. If for some reason you want to borrow one, just ask.

Author's Note: This is the third installment of a little AU I've been working on. To fully understand what's going on and who Rylan is I suggest you read this story's predecessors: "Hidden Secrets" and "Rule Number One" in that order. And as always feel free to leave reviews (positive or other wise are welcomed with open arms) for any story you read. E-mails are also acceptable if you feel the urge to do so.

Special Thanks to my "Beta Listener" Alikara, thank you for sitting through all my stories! And also thanks to all the people reading and leaving reviews, especially Dawn N and Rachelle Ryan, who gave me the idea to go into the realm of the AU. I hope this doesn't disappoint you guys.



Part One: That's What You Get For Being Late





Richie snuck through the back door and tiptoed to the stairs.

"You're late," Richie froze. "and judging by the way you're sneaking around, you know it." Richie laughed nervously and turned to face Duncan. "You're lucky Rylan had nothing to do and covered for you." He continued handing Richie an envelope. "Bank, go, now."

"Mac, about this whole being late thing, I can explain. It's not I'm being irresponsible. . ." Richie stopped, sighed, and smiled weakly. "Bank, gotcha."

"And on your way home, I need you to stop by the store to pick up some things for dinner." He added handing over the list he had made.

"Mac, I can't fit all this on my bike." Richie complained looking over the list.

"Then I guess you'll just have to take my car." Duncan smiled dangling his keys in front of the boy's face. "But if you don't want to. . . Hey, Rylan, can you do me a favor?" Rylan appeared in the office doorway.

"No way, if anybody's driving it's me." Richie grabbed the keys out of Duncan's hand.

"I want to drive." Rylan protested, not quite sure where she would be going but she would take any chance to drive the T-Bird.

"You can control the radio."

"Bagpipes it is." She smiled following Richie out the door.

. . . . . .

Richie stood on his tiptoes and peered over the heads of the people in front of them.

"This is going to take forever." He decided.

"Don't look at me, I just wanted to drive." Rylan said eyeing the line herself.

"Here," Richie handed her some money "why don't you go get us something to drink."

"Okay."



Richie chewed on his licorice and looked out the window of the bank. 'What's taking so long?' he thought. He turned back around and counted the people in front of him: eight men, four women, and a little girl who looked very interested in his candy. He smiled down at her.

"Ask your mom if you can have some." He told her.

She smiled and excitedly tugged on her mother's shirt. "Mommy! Mommy, can I have some licorice?"

"I don't have any, sweetheart."

"But he does." She pointed at Richie.

"I hope you don't mind, I told her she could have some if it was okay with you." He explained. She looked him up and down critically. He smiled his most charming smile before biting into another stick of licorice.

"Okay." The mother finally said. The little girl smiled up at Richie as she took the candy. "What do you say?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He answered.

The door opened and Richie turned hoping Rylan had finally come back. Instead a man in a long brown coat walked in; turning a key in the lock behind him. Richie quickly turned back around and struck up a conversation with the little girl in front of him, hoping the man hadn't noticed him. He looked up as the man walked past the line and to a teller window. The mother turned to Richie.

"Who does that man think he is?" She asked angrily.

"I don't want to panic you, but I think he's robbing the bank." Richie said quietly.

"What!?"

"Shh," He hissed "I'm pretty sure I saw him lock the door, with a key."

The women watched as the teller quietly emptied their drawer and handed it over to the man.

"Oh, my God. I think you're right." She snatched up her daughter's hand.

Richie got an idea. He pulled the deposit slip out of his pocket. "Got a pen?" The women reached in her purse and handed him one. "I have a friend who should be getting back here any second." Richie scribbled on the paper. "I'm going to slip this between the doors, but I need you to call me back here like I was going to do something for you and you changed your mind, okay?"

"Okay." The women nodded. Richie watched the teller as she began collecting money from another teller.

"I'll be right back." He folded the paper in half and slid it between the doors.

"Cole, never mind we'll do it later." The women called after him.

"Okay." Richie shoved his hands in his pockets and wondered back to the line. He threw a casual glance over his shoulder and smiled to himself when he spotted Rylan watching him from the corner. "We're golden." He said under his breath.

"What was all that about, Cole?" The man asked walking over to Richie.

Richie frowned in confusion. "How do you know my name?"

"Don't get cute with me. You know what I'm talking about." The man pulled a gun out of his waistband and pointing it at him. Richie instinctively threw his hands up and backed away.

"Woah, dude, just chill okay?" He stammered. "I was just going to go get some drinks and changed my mind. You don't need to get all bent out of shape about it."

"I saw you watching me when I came in." He waived the gun in Richie's face.

"I- - I wasn't watching you, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you weren't." The man sneered. "Everybody, I would like you to get against the wall, and on your way hand all your wallets to smart-ass here."

"That's okay, I'm not going to get involved." Richie said.

"Too late."

. . . . . . .

Rylan strolled lazily across the street, sipping the soda the cute store clerk had given her. She turned the corner and saw Richie in the doorway of the bank. A pink piece of paper flutter to the ground through the doors. She stopped and watched as his figure turned away, faded into an outline, and then disappeared behind the tented glass. Something wasn't right. She casually continued walking and as she passed the bank she dropped the cap to her soda, stopped, turned around, picked it up, and pocketed the paper. She slid into an alley and looked at the pink deposit slip in her hand: 'Get Mac' was scrawled across it.