Gel ( Collective Soul: Ed Roland)

Colour me any colour.
Speak to me in tongues and share.
Tell me how you'd love to hate me.
Tell me how you'd love to care.
Well I just want to shake us up.

Lets mingle
And make it well.
Come together now
Yea let's gel.

Clothe me in any fashion.
Glitter to so mundane.
Tell me how you'd love to change me.
Tell me I can stay the same.
I just want to shake us up.

Let's mingle
And make it well
Come together now.
Yeah let's gel
Well let's bungle
And live to tell
How we came together

Yeah, how we gelled.

My car up and died again that morning.

There's just something about men and cars. I seem to pick lemons all the time.

I would have called a cab but I met Mick in the parking garage and he offered me a lift into Section. I hesitated and then figured out how long it would take me to get a cab. Last time it had been fifteen minutes and the cabbie had been driving with his knees while gobbling an Egg McMuffin. The cab had smelled like cigarettes, old socks, curry powder and eggs and he'd kept asking me if I was sure I wasn't a super model.

I had a briefing at nine and it was already eight-thirty, so Mick seemed like a tolerable option. Cab driver, fire-ants in my pantyhose or Mick. Normally I'd choose the fire ants, but I was late.

He was describing an erotic hot-tub session with his latest bird while Shania Twain did what she calls singing on the Bose stereo.

Puleez. Would she have a job if she looked like Janet Reno?

I just zoned out on Mick. I'm getting really good at zoning lately. The Section psychologist has been working with me on self-hypnosis as a way to get rid of the headaches I've been having. Sometimes I feel like I have a blow torch in my head. I was going to my happy place, staring out the window at the scenery, my mind almost in deep blue, no man's territory, when a face just came in and intruded on my deep, cleansing thoughts.

The face had green eyes.

Wide, deep-set, heavily lashed green eyes separated by that definite, sculpted nose. I was remembering the recurring dream I'd had just before I woke up this morning. That's how the dream always starts. With his eyes. I'm looking into his eyes and he's so terribly sad.

I feel nothing.

And then that lone tear trickles down his cheek and I'm not even aching for him. His pain used to make me bleed.

The dream is always the same. I don't know why I have it. Like I told you before, that affair we had is all put behind me. It was nothing and it means nothing now. That was some other person named Nikita. It's just that I still have some of her memories and I don't want them because I'm all through with Michael.

But it seems she isn't through yet.

He wasn't good for me. I know that now. I can survive in this place without him. That's all it ever was, you know. Simple survival.

It's like those baby ducks and monkeys in those science experiments. They just imprint with the first human they come in contact with. That's all it was with Michael. I was his baby duck. He wasn't particularly motherly, but he was all I had at Section so I just waddled behind him like an idiot while he used me.

Sometimes I think that I've split off into two people. Maybe this no nonsense hose-bitch personality just came in and entered my body when I was sleeping. I don't know. Kind of took my keys, opened the door and gained occupancy. That's okay. This brazen bitch is helping me see things more clearly. I'm doing better now.

All I know is I'm not the pathetic woman who was obsessed with Michael any more.

If I could just convince the sleeping me of that. I figure that maybe my body is telling me that I need sex. I could get it if I wanted it, but I'm not interested at all. There are some guys in Section who have shown an interest, but I'm not into it.

Actually I had a valentine mission last month. There was sex involved.

I just did it. Closed my eyes and turned my mind off and it was okay. I imagine hookers do that all the time. I mentally cleaned my purse. I just pretended afterwards that I'd watched a raunchy movie or that it was a dream. When I got home I slept a lot. Four days downtime and I spent most of them sleeping. Or in bed with a headache.

Dreaming about him.

Maybe I won't have to do that again for a while. The valentine thing.

Anyway the dreams about Michael are weird. It's like I'm watching myself from a distance. At first I'm kind of a voyeur, you might say. I'm with him and we're in his bed upstairs in his loft and I'm watching from ceiling height with great interest at the two people rolling on the bed.

I'm thinking: Wow. These two people are beautiful. Especially him. That butt, that sculpted back, those muscular legs. I'm wishing he'd roll over and let me see the front--

Okay, sorry. That was puerile. I couldn't help that. He has a body to die for and I'm still a woman. But it was never his body that attracted me.

Snort. Like you believe that.

Now, as I said, the scene is very tasteful, like the cover of a romance novel. Not hard core. Not even like the Playboy channel. More of a woman's channel erotica thing, with candles and white sheets and lots of his smooth, tanned skin and mine, of course, but a few shades lighter. I always liked that contrast...

There's lots of foreplay. Did I ever tell you that he has this thing about licking while he kisses. I mean not lapping or slobbering or anything. Nothing lascivious or gooey. Just these hot little licks. I guess he was tasting me. I used to find it so I don't know seductive. No one ever did that to me before. But the sex I'd had before was with boys in the back of car. And not that many times either.

Like a few. Okay, I admit it. One. And it wasn't even good. It hurt. So being with Michael was so new and mind blowing I never really had anything to compare it with. Maybe someone better will come along one day.

Not that I care. Like I said, sex isn't something I care much about now.

And I don't miss the licking at all. Who does he think he is? Lassie?

Anyway, I'm settling in my chair in the observation booth watching myself do it with the most gorgeous, most sexual man on earth. And I'm content to just watch and not feel a thing.

Like I said, I am quite content to be a dispassionate observer. I don't even want to feel it.

And then zoom. I suddenly fly right in there. Zap. Kaboom. Right back into my body and I'm feeling everything. Really living it. And I'm happy. Go ahead and lick me all you like, Mikey. For one split second I'm wild with happiness.

I'm on top of him.

His hot, wet mouth is tugging delightfully on my breast. His hands are smoothing my hips. He's saying things to me in French.

He tells me that he wants me. That he can't get enough. That he is insatiable.

And I'm smelling tangy soap on his smooth skin and his hair is filtering like a sweet, satin stream though my fingers. And I'm bending to conquer him...

... to kiss his beautiful, masculine smiling mouth.

And I'm thinking: I would die for you.

And then just as quickly as I experienced that wellspring of happiness, I'm afraid. And I feel like I really will die. I'm so, so alarmed and so mired in darkness I want to hide from it. To cry like I'm a child again. I'm choking with it. It's just bubbling up to cut off my last breath and I want to scream in terror. I don't know why I feel such intense dread at that point.

I just know it's bad.

Being with Michael feels like the rightest thing in the world for a while and then suddenly it's just so wrong. I guess it's because the dream always ends the same way every time. I look down at him and he's dead.

Those green eyes are staring up at me like vacant, green glass and his mouth is open. A trickle of blood oozes out of the corner of his mouth staining the pillow case. I touch his skin and it is as cold and hard as that of a marble statue.

He's eerily beautiful. But, oh, shit. It's really gross.

I don't love him now, but I don't want him to be dead. I don't want to have been the one who killed him. And I know it's me that kills him.

" Hey, Popsicle. Snap out of it," Mick said. He was out of the car already and holding my door open. I didn't even realise we had stopped. I'd been staring out the window not seeing a thing. In some kind of zombie trance.

" Sorry," I muttered. I scrabbled for my bag under the seat and came out with a foil wrapped chain of condoms. " Christmas on a freakin' cracker, Mick." I held them up with two fingers and my most disgusted sneer. Ribbed. Tropical colours.

At least it wasn't a used one. Thank God.

" Oh, that's where they went. Did I tell you about Mandy? What a woman. She likes to do it in the car--"

" Save your stories for someone who gives a shit, Mick."

Mick and Mandy. Or was that Mork and Mindy. Equally as disgusting. I never could imagine Mork and Mindy screwing.

I exited the condom dispenser on wheels and slammed the door so hard the chassis shook..

