Adam was adorable. A little withdrawn and sober for Nikita's taste, but she hoped fervently that Michael could remedy that, and soon. A quiet and polite child, he sat on at his little table and looked at his picture books while Julie showed Nikita her room across the hall. The two rooms were connected by a bathroom—Julie was across from Adam's bedroom while Nikita was opposite the nursery.

"Perhaps you would like to freshen up a bit," offered Julie. Nikita gratefully accepted the offer, and closed the bathroom door, turning on the taps. She quickly pulled out her cellular and hit Michael's speed dial number and was surprised with the alacrity with which he answered.

"I'm in," she said, feeling a bit like the Nikita from the television series.

"How is he?" he asked without preamble. "How is my son?"

"Oh, Michael. He's beautiful. He's healthy and well cared for, and he's coping very well under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?" he asked, growing alarmed. "What have they done to him?"

"Shh, Michael," said Nikita soothingly. "Calm down. There's nothing wrong with Adam. I just think he misses being able to go outside to play. That's all."

A momentary pause, then, "That's when we'll do it," cried Michael triumphantly.

"What are you talking about?"

"He'll have to go outside to learn to say ‘tree,' ‘grass,' ‘bush,' won't he? That's when we'll take him."

"But what about the bodyguards?" asked Nikita, concerned.

"Let me worry about them. Just wait for my call, and then plan your lesson accordingly." Another pause, then, "I miss you already."

"You miss what?" Nikita asked laughingly. "My cold feet or my snoring?"

"You don't snore," he chided her gently.

"I miss you, too," she said softly.

The four nights they had shared a bed had seemed so natural—like it was always meant to be. Nikita had awakened one morning to find her head on Michael's chest, one long leg thrown across his, and his hand tangled in her hair. She had looked up at his face to see him smiling at her. He wished her Good Morning, and it had been. They were starting to act like an old married couple. It was nice.

Sunday night, Michael hadn't worn his shirt to bed. Nikita hadn't even noticed until she was almost asleep, and then realized that it didn't bother her at all. If the truth were known, she preferred him without one. She remembered the night in San Francisco when he had let her hands wonder over his upper body, and she felt a slight shiver. She wondered what it would be like to do that when he wasn't wearing a shirt. She must ask him if she could some day. She didn't stop to think of the effect that "session" might have on Michael.

She suddenly realized that the faucet had been running for two minutes, and told Michael she would have to call him later. He asked her to kiss Adam for him—she promised she would.

* * *

Adam had a secret. His new teacher, Fräulein Maxifeld, was a friend of Daddy's. No one must know this, not even Julie, and he kept his word. If Adam wanted to get a message to Daddy, he could tell Fräulein Maxifeld, and she would tell Daddy. If Daddy had a message for Adam, Fräulein Maxifeld would give it to Adam. Adam was bursting to show his pictures of Daddy to his new friend, but he had promised Julie he would not speak of them, so he did not. Nikita and Julie both informed Michael that Adam was mature enough to cooperate in their plan, and moved onto the next phase.

Nikita began her German lessons with Adam the way her French lessons had begun with the Fanning twins. She taught him " Guter Tag. Meine Namen sind Adam. Wie ist Ihr Name? Wie geht's Ihnen? Ich bin fein." She taught him his numbers: Ein, Zwei, Drei, Vier, Fünf, Sechs, Sieben, Acht, Neun, and Zehn. She taught him his colors by pointing to different objects in the nursery. Rot. Gelb. Blau. Grün. Orange. Purpurrot. Schwarz. Weiss. Adam was a quick learner and an avid student, especially for one so young. It made Nikita's heart grieve to see how quickly he responded to any kind of positive attention at all. It made her all the more determined to help Michael in his quest to get Adam away from this place.

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

O'Brien had unearthed a link between Salla Vacek and a faction of the Russian Mafia known as "Black Storm." Vacek's contact was a mid-level lieutenant named Gregori Zalman. He had put a tail on Zalman, and was hoping to intercept communication between him and Vacek or, better yet, get visual evidence of the two of them in collusion. Zalman had a bodyguard named Suba, who had the reputation of killing first and asking questions later. The detective hoped to avoid a confrontation with him at any cost.

* * *

Karyn had already moved to Munich, and Elena had visited her in her new flat twice. Both times Salla had been livid when he found out. He would not have the Vacek name besmirched by the "unnatural" behavior of the mother of his grandson. He was considering taking Adam away from her himself and keeping the boy in France, but he knew Michael would file another petition for custody, and his background may not stand up to fine scrutiny. No, leaving Adam with his mother was the best thing to do, he conceded, but he would have her marry again. He would insist. Perhaps to Eric. That way he could keep a closer eye on her and Adam without taking constant trips to Munich, and the marriage would stop any gossip about Elena and Karyn before it started. Yes. He would have Estrella make the necessary arrangements immediately.

Elena informed her mother that she had no intention whatsoever of marrying Eric the limousine driver. Even had she not found the man utterly repugnant, no one would ever believe that a Vacek would marry a member of the working class, let alone a staff member. She did see the advantage of participating in a sham marriage, and agreed to keep her options open. Her father was satisfied. Her mother was more that a little disgusted that her daughter's ethics had fallen so low.

* * *

Roberta was upset. The month wasn't half over, and Simone had already spent all of the money Roberta had given her. She had pawned her microwave and stereo, but Simone wanted more. Roberta had called Nikita several times and left several messages on her machine, but Nikita had not returned her calls. A drive by the house confirmed her fears—Nikita was out of town. Now what was she to do? She did the only reasonable thing a mother could do under these circumstances. She broke into Nikita's house.

Nikita had a much nicer TV than Roberta had had, and a VCR/DVD player. Her stereo should fetch quite a bundle as well. Her microwave was built in, but she had some nice jewelry and a good fake fur coat. This should buy her quite a bit of time as far as Simone was concerned. She left Plaza Drive with her conscience clear and the door unlocked.

Carla was the one who discovered the theft. She had a key to Nikita's house and was dropping off some contracts when she saw the missing TV and stereo. She called the police, who arrived within minutes. One of the officers made a comment about this not feeling like an ordinary burglary, but they swept the living room and bedrooms for fingerprints. They told Carla they would call if they had any information. Carla didn't want to bother Nikita in France until she had more information.

* * *

Julie and Adam were playing in the nursery, and Nikita was snapping photo after photo. The explanation she had ready was that she would be using the pictures as flashcards teaching Adam the German words for his toys--zug (train), lastwagen (truck), etc. In truth, she was going to send the film to Michael so that he could finally see Adam for himself. She had told Michael that Julie said Adam kissed his picture goodnight, and she could hear Michael crying through the phone.

She had casually mentioned to Estrella that she would be taking Adam to the park soon to teach him the names of the small animals such as squirrels, rabbits, fish, and birds. She acted astonished when Estrella told her that Adam was not allowed to leave the grounds. Estrella told her that Salla Vacek was a wealthy man and there had been kidnapping threats made against Adam, but she had not looked Nikita in the eye when giving her this explanation. Nikita compromised by saying that she would take Adam out in the back garden and teach him the words of thing he could see out there—Estrella thought a moment but could find no fault with this plan. Nikita was ecstatic. She called Michael immediately, who said he would come up with a way to neutralize the bodyguards.

It was all a waiting game now.

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

Michael found a picture of Adam when he was about 11 months old. He was standing with one bare foot forward, fists raised high in triumph and a beatific smile on his face. Michael turned the photo into a pen and paper drawing, sketching himself behind Adam, kneeling at his back and holding the tiny fists in his hands. He was looking at Adam with joy and love. This is the message he wanted to send his son. He signed the picture "To Adam, with all my heart, Daddy." He had the 5"X7" picture laminated, and gave it to Nikita to give to Adam.

Adam was ecstatic. This was the first time he had seen his father and himself together, and it made the Daddy in his pictures seem more real in his head.

"Does my Daddy still love me?" he asked Nikita as she helped him hide his picture.

"Of course he does, Adam," answered Nikita, surprised. "What would make you ask such a question?"

Adam lowered his eyes and scuffed his boot back and forth over the carpet. "He never comes to see me," he said softly. "I thought maybe he found a new little boy he liked better than me."

Nikita sat down and pulled him onto her lap. "Oh, Adam, your daddy loves you very much. The law in France is very silly. It says that when Mummies and Daddies get divorced, only the Mummies get to keep the little boys. It doesn't mean the Daddies don't want to. Your daddy wants to see you very much. He would never look for another little boy, because he has you."

"Can he see me when I go to Germany?" asked Adam, inspired.

Nikita was taken aback. "What do you know about Germany? Who said you are going there?"

"Mummy did," Adam shrugged. "She said, ‘the sooner we get out of this hell hole and move to Germany, the better.'"

"Do you want to go away to Germany and live with your mummy?" probed Nikita.

Adam was silent.

"It's okay, Adam. You can tell me the truth. I won't be upset, and I won't tell Mummy."

Slowly, Adam shook his head. He said in a voice that was nearly a whisper, "I really don't like Mummy very much." He flung his arms around Nikita's neck and buried his head in her shoulder. He was frightened by the enormity of the sin he had just committed. Nikita could feel his small body trembling. She stroked his back and whispered soothing words. She promised that his secret would stay safe with her—Mummy would never ever find out.

* * *

Michael was upset and frustrated. It had rained every day for the past week, and there had been no opportunity for Nikita and Julie to take Adam outside. Julie had been surreptitiously been smuggling some of Adam's clothes over to the gallery, as well as some of her own. Adam would need someone to look after him while they were on the run.

Today, Nikita was singing to Adam—silly little German songs and lullabies that she remembered from her days with the Fannings. Her husky voice was sweet and clear, and Adam was growing drowsy, nestled in Julie's arms. It was this charming tableau that Elena chose to disrupt.

"You're supposed to be teaching the boy German," she leveled at Nikita accusingly. "Why are you singing him idiotic songs? And why are you all sitting on the floor? It's all very unseemly." It was clear that she was high on something—probably amphetamines.

"I apologize, "Mlle Vacek," said Nikita as she stood, eyes downcast. "I was singing to him in German so that he would get used to the sound of the language."

