Prologue

He struggled through the snow with dogged persistence, only one simple fact--that he would freeze to death out here if he fell--driving him on.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was badly hurt but pain had ceased to have any meaning, cold and exhaustion dulling sensation, arm pressed against his ribs in an attempt to still the flow of blood. Through blurred vision he could see a road ahead of him and it was for that he headed, feet sinking in a deep pocket of snow, knee buckling to send him sprawling. Hands pressing down into the snow, it took him two tries to get himself back up onto his feet, arm swiping at the fresh stream of blood that ran down his cheek as he staggered to his feet.

Halfway there and legs he could no longer feel gave way beneath him, spilling him onto his side, the pain sharp and staggering, cutting through the cold- induced numbness. Gasping, teeth chattering he got up to hands and knees and crawled painfully through the snow, simple blind instinct now, no thought left in him, falling at last on the shoulder of the road. Exhaustion and loss of blood claimed their toll, just the simple effort of keeping his eyes open too much of a struggle, and with a rasping sigh, he let himself fall into the darkness.

"Pull over...I gotta take a leak."

Brett Parkins rolled his eyes at his passenger's statement but with a sigh, he slowed the truck and shook his head as Wayne gave him a drunken grin, yellowing teeth showing in dark-bearded face, hand fumbling at the door as he tried to open it, finally getting it open and nearly falling out onto the pavement. Brett shook his head again and turned off the truck's engine, getting out as well--better for Wayne to piss on the side of the road than in his truck and he might as well keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't pass out here. At 200 plus pounds, he was just too damn heavy to drag up into the truck.

Shivering in the cold air, watching his breath plume, Brett hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets, moving to the rear of the truck, scanning the surrounding countryside. Snow laid across the land like a heavy blanket and from what he'd heard on the news, they would be receiving another foot over the next few days. Winter in Montana, he thought sourly, gotta love it.

As he moved to the end of the truck and dug in his coat pocket for his pack of Marlboros, he could hear Wayne chuckling to himself and wondered not the first time why he'd driven all the way to Billings to pick the fool up...but knew the answer. As pissed off as Wayne made him, they'd been buddies since childhood and the last thing he wanted was to hear Wayne had killed himself--or anyone else--driving home drunk. Another twenty minutes before they reached their hometown of Clayton and at this rate Sarah and the kids would be in bed before he got home...

"Damn it, Wayne, zip it up and let's go!" Stomping his boots he moved up the side of the road, expecting to see Wayne still decorating the landscape but he was over by the shoulder of the road, still a little unsteady but mostly sober as he turned his head t look at Brett. "What?" demanded Brett impatiently and looked in the direction Wayne was pointing.

Just outside the ditch a figure lay, dark clothing standing out against the white of snow, utterly still, but when Wayne leaned over to give the form a shake a moan came from it, head lifting briefly only to slump back. "I'll get a blanket." said Brett and ducked back into the truck, reaching back behind the seat to drag out a blanket.

By the time he got the blanket and had hopped back down onto the pavement, Wayne had gotten the man up, one limp arm slung over his shoulders, and between the two of them they got the man wrapped in the blanket, Brett taking the man's legs as they carried him to the truck and tucked him inside. With Wayne squeezed beside him, Brett headed for Clayton and the clinic.

"Mom, I finished the examining room!"

Hannah Lewis lifted her head from the pile of reports to give her daughter Rachel a weary smile, straightening in her chair and putting her hands to her back as she stretched, muscles groaning in protest. Getting too old for these late nighters, lady, she told herself, and smiled ruefully at the thought; at 44, she looked younger than her years, her curly dark hair just beginning to show signs of gray, and she attributed those gray hairs to raising a teenager...not her career as a nurse.

Clayton, Montana, wasn't big enough to warrant a clinic--the population 512--but there were lots of little communities between here and Billings that the clinic also serviced, allowing them to keep a permanent staff of three doctors and five nurses, plus a part-time receptionist. Add nursing, raising a fourteen-year-old girl on her own, and running a horse ranch...well, it was a wonder her hair wasn't completely grey, she reflected.

Rachel came up behind her mother and sat down in the chair next to hers, sipping at a can of Coke, bright red hair pulled back in a ponytail, her worn jeans and white T-shirt with yellow smiley face a contrast to Hannah in white slacks and blouse, still wearing the short lab coat. Friday night and rather than out at a friend's house or going to the movies, she was here, helping her mother clean up the clinic before it shut down for the night. What a joy she was and though Hannah had many an opportunity to curse the day she met Samuel Lewis, she had never regretted having Rachel.

"We still going into Billings tomorrow?" asked Rachel, eyes bright, swinging her legs.

Hannah cast her a sideways glance. "Now why would you want to hang out with your old mom instead of your friends?" she teased.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're cooler than they are, Mom. And I can only listen to

Cindy mooning over Todd so much..." she added, sticking a finger in her mouth and making gagging noises. And ducked as Hannah aimed a swat at her head.

"Brat." But she smiled as she said it, a fond smile, as she looked at her daughter.

"We'll make a weekend out of it, stay in a hotel, do some...shopping." she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

Rachel sat up, clapping her hands. "Oh, can I get my belly button pierced? Please? Cindy did--"

Hannah raised her eyebrows but was saved from making a reply by the sound of a truck pulling in front of the clinic. Frowning, Hannah got up, glancing over at the clock and seeing it was 9:37 PM, went to get to unlock the door, grabbing her coat off the hook before stepping outside. Brett Parkins' red Ford truck, Brett getting out of the truck, and Wayne Smith sliding out beside him, a figure still in the truck, leaning against the passenger door, and Hannah moved forward, putting her hands under her armpits to keep them warm.

Brett gave her a nod of greeting and gestured back at the truck. "Found this guy on the side of the road--he's been shot."

"Bring him inside." said Hannah and shoved the door open, leaving it ajar as she went back into the clinic. Rachel rose from behind the desk and Hannah said, "Call Matthew Lawsen--he's on call for tonight." Nodding, Rachel opened the rolodex and searched for the number, picking up the phone to dial his number.

Going into the back, Hannah pulled a gurney out of the examining room and rolled it into the reception area of the clinic just as Brett and Wayne carried the man inside, laying him gently down on the gurney. Tugging the damp blanket back, Hannah ran practised eyes over the man, finding him to be younger than she'd thought, shivering so hard that another might have thought he was convulsing, skin with a faint blue tint to it. Blood had frozen on the left side of his face and the shirt around his ribs was torn and stained with blood as well.

First thing was to get him warm, who knew how long he'd been out there...grasping the end of the gurney she nodded for Brett to take the front of it and they wheeled the gurney back into the examining room, Hannah moving quickly and efficiently to treat the patient. With scissors she started to cut away clothes dampened by snow and blood, starting with legs first and draping a heated blanket over them, moving up to his shirt and easing it gingerly away from his skin. Pale skin was marred by a bullet wound in his ribs, blood all the way down his flat stomach, and Hannah turned to get gloves and wipes, halting as she saw Rachel in the doorway.

"Mom, Dr. Lawsen is on his way--" Rachel's eyes widened as she saw the young man's bare torso, the ragged bullet wound and blood slicking his skin.

"Go back out and wait in the office, Rachel."

Nodding, eyes still wide, Rachel let the door close and Hannah returned her attention to her patient.