" Take it easy on my baby, baby. Don't know your own strength? "

I gave him a glare.

" So, what's up today? You're looking mondo fetching, by the way. Who designed that leather coat? Has sort of a Matrix look about it. You've been wearing a lot of black lately, luv. I like the heavy eye liner. Sort of a Mary Quant meets Marilyn Manson look? Like you're in extended mourning."

" If you don't shut your pie hole, Mick, you'll never use a condom again."

" Okay. Okay..." Mick tried to match his stride to my long legs. " How long had His Michaelness been in Vancouver?"

" I think it's four months now."

" Is that why you're looking to bitch slap someone? Is that why the sight of condoms sends you into a tizzy? "

" I don't have a clue what you're talking about," I spat. I was debating on whether to bitch-slap him right there.

" Infiltrating a Sikh terrorist group, is he? Love those saris. The Kama Sutra. Must be some lovely dark-skinned women just dying-- Wasn't his wife East Indian? He really has a thing for exotic Asian girls, doesn't he? "

I don't know why that comment riled me, but it did. " Shut up, Mick."

" Jealous? "

"No."

" So what did these Sikhs do?"

" They were involved in some plane bombings. They supply guns to terrorists. I believe Michael's cover was a crooked banker with ties to Swiss money launderers. I don't know much about the mission. He's alone. It's a deep cover thing."

" What happened with you two lovebirds? Any chance of rekindling the flames? "

I rolled my eyes. " It just got old, Mick. I'm not comfortable talking about it."

" I thought it was love."

" Love? In Section, Mick? Dust off your brain. I think it's in the vicinity your scrotum."

" Love can happen anywhere. Actually, pop tart, I liked you two together. You looked so cute sneaking kisses in the halls when you though no one was looking. By the way, Birkoff has some naughty pictures of you he captured on Level Six. You might like to--."

" Oh, gawd."

"Why did you dump him? I have to know. I mean the man is a God."

" Listen," I stared down at his little bald head. " Are you asking for a blow by blow description of what happened between Michael and me here? Cause you're not going to get one, James Bond Jr."

" Okay, luv. I never asked about blowing. Didn't really want to get that personal. Good enough. Let me ask one more question."

" Okay. One question. And if it's about Michael I'm going to reach into your trousers and pull your underpants up over your head."

" That sounds delightful. Another time, perhaps," He swallowed hard. " I know I'm risking wearing my balls as a hat, but I'll ask anyway. When did you become Maddy Part Deux? I heard something about you just blowing Jackson away in Brussels."

It really rotted my socks that he would compare me to Madeline. " I blew Jackson away because he was annoying. He liked Shania Twain."

" Really? "

I rolled my eyes. " He disobeyed direct orders. I warned him about it." I tightened my jaw. I did not want to think about Jackson. It was part of the job I did now in taking Michael's position and I was commended for my actions. If not Jackson, then three other ops would have been taken out by his bungling. I was leading that mission and he was a hair away from being in abeyance anyway."

" Shit that's cold, pop tart. Jackson was a nice guy."

" Jackson murdered a nun before he come into Section."

" Maybe so. I heard he claimed to be innocent like the rest of us." He grinned and I tried not to slap him on his greasy head. " Glad Michael never did that to you. Now that I look back on the old days when you were still human I think the dear man was infinitely patient."

That human comment hurt. It shouldn't have but it did. I am human. I have just learned that I don't have to be a freaking marshmallow. I don't have to try to be anybody's hero.

" The more I look closely at it, Michael is one hell of a lucky man to still be around with all the crap he's pulled, the rules he's broken. Maybe he ought to have blown me away when I screwed up. He ought to follow the rule book a little more. Going by the book has it's advantages."

" Lord," said Mick. " Never thought you'd say that. No you, popsicle."

I gave him an icy stare. " Thanks for the ride, Speed Racer. Good luck with Gloria."

" That was last week. It's Lili now. You didn't hear a word I said."

" I never do." I slung my bag over my shoulder and ran for the stairs. " There's only so much nauseating drivel about your personal life a person can swallow."

" I don't think I'll call you popsicle any more, luv. More like icicle. Maybe Ice Princess. Maybe you should take something for that PMS."

" Never say that to a woman with a loaded gun, Mick." I let the parking garage door shut in his face.

Sometimes I can see why Madeline likes being a bitch so much.

I found myself in the private dining room a half an hour later sipping Darjeeling and eating Christopher's cinnamon bread. There are perks to behaving one's self.

I know they don't quite trust me yet, but this was a start. I don't know why their approval suddenly means something to me. It sure never did before. I was like a little kid trying to think of ways to test them.

" Have you ever met Jason Fletcher, Nikita? " asked Madeline, smiling as I lavishly buttered the last delicious curl of my bun. She had, so far, only nibbled strawberries. She and Ops seemed a little concerned about something besides their figures.

" I've heard of Fletcher. He's in Canada? Level 6. "

"Yes. He's in charge of the Pacific Rim which includes the Port of Vancouver. Michael had been working directly under him."

" Okay." I popped the last flaky bit in my mouth and chewed. Christopher was amazing with bread. It had to be the real African cinnamon. How did Ops and Madeline stay so thin if they breakfasted this way every day? " What about Michael?"

" Michael has retrieved a CD of nuclear codes and terrorist contacts in Pakistan as per his assignment. He was to have met with Fletcher two days ago, but he didn't show. We received word from him yesterday as to his whereabouts. He is, as of today, in abeyance."

" In abeyance? Michael? " I almost choked on my orange juice.

" Yes. He's decided to run from Section. And he's holding the code book as a bargaining tool." Ops wiped his mouth with the napkin. He was white around the lips. I hadn't noted the blue bags under his eyes before.

I couldn't help but snort. " You're kidding me? Michael had decided to run and is holding key information hostage."

" Yes," said Ops.

" What does he want? "

" His freedom."

I wanted to laugh. This had to be a joke. " Okay. So what's this got to do with me? "

" We want you to bring him in."

That didn't sit so well. I could feel cinnamon bread riding up on an acid mixture of bile, tea and citrus. I didn't love him anymore but the last thing I wanted to do was drag him kicking and screaming back into Section.

It would not be easy.

" We have reason to believe he's still in Vancouver somewhere. "

" Somewhere? What about his tracker? Doesn't Michael have an implant? "

Madeline smiled grimly. " He's removed it. A little home surgery. He's done it before. He last made a call from a bar on Pender Street, a rather seedy district, so we know he's still there."

" I don't know Vancouver well," I said. " but there must be a lot of places for him to hide out in a sprawling city like that. How easy is he going to be to find? "

" Finding him won't be a problem. He'll let you know where he is. He asked for you. he wants to see you. "

" He asked for me? We haven't been in contact in four months."

" Why does that surprise you? His asking for you. He didn't accept your ending the affair."

I felt myself flush. " I know but... You don't think his sudden strange behaviour is my fault? "

" Of course not. We are satisfied that you have made a break from him," said Madeline.

Ops pushed his plate away. " He indicated that he wanted you to be the one to carry out the exchange. He will give you the disc in exchange for his freedom."

" And he thinks I'll just let him go because of our former feelings..."

" Or join him," Madeline. " Run with him."

My head suddenly felt as if there was a sharp knife jabbing into it. " He knows Section policy. He knows the consequences. "

" I think he's counting on you going against Section policy. He's counting on your sympathy. Your love."

" I don't love him now.' The pounding in my head was getting worse. I looked from face to face. Impassive. Implacable. Waiting for me react. " He's not going to get his freedom, is he? But you do want him brought in alive? "

" Of course. We'd like to know why he is doing this. We'd like you and Jason Fletcher to bring him in alive. We feel that he can be salvaged. Reprogrammed. Adjusted."