"Sitting on the floor was my idea," broke in Julie, partly to deflect attention away from Nikita. "Adam and I usually sit on the floor unless he is eating or doing desk work. His little legs are so small—he finds it more comfortable that way."

"I'm not interested in his comfort," said Elena dismissively. "How are his lessons progressing?"

"He knows his numbers 1 to 10, and his colors," began Nikita. "He can say, ‘Good day, my name is Adam; what is your name?' and ‘I am fine; how are you?'"

"That's it?" asked Elena, clearly displeased. "Ten days and that's all you've done?"

"He is just two years old," said Julie defensively. "He can name most of the objects in his bedroom and in the nursery. We are waiting for a nice day to take him outside to teach him words like grass and bush and tree."

"Why are you defending her," Elena said to Julie, gesturing at Nikita. "Can't she speak for herself?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle," said Nikita deferentially, "but I agree with everything Julie just said. We're working very closely together with Adam's lessons"

Elena took a closer look at Nikita. "What did you say your name was?"

Nikita answered, "Maxfield, Mademoiselle. "Fräulein Maxifeld." She held her breath.

Elena announced "I've seen you somewhere before."

"It's possible, Mademoiselle. I've tutored other children in and around Marseilles. Perhaps you saw me when you were out with Adam?"

Knowing this was not possible, Elena shook her head. "No, that's not it. But it will come to me." She turned to leave. "Make sure he's ready as soon as possible. We leave the day after tomorrow."

She flounced out of the room without speaking to Adam. Nikita and Julie looked at each other in dismay.

* * *

The next day dawned clear and bright. Vacek received an emergency call to come to the American embassy. This was just as well, as he would never have allowed Adam to be taken outside with both of his bodyguards suddenly fallen ill. Julie assured Estrella that no harm would befall the child while she and Fräulein Maxifeld were close by and, as Elena was in no condition to make any kind of decision, Adam's grandmother acquiesced.

Nikita pointed out Strauch (shrub), Rasen-Stuhl (lawn chair), Baum (tree), and Gras (grass), all the while drawing further away from the house and closer to the garden gate. When she saw the limousine at the gate, she whispered to Adam not to make a sound, then suddenly picked him up and carried him to the waiting vehicle. Julie got in on the passenger's side, and Michael pulled swiftly away from the embassy.

They drove immediately to the airport, where Julie got out with her new passport and airline tickets in her hand. "I'll see you soon, sweetie," she waved to a still wide-eyed Adam. He waved back feebly but, per Nikita's earlier instructions, did not utter a word. Michael and Nikita, still carrying Adam, left the limousine in the Passenger Loading zone. Luc, Michael's driver, picked them up and hurriedly drove them to the new Samuelle airstrip outside Marseille. The pilot had already loaded their luggage into the jet, and within 20 minutes they were on their way to the United States.

* * *

The police didn't look kindly upon abandoned vehicles at the airport, limousine or not, and were looking inside to find a clue as to whom the owner might be when they heard a strange, muffled sound coming from the trunk. Undoing the latch, the opened the trunk to find Eric, bound and gagged with a nasty bump on the back of his head. After hearing a quick version of his story, he was allowed to enter the airport and search for the possible kidnappers, for he was sure this was what had just taken place. A woman fitting Julie's description had just boarded an international flight bound for New York City. Eric immediately phoned Salla Vacek, who realized that his meeting had been a lure to get him out of the house to facilitate the kidnapping. Vacek made a few phone calls to his Russian friends in New York. No way was Samuelle going to get away with this!

* * *

Two hours later, a brunette Julie, AKA Valerie Davenport, emerged from the Ladies' Room and boarded her flight to Miami, Florida—the first stop on her trip to Corpus Christi, Texas.

* * *

The flight to Texas was long, and Nikita suggested to Adam, that he try to get some sleep. He just shook his head slowly, stuck his finger in his mouth, and stared at the man who had his daddy's face. A million questions were whirling around in his mind, but Nikita had not yet given him permission to speak.

Michael couldn't get enough of looking at Adam. He, too, seemed struck dumb, and the two Samuelle men just stared at each other in wonder.

Nikita couldn't stand it anymore. "Adam, this is your daddy. He's going to take you to live with him. Would you like that?" Adam's face was a blank mask.

Michael tried. "Hallo, Adam. It's Daddy. I've missed you very, very much. I'm so happy to see you again." Adam looked at Nikita, then Michael, but still didn't say a word. Michael tried again in French. Adam, c'est le Papa. Je t'ai manqués très, très beaucoup. Je suis si heureux de tu voir de nouveau. Adam fidgeted, but still said nothing.

Suddenly, Nikita realized the problem and began to laugh. "It's okay, Adam. You can talk now. This is really your daddy."

With that, Adam withdrew the finger from his mouth and pointed it at Michael. "Daddy?" he asked hopefully.

Tears shone in Michael's eyes. "Yes, mon petit fils, it's Daddy." Adam took a few hesitant steps toward Michael and extended his arms. Michael swooped him up in a firm embrace. He held him at arms length to get a good look at his face, tears here falling freely now.

"Are you sad, Daddy?" Adam asked, concerned, as he touched to wetness on Michael's face.

"No, I'm not sad, Adam." Michael responded. "This is the happiest day of my life!" He hugged Adam again, then threw him up in the air and caught him and brought him close to his chest. Adam giggled.

By now, Nikita's own face was damp with tears, and she was happy that she had been a part of the gift that had made Michael so happy at last.

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

Salla Vacek was meeting with his Russian "friends." They were not happy at being summoned but, because he had done so much for them, they figured the least they could do was hear him out. Apparently, his grandson had been kidnapped. The Russians knew how important family was, and told Vacek they would make some inquires. The trip to New York had been a red herring—something simply to throw them off track. The mob didn't like being made a fool of. They would find this grandson and bring him home again.

The best man for the job, they decided was Suba. Bodyguard to Gregori Zalman, Suba was of Filipino descent. A handsome man with long dark hair worn back in a thick pony-tail, his features were marred by a cruel smile—one that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of. In addition to being a bodyguard, he was also a trained assassin. Vacek wanted Michael and Nikita (Elena had finally remembered where she had seen her and put two and two together) to suffer the way he was suffering, and the closest thing to that was death. Michael had galleries in many cities. It made sense that they would choose one of these cities in which to take refuge. It was only a matter of time before they were found. The mafia had arms that stretched around the globe, and Michael was bound to make a mistake sooner or later.

* * *

Life in Texas was peaceful, if a little warm. They were staying at a Day's Inn, with an adjoining room for Julie and Adam (they tried leaving Adam with his father while the two women shared a room, but Adam was having night terrors, and they decided it was best if he stay with his nanny), and a pool right outside their door. Michael and Adam were at the pool now while Nikita and Julie, minding their fair skin, sat in the hotel reading novels and eating Taste of Lime Tostitos.

Michael was towing Adam around in the kiddie pool, just as he had done with Nikita over 20 years ago. "Keep kicking," he commanded. "Face in the water." Adam wasn't as easy to intimidate as Nikita had been, though, and he let his father know when he had had enough. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the big pool, with Adam jumping off the side into his father's arms. By the time Michael brought him back to the room, he was already fast asleep. Michael stripped him of his still damp bathing suit and put clean Spiderman briefs on his little bottom, then tucked him into bed to rest until dinner time. Julie came back into their room with her book and a bowl of chips, and Michael went through the adjoining door, closing it behind him.

"Did you and Adam have a good time?" asked Nikita, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Michael gave her a smile that nearly split his face in two. "He's incredible, Nikita. So strong, and brave, and handsome. And smart! He remembers all the German that you taught him, and he switches back and forth between French and English without missing a beat. He's a genius—I know he is. No other child could do that at 28 months old."

"I'm sure you're right, Michael," Nikita agreed. And she meant it. In the short time she had spent with Adam, she was amazed at how quickly his brain grasped new concepts and how well he remembered everything he was taught. They had told him how they had "fooled" Mummy and that Nikita wasn't really Fräulein Maxifeld after all. Michael decided that it would draw the least amount of attention if Adam called Nikita "Mom," and Adam happily complied. Nikita's heart was overjoyed, though she knew that by grabbing Adam they had sealed their fates; they would probably be on the run for the rest of their lives, and therefore never able to legally marry.

"I'm going to take a shower," Michael announced. "Wanna join me and scrub my back?"

Nikita smiled. "Maybe next time," she replied. They had begun joking like this when they were living at Michael's loft, and Nikita was beginning to enjoy it. It felt ‘normal;' natural. Michael had been right when he told her she was not yet ready for a physical relationship, but just being with him every day brought them closer and closer together. Their third night at the motel, Nikita had picked up her pillow and walked over to Michaels bed, waiting for permission to be invited in. Michael lifted the covers, surprise on his face, but Nikita simply turned her back toward him and went to sleep.

They shared a bed every night now, though Nikita had no idea how difficult this was for Michael. Several times he had awakened in the night to find himself ‘spooning' her, his right arm wrapped around her waist and his leg wedged between hers. Other times she would be lying on his chest, her left arm wrapped around him and her head tucked under his chin. Often, he was fully aroused, which made it even more difficult to extricate himself from her without her being awakened.

Last night, during their ‘make-out' session (the ZING having turned into a steady hum), Nikita had allowed Michael to unbutton her shirt. Michael had already removed his so, when they held each other close, there was skin-to-skin contact. Suddenly, Nikita had excused herself and fled to the bathroom. Michael blamed himself for moving too fast, though he couldn't figure out why Nikita had allowed him to go on for so long before cutting things off so abruptly. In truth, Nikita had felt a sudden warm dampness between her legs, and thought she had started her period. She was puzzled when she saw no blood on her panties or on the tissue. What was it that had happened, then? Oh, well, she couldn't very well go back out to the bedroom and say," My mistake. Now, where were we?" Instead, she got ready for bed and neither of them had spoken of the incident today.