Matthew Lawsen arrived some fifteen minutes later and went speedily to work. Hannah had spent time working in the ER of a few different hospitals, back before she had taken over her father's ranch upon his death, and had kept up on old skills, able to give Lawsen the kind of assistance he needed. The young man had been lucky to have no frostbite, had lost a good amount of blood from the bullet wound and had a cracked rib, a mild concussion from another bullet wound that had creased his temple. Taking a brief break, Hannah had set Rachel up on a cot in the office, knowing she would have to spend the night here with the patient.

She and Lawsen took shifts to watch him, Hannah finally sending him home around 5:00 AM. Checking on Rachel and finding her still asleep, Hannah returned to the young man and proceeded to go through his pockets, looking for some indication of who he was but finding nothing, no ID, not even a scrap of paper.

A rustle of sheets and a moan drew her attention back to him, going up to the head of the bed as he stirred. She reached out a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead and found herself staring into gray eyes dark with confusion and pain, another moan escaping him as he shifted position.

"Lie still--you've been shot." she said, placing a hand firmly on his chest to hold him down. His eyes closed, throat working as he swallowed hard, head turning sideways on the pillow, so still that she thought he had fallen back into unconsciousness but his eyes flickered open as she touched the bandage on his forehead.

"Where...?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Clinic. Someone found you on the side of the road, brought you here for treatment." Of their own volition her fingers stroked his hair back from his forehead, part of her mind noting its silky texture, seeing for the first time that even pale and bruised he was very lovely. "What's your name?" she asked, striving to maintain her professional demeanor.

He frowned, eyes confused and a little frightened. "I...I don't know..." Eyes widened, showing a hint of panic as he turned his head to look at her. "Don't...remember..."

"Shh...it's okay, it'll come back to you." she said soothingly. "Rest." His eyelids fluttered, head moving restlessly on the pillow as he struggled to stay conscious, finally giving up the fight with a sigh. "I'll watch over you." she said to the sleeping young man, feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time. And knew that she wasn't going to let him out of her sight...

Eighteen Months Later

Hannah yawned as she sat at the dining room table, putting her coffee mug down before her as she opened the newspaper. Another article on the front of it about Alan Richmond and his attempts to "revitalize" the economy--she laid the paper down with a sour grimace and rubbed her forehead. Richmond was buying up as much land as he could, either by hook or crook, and word had it he planned to build a sprawling resort on the land, bring some tourist dollars into the state. It was a good locale for a resort, there was a decent amount of skiing to be done in a short drive from here, but the people that called Clayton home had lived here for generations...and were disinclined to move.

Money bought power and so in the paper there was a lot of talk about the good Richmond was doing, how he was creating jobs and bringing in money; there was nothing about the tactics he used to scare middle-aged people off their farms, how his goons poisoned sheep to force another family into bankruptcy, or the other little things he had done to drive people away. Half a dozen families had left in the last year, selling either voluntarily or because of threats, and it looked like another two would leave, taking with them one of the three doctors the clinic boasted.

Things had gotten bad enough that men and women alike drove with guns in their cars and even though Rachel had recently gotten her driver's license, Hannah would not let her go anywhere alone, no matter how much she complained and sulked. Even Hannah kept a gun in her glove compartment...

Arms stole around her neck, startling her, and a mouth pressed against her ear, whispering, "Morning, luv." Hannah smiled, the sour mood evaporating as she focused on Adrian, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her, sipping from a coffee mug. A hand went through long touseled brown hair, combing out bits of straw that showed he'd already been at work in the barn, the red-and-black checkered flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows and the top buttons undone to show a hint of lean chest, the sensuous mouth curved in a smile as he met her eyes.

Hand cupping her chin as she watched him drink coffee, she found herself smiling still as she wondered not for the first time how she had managed to land someone so young and beautiful. At the least fifteen years her junior but he still managed to make her feel giddy as a schoolgirl with her first crush, even after ten months of marriage. Having him drop on the doorstep of the clinic that November night had been like her own little miracle, giving her a love that she'd resigned herself to never feeling, and she'd never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hurt and with no memory at all of who he was or where he came from, it had seemed only right to take him home, watch over him while he recuperated. And since he had no place to go and she could use help on the ranch it was natural to offer him a job, room and board for his services. Nice to have someone else on the ranch, someone that could be a companion for Rachel when Hannah had to work long hours at the clinic.

What had begun as friendship had deepened into something else, Hannah resistant to taking the relationship farther, citing the age difference, but the young man she had named Adrian--after a beloved late brother--had simply said that it didn't matter to him, all that mattered was how they felt for each other.

She had also been hesitant to start the relationship, worried about how Rachel would react, but Rachel took to Adrian immeaditely, the two of them getting along well from the beginning. Not old enough to be her father but he had a wisdom beyond his years and the ability to get Rachel to do things Hannah could not.

And there they were, a happy family...

"What are you thinking?" asked Adrian, smiling at her over his mug.

Hannah let out a sigh. "How much I love you. How lucky I am to have you."

"I'm the lucky one." he said quietly, grey eyes soft as he gazed back at her.

"Oh, gawd, you're making puppy dog eyes at each other again! Gross!" said Rachel, rolling her eyes as she came into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door to grab the carton of orange juice.

"Someday you'll be making puppy dog eyes, too, petit." said Adrian, giving Hannah a conspiratol wink, the faint accent coming strongly through on the word "petit". Glancing at his watch, he downed the last of his coffee and rose. "I have to get going--I told Tom I'd help him put his fence back up. Shouldn't be gone too long..." he added, rounding the table to give Hannah a lingering kiss, Hannah winding her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

"Please...not in front of the child! Jeez!" With her glass of orange juice in hand, she shook her head as she left the kitchen, muttering under her breath about oversexed adults.

Adrian chuckled and pressed his forehead against Hannah's. "I'll hurry." "I wish you would take the gun with you."

Adrian shook his head firmly. "I don't like them. I've told you that." He kissed her on the forehead, pressing a finger against her lips to forestall her objection. "When I return, you can scrub my back." Voice low and warm as he said it, finger tracing her lips, and she allowed her lips to part, nipping at his finger.

"I believe in doing a very...thorough job." she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Adrian laughed and gave her another kiss, his hand touching her cheek briefly before he left for Tom Mason's farm. Sighing, Hannah got up to pop her lukewarm coffee in the microwave and settled back down to finish both it and the paper.

Around noon Hannah had lunch made and sat down with Rachel to eat, enjoying her day off. They'd spent the morning exercising the horses and doing other chores, stopping for a lunch break. Once Adrian came back the plan was to go to dinner at Brett and Sarah Parkins' house and from there they would go to the town meeting, arranged by a handful of residents tired of Richmond's bullying and wanting to find a solution to ending it. Hannah would have passed on it but Adrian would hear nothing of it, saying firmly that they had to stand up to the man or things would only get worse. And in his voice was a kind of grim knowledge, as if he had painful experience of such a thing...

Halfway through her sandwich and a knock at the front door drew Hannah's attention. Rachel half-rose in her chair but Hannah waved her back. "Finish your sandwich, I'll get it." Laying her own sandwich down, Hannah pushed the chair back and got to her feet, heading for the door.