" Reprogrammed? What does that mean? Adjusted? " I narrowed my eyes.

" It's quite successful recently in a number of cases."

" What if I find him and he refuses to come in? He will refuse, you know. Once he's decided something he's immoveable. I know Michael. I know how his head works."

Well, I thought I knew. Sort of. No one can ever really know Michael, but I have come as close as anyone.

" You'll have to cancel him if he doesn't cooperate, but we don't anticipate that. We think you can be successful in this mission with Fletcher's help. Fletcher has had four months to get to know Michael, too. He seems to think that Michael has problems. He thinks he has turned.'

" This Fletcher could be wrong. He could have his own agenda, I suppose. Michael isn't stupid or impulsive. Fletcher might be the bad guy here. "

" No, he isn't. Fletcher is an exemplary operative. He used to work here in France. He exceeds Michael in rank."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. The headache really was back. It had been about a week since my last one. The dull throb was always there but not this pain.

" This isn't like Michael," I said. But then maybe it was like him. He'd been on the edge ever since he'd lost Adam. Even losing me had put him into a strange funk. But edgy enough to think he could run and get away from Section? It was insane.

I hoped I could bring him in. I didn't know if I could kill him.

I thought of the dream and shuddered.

" Nikita? "

I raised my head and looked at Madeline. She was out of focus, surrounded by an aura, a glowing halo. A haze. I had to blink twice to clear my eyes.

A halo on Maddie? Too weird.

" Are you still taking the pills medical gave you for the headaches?"

" Yes. Maybe I need to go in that hyper baric chamber thing again."

"Maybe you do need to do that. I can arrange it for this afternoon. You'll leave for Vancouver later tonight. Fletcher is waiting to brief you. Birkoff will patch you in when you're ready. "

Fletcher was a handsome man of about forty. He met my Section plane and suggested dinner. I was hungry, so I said I would go and eat with him.

It felt like a date. A lame blind date. I found him boring. We couldn't discuss Section matters, so conversation sort of hovered around talk about the city and his pursuits. He was into sailing and skiing.

I hate boat lovers. Michael likes boats but he doesn't go on about them like they're an extension of his dick. Jason kept talking about the breeze in his hair.

" What there was of it.'

The food at Il Guardino was good. Beautifully presented morsels. A lamb chop. Grilled polenta. A tiny shaved vegetable here and there.

Give me a juicy hamburger and fries.

I suddenly remembered this hamburger place Michael and I used to go to when we wanted a pigout. I remembered him reaching over and dabbing at the mayonnaise on my chin with his napkin. I often had to whack his hand to protect my fries. He loved them with oodles of ketchup and enough salt to curdle your blood.

He always bought me a chocolate milkshake and then drank most of it.

I hadn't thought of that in ages.

It wasn't until we were back in the car that we talked of Michael.

Fletcher sighed. " I thought there was some thing up with him. He seemed tense. Disturbed. He seemed to be getting too much into the cover. He almost appeared depressed."

" Really?"

" Yes. A few times I could have sworn he was drinking. The few times we met recently he seemed drunk. You were close to him. What do you know about that? His drinking? "

I snorted. " Michael doesn't drink."

" I know he had to drink for his cover. It seemed real to me. Like he was getting sucked deeper and deeper into something. Some personal demons."

" Yet, he managed to get the disc within a few months, despite having become a drunk? Something I'm sure you and your fellow Canadian dickheads have been trying a very long time to do from your end. Do you hear how stupid that sounds? "

Fletcher sort of stiffened at that. He was impeccably dressed, on the thin, elegant side. Like the Remington Steele dude. He was as elegant as Michael with none of Michael's sensuality, his inner earthiness. Michael could look as comfortable and sexy in jeans and a motorcycle jacket and three days of beard stubble as he did in Armani.

" He got the job done, didn't he? " I repeated.

" Yes, he did get the job done. I'll hand that much to him. I'll take you to his apartment."

The apartment was a loft located in a trendy district called Gastown in a refurbished brick cannery. I was surprised to discover that the fridge held mostly beer. The place was a mess. In the bathroom I found a razor blade, the edge covered in blood. Blood spattered the counters, floor and the white sink. In the sink, surrounded by a piece of bloody flesh was the tiny tracking devise that most deep cover ops have implanted on their person.

I don't even know where mine is these days. I can't even feel it under the skin.

" He's serious, the freak," I muttered to myself. How many times and how deep had he had to cut?

" Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Was he this messy when you were lovers? " Fletcher asked with distaste.

" No. He usually wiped up any remains of massive haemorrhaging due to self-mutilation. Polite that way. But he did leave to toilet seat up quite often. And he never once put the cap on the toothpaste. And can we keep any discussions of Michael on a business level? My former relationship with him has nothing to do with my assignment here."

" Yea. Okay. Believe that if you want, Nikita. I've heard all about you two."

" In Canada? You heard gossip about our stupid little affair in Canada? "

" I knew Michael from before when I was in training in Brussels. We have mutual friends and the stories get out. I once trained under Jurgen. You knew him didn't you? "

" Vaguely."

" News travels between ops, especially about someone as formidable as Michael Samuelle, even to the wilds of the great White North. It's pretty obvious. There is a plan to this. He wants you here."

" It's over."

" Does he believe that? Anyway, his weakness is Section's gain. You're the bait to bring him out."

" Don't count on it being simple." I ran a hand through my hair. It was shaking for some reason. I did not want to be the bait to lure him out.

" Listen, I've already searched this place with a fine toothed comb. Do you see anything out of the ordinary? "

" No. He'd leave nothing to indicate where he's going. Would you?" I waved my hand toward the kitchen. " Oh, look. There on the fridge. The treasure map under the gas station fridge magnet. It leads to his hiding place. Hot damn! "

He frowned. " You have a mouth on you. No wonder he broke it off."

" I broke it off."

" You want me to take you to your hotel?" he asked.

" You don't have a secured Section facility here for Ops? "

" This is Canada. We're a little more lax here. Ops live pretty normal lives. We mostly just use different hotels for visiting ops. You seem pale. Are you tired? "

My head was beginning to throb a little. I needed my pills. Strange how Madeline let me continue to work despite the headaches. She knew about them and yet seemed to have little concern. She said I could work through them. So far they had not impeded my functioning. My averages were better than ever. Almost at a hundred like Michael's had been once upon a time.

" I could use some sleep."

My hotel was an executive inn in the business district, not far from trendy lofts and shopping on one side, two blocks from the skids on the other.

" You let us know if he contacts you here. We should get our regular communication from him tonight. We think he moves around the city a lot. If he makes arrangements for the drop off, I'll call you."

" Fine." I just wanted to get rid of him so I could take my pills and sleep.

I did just that. And then I had the dream again. I was walking down the halls of his apartment wanting him, looking for him. I went into his arms. His kiss was so sweet, his arms so strong as they wrapped around me and lifted me up against his body.

It ended the same way, of course, with him dead beneath me.

Two days later he'd made no contact to Fletcher or Section. I suggested to Fletcher that we go out on our own separately and look for him.

I suppose it was exactly as Michael had hoped would happen.

I found that out when in the alley I was searching, someone covered my face with a sweet smelling rag.

And then I knew no more. ( I always wanted to write that.)

I woke up in a lumpy bed in a shabby cabin somewhere. There was a spider web hanging over my head. My mouth tasted like crap and Michael was sitting o the edge of the bed looking not much better than the taste in my mouth. He was pouring beer from a can into a hole in the thigh of his pants.

" What in God's name are you doing?"

He grinned taking a long drag out of the can. I don't think I've seen him drink beer since that day I went to pick him up at that priest's wake. Funny, I'd forgotten all about that night until just that moment. It made me feel a little melancholy.

