*****AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, yall! Here we go. The newest continuation of my Twins/OFC saga. This one picks up where the last one (Saints Go Marching On) leaves off. Some decent smut in this one, hope that you enjoy. My OFC is dealing with some issues this go-round, so I'm sure she'll piss you off, but cut her some slack (please read the Addendum at the end of Chapter 5).

I'm figuring one more fic before I'm finished with this. I know where I'm going, but I don't know exactly how long it'll take me to get there, but fear not (not that you were), I'll finish it.

Thank you to everyone who is still following and has put me on their Author Alerts or Favorites. Thanks to all the reviewers! And Extra Special Crunchy Munchy Thank You's to Valerie E. Mackin, Nmbr1Fanilow, Penelope Sweet, BranowynIvy, ShayGurl, SaraLostInes, and Italian Rose, y'all have kept me going even when I wanted to quit.

Anyway on to the story…Hope you enjoy! Please review, share the love!

*****End of Author's Note*****

The phone was obviously not going to stop ringing.

It couldn't be Connor or Murphy, and I didn't want to talk to anyone else, so I had been ignoring it…for the last five minutes straight.

I knew it had been five minutes because when it rang the first time I had looked at the clock beside my bed and if said 6:08 am and I thought, 'What asshole is calling me at 6:08 in the morning?' And now my clock said 6:13 am and the fucking phone was still ringing.

Cheerily.

The bastard.

6:14 now. Still ringing.

"Ugh," I groaned to myself as I kicked my legs free of the sheets that had gotten wrapped around them during my sleepless night in my way too empty bed.

My feet on the floor, I sat a while, hoping it would stop and I could lay back down, but it didn't.

"Figures," I mumbled as I rose and crossed the room. Seriously, I thought to myself as I scratched my ribs, nevermind waking me up, but have some consideration for my neighbors, letting the phone ring for this long. What kind of an asshole lets a phone ring for six minutes.

I snatched the receiver up and growled into it.

"Ms. O'Reilly?"

I recognized the voice right away and thought 'Oh, that kind of asshole.' "Agent Smecker," I replied, coldly. Smecker and the detectives had never been given my real name, but when Connor and Murphy had heard about the lame attempt at an alias I gave to the cop in their apartment the morning after St. Patricks day (after they pissed themselves, laughing, of course) they decided it was as good a name as any to use for me. Always keeping me uninvolved, my boys, I thought as a pang shot through my belly and I promptly ignored it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

A pause as he, no doubt, consulted a watch which had probably cost more than a month's rent on my apartment. "Six-fifteen am," he said, his voice clipped.

I was opening my mouth for a scathing reply when the meep-meep-meep sound of my alarm sounded from my bedroom. I groaned, "Hold on," I said, dropping the phone, not waiting for a response.

I trudged back to my room, thumped my alarm clock into submission and wandered back. I lifted the phone to my ear and said, "Look, Agent Smecker, I've got an hour to get to work. I'm sure you're not calling cause you're concerned for my well-being so can we get to the point?"

A pause on the other end of the line. "When do you get off?"

"As often as I can," I snarked. No response. "At five. Why?"

"I need to see you."

I arched an eyebrow at the phone, doubtfully. "That's very sweet," I replied, my voice flat. "This would normally be the point in the conversation where I say 'You aren't my type', but the impression you've always given is that *I'm* not *yours*."

"Look," he began, a hint of a snarl in his voice, "I don't like you and I know you don't like me, but this meeting was one of the last requests made of me by our mutual friends –"

"Last request?" I gasped. "Are they-" I couldn't even finish.

"They were fine when I last saw them. I have not yet received confirmation of their arrival at their final destination." My fingers loosened on the receiver as he continued, "They asked a favor of me and I need to see you to do it. Now…could I buy you dinner?"

I could hear his lips curling up in distaste, and a wicked grin crossed my own and I let it leak into my voice as I replied, "Surely."

A pause. "I'll be outside your job at 5 pm," and the phone disconnected.

I made a face at the receiver in my hand before I returned it to the cradle, then turned to hit the shower. I was brushing my teeth when I realized that Smecker shouldn't have known my phone number, let alone where I worked. And that was more than a little disconcerting.

Work was a nightmare. It was dead and the only thing anybody wanted to talk about were "The Saints." I had hidden in the apartment all of the previous day, so this was the first time I had heard the name. I had to admit, I kinda dug the label, but that didn't mean I wanted to discuss it with everyone. But everyone continued to ask me. "Did you see it?" "Did you see them?" "Do you think it's right?" "Who do they think they are?"

I was ready to rip out my hair by lunch. I had to get out. So I walked down to a deli on the corner, ordered a sandwich and sat at the counter to eat it.

Food is comfort for me. And sex. Food and sex. Though not at the same time, obviously, because that would be messy…but the idea has merit, but I digress. The point is I was really looking forward to diving into my pastrami. As it neared my mouth, some guy rushed the counter and said, "Hey, turn that up."

I glanced at the TV as the counterman cranked the volume and was accosted by the same images of people running down the steps of the courthouse that had been playing all day. The talking heads droning on about vigilantism, for or against. The same clip of that redhead crying into the camera. The 'man in the street' segment.

I looked depressedly down at my sandwich and returned it to my plate, flagging the counterguy asking him to wrap it up for me.

A younger guy that sometimes helped out with the lunch rush came over to retrieve my plate. He looked up at me, arched one eyebrow and grinned. "You'll still be here when I bring it back?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and was going to say something smart, then the memory clicked and I felt my face flush red. I cleared my throat, smiling, "Yeah," I replied. "I'll be right here."

He walked away and I glanced down the short hallway to the bathrooms and grinned, dropping my face and shaking my head. Can't believe I forgot that *this* was the place.