Opening the door she had a polite smile fixed to her face but it soon vanished as she saw who was standing there. Virgil Wade grinned unpleasantly at her, tipping an imaginary hat, dark hair slicked back, slipping past her.

"Afternoon, Hannah." She stumbled back, letting go of the door, and Wade's crew slipped in behind him, six men besides Wade, all with that look she knew too well from her years in big city ERs. Men that were little more than hoods, hired because they had no aversion at all to committing violence of any kind on their employer's behalf.

"What do you want?" She folded her arms over her chest, trying for a cool tone but unable to keep a strident note out of her voice, head turning to track the six men as they fanned out.

"To discuss a business arrangement, Hannah. Mr. Richmond is prepared to offer you more than this spread is worth." Wade roamed the living room, stopping at an end table and picking up the picture that sat there, a picture of the three of them. Examining it briefly he let it fall to the wooden floor and there was a sharp crack as glass broke.

"Mom?"

"Rachel, don't--"

Hannah started for the kitchen, to warn Rachel, but one of the men--a heavy- set man who could have been a football player--caught her, holding her against him with one arm, the other hand casually roaming her body. He pressed his crotch against her, letting her feel his excitement, and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

"Mom!" Hannah opened her eyes, staring at Rachel in horror, seeing her daughter struggle to get free of another man, him holding her wrist tightly as he tried to catch her other arm. "Let go, you perv!"

Her captor rubbed himself against Hannah and a hand squeezed her breast roughly, bringing tears to her eyes. Rachel twisted furiously to get free and shouted,

"Don't you hurt my mom!"

"I think Mrs. Lewis needs a little...convincing, boys." said Wade with a chuckle, licking his lips.

"Not my daughter, please..." whispered Hannah in horror, resisting as she was shoved down on the couch, the man over her dealing a slap to her face as his other hand tore her blouse open. She could hear Rachel cursing and struggling as she was dragged through the living room, had a brief glimpse of Rachel being shoved to the ground before her captor ground his mouth against hers, hands working eagerly at the fastening of her jeans.

"I love virgins...you are a virgin, aren't you, girl?" said Wade as he stood over Rachel, grinning as she struggled uselessly under the hands of two men. Removing his belt he knelt over her to unzip her jeans, laughing as she kicked at him, leaning forward to give her a kiss.

The door flew open and the man over Hannah turned to look, cursing as he saw Adrian standing there. His eyes took in the scene before him and he went for Wade first, saying, "Leave her alone!"

One of his crew moved to intercept Adrian, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and throwing him against the wall, the back of his head connecting painfully with it. Released he slid limply down the wall and the man stepped away, not seeing Adrian shake his head to clear it, pushing himself up to his feet, all emotion wiped away, replaced by a grim resolve. A foot lashed out, catching the man in the back of the knee, and he collapsed with a howl, clutching his knee, Adrian following to grasp him by the head and give a sharp twist, snapping his neck effortlessly.

A hand slipped into the man's coat and pulled out the gun from its shoulder holster,

Adrian extending the gun one-handed and coolly sighting down the barrel at the man still over Hannah. Two shots and the man sagged atop her, shot twice in the back, Hannah pushing him off her to watch Adrian in horror as he moved forward, as remorseless as the Terminator, shooting the two men that had stood by to watch, a bullet placed between the eyes of the first and into the heart of the other.

The last two of the six gave him a quick glance then fled, leaving only Wade, still crouched over Rachel, and Adrian went to him, pressing the gun to the back of his head. "Get off her." he said flatly.

"Sure, sure, man, anything you say..." Hands up Wade straightened, turning slowly, a sickly grin on his face as he took a step back, Rachel scrambling away and to where Hannah still lay on the couch. Casting a glance at Rachel and Hannah, Adrian advanced on Wade, gun extended, and the other man sank down to his knees, hands raised defensively, eyes tightly shut.

Watching in horror as Adrian's finger tightened on the trigger, Hannah cried, "No!"

Adrian stiffened at the sound of her voice, looking from her and then to the man cowering at his feet, features spasming as he stared down at the gun in his hand, as if seeing it for the first time. "Go." he said hoarsely to Wade and the other man scrambled rapidly to his feet, running out the still open front door.

Adrian's eyes scanned the bodies on the floor and he moved back one step at a time, the gun falling from his suddenly shaking hand, eyes wide with horror as he sat down hard on the floor, legs no longer capable of supporting him. He stared down at his hands, as if they were some alien constructs, and he swallowed hard, starting to tremble. Leaving the couch, Hannah went to him and kneeled before him, taking one of his hands, her other going up to explore the back of his head, searching for damage.

"Adrian?" she asked worriedly, slipping her hand under his chin to force him to meet her eyes.

"Michael..."

"What?" she said distractedly, glancing over at Rachel as she made her way slowly to them, eyes skittering over the bodies of the four men on the floor.

"My name is Michael..." he said slowly.

"Do you...remember anything else?" she asked softly.

He gave a slight shake of his head, eyes closing briefly, and when they opened again it was to look at the bodies scattered around him, pain flashing across his face. "God...I...I killed them..."

"Wow." That from Rachel, eyes wide and wondering as she stared at Adrian. "Never seen anything like that before--you were great--"

"Hush, Rachel." said Hannah admonishingly and turned her attention back to Adrian, or Michael, as he'd said his name was. The name did suit him... "Are you alright...Michael?"

"Yes..." He seemed to give himself a shake, his hands reaching out for hers, running his eyes over him, anxiety replacing the shock, becoming once again the man she had fallen in love with. "Are you okay? Did they...."

"No, no, we're okay." Her own unease and shock were beginning to fade as Michael placed his hand briefly against her cheek before he rose, helping her to her feet, reaching out a hand to Rachel. Hesitantly she took Michael's hand and put her arms around him, giving him a fierce hug, shaking a little.

"I was so scared..." she whispered into his shoulder.

"I won't let anything happen to either of you...I promise."

Hannah felt another stab of unease at the grimness of his tone but set it aside for more practical matters. "I...I'll call the sheriff." And walked unsteadily to the kitchen, unable to shake the feeling that the idyllic world they'd built here was about to come crashing down.

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

Images flashed in Michael's head. A starkly, white room with a narrow, metal bed and restraints. A soft voice telling him he was *home now*. Then he saw himself holding a gun and firing shot after shot. Then the gun slipped from hands slick with blood and Michael saw himself covered in it, a crimson pool surrounding his feet. And then there was the voice...warm and familiar...calling his name.

First a whisper, then a scream. Then Michael was screaming. Harsh cries ripped from his throat and didn't stop until he felt warm arms wrap around him.

Hannah swallowed back tears as she pulled Michael into her arms and rocked him. All the while she stroked her fingers through his hair and whispered softly that he was *all right now*. Long minutes passed before he stopped trembling, but he didn't pull away from her. Rather she felt his strong arms tighten around her waist.

It was the third nightmare in as many days since Michael had killed those four men. No charges had been filed against him for he had been defending his home and family. Besides which, all four of the deceased had police records and the local sheriff's office was happy to see them on ice. And everyone in Clayton knew that Alan Richmond was behind it, although it would never be proven.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered in Hannah's ear. He hadn't slept more than an hour a night since the incident and he knew that his nightmares kept her awake as well. The worst part about them was that he couldn't remember them. Not even one image remained. Michael knew only that they were bad. Although he couldn't explain why.