" This is antiseptic. You might need some. I had to take the tracking devise out of your hip. Does it hurt? "

I tried to sit up. My head felt muzzy and my hip did indeed hurt. I looked under the covers. I was naked. Totally naked.

"I hate the smell of beer. " It reminded me of my mom and some of her boyfriends.

" I like Canadian beer. I like Arrow bars, too. They only have 'em here and in Britain."

"You took out my tracker? "

" Yes. I had to remove your clothes to do that. I really had to search hard for it. Usually there's no scar, but as the body heals the skin leaves a slight dimple. You can really only feel it by probing with your fingers."

" Bastard." I muttered.

" It was shallow, sub-cutaneous. Won't leave much of a scar. And Nikita, it's not like I haven't seen it all before." He gave me a crooked grin.

" That was different. I wanted you to see me then. Cheap way to get your jollies, Michael. Feeling up unconscious chicks."

He grinned again, wider this time, like he really found my discomfort amusing. He stood up. I could see the dimple appear on the left side, right in the middle of his cheek. He looked like a reprobate. His hair was really long now, and sun-bleached. His beard hadn't been shaved in a week. He was shirtless. I tried not to notice the hard muscles of his biceps. He looked like he'd been working out with fervour.

Maybe there wasn't much to do here.

I will not say that his body got me excited or anything. I am way past that.

He looked at me over his smooth, bare shoulder. The tan was different. I was used to his Section pale skin. Where his jeans hung low over his hips I could see the untanned skin of his lower back.

I tried not to think about his butt and how tight it looked in the soft, faded denim.

" How are you? How long has it been since I saw you?"

" Small talk, Michael? You know exactly how long it's been. Why don't you tell me why the hell you're doing this ?" I gritted.

" I wanted to be alone with you."

My stomach gave a little flip-flop. Where the hell had that feeling come from? That used to happen all the time. He could make that happen by raising his eyebrow in a certain way.

" I knew you didn't want to see me, Kita."

I just stared at him. " So you cooked this up? You were so horny you cooked this up?"

" I wouldn't call it merely horny. If I was that I could have had you when you were out like a light for the last eight hours."

" Did you?"

" What do you think? You look pretty unscathed to me. No stubble burns. Are your nipples sore?"

" No!"

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out some apple juice in a paper carton. " You want some? "

" I don't want anything from you. I don't know you any more, " That sounds stupider every time I say it to him.

He read my mind. " I've heard that before. Or variations on the same theme." He set the juice and a glass on the counter.

" I never did know you, Michael. I only know what you show me and usually it's a lie."

" Touche."

" Did you take that disc? Did you tell them you were running?"

" Yea. I did."

" Why?" I clutched the threadbare quilt up to my chest.

" Why the hell would you care? " he said, turning his eyes full force on me. " Or do you care? Do you suddenly love me again? Just like you suddenly stopped loving me? "

I could feel my face reddening. " Maybe I didn't ever love you. At least I know that I don't love you at the moment. Or a million moments from this one. Actually, I hate you. At this moment I can name a hundred reasons why I'd like to flay you alive."

" And not one of them is going to make a bit of difference. But the sentiment is nice. I'd much rather hear that you hate me than that you don't love me any more. It implies some emotion." He peered out of the threadbare curtains. " It's been a nice week here. It rains a lot."

" I need my clothes."

" Nope." He turned from the window, crossing his muscled arms over his naked chest. " I like you without clothes. And if you don't co-operate I may tie you up sans clothes."

" Fletcher is no doubt looking for me while we speak," I retorted, smugly.

" Fletcher couldn't find his dick if they put it in an envelope and mailed it to him."

My God, I thought. He said that? Mr. " I wouldn't say shit if my mouth was full of it" said that?

I almost giggled. It was so right on. Michael had to have taken one look at Fletcher and laughed up his sleeve.

It was a stellar day. Michael swilling beer and talking like street trash. It was like we'd been captured by a mad scientist and they'd done a brain transfer. I can see it now: the laboratory, the man in the white coat with the bug eyes and crazy hair. We're going to put Mr. Suave and De-boner's brain and cultured sensibility into the head of Miss Trailer Park 1989 and vice versa.

Everybody stand back and watch the shit fly.

I watched him for a moment, just staring out the window with this strange look on his beautiful face. I was thinking: For God's sake put on a damned shirt. I don't want to look at your body another second. I was also thinking about how perfect his profile was and how good his hair looked, thick and longish and a little messy.

I kept forgetting that I didn't love him any more. Can a person not love someone and still want him? Was I just getting turned on by his magnificent body? I guess so. I don't know or love Keanu Reeves, but I'd do him.

I reached up and wacked at the spider web. That was a mistake. The spider came out of nowhere on a long string of web and landed on me, scrabbling over my body. I'm a little grossed out by spiders, so I had to yelp and leap up, doing the " get this damned thing off me" two step. Naked.

He was watching me with a twisted smile and great interest.

I fixed him with a deadly look and yanked the quilt back up. " Take a picture, asshole. It'll last longer."

He laughed. " Very good, Kita. You ought to take that act on the road. There's a beer parlour hiring peelers in town."

" Very funny. There was a spider. It was making it's way down to my nether regions. God," I said, giving my body another cursory brush under the quilt. " I hate this. What the heck is a beer parlour? It kind of conjures up images of beefy men drinking beer in crystal mugs on plush velvet cushions."

" That's what they call pubs or bars here."

" Peelers? "

" Canadian for strippers."

" Oh, this is a classy country."

" Three weeks and I was right into it. Watching hockey. Steeped in the lingo. I spent some time while I was making contacts with these guys who work in the saw mills. I liked them. I like it here. It's a cool country."

"Drinking beer and hockey. Very cool. Eh? " I muttered.

I wrapped the quilt tightly around me, looking around the cabin for the first time. If I'd been in the mood I might have said it was rustic, but I wasn't in the mood. It was a dump.

It was a log structure. I'd never been in one, just seen them in the movies. It reminded me of the cabin in the movie with Oliver Reed and that English girl with no chin and the buck teeth they loved in the sixties, Rita Tushingham. I forget what the movie was called. The Trapper? She's this mail order bride who gets married to this drunken, horny trapper. He rapes her and then they fall in love. Sixties style. I think he ends up getting his leg eaten off by a bear.

How romantic.

Anyway, the place was pretty dismal. Dust motes hovered in the air. There was a calendar on the wall of a nude woman with a chainsaw. Call Norm, it said, your Husquavarna dealer in Squamish. 1982. I looked down at myself. Norm had me beat in the boobs department, but at least mine wouldn't get caught in the machinery.

" Such ambiance. Is there a bathroom here, or do you have to go and squat in the woods? "

" There's a bathroom. Even a shower."

" Oh, goody. Where are we? Are there bathrooms in hell? What the hell is Squamish? It sounds like a skin disorder."

" Squamish, B.C. It's between Vancouver and Whistler, the ski resort. We're on an Indian reservation. Squamish means " Big wind." "

" I won't comment on that. Are we going to be skiing? "

He laughed again. " Yea, we're going to do that James Bond thing down the side of the mountain."

We used to watch that movie and laugh about movie spies. I have yet to fall out of a plane or be pursued down the side of a mountain.

We were on the couch at his place and he had his head in my lap, half asleep, looking like a sweet, little boy. I was playing with his hair gazing down at those triple rows of long lashes.

God, I loved to do that. Why did I stop loving him?

I looked up and he was staring at me again, thoughtful, his eyes that misty green gray. His mouth was parted slightly the way it always looked when he was thinking about kissing me. I suddenly wished he would just do it. Kiss me.

Kiss me. Get it over with. Maybe one of those wild, mash me against the wall kisses.