For dinner that evening, they went to Whataburger—all three adults wearing baseball hats to hide their hair. Julie insisted she couldn't wear the hot, itchy wig anymore, so Michael insisted she tuck her hair up into a cap whenever they went out. Nikita thought this was a good idea as well, and Michael wore his backward to cover his long curls. Adam's ‘going out' name was "Evan," as his soccer jersey proudly proclaimed. Michael had chosen a name that sounded close enough to Adam to get his attention, and told Adam they were playing a big game and pretending to be other people. Adam always giggled when he put on his "Evan" disguise, but he never blew his cover.

* * *

Suba broke into Marco O'Brien's office. Fortunately for the detective, he was out on a date with Carla Sanchez. Suba was thorough, but could find no evidence that O'Brien and Samuelle were in contact. He did, however, turn up an interesting file on a Roberta Wirth.

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

Michael had planned for them to stay at in Corpus Christi for six months. They moved to five other modest motels in the interim, always as Peter and Sage Philo and their son, Evan. Michael figured this would give Vacek enough time to check the cities where Samuelle's had galleries and come up blank.

Christmas had been an odd affair, as the day dawned sunny and warm. Adam was afraid that Santa Claus wouldn't be able to find him since he had moved so many times. The toys he had received allayed his fears, and he spent many happy hours playing with his new hand-held computer game, books, and new Teddy bear. Michael had allowed Adam's hair to grow to his shoulders, thus making him look less like the Adam that Vacek's men would be seeking.

It was almost March, now, and even Nikita was feeling the need to put down roots somewhere. Anywhere. Michael decided to let her in on Phase III of his operation.

* * *

Marco O'Brien thought Michael was being a complete idiot, but he decided that saying that to his boss's face would not be a good career move. He called the Howard Johnson in San Francisco and booked a suite for David and Lisa Fanning. He then wired $15,000 from Michael's personal account into Nikita and Roberta's joint account, and mailed Roberta a copy of the deposit slip. "Hide in plain sight," Michael had told him. Marco sighed. He hoped Michael knew what he was doing.

* * *

Adam and Julie were asleep in the next room, and Michael and Nikita were engaged in some heavy petting in the master bedroom. Nikita had finally confessed to Michael what her "problem" was (it had happened several more times), and Michael explained that it was just Nikita's body getting ready for him—it was a good thing, not a bad thing, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Michael had now gotten to "second base," and Nikita's bra was draped over the back of the couch. He was using only his hands to pleasure her, though he was aching to take the pink bud in his mouth and show her what pleasure really was. Instead, he rolled over on his back so that Nikita lay upon him and he held her close, stroking her bare back. He knew she could feel his arousal, though she had learned to ignore it. For Nikita, it was conquering a fear. It was a whole other ballgame for Michael. She had no idea how much willpower he was forced to express, and how draining it was for him.

While they lay on the couch, Michael told Nikita that they would be moving tomorrow into the Howard Johnson in San Francisco. Nikita's head jerked back in surprise. "But, Michael, my mother works there," she reminded him.

"I know," he said, flashing her a grin. "That's the beauty of it. We supply her with all the money she needs, and she lets us stay in empty suites. We're already booked for the weekend as David and Lisa Fanning. They will check out Sunday afternoon, but we will stay."

"What makes you so sure Mum will help us? She's not exactly dependable."

"The money," Michael answered flatly. "She's been playing the ponies again, and I just put enough money in her account to settle her debts with enough left over to buy her own racehorse." He waited while Nikita processed this information. "Come on, he said, lightly slapping her derriere. "Let's go to bed."

Nikita reached for her bra, but Michael stopped her. "No," he said. "Just wear your panties. See if you can do it. If you can't, you can get up and put your gown on." Nikita hesitated, then nodded. Michael turned his back politely while she removed her jeans and slipped under the covers. He went into the bathroom and came out wearing a pair of fleece boxers he had bought to sleep in. He lay down beside her, his arms crossed behind his head, and soon his breathing was deep and even.

Nikita was uncomfortable. She was not used to the feel of the sheet on her bare breasts, and it bothered her. She turned on her right side, facing Michael. She had figured out from doing their laundry that he didn't wear underwear, and that he had bought a few pair of boxers to sleep in to appease her. She watched him sleep for a few minutes more, then rolled on her stomach. Better, but not good enough. She waited as long as she could then, with a sigh, padded into the bathroom to get her nightshirt. Michael opened his right eye and turned toward the clock on his bedside table. Twenty-four minutes. Oh, well—it was a start.

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

Michael and Julie checked in at the Howard Johnson as David and Lisa Fanning. Roberta had never met Michael, and might not recognize him. He was wearing his usual baseball hat disguise, and the desk clerk didn't give him a second glance as he took his credit card and gave him his key to suite 412. Michael smiled at the irony of the number—it was the same as Nikita's address on Plaza Drive. Once he procured the key, he snuck Nikita and Adam in through a side entrance.

Their suite was nicer than any place they had stayed in while in Texas, and even had a Jacuzzi tub in the Master bathroom. Adam had discovered a Chinese station on the television, and demanded that Nikita teach him Chinese. He was already fluent in German now, and couldn't understand when Nikita told him she didn't know Chinese. He thought she knew everything. No matter—he would teach himself, and parked his little bottom in front of the TV.

* * *

Estrella had gone to visit Elena in Munich and was appalled at what she found. Elena looked exactly like the drug addict she had become. Gone were the clear eyes, flawless skin and sleek black hair. Estrella couldn't tell when the last time was that Elena had taken a shower, and she was thin to the point of emaciation.

She whisked Elena away to a rehab clinic in Switzerland, determined to regain the beautiful daughter she had lost. Even in her anger and despair, Estrella did not blame Michael. She knew that Elena was spoiled and headstrong, and had seen her downward spiral begin shortly after Adam's first birthday. She did blame Karyn for introducing Elena to drugs, and had her name added to the list of visitors who were not to be allowed access to Elena.

She needn't have bothered. Two days after Elena moved out, Jan moved in. Jan was into motorcycles and all things fast, and she and Karyn hit it off immediately. Somehow, Elena found out about Jan, and committed suicide by hanging herself with a bed sheet from the transom over her door.

* * *

Salla Vacek saw red. Michael Samuelle would pay. Not only had he stolen his grandson, he had killed his daughter. He must not be allowed to live. * * *

"Mum," said Nikita tentatively into the phone.

"Nikita!" cried her mother. "Where the hell have you been? I got people all over the place looking for you."

"It's hard to explain. I need you to do me a giant favor."

"First you need to get these people off my back," Roberta whined. "You broke your contract, baby girl. Left l'Éclat without so much as a forwarding address. And the police tried to book me on burglary charges!"

"Burglary!" exclaimed Nikita. "What happened?"

Suddenly remembering that she had been guilty, Roberta said, "That can wait for another time. Right now, you need to come home."

Nikita resolutely stuck with the script Michael had given her. "Did you get the deposit slip Detective O'Brien sent you?"

"Yeah," her mother confirmed. "What was that about?" Always look a gift horse in the mouth.

"It's partial payment for the favor I need."

"What favor?" Roberta asked suspiciously.

"Not now. Call me when you get to work. My number is 480-1281."

Roberta dutifully repeated the number and Nikita ended the call. Roberta wondered if this was the type of information Mr. Suba wanted her to get. She would wait until she talked to Nikita. She knew Michael was worth millions. She didn't know squat about Suba. She would see who made her the better offer.

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

Adam loved his new home. The indoor pool had a waterslide, and Adam would have played on it all day had Michael not grown exhausted from treading water. He and Adam took a bath together in the Jacuzzi tub, and Adam was delighted when Michael obligingly turned up the jets full force. He was so busy playing he didn't even realize that Michael had washed his hair, something he absolutely hated. He was holding his collection of superballs against one of the jets, letting them go one by one and watching them ‘ping' across the room. He shouted with glee.

Nikita heard Michael and Adam from the bedroom. She loved being a part of this family tableau—she just wished that she and Michael could make it legal. She wished they could settle down somewhere, even in Marseilles, in a real house with a real garden for Adam. Maybe even a picket fence and a cocker spaniel named Winston. She, of course would have a cat. Nikita was a cat person, and was always bringing home strays as a child. Naturally, Roberta threw them out as soon as she found them—food was too scarce to share with some "goddamned flea infested animal," Even as an adult, Nikita always left a bowl of water and a plate full of cat kibble on her back porch as a welcoming gesture. She didn't own a cat because she traveled so much, but this way she could pretend she did.

* * *

Roberta agreed to help them out, as long as her monthly allowance stayed at $15,000. Nikita started to protest, but Michael had cut her off. He would do whatever it took to keep her and Adam safe. Roberta was friendly with the night desk clerk, Hillinger, and was able to persuade him not to book anyone in suite 412, but to make it appear to be occupied in the computer. Hillinger had no problem with this. He just figured Roberta had a boyfriend, and wanted a nicer place than her house to have fun in. He warned her about Memorial Day weekend, though. He may not be able to let her keep the suite. Roberta shrugged and told him she would deal with it when the time came.

* * *

Suba had finally traced Michael and Nikita to a Motel 6 in Corpus Christi, Texas. They had been registered as Sage and Peter Philo, and had a little dark-haired boy and a red-headed nanny with them. This was back in January, though, and their trail had grown cold again. Suba's face twisted into a cruel smile. Now that he had a name, the game was on. They only had a three month lead on him. He would bring home his quarry. He always did.

* * *

Two whole months in the same suite of rooms. "It was heaven," thought Nikita. She hadn't complained, but she was growing desperately tired of constantly being on the move. She asked, and received permission, to give Madeline Frayne a call. It really wasn't fair what Nikita had done to her and to l'Éclat by disappearing so suddenly. Madeline did not sound thrilled to hear her voice, but she did agree to meet with Nikita at l'Éclat. Donning a dark wig and sunglasses, Nikita took a taxi to her old office.

Madeline was not unsympathetic to Nikita's plight, but business was business. Nikita agreed to pay whatever damages she had incurred by breaking her contract, and let Madeline know that she would be more than willing to return to l'Éclat as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Madeline had her sign a non-compete agreement to that effect, and was in happier mood when Nikita left than she had been when Nikita had first called.

