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A whirlwind courtship, Madeline had told him, and so it was. Michael had quickly wooed, won, and married Elena Vacek. Did she know he didn’t love her? He had only just discovered true love, with Simone, before Section chose to punish that grievous sin by putting him in a blood cover. He supposed Elena was beautiful. She was a good woman. She seemed happy enough just to be with him. Content. She was careful not to become clingy, though she had lost everyone in her life that really mattered. Michael observed and approved, but the only one with whom he wanted to plan, to plot, to profile his mission was Simone. But they did not speak of Elena by tacit agreement. Their stolen hours together were few; Section saw to that. But regardless of the time he spent as Elena’s suburban husband, there was no Salla Vacek.

Michael was frustrated. His irritation, which Elena could never see, was instead projected onto his team. Even Simone was questioning his authority. He denied her request for back-up. It was a surveillance mission. Just do the job. And Simone was lost to him forever, but he could not grieve. He lost weight. He spent more time than necessary in his office; his Section quarters. Elena was not happy, but what she needed he could not give. Not again. It was Madeline who told him about the baby. He had long since ceased to be surprised by her machinations. Insurance, she told him, and dutifully Michael became the doting father-to-be. Section was his Hell, not Elena’s. He must be more careful, for both of them. Elena and his unborn son. He hadn’t wanted to know the sex of his child; didn’t want to bond in any way.

Adam was a beautiful baby. Michael studied him objectively, the child he had created, not letting himself think of the family he would never have with Simone. The baby smiled, and Michael found himself smiling back. Every day it became more natural. Adam was easy to love. When Elena refused to consider trying to find her father, to share their good news, Michael didn’t push. He wasn’t ready to lose his son. He spent what little time he had at home memorizing the infant, who became the baby, who became the toddler. Between Adam and his new material, Michael had very little to give to Elena, but it was enough. She told him so, and he believed her. She wasn’t demanding, challenging, exasperating to the point of distraction. Nikita was. What she didn’t take of his time, she took of his patience. She also made him smile. Though he tried to remain stern, to break her spirit as he’d been directed, he was often amazed and a bit impressed by the sheer temerity of the recruit. He credited his mood, sometimes irritable and sometimes amused, on a cantankerous, doddering client. Elena believed him. She was a good woman; trusting.

That was a mistake. Michael couldn’t be trusted. He had sent his material, his colleague, his friend when he allowed himself to think so, to certain death. Section feared him, at least, those who didn’t loathe him. Some did both. Even Adam couldn’t make his father smile with his charming childish babbling. How had he let himself be manipulated this way? How had he come to love his son? It would be best to end it before Adam could miss him. And Michael mourned Adam’s loss as he had mourned Simone’s. As he would learn to mourn Nikita’s. But Elena, docile, gentle, and loving, developed a stubborn streak. She would not contact her father. Michael insisted. He must achieve end game. He could not let his emotions get the better of him. Not again. He had frightened Elena, and to what end? He had failed Nikita, he was failing Section, and he would fail Elena. The woman and the boy would become collateral as Section tried a different tack.

Their eyes met across fire. The moment was fleeting, but it was enough. Enough for him to turn his back on Elena, Section, the world, for just one night. That’s all they would have and it would be enough. But it wasn’t, and he lied. Again. Even as he told her to be patient, the words rang hollow in his ears. He had left her there, with them, with him. And Section’s manipulations became his own. Only his crime was by far the worse because he loved her. No. He needed her. That part was true. Yet he returned to his wife and son, home to celebrate Adam’s third birthday. Two full weeks. Elena was joyous. Adam was ecstatic. Michael was unnerved. What was happening? What was she doing? What did she think of him? He let Adam’s good humor become his own. Nikita had been lost, but now was found. It was enough. He hadn’t failed. Not Nikita, though he failed Elena. Twice. First on that deserted scow near Quartier Tête d’or, just north of Lyons. He failed her again during the Armel mission. Although that was just mission sex. If he said it often enough, he might even believe it. Elena was surprised, and quite pleased, at his sudden ardor. He would forget Nikita, the feel of her body meshed with his, her warmth, her scent, her taste. His duty was to the mission, to Elena. Was he too intense? Elena had begun to look at him quizzically.

He tried to distract her by speaking once more of her father. Elena was still not receptive to the idea of looking for him. In truth, it seemed to frighten her for reasons Michael couldn’t fathom. She seemed to waver, hesitantly, suggesting one moment that he and Adam had a “boy’s day out,” then whisking Adam away from him so he could work undisturbed as though Adam had been a nuisance when he was actually no bother at all. Michael decided to spend less time with Elena or with Adam alone, and more time with them together. It wasn’t difficult to arrange. After Nikita’s stand-off with Operations, it was as if Section wanted him gone. Indefinitely. He put Elena’s inquisitive probing aside with vague answers about his new clients being indecisive. It was the only plausible reason to explain his seeming about face from generally absentee husband and father to home-bound Mr. Mom.

Michael took Adam shopping at the computer store where he often purchased new software to reconfigure for his mythical clients. Adam fell in love with a computer game, Snake. It was too advanced for him, and Michael tried to turn the boy’s attention to games for younger children. But Adam was enamored of all things reptilian, and had a death grip on the cartridge, as well as a good start on what Michael knew could be a temper tantrum of epic proportions. He bought the game. Adam did surprisingly well with Snake, once his chubby hand learned to proficiently manipulate the joystick. Unless he was outside “helping Daddy” with the yard work or shooting hoops into the small plastic net, his little bottom was parked in front of the television, mastering the intricacies of his new game. Not yet four, Adam was trouncing his mother in a fierce bout of Snake, with only a little help from his father. The doorbell rang and Elena, laughingly conceding defeat to the boys, rose to answer it. Michael listened with half an ear—a woman who had come to the wrong house. Not a threat. But Adam’s attention had been captured by the activity in the foyer, so Michael put the game on “pause.” Moments later, Adam wondered back into the living room, his attention straying. He wanted to go to the park. But Michael had allowed himself to be lazy and relaxed this afternoon, and wanted to do nothing more than plop back down on the carpeting to finish their game, and he told his squirming son as much as he lifted the giggling boy above his head and swung him around.

“Michael?” His face turned unerringly toward the sound, a voice he would never forget, the look on her face and Elena’s seared into his brain as his two worlds collided with an ominous plunk. His home and his heart, face to face, each one staring, unknowing, at the Other Woman.

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