Just because I want to do that doesn't mean that I love him. It's just so that I'd really know it's all over.

" How far are we from Vancouver? " I asked.

" Not far, but far enough."

" How long do you plan on keeping me here?"

" A few days."

" A few days? Michael, do you know what you're saying? They'll find us. They'll kill you."

" Maybe. What do you care? I assume your orders were to cancel me if I didn't co-operate."

" I figured you would co-operate. I can't believe this. I really can't. Give yourself up now. Just give them the damned disc and go back. You can pretend that "

" I don't want to pretend anything. You were right about everything all along, Kita. I'll die before I go back to Section. The bathroom's through there if you need it." He pointed at a door.

I glared at him, nodding. " I want my clothes back."

" I'll think about it."

" Is the disc here? Do you have it buried here or something? Or did you do what they do in the movies and leave it a Greyhound bus locker? "

" Yea, and the key for the locker is pinned to the G-string of a peeler at the Chieftain hotel in beautiful downtown Squamish."

He almost looked serious when he said it. It made me feel a little jealous.

I went into the bathroom. The shower was musty, rusty and gross. There wasn't room enough to swing a cat in there. Real cozy. The toilet was indescribable. I could hear the water running steadily in it. The man could have found some rubber gloves and cleaned it up. I cringed as I used it.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My make-up had smudged and there were little black particles of mascara on my cheeks. Charming. How did he manage to look so good all the time? My head was pounding a little. Not as bad as usual, but enough to bother me.

I washed my face with water that had a decided brownish cast and wiped my face on a grubby towel. I finger combed my hair. He didn't have a brush. It looked like his hair hadn't been groomed in days.

" Dreadlocks are in," I muttered.

I looked down at the running toilet again, thinking of something. Very quietly I lifted off the back lid.

My heart skipped a beat. In the tank was a CD case. He'd hidden it quickly in the most obvious place. I could scarcely believe it. Some spy. I replaced the lid as carefully as I could. I wasn't going to reach my hand into the scum just then.

I went back into the main room. He was cooking something on the small stove. Eggs. My stomach turned. I really hate the way he makes eggs. He likes them wet. I'm a dry with ketchup person. Nothing like a slimy egg in the morning to set my stomach churning.

" Do you want coffee? " His turned. He'd put on a red and blue plaid shirt with frayed cuffs. It was open down the front.

" No, I drink tea. Remember? " I did drink coffee occasionally, but I wanted to taunt him. " Do you have my pills? "

" Those blue pills?"

" Yes, the blue ones. I only had the blue ones besides my birth control." I threw that in to taunt him too.

" What are they for? " He dished eggs into a cracked dish. They looked pretty wet and oozy. I could feel my stomach rebelling.

" They're for headaches, Michael."

" Since when do you get headaches except at your time of the month? Is it your time of the month? "

"No, it's not my time of the month. I think you'd have been able to tell that while you were giving me the physical."

He gave "the grimace". You know the one all men get on their faces when you mention your period. It's so ignorant. He pointed to the runny eggs. " Eat," he ordered.

" I'm not hungry. " I sat in a chair, tucking the quilt over my breasts. " I want my clothes."

" If you eat your eggs, Princess, I'll consider it."

I glared at him. He's called me that once or twice before when he thinks I'm being a pain in the butt. We only had two big spats and both times he called me Princess in that snide way. Once he told me that his sister had a cat named Princess. It would only eat warmed cat food and capers.

I didn't even know what capers were. I know he hates cats.

" You never really answered about the pills. What are they? "

I stabbed at the eggs with a bent fork. " A migraine preventative thing. They help."

" Migraines? "

" Yes. They say they might be related to that knock on the head last winter. Remember when I fell off the balcony watching that foreign diplomat's wife give you a blow job."

His eyebrow went up and could have sworn he flushed. " You seemed fine after that." He was covering his eggs in Tabasco sauce.

I stared at his plate in horror. " What are you doing? "

" I like this stuff."

" Where the hell have you been, Michael? Mars? " I shook my head. " I feel like I'm in another dimension."

" Maybe we are. Did they do some tests for these headaches?"

" A cat scan. I'm the picture of health. There's nothing wrong. The chamber thing helps."

He took a healthy gulp of milk. Runny eggs with Tabasco and milk. Oh, yum. I pushed my plate away. " What is this chamber thing you're talking about? " he asked.

" I just go into this thing they have and when I come out I feel better. It's nothing really."

" Sounds freaky."

" It's not. Athletes use them to build back strength. I'm also doing some self-hypnosis." I told him my averages and he smiled. " What was yours when you left? "

"I don't recall. Lower. Are the pills addictive, Kita? "

" No, I told you. It's just Zoltran. That's the name, I think. I don't know the real pharmaceutical name."

" I tossed them down the john," he said, very matter of fact.

" You what? "

" I don't want you take them."

" I don't think that's your decision to make, Michael. What if they'd been antibiotics for an infection. I had a valentine mission last month. I could have had cooties. "

" Did you? How did that go? " He seemed unperturbed. Rather interested. The look he gave me made me really mad. He could at least look jealous or slightly pained.

" God, you're weird, Michael." It's all I could think of to say. " Did someone scramble your brains?"

" I'm thinking quite clearly. I don't know about you."

" What bloody right did you have to throw away my pills? "

He finished his eggs and took mine. He didn't ask me if I'd changed my mind, just sprinkled them with tabasco and started to eat. " I have every right."

" Why?"

He fixed me with those beautiful eyes. "You're mine. I love you. I care what happens to you."

" I am not yours."

He just smiled like he knew something I did not. I hate it when he does that.

I jerked up from the table, went over to the stove and grabbed the old-fashioned metal coffee pot, fully intending to brain him with it, grab the CD case, grab his keys and run to whatever vehicle he had stashed up in the woods.

I didn't think about the handle of the metal pot being hot enough to burn holes in my hand. I swear he watched me do it. He wanted me to burn myself.

When I yelped and dropped the pot on the floor, splashing hot coffee everywhere. Luckily the quilt saved my legs from burns. He pulled me over to the sink and held my hand under the faucet. The cold water stung like hell and the pain eased somewhat. I could feel tears running down my cheeks but I would not admit that I was crying. " Ouch. I hate you, Michael."

"No, you don't. " He moved his head so that his face was inches from mine. I could feel his breath feathering my cheek. " You don't hate me."

" Yes, I do. I hate you. I do. I'd like to cut you into little pieces and feed you to the bears. Are there bears out there?" I looked out the window at the yard. A child must have stayed here once because there was a crude rope and board swing in a huge tree.

" Yes. Some black bears. I saw one yesterday as a matter of fact. There a eagles, too. Lots of them."

" I hope they're hungry. Maybe they'd like to feast on your rotting carcass as well."

" Sit down." He wrapped some paper towelling around my hand. " How does it feel? "

He was squatting at my feet holding my hand in his. I tried to look anywhere but at his face.

" They've done something to you, Kita. I'm going to fix it."

" By being so damned charming? " I scoffed. " What have they done to me? Enlighten me. "

" Brainwashed you. Taken away your feelings. Your memories. Tried to take you away from me. What we had was real and good and they--"

I laughed. " Real and good, Michael? That's a good one. Blame it on them. Why don't you go start a new career? You can write whiny Celine Dion songs." I yanked my hand out of his.

He got to his feet, looking down at me. His eyes were so sad, like in my dream.

" I couldn't wait any longer."

" Wait for what? "

" For you to remember. You have to remember what we had, Kita."

I didn't want to look into his eyes. It was like I could see myself in the dark reflection of his pain.

" Who do you think you are? God's gift to women? Like I couldn't decide I didn't love you any more without Section's help? I'm sorry. That is just too sick. There's nothing for me to come out of. That's a load of hooey, Michael."