* * *

Adam's third birthday, by necessity, was celebrated quietly in their hotel suite. Michael let him order whatever he wanted from the children's room service menu, and they all feasted on hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. Michael and Nikita had taken him to a toy store earlier in the day, and given him 30 minutes to pick out all the toys he wanted. He started running up and down the aisles, pushing his little plastic shopping cart in front of him. He finally ended up with six new cartridges for his computer, Tickle Me Elmo, a set of Hot Wheels cars, and some construction paper and colored pencils. It was these last items that made Michael tear up a bit. He was thrilled that Adam wanted to draw, and he promised he would teach him everything he could without interfering with his natural style.

Well, at least Adam had a good sense of color, Michael consoled himself. Adam's drawing of him and Nikita were the work of a typical three-year old, with balloon bodies, shrunken heads, and sticks for arms and legs. He supposed Adam couldn't be a prodigy at everything. Nikita bought some fridge magnets and proudly hung Adam's drawing on the mini-bar. He had painstakingly written "MOM AND DADDY' at the top of the page, and Nikita couldn't have been more proud.

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

The rest of the summer passed quickly by. Adam had been with them for a year now, and he had never once asked after his mother. He and Nikita were learning Spanish from watching Sesame Street, Adam having given up on Chinese rather quickly. He and his father played in the pool every day, and Michael's dark hair was taking on a cinnamon cast with a few golden streaks here and there. Sometimes Nikita slathered on the sun block and joined them in their games of underwater tag. Adam swam like a fish now, and was quick for someone with such little arms and legs. They had only had to give up their suite once, on the July 4th weekend, and the four of them camped out in a single room behind the front desk that was always kept vacant for emergencies.

* * *

Simone was suspicious. When she demanded that Roberta raise her "allowance" from $3000 a month to $4000, Roberta had done so without batting an eye. This told Simone that she was getting much more than $5000 a month from Nikita, and she was determined to find out how and why. She remembered Michael's threat vividly, but Nikita had the right to know that she had been robbed by her own mother, didn't she? She knew that Nikita must be back in town, as her mother was no longer whining about constant calls from l'Éclat. She wondered if that man, Suba, knew that Nikita was in San Francisco, and calculated how much the information would be worth to him. She would go through Roberta's apartment and find Suba's phone number.

* * *

Michael awakened slowly from a vivid dream. He had been dreaming that a naked Nikita had come to him, begging him to make love to her. She was touching him all over, arousing every pore, and he was so close to climaxing that he couldn't stand it. He became fully awake only to realize that only part of what he felt was a dream—Nikita lay behind him, her naked breasts boring holes through his back, her left arm flung around his waist and her fingers brushing the tip of his arousal. Mon Dieu! Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? They had been sharing a bed for nearly a year. He was not made of stone. He didn't know how much longer he could wait, despite his promises.

Carefully, he lifted her hand away from his manhood and moved it up to his chest. Big mistake. Nikita snuggled even closer to him and started rubbing his chest lazily, trailing her nails lightly over his nipples. Quickly, he threw off her arm and stepped out of bed. His sudden movements awakened Nikita, who sat up quickly, holding the sheet up to her shoulders. "Michael? Is something wrong?" She looked at the clock. It was just past two. Michael didn't answer, and she started to ask him again when he happened to turn and she saw him in silhouette. Instantly she knew what his problem was, and that she had been the cause. "Michael, come back to bed," she implored.

"Take off your panties," Michael rasped. Nikita was in shock. Was this the big night? Did she feel ready? She wasn't sure. She was nervous and uncertain. Michael saw the hesitancy in her eyes, and spoke reassuringly. "I'm going to leave my shorts on. I just want to try something, okay? We can stop if you don't like it."

We can stop if you don't like it. How many times had she heard those words before? And every time she had liked it. This was Michael. He would never do anything to hurt her or anything she wasn't ready for. She slipped her panties off and dropped them by the side of the bed. Michael got back under the covers, and began to kiss her gently. The kisses grew deeper, then his head dropped lower, raining butterfly kisses on her neck and shoulder until he licked the tip of her right breast. Nikita gasped. This was one of those things she had liked. A lot. He drew the nipple into his mouth and sucked gently, teasing the left breast with his hand. Nikita moaned, burying her fingers in Michael's hair, holding him there. Suddenly his head dipped lower, and he ran his tongue around her belly button. This was new. Nikita liked it.

Michael kissed and licked his way back up to her mouth, then looked her straight in the eye. "I want to touch you," he told her gently. "I won't hurt you—I swear. If you want me to stop, just say ‘Michael,' and I will. Is that okay? Can I touch you, Nikita?" Nikita was torn. A part of her wanted to know what it was like to be loved by Michael—another part remembered the rapes of a six-year old girl. She and Michael just stared at each other for a full minute, then Nikita slowly nodded.

He kissed her again, and his right hand made its way lazily down past her breasts and stomach until it rested on top of her golden curls. Nikita's legs were clamped firmly together. Michael stroked her hip and the top of her thigh, all the while murmuring for her to just relax. Nikita felt the sudden warm dampness again, and knew that her body was ready. Gamely, she opened her legs minutely. Michael cupped his hand over her mound, letting his fingers brush back and forth against her womanhood. He stoked with one finger between her folds, and soon his finger was wet with Nikita's own juices. He smiled. He stroked her inner petals with his wet finger, from her opening to her tiny pearl. Nikita jerked under him, but made no sound.

He removed his hand, and brought it up to Nikita's face so she could see his finger with her own eyes before he placed it in his mouth and sucked it sensuously. Nikita's womanhood was throbbing. Was this what sex was like? She knew Michael had left the job unfinished, because there had been no penetration. What was he trying to do—drive her crazy?

Michael rolled onto his back, pulling Nikita on top of him. His erection throbbed between their stomachs, tethered by his shorts. "This is what you do to me, Nikita--I don't know how much longer I can hold out," he confessed.

Nikita flushed guiltily. Now she had some idea what Michael was going through. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

Michael sighed. "Wear your gown to bed. I'll wear my tank shirt. Maybe that will help." Nikita quickly got out of bed and pulled on her l'Éclat nightshirt and brought Michael his shirt. They both turned on their sides facing away from each other, and tried to get some sleep.

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

There was a personal ad in the paper, supposedly from a couple named Nicholas and Michelle, wanting desperately to adopt a baby. Michael dialed the 800 number, knowing that O'Brien needed to speak with him. Nikita noted that Michael said very little, but that he had turned pale, and was a little shaky when he got off the phone.

"What's wrong," she asked. "What happened?"

"Elena's dead," he answered flatly. "Suicide. Apparently her lover took a lover while she was in rehab."

"Oh my God, Michael. When was this?"

"Six months ago."

Nikita was shocked. They had been so insulated in their happy little make-believe world that they had forgotten that life around them continued day by day.

"It gets better," Michael went on. "Vacek holds me personally responsible for ‘murdering' his daughter, and has put an assassin on the payroll."

Nikita's eyes were huge. "What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"I should go," he said dully. "Vacek wants me. Not you, not Julie, not even Adam. You're all in danger because of me. I need to disappear to keep you safe."

"No way!" retorted Nikita, eyes flashing. "We'll talk to Julie, but you and I are a team, remember? I'm in this for the long haul. You are not going to get rid of me so easily." She thought for a moment. "You're right about Adam. Julie will keep him safe, and Salla would never harm him, even if he did find him. But wherever you go, buster, I'm going too. I am so not losing you again."

She stepped into his arms and they held each other, neither one saying a work.

* * *

Simone contacted Suba, and told him she had information on Michael Samuelle. They met at an outdoor café on Fisherman's Wharf. Simone pulled her sweater tightly around her, wondering why he had chosen to meet outside rather than inside someplace comfortable on this crisp autumn day. Like Volare's. She remembered the free meal she got from Michael, and was sure this information was worth double what Michael had paid her.

Suddenly she looked up to see Suba sitting opposite her. She hadn't even seen him approach. "What information do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.

What was with this guy? Didn't he realize that she got paid first? "What's it worth to you?" she asked saucily.

"Your life," he answered, moving his lapel aside so she could see the gun he was carrying.

Simone gulped. This was not going well at all. She stared, bug-eyed.

Suba leaned forward, his left hand still on his lapel. "I don't have all day."

"Roberta Wirth is Nikita's mother. You know, Nikita the l'Éclat model?"

Suba blinked.

Simone went on hurriedly "Nikita and Michael Samuelle are together, and Roberta is in contact with Nikita. I think she knows where they are."

"Where is this Roberta?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"She works at the Howard Johnson near the university."

"Thank you. You've been very informative."

"But what about my money," whined Simone.

"I'm sorry," replied Suba.

Before she could react, his right hand had reached for his gun and he fired two silenced rounds at her. Simone was leaning back in her chair, her eyes still wide with shock, when Suba casually got up from his seat and walked down the Wharf to his waiting car.

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

Michael's 34th birthday was a subdued affair. Julie and Adam would be leaving at the end of the week to stay with Julie's relatives in Ireland. Nikita consoled the little boy by telling him that he could learn a new language, Irish, for Daddy. She side-stepped his questions about when he would see Daddy again.

Michael had contacted Helmut Volker. The assassin, he learned, was a man names Suba. He was employed by the Russian mafia for a number of positions, his personal favorite being that of killer. Even when a job had been cancelled because a deal had been brokered, Suba followed through on the hit, claiming he had never received the message. He was a sick and twisted bastard, Volker had warned, and was on their Yellow list.

* * *

Roberta thought Suba was kind of handsome, if you went for that pony-tail look. It didn't do anything for her personally, but it didn't look bad on the man sitting across from her at Nikita's kitchen table. Besides, he was talking about a humongous amount of money, and a sum like that could make the ugliest of toads look handsome to Roberta.

Half a million bucks! The guy was talking half a million bucks. And all she had to do was tell him where Michael Samuelle was staying. Granted, and she was living trouble-free, but for 500 thou she could quit her job, move to Miami and live large for the rest of her life. She wouldn't need Michael or Nikita. Never really wanted a kid, anyway. Only reason she never got married. Guys would take one look at a kid and run hell for leather.