"It's all right, Michael," Hannah assured him as she pressed a kiss to his temple. She could feel the vein throbbing and was certain he had one of his headaches. So she moved to slide out of bed.

Michael's fingers gripped her arm. "Where are you going?" he queried, unwilling to let her leave him. Even for a minute. Only Hannah could keep him from drowing in darkness and fear.

Hannah patted Michael's hand. It never once occurred to her to question how easily she had accepted his name. In the past three days she had never once slipped and called him Adrian. *Michael* suited him somehow. "I'm going to get you some aspirin," she said, smiling at him. Hannah knew she could see him because they had fallen asleep with the reading lamp on. "I'll be right back she promised.

At Michael's nod she hurried into the adjoining bathroom then returned a moment later with two tablets in one hand, a glass of water in the other. "Swallow these, sweetheart," Hannah instructed. " You'll feel better soon." She hid a grimace as she watched Michael obey her without question. No way in hell would she admit to him that what he was taking was not aspirin but a very strong sedative. Hannah took the glass from Michael when he was through, then crawled back in bed.

Michael rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around Hannah's waist and resting his head on her breasts as she settled the blankets over them. "I love you, cherie," he whispered.

"I love you too, Michael," Hannah replied, as her fingers tangled in his silky hair. She loved loved the texture of it, and it's softness. It was several inches longer than it had been when she first saw him. At her request. Hannah smiled to herself as she remembered how she had begged Michael to grow it to his waist. He had looked horrified at the very thought. ...It's bad enough now... Michael had protested, tugging on handfuls of the cinnamon strands. "Look at me...I have a headful of ringlets.... But there had been warmth and laughter coloring his voice, and

Hannah chuckled. She felt Michael stir against her sluggishly. The sedative was strong and fast-acting. Even as she fell still, Hannah felt Michael's breathing change. A heartbeat later he was asleep. But sleep was fleeting for Hannah. She couldn't shake the feeling that fate would soon intervene and she would lose Michael...forever.

Michael was stirring the alfredo sauce when he heard the knock on the front door. Wouldn't be Hannah or Rachel. Hannah was still at the clinic and Rachel was spending the weekend with her friend, Cindy. Besides which, both of them would use the garage entrance and neither of them would knock. "Just a minute!" Michael called out, as he stirred a moment longer, then reached for a towel to wipe his hands.

He then jogged into the foyer and opened the door. Standing on the front porch was a tall, beautiful, blond woman. "May I help you?" Michael queried, politely.

Nikita didn't respond. She couldn't. For over a year she had believed Michael was dead, but he wasn't. He was standing before her, smiling, and more beautiful than she had remembered. "Hello, Michael," she said finally, forcing out the words.

"You know my name," he shot back, a frown furrowing his brow. Michael studied the young woman but was certain that he didn't know her. "Who are you?" he questioned, suspicion coloring his voice.

"My name is Nikita," she replied, softly. It was in that moment that she realized that Michael didn't know her. The thought had barely registered when Nikita heard firststeps behind her and turned to see a dark-haired woman climbing the steps to join her.

Hannah looked at Michael, then at the blond stranger. Forcing a smile she held out her hand. "I'm Hannah Lewis," she stated. "And you are?"

Nikita shook the woman's hand, but then her eyes flickered back to the man in the doorway. "I'm a friend..of Michael's," she said softly. Nikita saw Michael jerk in reaction to her words.

"I don't know you!" he insisted, his eyes shifting to Hannah. His wife looked as bewildered as he felt. Pinning the young woman with a glare Michael stated, "I think you'd better leave."

"It's okay, Michael," Hannah countered, stepping forward to kiss him. "Let me talk to her," she beseeched, her eyes sending a silent plea. She watched indecision war within his silver-green gaze, then he nodded.

Michael turned on his heel. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he called over his shoulder. He trusted Hannah to handle the situation. She had an instinct about people that was never wrong.

Hannah waited till Michael was out of sight, then she pulled the front door closed. Turning to her guest, she gestured to the porch swing. "I think we need to talk," she said simply.

"We do," Nikita acknowledged, as she moved over to the swing and sat down. "Tell me about you and Michael. He doesn't know me."

"He suffers amnesia," Hannah replied. Her eyes locked with Nikita's and she saw warmth and compassion in the crystal-blue gaze. And something more...for Michael. In that moment Hannah knew she could trust Nikita, so she told her the entire story. Of how Michael had been brought to her clinic. His amnesia. Their relationship, and consequent marriage. Everything up to the present time, but excluding the shooting. And through it all Nikita remained silent, listening intently. "Tell me who he is?" Hannah requested, after a long silence had drawn out between them.

Nikita sighed. She knew she couldn't tell the truth, but neither did she want to lie. So she told what she could. "Michael is a government agent. We used to be partners. I thought he was dead. So did the agency." Holding up one hand, Nikita warded off the question she knew that Hannah was going to ask. "How I found him doesn't matter. He belongs here now. He's happy."

"I like to think so," Hannah whispered, as tears filled her eyes. "Tell me more about him," she requested. "He was...good...at his job." It was more a statement than a question. Hannah had seen Michael in action, even if he didn't remember his past, it was as much a part of him as breathing.

"Michael was the best," Nikita confirmed. Then she stood up, reaching for Hannah's hand once again. "I'm sorry I bothered you. Tell Michael that I made a mistake. He's not the man I was looking for."

Hannah nodded, more grateful than words could express. Impulsively she hugged Nikita, then whispered, "You care about him."

Nikita nodded. "Enough to want him to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone I know." That said she stepped off the porch and headed back to her car. All the while wondering what story she could concoct that Section would believe. No way in hell would she let them get their hands on Michael now. Two and a half years ago he had risked everything to give her her freedom. Now she would return the favor. "Goodbye, Michael," Nikita whispered, as she slid behind the wheel of her car and drove away.

Hannah waited on the porch until Nikita was gone, then she went in search of Michael. He was in the kitchen, as promised, setting the table. She smiled as she watched him. He was as skilled in the kitchen as he was everywhere else on the ranch, including their bed. Michael was a remarkable young man, and Hannah blessed the day they had met. God had truly sent her an angel. "Supper smells wonderful," Hannah offered, as she joined Michael at the table. She couldn't resist cupping her hand over his sexy behind, then she pinched the hard muscle when he pretended to ignore her.

"HEY!" Michael protested, even as he swung around to gather Hannah into his arms. He claimed her lips in a sweet kiss, then he nuzzled his face in her soft hair. "Where's...Nikita?" he asked, his voice deepening as his merriment faded.

"She's gone," Hannah replied, leaning back in Michael's arms so that she could see his face. "She won't be coming back."

Michael nodded and left it at that. He didn't want to think about the stranger. All he wanted was to have dinner with his beautiful wife, then carry her up the stairs for dessert. "I made your favorite," Michael whispered against Hannah's sweet lips. She nibbled at his sensual mouth then sighed. "I love you, Michael," Hannah breathed.

"I love you," Michael whispered back, then he kissed her as if she were sweeter than honey.

Two weeks had passed since Nikita had come and gone and life returned to normal for Michael. His nightmares faded. Had done so starting with the night of Nikita's visit. Michael didn't contemplate whether or not that was a significant factor. He cared only that his life with Hannah and Rachel was as it had been.

