This is based off a prompt from romiross, will be multichaptered and features lots of Prentiss/Doyle. It unfortunately does not have the rest of the team. I could have crammed them in, but with the JTF-12 team and local LEOs, it would have been too many cops for me to juggle effectively.
Thank you Sara Nublas for the translation of the Italian, it is much appreciated.
Ian Doyle rubbed a finger along his bottom lip as he perused the letter, photos, and news clippings sent from one of his contacts in Boston. Ordinarily, he might handle a problem such as this with a bullet to the man's head, but that wasn't practical in this situation. It would start a war, and while he wasn't afraid of Flynn in the slightest, his brother Seamus was an entirely different matter. Seamus was a sadistic bastard with a mean streak as wide as the Atlantic, and more than enough money and manpower to back it up. Even Ian Doyle did not fuck with Seamus Ronan.
"What're you thinkin', Ian?" Liam asked, standing almost perfectly still beside him.
Ian didn't turn or look at him, but stared straight ahead. "I think we'll be needing more help that we've got here."
"I might be able to round up a few more guys—" Ian cut him off with the wave of a hand.
He sighed. "You won't find many willing to go up against Seamus."
"But we can't let Flynn keep doin' what he's doin." Liam's voice was louder, more desperate.
"We won't. Gather the boys, Liam. It's time we move our business, I think." He looked his first mate in the eyes, and watched the older man's grow larger in shock. He continued before Liam could speak. "I'll handle this myself. You work on getting rid of anything that needs to be gotten rid of, and get the men to scatter. Then you go yourself, take Louise with you."
"No, Lauren will mind the boy."
"Lauren will mind him," Ian repeated more firmly. He suspected that Liam knew of Declan's true parentage, but he'd never asked, and Ian never told.
Liam finally nodded then, and left to go do as asked. Ian sighed and rubbed his hands over his head. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine that he'd be doing this, and yet he was determined to do just that. He shuffled the papers into a fresh envelope, and left the original with the return address on the desk for burning, along with so much of his business documents.
Ian packed a bag, grabbed his jacket, and headed downstairs to find Lauren. She was in the living room, helping Declan with a puzzle, and she smiled when she saw him. She must have seen something in his eyes, because it dropped quickly. She ran a hand over Declan's blond hair, and pushed herself off the floor.
"Ian, what's wrong?" Her voice was a whisper.
"There's going to be a few people coming into the house, they're my people, so don't be alarmed. I have to go out, but I need you to pack a bag for yourself and Declan, and then wait in his room until someone comes to get you."
"What? Why? Are you in trouble?"
"It's fine, just please do as I ask, Lauren," he said. Her face was filled with worry and concern, he raised his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "You trust me?"
Her eyes searched his, and she touched the hand still pressed against her cheek. "Of course, I do."
"Then do this for me, please." After a few seconds of silence, she nodded, and Ian pulled in her for a quick kiss before he walked out of the house, and made for his car.
He drove to the police headquarters in Grosseto, and parked his expensive car in their lot full of cruisers and the inexpensive sedans of their employees. Ian left his bag in the car, and tugged the envelope of documents into his jacket, before heading inside. His French had always been better than his Italian, but living in the country had certainly helped improve it. Lauren had wonderful Italian. She couldn't hide her American accent, but she spoke it fluently and confidently. He did the same as he addressed the officer stationed at the door.
The young officer had to phone other officers, and it wasn't long before the police lobby was surrounded by uniformed police, and higher ranking ones in suits. He explained that he was unarmed, and only wanted to give them some information. Two cops kept guns on him, while another frisked him, finding only his keys, wallet and the envelope. What he assumed was the highest ranking cop in the room stepped forward and addressed him in heavily accented English.
"How can we help you, Mr. Doyle?" He didn't bother hiding his distain.
Neither did Ian. "You have contacts with Interpol?"
The cop snorted. "You come to turn yourself in then?"
He smiled. "Not likely. I have information that will be of interest to Interpol and the American's specifically. Irish too. English maybe, if they've got a clue."
"What kind of information?"