Resentment for Nikita growing, Roberta made up her mind. Besides, she didn't even know Michael. She didn't owe him a thing.

* * *

The Russian mafia was tired of Salla Vacek. His whining and complaining had been going on for over a year. The kid was gone—suck it up and move on. Besides, Vacek hadn't told them that the kid was with his dad. The dad was family—where was the injustice? Salla Vacek was not that important to their organization that they felt the need to waste any more time on him or his problems. They contacted Suba and rescinded their order for a hit on Michael Samuelle, and told Vacek he would have to settle his personal problems on his own time.

* * *

Michael and Nikita went with Julie and Adam to the airport. As they were leaving the hotel room, Nikita suddenly plucked a long, blonde hair from her brush and placed in between the door and the doorjamb. "Saw it in a detective movie once," she smiled lamely. Adam sat on Michael's lap, his head buried in Michael's shoulder all the way to the airport. Nikita could see that he wanted to cry, but wouldn't let himself. Her heart went out to both of them. Michael reviewed with Julie the technique for putting an ad in the San Francisco Chronicle whenever she wanted to contact them.

Good-byes were short and sweet, and took place out by the curb. Michael had no idea if anyone was watching the airport, and although Julie was wearing her black wig and Adam's appearance had changed drastically in a year, he and Nikita were too recognizable to risk going into the terminal itself.

Michael was back in the taxi before Julie and Adam had even entered the building. It was just too painful for him to prolong. Nikita grieved with him, and it was a long, silent ride back to the hotel.

Michael started to put his keycard in the door, when suddenly Nikita jerked his arm away. "Look," she whispered, pointing with a shaky finger. Michael had no idea what she was pointing at. "My hair," she reminded him. Michael stooped down and picked the golden strand off the floor.

"Someone's been in our room," he whispered back.

"Or still is! Let's get out of here."

They turned silently to walk back down the hall and had just reached the elevators when their door flew open and two muffled shots rang out.

Michael shoved Nikita in the elevator and pressed the top floor, as well as the seventh. He didn't know if Suba was taking the stairs or the other elevator, he had no idea where they would meet up again. Focus, Michael. Focus. Think of Adam. Think of Nikita.

Exiting the elevator on the seventh floor, Michael grabbed Nikita's hand and ran for the other set of elevators on the opposite side of the building. He pressed LL to take him to the laundry room. Suba may be a trained assassin, but Michael and Nikita had lived in this hotel for seven months--they knew every nook and cranny. Suba didn't.

* * *

On the other hand, Suba hadn't gotten where he was by being stupid. He hadn't fallen for Michael's ‘up button' routine, and had immediately gone to the kitchen. When he assured himself that there was no feasible way out of there, he made his way to the laundry room.

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

Suba entered the laundry room without a sound. Michael pointed at Suba's feet, and Nikita gasped before Michael could put his hand over her mouth. Hearing the sound, Suba fired a shot. Michael and Nikita played a real-life game of cat-and-mouse in the laundry room, ducking through sheets and around steamers till they made their way back to the doorway. They raced on silent feet to the kitchen, leaving a frustrated Suba to find his way out of the white cotton maze.

Suba was close behind, and he fired two more shots, one of which glanced off Michael's arm as they raced into the kitchen. With unspoken communication they dove, first Nikita, then Michael, through the incinerator chute into the oven in the alleyway below. Suba saw Michael's feet disappearing and paused. Should he follow, or race around the outside of the building to trap them in the alley? While he pondered, Michael helped Nikita climb out of the oven, and they ducked down beside it, waiting for Suba. They were not disappointed. Ten seconds later his athletic form came hurtling through the chute. Michael jumped up and slammed the lid on the oven and closed the latch as Nikita held her breath and turned the incinerator on. She buried her face in Michael's chest as she heard Suba's muffled screams. Michael held her close, breathing heavily.

It was several moments before Nikita noticed that Michael was bleeding.

"It's just a flesh wound," he reassured her. He had always wanted to say that.

"But we just crawled through garbage. It could be infected. We both need to get cleaned up, and you need to have that looked at." She thought a moment. "I've got an idea."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, a freshly scrubbed Michael was sitting at Carla's kitchen table, having his arm stitched by her boyfriend-of-the-month, who happened to be interning at the nearby hospital. "Chainsaw, hmm? Yep, those things can be a might slippery if you don't hold on to ‘em just the right way."

Steve looked like a typical Ivy League doctor: tall, thin, glasses, goatee--until he opened his mouth. His deep Southern drawl made Nikita want to giggle. "I'd look into gettin' me a tetanus shot, too, if I was you. Don't wanna take any chances."

Michael agreed, and Carla sent Steve on his way.

"I don't know how to thank you, Carla," Nikita began. I hope we haven't put you in any danger by coming here."

"Don't worry about it," Carla said. "I'm just so happy to see you again. I've really missed you. You disappeared without a trace!"

"Now you know why," shrugged Nikita.

"So is it safe? I mean, now that this Suba guy is toast?" Nikita winced. Carla back-pedaled quickly. "I mean, now that you don't have an assassin after you, can you bring Adam home again?"

"I don't know if we're in the clear," said Michael heavily. "As long as Salla Vacek is alive, he'll want me dead."

"That sucks."

The three of them sat in silent agreement.

"The worst part," began Michael, "is that I'm going to have to go back to Marseilles."

"Michael, no!" cried Nikita. "I have to, my love. Perry Bauer isn't CEO of Samuelle's; he's only the office manager. I can't continue to run my business by telegram."

"Then I'm going with you," Nikita said stubbornly. "On l'Éclat business. I'm sure Madeline will be glad to have me working again, and I can keep you out of trouble in France."

"Madeline would kill to have you back now. The new winter shade is Dusty Rose, and it's even better than Misty Mauve," enthused Carla.

"Then it's settled," pronounced Nikita, waving off any protestations from Michael. "We'll stop by the clinic to get your tetanus shot, have Madeline draw up my new contract, then fly to Marseilles by the end of the week."

"Maybe I should make you CEO," quipped Michael, pulling her close.

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

Even with his "unofficial" Interpol guards, Michael felt like a sitting duck as he walked through the doors of Samuelle's. He was greeted effusively by his staff, Perry Bauer in particular. Meetings stretched on for hours. All he wanted to do was go home to his loft, crawl in bed with his arms around Nikita, and fall into a dreamless sleep. It never occurred to him that Nikita might have other plans.

"What do you mean you're rooming with one of the other models? Are you upset with me?" Michael was plainly hurt.

"No, of course not," she assured him. "I just think it would be better if we spent some time apart after all the time we spent together. Maybe we could use a little break from each other." Nikita was thinking primarily of Michael's libido and, to some degree, her own. She honestly thought her suggestion would be well received.

Michael's feelings were not the only thing hurt—his ego had suffered a crushing blow as well. He thought he meant the world to Nikita, as she did to him. He couldn't imagine why she wanted to live apart from him, especially now.

"Of course, it's up to you," he said magnanimously, "but the offer is always open." Clearly the sparkle had gone out of his eyes.

Nikita's inner voice was screaming at him. Elena is dead. We can be together for always. We can be married. We can be a family. All you have to do is ask. Just say the words and I am yours forever. But Michael didn't hear her.

"Let me make a call to Volker to make sure you have adequate security," he said quietly. Nikita chewed her lip, but said nothing.

Once the arrangements were made, Michael had Luc drive Nikita to her new flat. He brooded for another hour in his office instead of reading his paperwork, then had Luc take him to his loft. His cleaning woman had done an excellent job. It was as if he had never been away. There was just one problem. Nikita's toiletries were all over the bathroom. He thought about packing them up and having them sent to her, but decided to put it off. She might change her mind, he thought hopefully.

* * *

Nikita lay in her single bed, looking at the ceiling. It was strange. You would think after sleeping most of her adult life alone she would be used to it, but she could not get comfortable without her nightly "companion." Michael had been like her security blanket over the last year or so, much like his T-shirt had been during her childhood. She liked watching him sleep, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest with each deeply measured breath. Not that she didn't enjoy Celine's company—she even had the same accent as Michael--but it just wasn't the same.

After a while, and feeling like a complete idiot, she rummaged through her bureau drawer until she found Michael's À la Vie! T-shirt and spread it over her pillowcase, laying her head upon it. It was as if she felt Michael's arms around her, his breath lightly in her ear, and she fell immediately into a deep and peaceful sleep.

* * *

Salla Vacek was livid when he learned that Michael had returned to Marseilles, and that he had brought his two-bit whore with him. Turn-about was fair play, no? Michael had murdered his daughter—he would eliminate the whore!

Estrella checked on Salla in his study. He was reviewing some paperwork and chuckling. She was relieved to see him happier than he had been in a long time. If she had known that his happiness stemmed from madness, she would have felt anything but relieved.

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

On their third day in Marseilles, Michael called Nikita at l'Éclat and asked her out to dinner. "I know it's short notice," he apologized, "but I miss you."

"You do?" responded Nikita, thrilled. "I mean, I miss you too."

"I have some gallery business I have to finish up, but I'll have Luc pick you up at your flat at 7:30. Will that be all right?"

"That will be fine," said Nikita smoothly, while mentally reviewing Celine's closet. She didn't own anything that Michael hadn't seen before.

"Until tonight, then."

"Tonight," agreed Nikita.

Unfortunately, Celine was shorter and much more full-figured than Nikita. Nothing she had tried on fit. Nikita hurriedly took a cab back to l'Éclat and went immediately to wardrobe. She was trying on gowns when Madeline paid a surprise visit to the fitting rooms.

"Hullo," said Nikita, surprised. "What brings you to France?"

"Oh, getting an early start on the Winter Kick-off," Madeline returned nonchalantly.

A "very" early start, thought Nikita, but she didn't say a word because she recognized Paul Wolfe's driver standing in the hallway, obviously waiting for Madeline.

Finally, Nikita found the perfect dress. It was similar to the one she had worn to Volare's with Michael, only sleeveless and with a slightly longer hemline. Even the color was the same, though this dress was in satin while the other had been silk. She found matching stiletto pumps—she would be the same height as Michael, but she knew he wouldn't mind—and a pearled clutch. She decided to wear her hair up, and asked one of the stylists to do it for her. Michael was used to seeing it straight down or back in a pony-tail. For some reason, she felt like knocking his socks off.