He was on his favorite stallion, Whiskey, and riding the fences checking for any sags or breaks. The sun was bright and the day warm and Michael had never felt more alive. Yet, something warned him of approaching danger. A sudden cold chill rippled down his spine before he heard the sound of engines. Even as he turned to head back for home, Michael found himself surrounded by a half dozen, all terrain, vehichles. At least twice that many men spilled out, all of them holding rifles. "You lost?" Michael questioned, a smile on his face. He knew the answer, but he didn't want to betray his apprehension.

The lead man stepped forward. "Get off your horse, Michael!" he ordered. "You're coming with us."

"All right," Michael replied, lifting one leg over the saddle horn and sliding down to land lightly on his feet. He was still smiling as the man approached him, a length of rawhide in one hand. To bind him with, Michael guessed. But as soon as the man was in striking distance, Michael kicked him in the head. He dropped like a stone. A second man approached, and it was then that Michael realized they wanted him alive, so he didn't run the risk of being shot. That being the case, he saw no reason not to put up a fight. The second man took a hit to the chin, the heel of Michael's hand snapping his head back. He crumpled to the ground. Michael turned to face his next opponent, only to gasp as something sharp pierced his skin. He lifted his hand to his neck and removed a tranquilizer dart. A heartbeat later Michael fell into darkness.

Hannah began to worry as dusk fell and Michael still hadn't returned. She was getting ready to search for him when the clinic called her. One of the nurses had called in sick and they needed Hannah to take her shift. Swallowing back her worry, Hannah agreed. She ran upstairs to change into her uniform, then left a note on the kitchen table for both Rachel and Michael, letting them know she was at work. A minute later Hannah was driving down the road, telling herself that Michael was fine.

Consciousness returned to Michael in bits and pieces. He was aware of softness beneath him first, then of a naseauous sensation when he moved his head. He stopped moving and opened his eyes, closing them immediately when bright light made them ache. More cautiously he opened them again and this time the room he was in came into focus. It was lavishly decorated and Michael sat up with a jerk. Pain stabbed through his head, making his eyes water, but he forced himself to work through it, making a motion to slide off of the huge bed. But a heavy hand on his chest stopped him.

"Rest," said a warm voice. It was whiskey-smooth with a touch of bass. "You're safe, Michael," the voice continued. "Or should I call you Adrian?"

"Who are you?" Michael shot back, his eyes locking onto a darkly-tanned face. The man standing over him was tall and bigboned, with heavy muscles that strained at the seams of the expensive suit he wore. A Versaci, Michael noticed. Then he wondered how he knew that. Dismissing that thought, his eyes drifted over the stranger. Taking in the dark eyes and dark hair sprinkled with silver at the temples. The man smiled, allowing Michael's perusal. He had studied the young man quite thoroughly as he had slept, so it seemed only fair. When silver-green eyes locked with his own he introduced himself. "I'm Alan Richmond, Michael. Welcome to my home."

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

Sitting on the bed, one hand grasping the headboard to keep himself upright, Michael studied the man before him with a cool detachment he found more than a little unsettling. He had never met Alan Richmond before, knew him mostly from the newspaper articles and accounts of neighbors and friends, and so he assessed the man before him, looking beyond the veneer of wealth and sophistication to the man underneath. Though his smile was warm and even friendly, it did not touch dark eyes, eyes that were measuring Michael as well.

"Why am I here?" asked Michael quietly, resisting the urge to rub aching head. Do not show weakness, a cool voice in his head said. Weakness will be exploited.

Richmond's smile widened, a glint in his eyes, and he took a step back, hands shoved into the pockets of his blazer. "I wanted to see the man that could take down four of my best men." He had stood there, studying the unconscious young man, trying to reconcile the image of a pretty young man with the capable killer Wade described. Even given that Wade might have exaggerated to save his own hide, the six men he had taken with him were very skilled men and had great success in rousting the other families--and of them this young man had shot and killed three, breaking the neck of one man and using the dead man's gun to kill the others.

"It was self-defense." Or so he had been told, over and over, by Hannah and the sheriff and their friends, even Brett adding his voice to the chorus. If he heard it enough, he might actually believe it...but Michael could still remember how it had felt to pull that trigger, the utter emptiness in himself, no emotion at all--not anger, not hate, just...nothing. And no matter how hard he found it to meet Richmond's eyes he made himself do it, conviction in his voice.

Richmond inclined his head in acknowledge, a smile playing at his lips. "Of course any actions they took were not sanctioned by me. How am I to be responsible for every action my employees take?"

"Of course." echoed Michael bitterly.

Richmond stood silent for a moment, head cocked a little to one side as he studied the younger man intently, still trying to see what there was to him that raised his inner alarms. Something beneath that earnest young face, behind the eyes, somewhere in him lurked a predator, buried but not forgotten...and he thought that the young man was only now becoming reacquainted with it. To have someone of MIchael's skill under his control...just the thought of it was intoxicating.

"I have great plans for this town, Michael." said Richmond, moving around the bed, Michael shifting position a little on the bed to track him. "A resort would bring in a great deal of money...tourist money. In a few years' time Clayton could become another Vail, another Sun Valley, a cultural center of its own. No longer would Clayton be another little farm town...it would be one of the major cities in Montana. And the people that live here--in a few years they'll thank me for the industry I bring here."

"Those of them you allow to stay, don't you mean?" asked Michael quietly but with an angry glint in his eyes.

Richmond shook his head sorrowfully. "I have been more than generous to the people of Clayton, Michael." he said with a sigh, a faint admonishing tone to his voice. "I am willing to pay them far more than the land is worth--more than they will ever see in their lives. I am trying in my own small way to bring a prosperity to this town that no one has ever seen...and yet there are those that stand in the way of progress."

Why not move? Michael had asked Hannah. Why not take the money and go? And in reply she had smiled and said simply that this was home, had been home to her family for generations and she wasn't going to leave. "This is their home--some of them have lived here for generations. Others have come here seeking a different way of life, an out from the cities, where they can raise their children without fear. And you come to them and you tell them they must sell you their land--land they have sweated and bled for, land passed to them from parents to children. And when they don't...you drive them away." Through his passionate speech, Richmond listened with an amused smile and took a step closer to Michael. "I'm a cautious man--in my business, I have learned I must be. There is nothing that can be tied to me, you know that. No action committed against the people of Clayton can be laid at my door. All I am is a businessman."

Michael gave a small shake of his head, suddenly very tired. Impossible to deal with men of this type, they had the conviction of their own twisted beliefs and the knowledge that anything they did was justified...the thought seemed to come from nowhere and left him vaguely confused. Knowledge from his past perhaps? Aloud he said, "Again, why am I here?"

"So quickly to the heart of it, eh?" asked Richmond with a small laugh and then all traces of humor left him, replaced by an intensity as he stepped up to the bed. Michael held himself absolutely still, fighting the impulse to move back and away. "I want you to work for me, Michael. I want you to convince the people of Clayton that I have their best interests at heart."

"Why would I do that?" demanded Michael, the anger getting the better of him, blurting out the words before he could stop himself.