" You loved me."

I counted the patches on the quilt. Anything but think about what he was saying. What I was feeling or trying not to feel. " Did I ever say I loved you? "

" You didn't have to say words. We didn't need them." He walked away from me and leaned his back against the door. " I know what it feels like. It was different with you."

"Different? Getting your rocks off with a big, blonde chick from the wrong side of the tracks. That is all that was different. Give me a break. What did you feel Michael? "

" Love. I know what is it now. I found it in you." His voice was soft, the accent very strong. " I knew it every time you touched me, looked at me. And so did you."

" Tell yourself that. I just thought you were a good lay. Maybe I was brainwashed to love you in the first place. Ever think of that? Like what they did to me with Karl what's his name? I hated you for your part in that "

He cringed. His nostrils flared and there was a muscle flicking in his cheek " I've thought of that." He walked over to a small cupboard and took out a denim shirt and a pair of jeans. He tossed the clothes at me with a flick of his arm. " Here. Get dressed."

I grabbed up the denim shirt. It was old but clean. I slipped it on before letting the quilt drop. The shirt reached halfway down my thigh. I had to roll up the cuffs. I knew he was watching me but I didn't care. The jeans were kind of big in the waist and snug at the hip. He didn't offer me any socks. My feet were like ice.

" Thank you." I was glad he'd given me his clothes. I wasn't relishing the thought of putting on the leather pants and tight sweater I'd been wearing when he grabbed me. But maybe that would have been better. Wearing his clothes implied an intimacy I did not want to feel at the moment.

" What do you plan to do here all day? " I roamed over toward the cupboard he'd gotten the clothes from. Maybe his gun was there. Maybe a cell phone.

" We could indulge ourselves in scintillating conversation."

" You never were one for doing that before. Are there any books? "

" A pile of old Penthouses. Circa 1980. The pets have all got big hair and ruffled ankle socks with high-heeled pumps. The forums are interesting."

" Oh, how lovely. That's where you came up with this plan. Dear Forum. I was being held by this deranged maniac who wanted to rekindle my fire "

I broke off. Too close to home. How did all those Penthouse forums end? With raunchy sex. I was not going to think about that. I was not going to look at him either.

I was not going to think period. It was strange though. My headache was gone.

" Do you have any cards here? "

" Yea. There's some in the drawer of the cupboard."

" Wanna play later? If I win you come in to Section with the disc like a nice boy." I wondered over, cooly to the cupboard with the clothes. I could just see the butt of his Glock pistol.

" Not over there. Kitchen drawer. And if I win, do I get what I want?"

" You were never very good at cards, Michael. You never beat me once at strip poker, did you? "

" That's because I knew I'd get what I wanted anyway. Win or lose."

" And just what did you want? "

He smiled sweetly, " You. I want you. In bed."

I just swallowed hard like there was something lodged there in my throat. There was just something so strange about being alone with him. About hearing him say those things. Part of me wanted so very much to hate him. Part of me wanted to bolt out the door and throw myself off the nearest cliff.

And this little bitty part of me wanted to take him up on it. Jump those handsome bones. Just so that I could remember what it was like.

Just a leetle beet more Mikey. So I'd know I wasn't missing anything. Just so I could remember what it was to be with him again. I don't remember it completely. That's the strange thing.

There is something beautiful that hovers on the edge of my memory like gossamer and I want to feel it.

I want to know where it flew off to...

And there is nothing leetle about the man. I know that much.

He was scraping the scraps of eggs into an empty milk container. I watched his clever, elegant hands at work. I always liked his hands. I once liked seeing them, a shade or two darker than my skin, splayed on my thigh, kneading my breasts.

Oh, jeez. Why do I do this if don't I love him any more?

He worked for a while in silence, scrubbing the pan, wiping the stove. I looked out the window. He wasn't much good at cleaning. He'd never been as fussy as me. He'd always left streaks everywhere. That had bugged me. I'm not a freak, but I liked things clean. Michael wanted to go off to bed with dishes in the sink. He's not picky at all actually, for a man so well groomed and fastidious about his black suits.

Finally he hung the pan on the rack above the stove.

" I have to chop wood," Michael said. " It gets cold at night out here."

" Be my guest."

" I'm not leaving you in here alone. You have to come out with me. You can sit on the porch and watch me."

" Oh, goody," I said. " Do I get a pair of shoes? "

" No. It isn't cold. You'll only try to run."

" I could run without them."

" I don't think I'd try that. Have you ever outrun me before?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. " If you say I run like a duck I'll kick you hard where it hurts."

He gave me a slow smile. " You remember that day."

" I remember all the particularly nasty things you've said to me, Michael."

" I only said that because you said something nasty first about my having stump legs. I'm talking about what happened later that day."

I remembered that day. We'd gone for a run and we'd been teasing each other and we could barely get into his door before we were tearing each other's clothes off. I remember how we'd almost done it on the stairs on the way up to the bedroom.

" That was a good day," he said.

" I don't really remember the details."

I did. Suddenly, I did.

I remembered his body in the shower. His skin, sleek and delicious. His lashes all wet and clumped into stars, drops of water clinging to his beard stubble.

I took a deep breath. " I won't try to run."

" You're right, Kita. You won't."

I sat on the swing under the huge tree. The air smelled so good, like cedar bark and morning dew. Some little birds swooped through the branches of the trees. I watched him chop the wood expertly. Thwap. Whack. After a time the sun got too hot and he took off his shirt again. The sight of him with the sun beating down on his wide shoulders was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

He has a beautiful body. I watched him lift his arms, the way the muscles bunched and rippled across his ribs and flat stomach. I could see the cords standing out against his long neck. He looked better physically than I ever remembered him looking when we were lovers. I almost wanted to go into his arms and--

I said almost. The birds began to call out in shrill whistles.

" What are those birds called ? "

He stopped and looked up at the sky. " Whiskey jacks. They're thieves. No afraid of anyone. They'll swoop down and steal food out of your hand. Known to eat meat, too."

I nodded and gave myself a slight push on the swing. It was a little short for my long legs. " I guess there was a kid living here once."

" Maybe an adult who liked to swing."

" Yea, right. Must have been a short-ass chick then."

He grinned, picking up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

" Not a hard-ass chick, like you? "

" Nobody's as hard-ass as me, Michael."

He laughed. I knew what he was thinking. That it's all an act, the way I talk. This is the way I am. If he doesn't like it: Tough. I don't give a crap what he thinks.

" I had a tree swing when I was a kid. My dad built it. Nothing like a good swing when you're down about something." He brought down the ax again. The pieces of wood split neatly down the middle. The action was almost balletic. I have never seen anyone with his natural grace.

" I used to like to swing, too. All that stuff kids do. I was out of the house playing out from dawn til dusk. Did I ever tell you about the Ipsco Steel park slide? " I said.

" No."

" When I was a little kid in Australia I lived near this park. This old, rich guy who owned a steel company built the park as a community project after he was caught drunk driving a few times. His name was Mr. Turvey. He'd come to the park and give the kids knuckle rubs. That was before the days of child abuse. You know what a knuckle rub is?"

" Yes. I gave my sister a few."

" They called him Topsy Turvey. He had false teeth and they fell out all the time."

" Where is this story leading? " Whap, Thwap. Another split log joined the growing pile.

" I don't know where this story is leading, Michael. It's just a stupid story. I'm trying to amuse myself and you're a captive audience. "

" Okay. "

" It's been a long time since I've thought about anything personal. About my past. I used to think of that stuff all the time. Write it down and all. In a book. A journal. "

" I remember." He set the ax carefully down. As if a noise was going to frighten me away.