* * *

Michael was already seated in the window seat of the restaurant when she arrived. He was resplendent in black Versace with a bright purple tie—a birthday gift from Adam. He rose as she was seated, and smiled appreciatively at her outfit. She could tell at once he drew the parallel between this dress and Carla's.

When the wine steward came to the table, he ordered something rapidly in French, never taking his eyes off her. Nikita frowned inwardly in dismay. He had forgotten again that she didn't drink. And here she thought that after over a year of living together they would have picked up on each other's personal habits. He smiled warmly. She did her best to smile back.

When the wine steward returned, he was carrying a 2-litre bottle of Pepsi. Nikita's eyes grew huge. The steward unscrewed the top off of the bottle and gave it to Michael, who sniffed it discerningly, then indicated that the steward should pour him a sample. He picked up his class and swirled the Pepsi around, noting the clarity. Nikita started to giggle. Michael looked at her in chastisement. Finding the vintage acceptable, Michael told the steward to fill both glasses. He did, then left the remainder of the bottle to chill. Nikita finally burst out laughing.

"You are such a rat!" she chided.

""Moi?" Michael said in mock seriousness. "I requested only the best for the woman I love."

They toasted each other, and Nikita drank deeply.

* * *

They had finished dinner, and were picking at the remains of their Crème Brule when Michael was about to ask Nikita the question she had been waiting to hear. Suddenly, shots rang out, and two small holes appeared in the place in the window where Nikita's head had been just before she had bent forward to hear Michael's request.

Michael threw Nikita to the floor and covered her with his body, then jumped up and ran out into the street. Nikita was right behind him yelling, "Michael, no!" But it was too late. The shooter was long gone.

"You're moving back in with me. Tonight." Flowery words of devotion went out the window. Nikita could have been killed tonight, and all because of him.

Nikita agreed.

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

Walking into Michael's loft was like stepping back in time. He still needed a decorator, she noted, although his new security system was extremely sophisticated. He had to show it to her several times before she caught on. There was also a system on the second floor to secure the living area while they were in bed. No midnight snacks from now on.

Nikita took her bag upstairs, and blushed when she saw her shampoos and cosmetics taking up most of the counter space in Michael's bathroom. Either he was really sure of himself, or he really missed her. She had her answer when she commented on the second bath towel on the towel rack.

"I was hoping you would change your mind," he said, eyes downcast. She turned to him and walked into his embrace.

"I'm glad I had the chance to," she said, a shiver running through her.

"It had to be Vacek," Michael pronounced. "No one else has any reason to want to get back at me anymore. The man is insane. He needs to be taken care of."

"What do you mean, ‘taken care of?'" asked Nikita, brow arched. "Surely you're not thinking turnabout is fair play?"

"Of course not," Michael reassured her. "I'm sure Interpol knows by now what happened tonight. I'm anxious to see what they do about it."

* * *

Unfortunately, Interpol didn't perceive Vacek as a threat to world peace. He was not a terrorist, and therefore would remain Green-Listed.

Helmut Volker made an unofficial phone call to someone he thought he would never see again. A woman he had known briefly but quite well. His former wife. A woman known to him as Anna Guerner.

* * *

Michael showed Nikita how to arm the security system at the top of the stairs before they went into the bedroom. Walking to their respective sides of the bed, they slipped under the covers. Nikita reached up to the lamp and pulled the chain, plunging the room into semi-darkness. She noted that Michael was wearing his shorts, but not his tank shirt. She knew the shorts were for her benefit, and regretted that she had to cramp his style. Nikita looked over at Michael to see if he was sleeping. He was lying on his back with his arms folded beneath his head. His eyes were wide open.

"Michael?"

"Yes??"

"At the restaurant. What did you want to ask me?" She thought she knew the answer. She hoped she did, but she wanted to be certain.

"It can wait."

"Maybe it can't." She rolled onto her stomach and put her left forearm on his chest, propping her chin on it so she could look him in the eyes. "What if one of us dies tomorrow, Michael? Not necessarily gets shot, but gets hit by a car, or gets mugged or something."

Michael started to speak, but she waved him to silence. "Maybe there's another option. I mean, we could live this day like it was our last."

"It very well could be," he replied quietly.

She shivered and nestled closer to Michael, her head over his heart. He held her for a few moments, then gently pushed her aside and got out of bed. Hurt, Nikita rolled back to her side of the bed, facing away from him, her eyes brimming with tears.

Michael returned to the bed, kneeling beside her. "Nikita?"

"What?" she snapped, a little too harshly.

"Look at me," he said gently.

So now he wants me. I don't think so. Nikita refused to respond.

"Nikita?" he asked again, a little more insistently.

Heaving a great "who cares?" sigh, Nikita rolled over to face Michael. He was holding something in his hand. Something that looked like—

"It was my mother's," said Michael hoarsely, looking into Nikita's eyes. "I stole it from Aunt Josephine when I was a boy. It was supposed to go to Martine, but when she entered the convent, no one ever noticed it was missing."

Nikita pulled the chain on the lamp, lighting up the room. The ring was beautiful. It was a small, emerald-cut sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. The tears Nikita was holding back fell at last, only this time they were tears of joy.

"Put it on me?" she asked shyly.

Solemnly, Michael took her left hand and slid the ring on her third finger. It fit perfectly. "Nikita, will you marry me?

"Oh, yes, Michael!" She threw her arms around his neck and rained kisses all over his face, neck and shoulders. He grabbed her face and pulled her mouth to his, kissing her deeply. Their fingers tangled in each others hair—they couldn't get close enough. Michael pressed her back against the pillows. She opened her legs and he lay between them, both reveling in the sensation.

Suddenly Michael sat up. Nikita grabbed his arm. Her eyes were shining. "Michael, I think I'm ready," she said boldly.

"Not yet," said Michael, trying to calm his breathing. "Not until we're married. We'll make it official on our wedding night."

Torn between wanting to remind him of her ‘living this day like it was our last' speech and wanting to honor Michael's request, she chose the latter, slipping her legs demurely back under the covers. They each reached out to take the other's hand, and this is how they slept until morning.

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

Madeline was shocked by what had happened at the restaurant, and insisted that Nikita move to a high-security building immediately. Nikita assured her it had been taken care of. Madeline also spoke to Paul Wolfe about Michael's feelings regarding Salla Vacek and his need for revenge. She wanted Ambassador Vacek psychologically tested or removed from his position. Paul promised he would look into it for her.

Paul Wolfe was a busy man. As the American Ambassador to France, it was his job to represent the United States in a positive light overseas. He was to resolve conflicts and pave the way to harmonic cohabitation with other nationalities within the country.

Today, however, he wore a different hat. From the Perch he looked down past the briefing area to Comm. One of the profilers was running a sim on Salla Vacek and the best way to take him out of play. Once the highest POS was achieved, he would select the team leader, head the briefing, and debrief the mission. Today, he was known as Operations.

Section One had received an unofficial request for help from Interpol. One of their agents, whom Section had used in a Valentine mission, required assistance in neutralizing Salla Vacek, the East Indian ambassador to France. Operations knew Vacek's comings and goings intimately and, though he had no personal gripe with the man, agreed that he was insane. He granted this favor to the Interpol agent, Volker, who believed he had once been married to one of their operatives, a woman he knew only as Anna Guerner.

* * *

Jurgen was entertaining, as usual. Being the Swiss ambassador to France did have its perks. Women really went for the diplomat thing. The mansion that came with the job didn't hurt. No, most of the time Jurgen loved his job. All he really had to do was remain neutral. This had been part of the Swiss ambassador's job for the last 75+ years.

Jurgen was just about to invite his lovely guest upstairs to see his etchings when his phone rang.

"Etienne," the voice said. "Come in."

Being an ambassador rocked. Being a Level 5 Operative for Section One, the most covert anti-terrorist group on the planet, sucked.

* * *

News of Salla Vacek's untimely demise was all over the papers. It appeared that he had been watching television in his den when he suddenly had a heart attack and died. He'd had no history of heart problems, but sometimes these things just happen.

Michael felt obligated to go to see Estrella, but Nikita persuaded him to call her instead. Michael agreed that a phone call was the right decision. Emotions were still too raw. Estrella had lost her grandson, her daughter and now her husband, all in just over a year. Michael and Nikita agreed that Adam should be allowed to visit Estrella as often as possible as soon as he came home.

However, Estrella needed family now, and as soon as Salla's will was probated, she moved back to India to be with relatives. Salla had left a sizeable trust fund for Adam, one which Michael vowed he would never touch. The money had to be dirty, and he would not have Adam soiled in that way. When Adam was old enough to understand the reason why, Michael would suggest he donate the monies and interest to a charity of his choosing.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to invite your mother to the wedding?" Michael asked again.

"I don't know how you can even ask me that, after what she did. She sold us out to an assassin, Michael! She chose blood money over her own daughter!"

"The only reason I keep bringing it up is because we're on the cover of every tabloid known to man. Your mother is bound to see it, and she may try to crash the ceremony. It would be better if she were an invited guest rather than a party crasher," explained Michael.

"Buy her off," Nikita said coldly. "It worked before."

Conceding defeat, Michael picked up the phone to call O'Brien. He knew that Roberta had moved to Miami—it shouldn't be hard to track her down.

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

Michael had flown to Ireland to bring Adam home, and Carla was lounging on Michael's bed, watching Nikita packing for her honeymoon in Fiji.

"So, what's he like?" Carla asked, grinning.

"Who, Michael? You've met him. You know what he's like."

"No, Miss Prim-and-Proper. What's he like in bed?" She laid back and smoothed her hand over the coverlet. "I bet he's absolutely delicious."

"Well, you'll never find out, so there's no point in asking," side-stepped Nikita.

"That good?" responded Carla, sitting up. "Wow. Great looking and a great lover. You are so lucky."

"Yeah," said Nikita, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I am."

"So, what's his best move," persisted Carla.

"None of your business!" retorted Nikita, cheeks growing pink.

