Fi was mid-rant as she and Michael came home. "Michael, Sam and Pierce haven't found a single thing about the shooter and they've been at it for nearly a month. It's like he disappeared."
"Fi, I'm not going to let Nate's killer get away." Michael paused. "And he took out Anson. That means there's something more going on, something beyond Anson. No one comes to Miami, snipes a high value target and just disappears."
Fi stopped in front of Michael, taking his hands in hers. "Babe, I'm not suggesting we stop looking. If someone had killed my brother, or you," she squeezed his hands gently, "I'd chase them to the ends of the earth." Fi stopped to gather her thoughts. "I'm just saying there's something strange going on, something's different, I have a bad feeling Michael."
"You're right Fi, there is something different." Michael leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. "We have to keep pushing forward and see where this leads."
Fi rested her head against his chest. "I know, that's the part that scares me. Where will it lead? Where will it end? Maybe it never ends."
Michael knew what she meant but chose not to comment. It was no old argument. He knew he could never let the assassin go and was thankful that Fi knew that about him but loved him anyway. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him.
Michael kissed Fi's cheek again and moved towards the kitchen. He went to the frig for his usual and noticed the half eaten yogurt sitting on the counter. Odd. "Fi, did I … " He stopped midsentence becoming aware of a strange silence in the loft.
Michael looked up to find Fi frozen in place, she was staring up into the darkness as the figure at the top of the stairs. His first instinct was to draw his gun but knew that would be a mistake. This intruder had the high ground. Michael tried to focus his eyes into the darkness. I could only make out a dark silhouette and the glint of a gun their hand.
"Please, don't move, not so much as an inch," a voice came from above. "Michael, if you would please. Your gun, toss it on the bed."
Michael moved slowly, deliberately, from behind the counter, reaching behind his back as the same time. His eyes never left the figure. He knew the closer he got, the better he could make out the figure and maybe take a shot.
"With your left hand, please," the voice came again.
Michael did as he was asked, annoyed at the "pleases" that came with each demand. He tossed his gun across to the bed, a little too hard, it bounced once and fell to the floor.
As if reading his mind or perhaps his face, "and now on your knees." There was no courtesy in this demand but the calm, unhurried, confidence tone remained.
Fi turned her head slightly to look at Michael. Fear shown clearly on her face.
"I'm not here to harm either of you but let's not test that resolve."
Michael slowly dropped to one knee and then the other.
"Ms. Fiona, if you would please, behind his back." A pair of zip ties fell at her feet.
Fi bent over slowly, she made no attempt to hide the anger from her face. She picked up the ties and walked back to where Michael was kneeling.
"Who are you?" Michael asked putting his hands behind his back. He needed to get this person talking. All he had at this point was a voice but the way someone talked, their syntax, colloquialisms, accent, etc., could tell Michael a great deal.
Michael's question was met with silence.
Fi moved behind Michael and slipped the ties over his hands. There was the faint sound of the ties closing.
"A little tighter if you would please." Fi felt both anger and fear turn her stomach over. Whoever this was, they knew what they were doing.
"And now you Ms. Fiona," another pairs of ties dropped in front of her.
"In this dress? On this fifthly floor?" Fi protested
A rumpled towel fell out of the darkness on to the floor.
Michael watched Fi as she laid the towel down on the cold cement floor. He pulled her skirt slightly, knelt down and zipped her hands behind her back. She considered not closing the loops as much as she could but thought better of it. Fi mumbled under her breath, "son of … " and zipped the ties a little tighter.
Both watched as a figure rose and stepped slowly down the stairs. Each step deliberate, casual, poised and with a chrome plated pistol in hand.
"That's my gun" Fi blurted, she did not like anyone touching her things, especially her guns.
"Is it?" What before was a non-descript voice, now clearly belonged to a woman. She turned Fi's HK USP 45 over in her hand. "Very nice."
She reached the bottom of the stairs and sat on one of the lower steps. She wore a light blue hoody, pulled over her head, framing and covering most of her face.
Michael was going more impatient. "Now that we've decided on our seating arrangements, you want tell us what this is all about?"
The figure reached up and pulled the hoody back slightly to reveal a little more of her face. She was pretty, maybe beautiful, high cheekbones, there wasn't much more Michael could make out. The stairs were just out of reach of the sunlight that came through the windows.
"Who are you?" Michael asked
She looked at looked at Michael, then Fi and then at the gun in her hand.
"You're him, I mean her. You're the assassin." Fi blurted
"You … " Michael said with equal parts accusation and anger in his voice.
"No" she said looking directly at him, "You killed your brother. "
"You shot him." Michael retorted
She looked at him unwaveringly, "I pulled the trigger and unfortunately your brother was in the way."
Fi couldn't contain her disbelief "In the way?! He was behind Anson when you shot him."
She waited in silence, never taking her eyes from Michael.
Michael broke her gaze "in the way," he choked, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. "Nate was standing in the line of fire." whispered
"He didn't know better and I could not wait any longer." There was some measure of regret in her voice.
"Why?" Michael desperately needed to change the subject
"Kill Anson? It was necessary."
"If you're not here to kills us" Fi too was growing impatient, "then why are you here? Do you think we're going to just forget that you killed Nate or Anson?"
She ignored Fi's question and turned her gaze back to Michael. "You have a decision to make. You can accept your brother's death as it was, a tragedy, and move on with your life. Or, you can continue to pursue me."
"Why shouldn't we come after you?" Anger returned to Michael's voice.
She turned the gun over in her hand once again admiring the balance, the finish. "I don't have an answer for that question. You're very good at what you do Michael" She rose and went to the workbench. "I'm very good at what I do." She paused, scanning the debris strewn across it. "I hope we won't have to see whose better at their job."
"A threat?" Michael asked. "And I don't control the CIA."
She drew a slip of paper from her pocket and held it up, "This is how you can reach me. I'll give you a week Michael. If I don't hear from you then I'll know you've chosen to move on." She set the paper on the bench and skewed it in place with the screw driver.
Michael and Fi looked at one another, Michael shook his head to silence her. They both still had questions but he knew this "meeting" was over.
She moved to the door to leave and stopped, realizing she still had Fi's gun. She removed the magazine, popped the single round from the chamber and deftly released the slide. She looked back at Fi, "very nice," scattered the pieces on the bench and left.
Michael jumped to his feet, his knees aching, cut himself loose with a box cutter and pulled open the door.
"Michael don't!" Fi shouted after him
He stepped out on the landing just soon enough to hear a motorcycle race away.