"I can think of two good reasons: Hannah and Rachel." Richmond smiled as the younger man went pale, a cruel smile. "Teenagers disappear all the time and are never seen again--it would be a shame if that were to happen to Rachel. And Hannah...she does a lot of late shifts, doesn't she? Dangerous to drive on the road, all alone, at night..." His smile widened as the shocked knowledge in Michael's eyes, knowing he would equate that comment with what had happened to one of the farmers. Tom Patteron, whom Michael had been helping on his farm, had been run off the road and had been lucky to come out of it with just a few broken bones...

And even though he had been watching Michael for his reaction Richmond did not see the exact moment the change came over him; one moment he was sitting on the bed, looking a little sick at Richmond's threats, and the next he was off it, standing just before Richmond, a cold menace in his eyes. A quick transformation, like the flicking of a switch, and in those eyes Richmond could see the man that had killed his men without so much as a second thought.

"I could kill you too." Not a boast, just a statement of fact, and for this Michael it would be as natural as breathing.

Richmond forced a smile even as a chill went down his spine. He was a strong man, had worked to build up his physique, and prided himself on being able to hold his own in a fight--but he doubted that he would be able to beat the younger man in a simple one-on-one. "And my men would kill your family."

Michael smiled, a mere thinning of his lips, showing white teeth. "Without you, they would scatter--I remove you and they are without purpose." Slowly, leisurely, he took a step forward.

Behind Richmond the door opened and Wade entered, accompanied by two other men, all three armed, and Richmond cast them a quick glance, shifting his attention back to Michael, the confident smile still firmly in place. "Think about my offer. I'll return to see if you're feeling any more...cooperative." And walked out of the room, Wade and the other two backing out behind him, watching Michael warily.

Once they were gone, Michael moved back to the bed and sank down on it, shaking a little. It was as if someone else had control of his body and he was looking out through their eyes, saying and doing things completely alien to him...and frightening him the most was the thought that this might be what he was before he had come to Clayton. And that to find a way out of this he might have to tap once more into that self...

By nine o'clock what activity there was at the clinic had come to a stand still and Hannah found herself finally taking a break, sitting up at the front desk with coffee and a donut brought to her by Matt Lawsen. Dinner had been a hurried affair, between patients, and now that she had the time to relax she was tempted sorely to call home, make sure everything was okay with Michael and Rachel.

Licking sugar from her fingers she was studying the phone and considering doing that very thing when the phone rang. Hurriedly wiping fingers on a napkin she picked up the phone and said into it, "Bingham County Clinic."

"Mom?"

Hannah sat upright, a chill going through her at the anxiety in her daughter's voice. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

A brief pause and then Rachel said slowly, "I've been home for about three hours and Michael still isn't here. Wasn't here when Cindy's folks dropped me off. I didn't want to call you at work but...I'm kinda worried. Whiskey came back by himself..."

"And you haven't heard from Michael..."

Matt Lawsen came around the desk, expression concerned, and said softly, "If you need to go home, I can take care of things around here. Don't think we're going to get a late night rush."

Hannah flashed him a grateful smile and said into the phone, "Honey, I'll on my way home. Lock the doors, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful, Mom."

"I'll be there soon." promised Hannah and hung up, thanking Matt as she hurriedly gathered coat and purse to head for home.

Bob Foster was a big, brutish man, the muscular build he'd earned in playing high school football going to fat, with the reputation for being a bully, both in the schoolyard and then in the streets of Clayton. It was natural that he'd seek work with Alan Richmond and a position that allowed him to achieve some petty revenge against the people of Clayton for all the imagined slights he'd suffered at their hands. Not only did he get to release some pent-up aggression and frustration he got paid for it.

And Adrian--or whatever the hell he called himself now--was the type he hated, the pretty-boy type that always had women fawning at his feet yet would fold in a minute when faced with threats from a real man. He didn't believe any of the bullshit the others had been spreading about how good Michael was, how easily he'd taken out four men and held his own against more of Richmond's crew. Was just dying for the chance to knock that pretty boy down a peg or two, bruise that face, and so he was more than happy to be the one to fetch Michael to Richmond's study for a "talk."

His lip curled as he saw the young man was actually lying asleep on the bed and he approached the bed with a grin, flexing his hands, thinking of the rude awakening Michael was going to get...

But it was Bob who was surprised, as he leaned over the bed and reached out to grab the other man's shoulder; a fist drove into his midsection and a foot kicked him under the jaw, making his teeth close together with an audible click. Staggering back, clutching his stomach and wheezing, he stared in shock at Michael as he rose from the bed and casually kicked out with one foot, sweeping Bob's feet out from under him. Belatedly Bob's hand clawed at his belt, seeking the gun shoved down into his pants, but Michael caught it first, drawing back the slide in one smooth motion to chamber a bullet, expression blank as he lowered the muzzle of the gun to press it against Bob's forehead. Even as his finger tightened on the trigger, that cool voice spoke in Michael's head, telling him that it would make too much noise for him to shoot the man. Fighting to control the trembling of his hand, he reversed the gun and drove the butt into Bob's forehead, knocking the other man unconscious. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stepped quickly away from Bob and looked out into the hallway, casting a quick glance up and down it before venturing out, gun in hand.

Hannah had arrived at home to find Rachel still alone and no sign of Michael. When Rachel had come home she'd found the house empty and gone out to the barn, thinking that Michael might be there, but found instead Whiskey wandering around the outside of the barn, trotting over to her. After wiping Whiskey down and putting him up, she'd made her way around the ranch to find him gone.

Which meant that he had never returned from his morning circuit of the fences...

With that in mind and the incident with Richmond's men still horribly fresh in her mind, Hannah had called the sheriff and less than an hour later Sheriff Austin Cole arrived at her house, sitting down to listen to her story, light blue eyes attentive, longish brown hair covered by his hat, hands folded in his lap.

As she finished her story, Austin sat still and then let out a sigh. "There's not really a helluva lot I can do, Hannah. He's got to be missing for 24 hours before we do anything."

"What about Richmond? What if he's taken it into his head to get back at Michael for killing his people?" asked Hannah.

Austin raised his hand. "First off, you know I can't prove he was involved in that. Dead men tell no tales and the ones still living are piss-in-their-pants scared of Richmond, they're never going to give him up. Off the record...I don't give a damn whether what Michael did to them was justified. But on the record--I gotta go by procedure. I show up at Richmond's door without any solid evidence and his lawyers are going to have my butt in a sling. I hate to say this, Hannah, I really do...but there's nothing I can do right now."

"I suppose when his body shows up somewhere you will be able to do something." said Hannah bitterly, staring down into her cold coffee.

"That's not fair, Hannah." said Austin in a gentle rebuke and she flushed as she met his steady gaze.

"I'm sorry...I'm just worried."

Austin nodded, slowly rising, and as he went to the door, he gave her a crooked smile over his shoulder. "I'd be a little more worried about the bad guys--Michael can take care of himself pretty well, from what I've seen." He stopped with his hand on the door and turned to face her. "If you don't see or hear from him by morning, call me. I'll get some men together and do some checking."

"Thanks, Austin." She smiled in gratitude and Austin nodded to her as he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Michael made his way slowly through the house, working from the back to the front, stopping to hide briefly beneath the staircase as men passed him, heading down the hallway. Sat huddled there for a moment, waiting for the sound of the footsteps to recede, and as he slowly slid out from his hiding place, he heard a curse echo from down the hallway and a crash of the door. Gun in hand, he headed quickly for the front door, heart pounding in his chest, and turned as someone shouted behind him, the gun coming up to aim at the man behind him.

