Boston Blood

Sixty six

"Mike, they've just stopped off Beacon St. Brighton. That's only ten minutes away. If we hurry, we'll make it." Mac smiled, letting his adrenaline completely outweigh the weight of the felony Michael had just made him commit. They were going AWOL and were likely to lose their jobs for not calling it in but Michael didn't care.

He watched the light flash on the tracking device in Mac's hand and put his foot down, squinting through the sun-soaked windshield, so that they were well and truly breaking the speed limit. He felt like a man possessed and all he could think about was finding Frankie. He hadn't even really thought of what they were going to do when they got there, he just knew that he was going to do whatever it took to make sure she was safe, to make it up to her for being a shitty brother. He could feel the cell phone buss in his pocket but didn't have to check to know who it was. Linda had been calling him all day. She had left several voicemails that he couldn't bring himself to listen to yet. He knew she must be worried sick but he couldn't talk to her right now. He knew that if he heard her voice, he wouldn't be able to keep it together. He forced his mind not to picture her sitting in her apartment stressing. That wouldn't be good for the baby. My baby. He gripped the steering wheel harder and tried desperately not to let the dark thoughts win. He was going to see Linda again and couldn't wait to meet his child. He prayed he would be get the chance, anyway.

"ETA Eight minutes. Oh, man. The battery is low, Mike. I'm sure there's enough juice in it to get us there. Only eight minutes. Fuck! This is so stupid! I can't believe we're doing this! Right, seeing as we're probably gonna die tonight, spill."

Michael shot him an agitated look and felt the tension build in his shoulders. The fucking battery better hold out. Fuck, why didn't I charge it! "No. We don't have ti-,"

"Fuck that. Don't give me that shit, brother. I want to know everything. Frankie is your sister, I know that but how did you come to working this case? How did the chief let you go under-cover in a case you were obviously too fucking attached to? How did you get through that? Working with your fucking scumbag father after what he did and how the fuck did you manage to get a tracker onto Cillian fucking Donovan's car?"

Michael furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to Mac's exhausting rant. He knew he owed his partner answers. He had lied to everyone he cared about and nearly lost Linda just to get these bastards. It had been three years of his life and it was finally coming to an end tonight. He was going to take down Aidan O'Shea and everyone on that fucking list and he was going to save his sister if it was the last thing he would do.

"Mike? Tell me."

Michael sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "I never told chief that Tommy was my father. Because I was adopted, there were no records on me and my official new name was Michael Byrne. So I asked chief if I could be put on the case. He found out eventually, of course. He was fucking furious but I was too deep in by that stage and he had no choice but to let me stay on undercover. He doesn't know about Frankie."

Mac let out a harsh breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Fuck. And when did you plant the tracker on Donovan's car?"

"Before I went to New Hampshire. I broke into his garage and put one under each of his cars."

"Ha, genius."

"Yeah... genius. Look, you don't have to come in here with me, you know that, right? This isn't your fight."

"Mike, You're my fucking brother man. You may be a dumb son of a bitch but I was a marine and I'm not going to leave my brother. I'm with you."

Michael looked at Mac and felt an overwhelming rush of pride and affection which was short lived and his fear and anxiety took over once more when they reached the turn for Beacon Street. The street led to what looked like some sort of Industrial Park. There were dozens of business scattered everywhere. "Okay, where does the tracker say they are?"