"Come on, Nik. Drop a crumb for your best friend."

"His best move." Nikita pretended to think a moment, then told the truth. "Everything." It was true. From "that" night in the motel to their ‘hand dancing,' everything Michael did left her breathless and wanting more.

"Is he a tit man or an ass man?"

"Both," Nikita responded automatically, then blushed crimson. Again, it was true. Michael made her feel like her kneecaps were sexy.

"Tell me he has a flaw," begged Carla.

Nikita thought a moment. "He leaves the toilet seat up." They both roared with laughter.

* * *

Adam was a seasoned flyer by now, and he teased Michael during the flight to France by rattling off a few phrases in Irish. This was one language Michael didn't know. Michael stroked Adam's long hair. "We'll have to get this cut for the wedding," he said absently.

"Daddy! You're going to marry Mom?" Adam shouted excitedly.

Michael could tell who on the flight spoke English by the eyebrows that question raised.

"Yes, Adam. Mom and I are getting married as soon as we get home. Does that make you happy?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy! I love Mommy!"

He scooted off Michael's lap to run across the aisle to Julie. "Did you hear that, Julie? Daddy and Mommy are getting married!"

"Yes, Adam. That's wonderful news," Julie responded, winking at Michael.

Michael just rolled his eyes.

* * *

Marco O'Brien found Roberta Wirth. She was living in a modest section of Miami, in a modest home, and he suspected that, as long as she stayed away from the ponies, she should be able to live out her life in relative comfort. Michael's offer would sweeten the pot considerably.

"Half a million bucks? What does he want me to do—kill somebody?" She scoffed.

"No. You tried that already. Didn't take."

Roberta had the decency to look embarrassed before she got defensive. "I supported her ass for nine years in Sydney, and she becomes a super model and what does she do for me? Squat. I had to track her down to let her know I was alive. She sure as hell wasn't looking for me. But she did all right, though. I saw in the Enquirer she's going to marry her pretty-boy millionaire boyfriend. She spreads her legs and she's set for life. I do the same and what do I get? An ungrateful kid."

"Are you finished?" O'Brien asked quietly. Roberta remained mute.

"Here is the cashiers cheque for $500,000. All you have to do is promise to stay out of Nikita's life forever. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Definitely," Roberta replied, plucking the cheque from Marco's fingers and stuffing it down her bra.

"Then our business here is finished. Good day."

"It sure was for me," the detective heard her say as he walked back to his car.

* * *

Adam ran his fingers through his short hair. "It feels funny," he complained.

"You'll get used to it," said his father smiling. He, too, had endured a haircut; still long on top but short enough on the sides not to need mousse.

"Well, I think you both look very handsome," declared Nikita. She'd had two inches trimmed off, but no one could tell.

Michael's phone rang. "You did?" he said. "How is he? He will? That's fantastic. I owe you big time."

"Who was that, Michael?" asked Nikita, curiosity piqued.

"Oh, just business," he replied, but he didn't look at her. He could never lie to her and look her in the eye.

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

"Now, the groom will enter here," directed Father Eugene, "with his groomsmen behind him." Michael took his place. Next to him stood Helmut Volker and the Birkoff twins.

"Then the bridesmaids walk down the aisle. Step, pause. Step, pause. That's it." Madeline was first, followed by Julie, and then Carla, the maid of honor.

"Now the father of the bride walks the bride down the aisle." Chuckling followed by "aahs" ensued as Adam gamely held his arm up high enough for Nikita to hold on to.

"This is the father of the bride?" asked the priest, understandably confused.

"Adam is our son," Michael explained. "Neither Nikita nor I have any other living male relative."

"A friend of the family, perhaps?" Father Eugene asked weakly.

"What's the matter? I can do it," said Adam determinedly.

"Of course you can, Adam," said Nikita. "Father Eugene is just confused."

Adam wiped the scowl off his face and looked up at Nikita adoringly. "I can't wait until you're my real Mommy."

Nikita picked him up and held him close. "Neither can I, sweetie." She had already filed the paperwork petitioning to legally adopt Adam.

* * *

The rehearsal dinner was a lot of fun, with Nikita finding out much more about Michael than he would ever have revealed about himself. The Birkoff twins were a font of information, and Helmut had a few "Michael" stories himself, despite the threat to cut off his cigar supply completely. Nikita, of course, had no happy childhood memories to share, and Michael noticed the sad look that flashed across her face now and then and he squeezed her hand.

He stood up. "Did I ever tell you about the first time Nikita tried brie?" he asked. Nikita looked at him in surprise. Michael scrunched up his face and wrinkled his nose in a perfect imitation of Nikita. The table roared. "And once, when we went swimming, she wore a pair of shorts I had—" The table was all ears. Nikita felt her eyes brimming with tears. Michael was taking the two happy days in her childhood and stretching them into a lifetime of good memories. She loved him now more than ever.

* * *

Nikita brushed her teeth and hair and examined her face in the mirror. This was her last night as a single woman. Tomorrow she would be Nikita Samuelle. Mrs. Michael Samuelle. She looked at her sapphire ring for the millionth time. The matching bands that she and Michael had picked out were a perfect complement to the ring she now wore. For some reason, Michael had insisted on giving the rings to Julie instead of leaving them with Helmut. He joked that Volker would probably pawn them for a good cigar.

She turned off the overhead light and walked into the bedroom. Michael was lying on top of the covers. He had on sweatpants, athletic shorts, and a sweatshirt. "Michael, are you cold?" He actually looked overly warm.

"Full body armor," he explained. "I only have one more night to go, and I'll be damned if I blow it now!" Nikita picked up her pillow and tossed it at him, laughing as she slipped under the covers. She turned out the light and lay on her side facing Michael.

"Aren't you going to kiss me good night?" she asked.

"Don't start with me, Nikita," he warned.

"Michael, it's just a kiss," protested Nikita.

"Tell that to someone who didn't have a full out hard-on in front of a priest!"

She gasped. "Oh, Michael! You didn't!"

"Petit Michel has been a very bad boy lately," Michael replied solemnly.

Nikita grabbed her pillow back and held it to her face. Michael could still hear her laughing.

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

When Nikita awoke the following morning, she found Michael's note telling her that he had gone to run some errands, and then he would be going to the hotel where Julie and Adam were staying. She laughed when she read his P.S., "MADE IT!!" and put his ‘body armor' in the hamper.

She mentally reviewed her checklist. The marriage license was signed and at the church. Julie had the rings. Her bags were packed and at the hotel. Madeline was to pick her up at 9:30 and drive her to l'Éclat where she and her bridesmaids would have their hair and make-up done. Luc would pick them up at 11:30 and take them to Reine d'Église d'Anges (Queen of Angels church), where they would get dressed.

Michael had actually picked out her dress. It had a sweetheart neckline, with rows and rows of pearls and yards and yards of lace. The train was enormous. Nikita felt like a fairy princess when she tried it on. It had fit perfectly, too, except for the length. Nikita would have to wear ballet slippers in order to have the hemline reach the floor. She would have worn clogs and danced a jig if it meant she could wear this dress and be married to Michael.

* * *

Michael was at the airport, pacing with agitation. The flight had landed over two hours ago. Customs had never taken this long before.

"Looking for someone special, kid?"

"Walter!" exclaimed Michael, turning on his heel. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Well, I did." Walter was never one for idle chatter. Michael had learned that long ago.

"Let's get your bags and get you to the hotel and get your tux fitted," said Michael, taking Walter by the arm. Walter shrugged him off.

"I just look old," he told Michael, eyes narrowing. Backing off, Michael followed Walter to the Baggage Claim area. Walter was a little shorter, a little thinner, and his pony-tail was a bit more sparse, but he still had a spring in his step. Nikita would be delighted to see him.

Michael was extremely proud of Adam and the "trick" they had played on Nikita during the rehearsal. Julie had sewn the wedding bands on a white pillow, and Adam was at the hotel practicing his role as ring bearer. Since his tux came with short pants and knee socks, he looked more appropriate for that role than for father of the bride.

* * *

The soft strains of "Ave Maria" from organ, flute and cello were heard faintly in the ‘ready room' at the back of the church. There were few guests in attendance. Perry Bauer and some of the other gallery owners had made it, along with a few of Nikita's friends from the modeling business. Carla told her Mick Schtoppel had already hit on Celine.

Oddly, Nikita wasn't at all nervous. She felt serene—peaceful. She felt like she had been on a whirlwind journey, and she was finally coming home. Her destiny had been set since she was seven years old. Being married to Michael made their union legal, but they had joined their hearts long before. She stayed in the ready room as her bridesmaids left one by one to walk down the aisle—Adam watching from the doorway. He would return for her when it was time. But he didn't. It was time for the Wedding March, and Adam was nowhere to be seen. A gravelly voice jolted her memory and filled her eyes with tears. "Looking for someone special, kid?" Nikita flung herself at Walter, who kissed her cheek and offered his arm. Proudly, she marched down the aisle with her ‘Grandpa' by her side.

Michael was devastatingly handsome in his tux, and looked as calm as Nikita felt. The twins chalked it up to his being a ‘second-timer,' but they were wrong. Michael was at peace because all was right with the world. He had his son by his side, and Nikita was coming home. They grasped hands and recited their vows in steady voices, each one staring into the other's eyes. Adam brought forth the wedding bands on a little white pillow, and both Nikita and Michael stooped down to give him a kiss before he returned to his seat. They knelt before the priest for the blessing, then those who wanted to partake in the Eucharist did so while the others waited in their seats. Michael and Nikita stood facing their guests, and the priest pronounced them man and wife. An enthusiastic Adam yelled "Yippee!" as he ran and jumped into his father's arms. There was much laughter through tears of happiness.

* * *

Dinner at Chez Fonfon was a lovely affair, with a view of the port in the picturesque Vallon des Auffes on Corniche. Michael knew that the dinner would drag on, so he had scheduled their flight to Fiji for the following afternoon. Thoughts of Nikita in a tiny bikini were making Petit Michel act up again, so he mentally recited his multiplication tables until he had the situation under control. He hoped he could control himself tonight. This night was too important to Nikita for him to do anything to ruin it for her.