"Do you really want to hear about my childhood, Michael? " I said testily. " I get this feeling you'd like to psychoanalyse the socks off me? "

************

" I'd rather kiss the socks off you, but since you're not wearing any, go ahead. I do want to hear."

I pretended I hadn't heard that part about kissing.

" Tell me the story. Is this one of the long stories? Like the one about the time you stayed over night at the K-Mart in New Jersey and ate Snickers bars and chocolate Santas til you were ill? "

" The word is puked, Michael. How do you remember that? " I looked at him in wonder. I thought he'd fallen asleep that night. I thought I'd bored him to sleep. He kept saying Hmmm. Yes. Okay. Zzzzzzz..

" I love your stupid stories."

He wasn't going to like this one. Maybe he was too dense to even get it. " So he, Topsey Turvey, built this park, all out of black painted metal and really shiny steel. With a fifty foot spiral slide. All this metal in the sun. The blazing sun. It gets very hot there. It was agony to use the monkey bars. I was always too tall anyway."

" What about the slide? "

" We used to dare each other to go on it. If you lost you had to buy a round of lick-a-mades for everybody. Or steal some."

" We didn't have that in France."

" It's this powder you suck out of a tube about the size of a straw. Like coloured sugar."

" Sounds strange. We had all day suckers. I liked those."

"That's where the urge to lick comes from, Lassie. The famous Dr. Tongue foreplay action."

He had the grace to flush. " Excuse me? Urge to lick? Wasn't Lassie a girl dog? "

" Rin Tin Tin then. Never mind. Ever gone down a burning hot steel slide in the Aussie sun, Michael? It tears a strip off your ass. Even in blue jeans and there was no Aussie kid who wore jeans in my day. That slide gave ass blisters galore. You have this urge to grab the side halfway down and roll onto your stomach, but that was a mistake. Or climb off, throw yourself to the ground just to stop the agony, but the black painted metal just burned your hands and slowing down well-- just slows you down."

" Why hurt yourself?"

" Pride. The ultimate payoff. The bottom was nuclear powered. You'd fly ten feet. And then you'd land on your bum and the blisters would sting but that was okay cause you'd made it, and you'd be kicking and screaming and running around fanning yourself."

He nodded and grinned. The sun was in his eyes and when he squinted laugh lines fanned out and made him look even more appealing.

Not that he really appealed to me.

I admit, despite everything, being held hostage and all, I found myself grinning back. " In this weird way you want to go down the slide again and again, knowing you're going to hurt, cause it's the most beautiful climb. You feel like a king at the top and you look around and you see heaven all around you and the earth below and it's the biggest and fastest and wildest fucking thrill you've ever " I just stopped. I closed my eyes and felt the tears burning me again.

I didn't know why I felt like crying over a stupid memory. I didn't know why I did anything anymore. I just knew it was wrong to care.

" Nikita."

He was waiting for the big kicker. He was expecting it. There was no big kicker.

His green eyes were infinitely kind. So patient. The way he used to look at Adam. " And the moral of this story? "

" I don't know what it means. It's stupid. Don't take the risk ride the big one. Your ass'll be toast somewhere down the line."

He said. " Or maybe someone who loves you will be there at the bottom to catch you."

Then he just smiled and took hold of the swing ropes pulling me closer. He leaned down very close to me like he wanted to kiss me, but he was just studying my face like he always does. He has this way of looking right through me. I could smell his clean man-sweat and see the sparkle in his eyes. Not wanting the eye contact, I looked down at his chest. He was breathing hard. My mouth was at the level of his small flat nipple. If I'd wanted to I could have licked it.

Of course I didn't want to do that.

I looked at his body, the way his pec muscles seemed to quiver under his skin, mesmerised as a little trickle of sweat trailed down his side to disappear into his waistband.

" Kita? " he said on a breath.

I swallowed hard and leaned back. " I hope you're not thinking that I meant that you're the big one or anything. I have no interest in your playground equipment."

That got a smirk.

" I think that Madeline could use one of those big, hot ass blistering slides in the White room."

" Yea." he said, thoughtfully. He let go of the swing, letting me spin a little crookedly, and stooped to gather up some wood.

I was thinking how I'd missed my chance to brain him with a log. Or the back of the ax. I just followed him into the cabin.

I sat down at the table. It was one of those metal and formica things. I just had this sinking feeling that it was going to be a long day. Fletcher, you bonehead, come and save me. I don't want to be here alone with him.

My headache was throbbing again. And I felt stupid.

By four o'clock I was trying not to shiver. There was no way I was asking for socks. The first rule of being held captive is not to show your weakness. I have never handled cold well. He does not feel it. I was hungry and the stew he'd made smelled really good even if it was canned. That canned stuff always has that weird meat in it.

In a low voice I finally asked if he was going to start a fire because I was tired of trying not to shudder with the cold.

He did as I asked, building a nice blazing fire, using Miss January 1986 to kindle it. But the warmth and watching the flames just made me sleepy.

I hadn't said much to him. I found a few National Geographics in the pile of Penthouses and spent the rest of the day reading everything. Cover to cover.

Like I gave a darn about a gorilla named KoKo who talked sign language. And Oriental pearl divers and pirates of the Caribbean. Finally I just went and climbed into the bed. I yanked the covers over me and closed my eyes.

" Kita? "

" My head aches. Leave me alone."

He'd been sitting at the table scribbling things on a pad in his messy printing. Maybe recipes for runny eggs. Maybe his plans to take over the world.

Where did he think he was going with that disc? Cuba? Iceland?

Where in the world did awol spies go? Maybe one day there would be a story in the Enquirer. " I lived next door to a dangerous secret agent and never knew. He was so normal. He was so handsome. "

" I'll tell you when dinner's ready."

" No, thanks. I'll pass."

" You have to eat."

" I don't have to do anything," I groaned.

I think I was asleep almost instantly.

I don't know what it was that woke me. I was dreaming about him again, but the dream was different this time. It wasn't the dream I'd been having for months.

He had gotten into the bed beside me and was asleep, his hands behind his head, his pillow folded under like he always does. It was comforting in a way to watch him like that in the dark. He'd left the bathroom light on and a little crack of it illuminated his face.

He looked so handsome.

Did he really think I was his?

I wasn't going to think about that or his warmth.

He was an idiot. He'd broken the first rule in taking a hostage. Don't trust the captive.

I managed to slip out of the bed without disturbing him. Normally he is a light sleeper but his breathing seemed deeper than usual. His mouth was slightly parted.

I looked at that soft pink lower lip with a slight shiver.

I tiptoed to the cupboard with all the stealth I could muster and grabbed the Glock. It was loaded. I looked over at him one more time. The disc. I would get the disc and then I could decide what to do from there.

The toilet tank was cold and wet and my fingers went numb getting the disk, stuck there with plumber's putty. I wiped it and my hands on the towel and slipped it into the back pocket of my pants.

I don't know why I expected him to be asleep when I got out. I would have had to wake him but I had this crazy idea of letting him rest. Of watching him sleep. I had no intention of letting him stay there. He was going back to Section with me.

If he refused, he'd die. I'd have to kill him.

He wouldn't refuse.

He was standing there in the middle of the room, his hair picking up the russet tones of the faint light from the fire and the bathroom light. He was shirtless and his hair stuck up everywhere.

He took my breath away.

" Give me the gun, Kita."

" No, Michael. Game's over. We're going back."

" I'm not going back."

" I have the disc, Michael."

" That's a decoy. The real one is somewhere else."

" Oh, yea. Right."

" It's at the post office. General Delivery. In your name. "

" So why are you telling me this? "

" Because I'm not going anywhere. You have to kill me. I'm not going back. Retrieve the disc yourself. "

" Don't be stupid, Michael," I sneered.