"On a man responsible for the rape and murder of at least a dozen children in three countries."
The cops immediately sobered, their attitudes dropping. "How did you come by this information?"
"I'm well acquainted with this swine and his family."
The cop gave Ian an untrusting look. "You're being honest here? Because we don't have time to waste with you."
Ian nodded. "Aye."
"Then I think we should talk." He nodded to two men, who approached Ian. He held up his arms, refusing to let them grab him.
"Before we get to any talking, I have to conditions. I won't talk unless both are met." The cop nodded, so Ian continued. "The first is that you get Interpol here before I do any talking. I hate repeating myself, and we both know they'll have to come anyway. Moira, Northern Ireland. January 5, 1989, March 3rd, 1990, November 21st, 1990. Those are the dates of the cases in Ireland. Three dead children, two girls and a boy. You validate those, and get Interpol here when you finish."
"And, the second?"
"That I'll tell you when you've got Interpol on their way." It was both to delay a couple hours, and because he didn't trust them.
Again, the cop nodded, and gestured to the officers to escort him upstairs. They took him to a small interrogation room, and left him there while they checked on the cases he mentioned. There was a fourth case in Moira, in 1987, but that death had been deemed accidental. He knew that to be false.
So, he waited. It wasn't surprising that it would take them time to get through to the authorities in Ireland, and for Moira police to track down the files, which were probably buried in a storage facility somewhere. After an hour, a young cop came in, handed him a cup of coffee and assured him they were working on it. He offered a nod of thanks, and went back to waiting. For years, he'd wanted to do something about Flynn. He'd kept track of him, making note of child murders wherever the monster was living, and hoping for Seamus to get blown away in a firefight. Without Seamus, Flynn was an easy target. No one would fight or die for that bastard.
Another hour and a half, and the cop he'd spoken to walked back in. "Mr. Doyle, we verified those cases, and spoke to Interpol. They have a team in the area that should arrive soon. You want to tell me what you else you wanted?"
Ian nodded. "This man that's hurting the children, he has a very powerful family, when they learn who gave the police the information on him, they will come after me and mine. I want a promise that my family and I will be given new identities after this is all over."
"Interpol will have to make that promise."
"Aye." Ian nodded. A knock at the door interrupted the short silence that had fallen, and a young man announced that Interpol had already arrived. The senior officer seemed to be surprised, but excused himself with a nod, and disappeared out the door.
When he returned ten minutes later it was with two other men. One with short lighter hair, and the other with darker hair that spread to his face.
The Italian cop made introductions. "Ian Doyle. Interpol Agents Clyde Easter and Sean McAllister."
Ian looked at the dark-haired man, McAllister. "Irish?"
He shook his head. "Scotsman."
Doyle shrugged. "Better than a Brit."
McAllister nodded to his partner. "Careful, he's one of the Queen's boys."
"Unfortunate for you," Ian said. Easter looked almost amused.
"You requested to speak with us, Mr. Doyle." Easter didn't sit, but addressed him politely.
"I trust they briefed you on why I came. Before I give you what I have, I want your guarantee of new identities for my family."
"You're on Interpol's radar, Doyle, and according to your dossier, you don't have any living family," he said.
Ian smiled. "I guess you better tell your boys they aren't so good at collecting intel."
Easter inhaled. "What jurisdiction is this man currently in, do you know?"
"The States. Do I have my guarantee?" Ian pressed.
He nodded. "We have contacts with the U.S. Marshals, since it will be Americans arresting and prosecuting, they'll handle protection and new identities. At least when we get overseas, I can guarantee you my team will protect your family until then. If you give me names and locations, I'll send officers to get them now."
Ian gave them the address of the house. "Declan Jones and Lauren Reynolds. And Lauren will be armed, so tell your people not to shoot if they see a weapon."
Emily was normally a very calm, rational person; a champion at compartmentalizing and concealing her emotions, and very hard to fluster.
Emily was freaking out.