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

Michael and Nikita were silent during the trip back to Michael's loft. Michael had booked the honeymoon suite at the hotel, but Nikita insisted on waking in Michael's arms in their "own" bed in their "own" house. Besides, they would be in Fiji for two weeks. That would give Nikita plenty of time to model the scandalous underclothes Carla and her friends had given her at her wedding shower. She already knew what she was wearing to bed on her wedding night.

Michael was deep in thought for a different reason. He wanted to satisfy Nikita without hurting her. What if he was too rough? Too quick? It had been almost two years since he had last had sex, and he didn't want to scare her or put her off by giving in to his own need. He stole a look at Nikita, who met his eyes and then shyly looked away. He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. He could never hurt her. She was his soul mate. They were meant to be together. Everything would be all right.

* * *

Michael slipped nude under the covers while Nikita brushed her teeth and hair. He didn't think she was ready to undress him yet. That could wait for another time. Nikita turned off the bathroom light and entered the bedroom. She was wearing the À la Vie! T-shirt. He knew she would be. He had not anticipated her next move. She went to the head of the bed and pulled down all the covers so they would be within reach but out of the way. Michael lay completely exposed, and Nikita crawled in bed and lay down beside him.

"I want to see everything," she explained. And she did. She ran her hand down his hip to his muscular thigh, gazing raptly at his maleness. Michael felt a little bit on display, like Michelangelo's David. "Can I touch you?" she whispered. Michael nodded. She reached out her left hand tentatively and gently grasped his shaft. "It's soft!" she said in surprise. She was referring to the texture, not the physical properties, because Petit Michel was quickly growing hard as a rock. She watched the process with growing fascination, and Michael felt himself blushing.

Her fascination grew into concern as Michael's shaft grew longer and heavier. Michael quickly took her hand and made her look at his eyes. "I won't hurt you," he vowed. "I promise." And Nikita looked at him and believed him. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then pulled her face to his for a gentle kiss. She wrapped both arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and Michael laid her back gently on the pillows. His right hand slipped to the hem of her T-shirt, and he cupped her left buttock. She wasn't wearing underwear. She lifted her hips and he continued to slide the shirt upward until her breasts were exposed. She raised her arms to help him remove the T-shirt, and the unthinkable happened. They both heard the sound of ripping cloth.

Nikita quickly sat up and held the shirt up for examination. The thread on the left seam had finally given out, and there was a tear in the shirt about eight inches long. Michael held his breath. He knew how much this shirt meant to Nikita. How would she react? Would this cause some kind of setback? Nikita continued to stare at the hole, then she smiled wryly. Dropping the shirt off the side of the bed, she said calmly, "I guess I really don't need the shirt anymore. I've got the real thing now." Then she leaned over to Michael and kissed him. They were lying side by side now, facing each other, and Michael reached out to hook his right heel behind Nikita's legs to draw her closer. They were touching everywhere, from head to toe.

Michael kissed Nikita's eyelids, then slowly rolled her over onto her back. He looked in her eyes for any sign of hesitation. There was none. He rained butterfly kisses down her jaw, her throat, then took her right nipple into his mouth. It grew hard instantly, and he sucked gently, while pleasuring her other breast with his hand. His hand slipped lower, gliding down her sleek abdomen until he could cup her golden curls. She was already wet. He looked at Nikita's face again. She was watching him with anticipation. He began to stroke her inner folds, totally lubricating his finger, Then, holding his breath, he inserted it into her core. Michael felt her inner walls clench in reaction, and he kissed her abdomen just above her curls while murmuring words of love in French. When he felt her relax a bit, a second finger joined the first, and they began to move slowly in and out in a steady rhythm. He ran his wet thumb around her slick pearl, and Nikita gasped. It was time.

He pulled his fingers out of Nikita's core, and knelt between her legs. "Are you sure?" Michael asked one last time. Nikita licked her lips. "Very sure," she responded. There was not a hint of fear or hesitation in her eyes or her voice—only love. Slowly, Michael positioned himself so that the tip of his arousal was at the center of her slick folds. He pressed the head of his erection through the barrier to her womanhood. God, she was tight! He stared into her eyes. He saw amazement. Rapture. Trust. And love. Encouraged, Michael entered her inch by inch by enticing inch until he was buried deep within her. Instinctively, Nikita wrapped her long legs around Michael's waist, pulling him even closer. She moaned as he pulled part way out, and then slowly thrust back in.

Michael set a slow languid pace. Nikita seemed to understand what was wanted from her, and she arched her back and began to meet him, thrust for thrust, in a rhythmic dance as old as time. He withdrew his manhood and ran the slick shaft back and forth over Nikita's pink bud. She cried out, clenching his shoulders. Michael entered her again, and his thrusts became faster. He was very close, but trying desperately to wait for Nikita.

Nikita felt like a volcano ready to erupt. She'd heard about people having orgasms, but were they supposed to be this intense? She felt like she was on the verge of falling, and she wanted to leap. Suddenly, her world exploded, and her whole body jerked. She felt Michael thrust quickly three more times before spilling his hot seed into her as her womanhood went into wild spasms around him. Michael collapsed on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows. His breathing was ragged—his hair damp with sweat. She waited until her own breath was close to normal before she put her hands on either side of his face, looking him in the eye. "Thank you," she said solemnly.

Michael looked at her in amazement, then started to laugh. He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "Thank you," he corrected her. "You gave me back my soul."

"You gave me back my life," returned Nikita sincerely. They gazed into each others eyes. They were both right. He moved Nikita aside for a moment, and reached down to pull the covers up over them. Michael pulled Nikita back into his arms, and they held each other, limbs entwined. As they drifted off to sleep, Nikita thought, À la Vie! indeed! If this is life, let me at it! She smiled.

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

Epilogue

"Would you be insulted if I told you I was too tired to ravage you?" Michael asked Nikita wearily.

"Not at the moment," Nikita said agreeably. He had kissed and loved every inch of her last night—she felt like she was still glowing.

Michael and Nikita had just spent what seemed like a week in the air, flying from Marseilles to the tiny Fijian island of Taveuni, where they were spending their honeymoon at the Maravu Resort.

"Oh, Michael. Listen to this." Nikita picked up a brochure from the Welcome packet on the writing table of their Bure. "'Maravu is Fijian word meaning calm and tranquil—like on a sunny day when the sea is quiet and looks like blue glass.' Isn't that beautiful?"

"Uh-huh," Michael responded as he pulled off his too-tight shoes and flopped back on the king-sized canopy bed.

"Wake up," Nikita scolded. "You promised to call Adam when we arrived."

Michael lifted his watch and stared at it blearily. "It's only three o'clock in the morning in Marseilles. We're seven hours ahead. He won't be up for at least four more hours. Let's take a nap. You have to be jet-lagged."

"I guess I am a bit," conceded Nikita. "But I'm a little hyper, too. I'm going to take a quick walk down to the beach. I'll be back in about 15 minutes."

"Uh-huh," Michael agreed, already drowsing again.

* * *

When she returned, Michael was awake and much more alert. Nikita joined him on the bed. "Am I going to be ravaged now?" she asked innocently.

"If you wanna be."

"Well, I wanna be." Nikita turned her face toward Michael's and kissed him until neither one of them could breath. "Th-There's just one problem," she said. Oh, God, how could anyone think with hands like that running all over their body. "Really, Michael," Nikita said breathlessly, imprisoning his hands to keep them from roving even lower. "I mean it!"

He stopped and sat up, looking at her skeptically.

Nikita jumped out off the bed and headed to the bathroom. "I really gotta go!" she called over her shoulder. "And no laughing," she admonished as her pace quickened.

Michael hadn't thought of it before, but now that Nikita mentioned it—

"Hurry up in there," Michael shouted.

* * *

While Nikita was freshening up for dinner, Michael called Adam. They talked for a bit, Michael chuckling a lot, then Adam requested to speak to his mom. Adam had been calling Nikita "Mom'" for over a year now, and he was a little bit excited about her adopting him; it meant the world to Nikita. Adam handed the phone to Julie, and Nikita handed hers to Michael.

Michael had brought his laptop, and asked Julie to have the builder email him the plans for the new house. He had sold the house he had shared with Elena, and sent the entire proceeds to the Sunny Day Nursery in Sydney, Australia. Adam and Julie were living in a suite at the Sofitel Palm Peach hotel in Marseilles, but Michael wanted to give Adam a real house with a big back garden where he could romp and play. He wanted to give him all of the things the Vaceks had denied him.

* * *

After dinner, Michael accompanied Nikita to the beach for a long walk. It was hard to believe that the ocean before them was the same one they had seen in Sydney, as well as in San Francisco. It really was a small world. Any larger, and Michael and Nikita might have missed each other.

Michael plopped down on the warm, white sand, and pulled Nikita into his lap. "Feeling a little déjà vu?" she asked, smiling, running her fingers through his chestnut curls.

"Absolutely," he answered solemnly. "Do you know that I pitched a fit that day when Marcel brought me to the beach? I was seconds away from persuading him to take me back to the embassy." Nikita took a moment to digest this, and added "If my mum had been sober, there's no way she would have let me out of the house that day." They sat holding each other, pondering the mysteries of the universe.

"I told you how I found you," Nikita began. "The beach scenes with the little girl at the Samuelle's opening in San Francisco. How did you find me?"

Michael smiled wryly, thinking back. "A mix-up with the airline. I got bumped back to coach, and all I had to read were some cheesy women's magazines. Out of sheer boredom I opened one up, and there you were—staring right at me with those incredible eyes."

"Didn't you contact the agency?" she asked, puzzled.

"Of course," Michael replied. He grinned. "They sent me an 8"X10" glossy with your autograph."

Nikita turned to him with incredulous eyes, then chuckled. "That figures. So close, and yet so far."

"I initially hired Marco O'Brien to find your mother. I thought she might lead me to you. I was on my way to see her when Elena went into labor with Adam."

"So you never gave up on me?"

"Never."

"I never gave up on you, either."

They shared a lingering kiss, then Michael helped Nikita up and they walked back to their Bure, hand in hand.

La Fin

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