" I'm not going by the book any more. Cancel me. You have the gun. Kill me."

He stood there staring at me. His face had this calm, almost surreal beauty.

" I won't go back." He stepped towards me.

" Michael. I'll do it."

" Do it then, Kita," he whispered. " Kill me."

I raised the gun and aimed it at his head.

" Do it." His eyes never wavered from mine.

I pulled the trigger.

The sound of the blast was deafening. Silencers are a bunch of bull. Don't believe what they show you on t.v. . It was loud. So loud.

The bullet skimmed so close it ruffled his hair. He barely blinked.

Once second later he had thrown me on the bed.

And we were in a clinch.

Not struggling. Not fighting. Just staring at each other.

Like wary animals. Who was going to speak first, make the first move?

My heart was hammering so loudly I could feel it, throbbing and alive in my chest. I could feel his breathing, harsh and broken, his hard chest heaving against my breasts.

I think I scared the shit out of him, but true to form he wouldn't show it. His heart did. His eyes did not.

There was something else altogether in those heavy-lidded eyes. Desire. Determination. He was going to have me and I knew would let him. I wanted him, too. He knew it. He'd always known. And that scared me more than having come a hair's breadth from blowing his head off.

It didn't mean that I was going down without a fight. Something in me needed to fight this.

" Let me up, Michael." I pushed at his chest.

" No."

" If you do this, it'll be rape."

" The gun's right here." He held it up and grinned. Like wolf. " I'll let you kill me after."

" That's obscene, Michael. You're sick."

" What they've done to us is obscene."

I realised that my fingers were wrapped in the flannel plaid fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath the soft fabric.

I knew was pulling him closer, not pushing him away.

" I love you, Nikita," he said. His mouth was hovering over mine, his arms locked on either side of my upper arms, his fingers pressing into my shoulders. I wasn't making any move to leave so the pressure was quite unnecessary.

" I tried to kill you."

" No, you didn't. You wouldn't miss me at four feet away."

" It was dark. I couldn't see."

" You couldn't do it. You couldn't do it because you love me, too."

I shook my head. Tears were trickling down the sides of my face. He caught one with his thumb.

" The gun is calibrated wrong."

" Liar," he whispered. His mouth finally came down on mine. Oh, God. It was sweet. Everything that I remembered. Those teasing, licking little kisses that make me so hot for him I want to scream in frustration. Beg him for more.

His deep, gravelly sighs. Those half closed eyes. I remembered it all. And I remembered how I had missed him, how part of me that is still his, always his, had cried out. And he had heard.

They couldn't kill that. He was right.

I could feel his body pressing into mine through layers of faded denim. He was aroused. Blatantly. It is a fine line we walk between death and desire. It was never more clear to me in that moment.

" Let me, " he said. " I need you."

I let him.

I tell myself now that it was relief. Shock. Maybe his body heat. He was so warm and alive and I had been so cold and dead.

It doesn't matter now. There had been a tide of emotion sweeping though me in those moments, where before there was endless bleak despair. Nothing. I'd been nothing.

I wanted to take him into me. I wanted him to fill me up with life again. I wanted to replace what had been lost. Stolen from me.

He was the only one who could do that.

I bit my lip as he undid the plaid shirt and spread it open. He looked at my breasts for a long, lingering time, caressing each crest with gentle reverent fingers, before his mouth covered one and then the other. I could feel the scrape of his beard, the warm, wet, whisper of his breath. I buried my hands in his soft hair.

Desire leapt wildly, low in my belly. He sensed that, unable to wait, catching me by the hips, undoing the jeans, yanking them off with ungentle fingers. I gasped when the rough fabric grazed the sore place on my hip where he had removed my tracker.

" I'm sorry," he said, huskily. " I didn't mean to hurt you."

" It's alright, Michael." I touched his cheek.

He left the bed, never taking his eyes off me. He yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it away. He quickly skimmed his pants over his hips.

How could I have forgotten that he is so beautiful. How could I have forgotten how gloriously, rampantly male he is. He leaned over me and fumbled in the book shelf. When he returned , he gave me a rather shy grin for someone so in charge. His skin was feverish, it seemed to me, as his body covered mine. His kiss branded me.

Like fire. Together we would burn.

" You want this?"

" You knew I did."

" I'll make you better, my love. I swear it," he said, huskily. " Forgive me if I'm too quick "

I sealed his mouth with my fingertips. " Four months is a long time. For both of us."

He smiled and kissed me again.

I think it had really been that long for him. Something told me hadn't been with anyone else even though I had told him in the most painful and cruel ways I didn't love him any longer. With his looks you'd think he could walk into a bar and have a different chick every night. A Shagfest to quote Mick.

I hate to say it but I'm kind of glad of that self-imposed loneliness.

I know what you want as you are reading this. I guess I'd want it, too, given that a woman could never look at Michael and not covet him. Not want to know exactly what he does, says, makes a woman feel when he is holding her, making love to her. He is that beautiful, that fascinating.

You know that he's good at lovemaking. I don't need to tell you that.

I'm sorry. I can't seem to write the explicit details about hip action and animal thrusts. Describing how Thomas the Tank Engine went through the tunnel. That there was moaning and growling, a turgid penis here and a velvet sheath there.

I guess that stuff was all there but--

Yuck.

The moments in that dirty little room with the spider web canopy should have been kind of dark like our relationship has been, but they were not. Given the crackle of electricity in the room, the smell of gunpowder and the draft blowing in from the window I had blown to bits, it should have been pretty wild and funky sex to match the element of danger.

It wasn't that either.

He was sweet to me. More gentle and giving than he'd ever been before given the fact that he was practically shaking with desire the first time we did it.

He told me that I was beautiful and his love and that he would find a way for us to be together. And when he came he just sighed and buried his head in the curve of my shoulder and held me close to him like he couldn't bear to give me up.

And given what was to happen a few hours later, I look back on it and smile even now when I should be wanting to kick that fine rounded ass from here to China.

Being with him was different that night. Not in a bad way, just different than it ever had been before. There was this fear that hung in the air. It didn't drive us apart. It just made me want to hold onto him more tightly.

When it was over for a second time, where I was most admittedly greedy, we fell asleep with him hugging me in spoon fashion like he always did. At dawn I woke up and he was standing there by the bed with my clothes.

He had showered and dressed in a sweater and jeans. I don't know if I'd been hoping for more. Maybe.

" We have to go." He threw the clothes in a pile on top of me.

" Michael?"

" Get dressed in the bathroom. Have a shower."

Robo Mikey was back, giving orders. I sat up slowly. " Are we going back into Section? "

He shook his head and said tersely. " Please, can you for once just trust me? Your full trust." He crouched down and took my hands.

I just stared at him.

And then he told me the truth about the mission.

I decided I could kick his ass later.

I went into the bathroom got into the rusty tin shower and had just finished rinsing my hair when I heard the staccato blast of gunfire.

I could barely get my leather pants over my legs. I slipped on my coat and slid my hand into my pocket and removed my own gun. I ran out of the cabin door, which was wide open.

Fletcher and several operatives in full mission gear trained their guns on me. At his word they lowered them.

Michael lay face down on the gravel path, his arms akimbo. I just stared down at his body.

The breeze picked up a burnished curl and tossed it gently. There was something clutched in a still, lifeless hand. Before I went over to join Fletcher I stooped over his body and drew out the note he'd been scribbling on all the previous day.

" What is it?"

I looked at the first lines. " Appears to be a love letter. He's an idiot. He told me where the disc is. We can go there now."

" Why did he tell you? "

I stiffened. " I just told him some things he wanted to hear."

" We'll go in my car," Fletcher said.

" Randolf? " he called to one of the operatives. " Get rid of the body."