But he hesitated at firing, remembering the last time he had let himself go and four men had died, finger tight on the trigger but unable to fire. The man facing him had not the same compunction, firing reflexively at him and hitting him in the shoulder. The impact sent Michael tumbling into the door, a hand going up to wrench it open so he could roll through.

"Don't shoot him, you idiot!" shouted a voice, Richmond's voice, and Michael forced himself up to his feet, gun still tightly clenched in his hand, swaying a little. With an effort, he got his feet moving and went down the steps, heading away from the cars parked in front and the road, moving out onto the plain.

Rachel had fallen asleep on the couch and Hannah left her there, not having the heart to wake her and send her to her room. Sitting in her chair and watching the door, drinking coffee and trying to stay awake, she found herself nodding off sometime around midnight and finally curled up in the chair, sheer exhaustion making sleep come quickly. But her sleep was troubled, filled with anxious dreams of hearing Michael calling her but unable to find him...

A thump on the porch outside brought Hannah up out of sleep and she sat for a moment in her chair, blanket wrapped around her, wondering if she'd imagined it. A creak of the board and then a thump on the door, Hannah rising slowly from the chair, casting off the blanket as she went to the door.

Opening it she stared in shock at Michael standing on the other side of it, the left shoulder of his shirt soaked with blood, left arm hanging limply at his side and gun in the other hand. Swaying on his feet, he let go of the gun and it fell to the porch, Michael taking one unsteady step towards her, hand outstretched, before he collapsed.

***********

Hannah stared at her husband, one hand running through his cinnamon curls that were a stark contrast to his pale face, and the white of the pillowcase beneath his head. In spite of the sedative the doctor had pumped him full of, only an hour ago, Michael was stirring. Heaving a sigh, Hannah sat back in her chair and thought back over the past twenty-four hours.

After collapsing onto the porch, Hannah had shouted for Rachel to get her first-aid kit. Then she had bound Michael's shoulder and, between her and her daughter, they had gotten Michael into the car. A quick trip to the clinic and Michael was rushed into surgery to have the bullet removed. Two hours after surgery, he was ready to leave the hospital, forcing Hannah to make the decision to keep him sedated. She sensed that he would be angry with her later, but that didn't seem to matter now. She wanted him to heal, and to rest. And she needed time to think.

The Sheriff had put in an appearance, but one look at Hannah's face and he had swallowed his questions, saying he would return the next day. Hannah expected him anytime now. She rose from the chair to stretch tight muscles, then decided to get herself yet another cup of coffee. So she bent over the bed to brush a kiss to Michael's forehead, then she left the room. While pouring herself coffee in the breakroom, Hannah spoke with several of her friends, nurses and doctors, all inquiring as to Michael's welfare, and her own. By the time she returned to the room, over fifteen minutes had passed. Hannah stopped in the doorway and nearly dropped her coffee. The bed was empty.

"I'm here, Hannah," Michael said softly, from behind her. Dropping the coffee cup into the trash can, Hannah then turned to face her husband. Her eyes flickered over him, seeing that he was fully dressed. "What are you doing out of bed?" she chided him, striding over and pressing one hand to his forehead to check for a fever. It was a habitual gesture.

Michael took the hand and pressed the soft palm to his lips. He wanted to relieve the concern that shimmered in his wife's beautiful eyes. "I'm okay," he said softly, beseeching her to believe him. Michael felt a bit weak, but otherwise okay, and the pain was bearable. In fact, it helped to keep him focused.

"What happened to you?" Hannah queried, asking the question Michael had been unable to answer earlier.

"Richmond invited me over to his house...to talk," Michael replied, unaware of the fact that his eyes now glimmered with cool detachment. He wasn't angry or upset, he felt no particular desire to exact revenge. But, in the back of his mind, was the determination to stop Richmond. To shut the man down. That was his mission.

Hannah felt her heart skip a beat in her chest, and her mouth went dry. "Richmond shot you?" she countered, one hand brushing lightly over Michael's bandaged shoulder.

"No...one of his men," Michael replied. He had to force a smile, for it suddenly felt unnatural. A luxury he could not afford. Yet he wanted to reassure Hannah that things were okay. He would take care of everything.

"We have to tell the Sheriff," Hannah replied, her eyes roving over her husband's face and drinking in his familiar beauty. Yet the eyes that glowed a luminous, silver-green...they belonged to a stranger. A killer. The thought occurred to Hannah, unbidden. Then she remembered what Nikita had told her. Michael had been a, top-secret, government agent. Rather like James Bond. He was liscenced to kill.

Michael closed his eyes, allowing a momentary weakness to wash over him, knowing that it was okay to show it in front of this woman.

But even as he leaned against her, letting himself be wrapped in strong arms, a flash of a woman with auburn hair, dark eyes and a cold smile shimmered in his head. Michael flinched. She would not allow such weakness. The image of the face was followed by the flash of a room. Stark white. Blinding, bright lights. Himself in white, lying on a table, wrists and ankles restrained. That woman and a soft voice. "NO!" Michael hissed the word, pulling out of Hannah's embrace.

"Michael.." she called his name, moving to follow him when he turned away and headed down the corridor. Hannah caught up to him in the foyer. "What is it? What's wrong?" she demanded, frightened by the look of pain and terror that glimmered in her husband's eyes.

"Nothing," Michael whispered, burying his face in his hands.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled, forcing the tension out of his body along with the air. He didn't want to frighten Hannah, so he reached for her hands and met her eyes. "Just a flash of memory," he said, for they were always honest with each other. Michael refused to be anything less. No more lies, a tiny voice echoed in his head. Had done so since he had met Hannah. "Nothing solid," he assured her. This time a, genuine, smile curved Michael's lips. "Let's go home," he beseeched.

Hannah shook her head. "You need to get back in bed, Michael," she said firmly. "You lost alot of blood."

Michael kissed her fingers. "You can take care of me," he whispered, a soft plea glimmering in his eyes. A plea for understanding that he needed to leave this place. Needed to be home, with her, where he felt safe.

"All right," Hannah replied, sensing that it would be for the best in the long run. "But we have to sign you out, properly," she chided him, a smile hovering on her lips. Michael could ask for the moon, and she would find a way to give it to him. Taking his hand now, Hannah led her husband down the hallway to the front desk.

After leaving the clinic, Hannah drove to Cindy's house to pick up Rachel. Her daughter was staying with her friend while Hannah was with Michael at the clinic. But now Hannah wanted the family home, together. Needed the strength and warmth of the family unit. They had no sooner pulled into the driveway, when Cindy's car came flying up beside them. The young girl jumped out and ran over to Hannah's window.

"Rachel's gone!" she announced, her eyes wild and fear reflected in the sharpness of her voice.

Michael was out of the car in an instant. "What do you mean...gone?" he countered, placing both hands on Cindy's shoulders and locking eyes with her so that she would have a focus.

Cindy sucked in a deep breath, her eyes locked on Michael's face, then she explained. "We were at the mall, and we stopped in the bathroom. Rachel said she was gonna dash across to the music store and to meet her there, but she never showed. That was over two hours ago, and I looked for her everywhere. Even called Mall security."