Declan was sitting on his bed, pointing out animals in the book and making the appropriate noises, and she was just thankful he was still entertained. Their bags were by the door and she was strapped to the gills with weapons, awaiting whoever was supposed to come get them. Something was very wrong, she could sense it in Ian's body language, and feel it when he touched her. Not to mention Liam and a couple guys storming into the house and collecting materials, things they wouldn't want cops to find, and the huffing and puffing back out, with an agitated Louise in tow.
That left only Declan and herself in what was basically a mansion, and it was a bit daunting when it was so empty. At first, it wasn't so bad, Emily could cope with pretty much anything. But it had been hours now, with no word from Ian, and no way to safety contact her team and tell them that the shit had just very likely hit the fan.
Then there was a knock on the door.
She tensed, and shimmied out of Declan's bed, leaving the boy to sit and watch her curiously. Emily didn't bother going to his window, as it faced the back of the house, not the front. Instead, she glanced around the room, until her eyes settled on the toy chest. She walked over, and pulled out some of the toys, before she motioned Declan over.
"I need you to climb in here, sweetie." She gestured to the chest. The person at the door knocked again.
Trained well by Ian, Declan did it without asking a single question. She set the lid back down. "Push on the top, see if you can get out."
She watched the top come up to reveal a smiling Declan. "Good, you stay in there until I come get you. If I don't come, you stay in until you don't hear anyone in the house, then you come out, and run to the neighbors. Okay?"
He nodded, and she settled the top back as she heard the knocking again. Emily organized the animals again, so it wouldn't look obvious, and then moved quickly down the stairs. She pulled out her weapon, definitely illegal in Italy, and called through the door. "Chi è esso?"
"Polizia Urbana." A man's voice called back.
"Mostratemi le vostre credenziali alla finestra." She instructed them to show their credentials. At least one did as asked, which was enough for her to study the ID, and confirm authenticity. She holstered her weapon, and undid the locks on the door.
Che cosa posso fare per voi?" She asked what they wanted. There were two male cops directly in front of the door, and another set on the lawn.
"E` lei Lauren Reynolds?" The older of the two asked.
"Sì, sono io."
"We are here to escort you to police headquarters," he said, switching to English.
Emily's heart began to pump faster, but she didn't show any concern. "Why? I haven't broken any laws that I'm aware of."
"You are not under arrest, signorina. We're taking you into custody for your own protection."
"Protection from what?"
The cop swallowed and seemed to be resisting the urge to shrug. "We were not told that much, signorina. Only to retrieve you and the boy."
"Declan Jones. Signore Doyle said you and the boy would be together."
Her eyes widened. "Signore Doyle? What the hell is going on?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't know." He looked rather apologetic.
She frowned, but nodded in ascent. "Fine. I need to get Declan."
"We need you to frisk you, signorina. We were told that you'd be armed."
Emily turned back around, jaw tense. She pulled the 38 auto from her waistband, showed it to them, ejected the clip, and tossed both aside. Then she reached into her right pant leg, and removed the 22, and repeated the same actions. Last, she reached into her left pocket and pulled out the six inch switchblade, also tossing that aside.
They were eyeing her with expressions that suggested she was nuts. Emily sighed. "I woke up feeling a bit paranoid today. Feel free to check for more."
The older cop nudged the younger one forward, and he awkwardly patted her down, checking her over for additional weapons. He backed up with a nod at the other cop. Emily turned again then, and headed up to get Declan. She grimaced, but otherwise ignored the booted steps of the officers following her up.
Emily lifted up the chest lid to find a frightened Declan, and motioned him to come out. "It's okay, sweetie."
He followed her as she headed back toward the door. As she reached a hand to grab for the bags, one of the cops reached out a hand toward Declan. Emily slapped his hand away, and pulled Declan close, lifting him into her arms. "No one comes near him until I find out what the hell is going on."
The cop raised his hands to show he wouldn't touch them. Instead he grabbed the bags, and walked downstairs and out to the cruisers. She set Declan in the back seat of one, and motioned him to move over, so she could sit beside him. The younger cop closed the door, while the older one stowed their bags, and then they were headed off to police headquarters. Declan slid back toward her, and pressed his little body into hers for the entire car ride.