"No..."Hannah hissed, as she stepped out of the car to join her husband. She could feel herself grow pale. "Not Rachel," she whispered, her voice breaking on a sob. As the world started to grow black, she felt strong arms go around her and pressed her face into Michael's shoulder.

"I'll find her," he said softly, one hand stroking Hannah's soft hair. Michael pressed his lips to her ear. "Trust me." Raising her head to look into his eyes, Hannah nodded. "I do. With my life....and Rachel's."

It was a simple confession, but one that brought tears to Michael's eyes. He blinked them back, hugged Hannah to him for a moment, then put her from him, hands on her shoulders. "I want you to stay here," Michael directed, knowing that it would not be safe for Hannah to be home, or alone. "Promise me?" he beseeched, when he saw that she wanted to argue.

"I...promise," Hannah whispered. She knew, in her heart, that Michael could be trusted to bring Rachel back. And she let him see that trust shining in her eyes. "Be safe," she begged, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his sensual lips.

"You too," Michael replied, kissing her back. Then he turned and slid behind the wheel of the car. First trip he had to make was back home, to fetch the magnum that was locked in the gun cabinet, along with the rifle. Michael looked at Hannah, one last time, before closing the door and driving off.

Richmond was in his office, looking over the day's transactions, when the balcony doors burst open and a man came striding in to face him. Despite the fact that he found himself staring down the barrell of a gun, Richmond smiled. "Hello, Michael," he drawled, pleased that the young man had returned to his fold. Michael faced Richmond with cool detachment glimmering in his jade eyes. He made it a point to rack a bullet into the chamber of the gun, then he fixed on his target, locking on Richmond's heart. A pause for a breath, then he said, "Where's Rachel?"

***********

"Rachel?" echoed Richmond, leaning back in his chair, expression innocent.

"Have you lost her?"

Michael's finger tightened on the trigger. "I know you have her."

"Really?" Richmond leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, completely at ease despite the gun pointed at his chest. "Well, feel free to search the house...if you can find her then by all means take her with you."

Slowly Michael relaxed his grip on the trigger, wanting nothing more than to smash the gun into Richmond's smug face and smothering the impulse with an effort. "Where is she?" he asked tonelessly.

"I really don't know. But I could help you find her...if you were willing to help me." said Richmond silkily, rising from his chair in blatant defiance of the gun still pointed at him and allowing his fingers to trail across the top of his desk as he moved around it. Lowering the gun, Michael stood still as Richmond moved around him.

"Help you..." echoed Michael.

"Convince the people of Clayton that I have their best interests at heart...and I will find Rachel for you." He laid a hand on Michael's shoulder and leaned forward to speak softly in his ear. "Rachel is a very lovely girl--there are many places in the world where a young girl of her beauty will be highly valued. Places where she can just disappear..."

A flash of memory came to him: himself and--oddly enough--the young blond woman that had come to their house, another man sitting on the floor, the walls around him stark white. Looking down at the man on the floor and smothering his own anger as he said, "Makes them disappear..." And a truck full of children awaiting the fate that had been decreed for them...

"It would be such a pity, wouldn't it? And poor Hannah would be so heartbroken--"

A hot rush of hate swept through him and Michael grasped the hand on his shoulder, twisting hard, Richmond gasping as he fell to his knees. Breathing hard, Michael leaned forward to press the muzzle of his gun against Richmond's temple. "I *will* find her...and if so much as one hair on her head has been harmed, I will come back here and kill you." He bared his teeth in a vicious smile. "Do you understand?"

"You're making a serious mistake--" gritted Richmond and winced as Michael gave his wrist a wrench.

"You're the one making the mistake. You do not want to cross me, Richmond. I do not forgive...or forget." With a sneer he shoved Richmond away from him, sending the older man sprawling on his back, fighting against the instinct to move over him and put a bullet in his head.

"Everything okay in here, Mr. Richmond?"

Both of them looked to the door and the man standing there, gun in hand, looking from Richmond on the floor then to Michael and back. Slowly Richmond pushed himself up to his feet, one hand cradling his sore wrist, composing himself as he cast a cool look at Michael. "Just a discussion of a business proposition. Michael was just leaving."

Michael stalked to the door, staring at the man as he stood in the doorway, letting the suppressed anger show in his eyes. "Move." Brushed past the man as he obeyed and went out through the front door, slamming it behind him.

Seated behind his desk Austin looked through his reports as he took a bite of his pastrami sandwich, eyes lifting from the reports as he reached for his can of Coke and nearly choking on his sandwich as he saw Michael standing silently before his desk. Coughing he took a sip of Coke to help ease the lump of meat down his throat and then fixed his attention on Michael. Damn, he hadn't even heard him come in...

"Something I can help you with, Michael?" The blank expression on Michael's face made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, the lack of emotion chilling. Hadn't seen that look on another man's face since his days as a cop in the big city...

"Rachel's missing." said Michael flatly. "Richmond has her."

Sighing, Austin pushed aside his sandwich and sat back in his chair. "Got any proof?"

"I don't need proof--I just need to find her." replied Michael evenly. And he'd thought working here would be more peaceful than the big city...letting loose another sigh, Austin met Michael's eyes levelly. "I know the man isn't on the up-and-up but until I get proof otherwise, you know there's not a helluva lot I can do."

"All I'm asking you for is help in locating her." Some of the ice melted in Michael, showing the anxiety and pain underneath. "I don't expect you to go with me...just tell me where Richmond might stash her. You know Clayton better than I do...you grew up here. If you can give me an idea of where to look..." Even talking to Michael, knowing what he had in mind, was skirting the edges of legality but Austin found himself nodding in agreement. He was tired of seeing Richmond push folks around and weasel his way out of any connection to the crimes his people perpetrated. "Up in the hills, above his ranch, there's an old cabin. It's isolated enough that it could be where Richmond's keeping her."

"Thank you." said Michael quietly and turned to leave.

"Michael--" He stopped as Austin said his name, rising from behind his desk, expression grim. "What you did at the ranch--that was ruled self-defense. You go up there looking for a fight and you're outside of the law. I won't help you then. We clear on that?"

"Very." whispered Michael as he went out the door, easing it shut behind him.

Rubbing his forehead wearily, Austin made a half-hearted attempt to finish his lunch but ended up tossing the sandwich in the garbabe. Had to be a way to bring Richmond down legally but he was damned if he could think of it...Rachel sat against the headboard of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and chin resting on them, eyes focused on the door. Beyond it she could laughter and cursing as her guards played cards and drank, an occassional scuffle of feet as a fight broke out and whenever she heard footsteps come closer to her door she would feel herself start to shake. They hadn't hurt her but one of them--a heavy-set man with small, piggish eyes--touched her whenever he had the chance, whispering in her ear the things he wanted to do to her and laughing at seeing her fear.

She had been in the music store, looking for the latest Pearl Jam CD, when they had grabbed her, one coming to take her arm and shove a gun into her side, telling her not to make any noise. Meekly she had gone with him, so scared she could barely move, wanting to scream for help but unable to make a sound. He had been joined by others and they'd taken her out to a van, tossing her in back, tying and blindfolding her before bringing her to the cabin. Rachel lifted a hand to wipe at the tears on her cheeks, trying to hold herself together, not think about how much she just wanted to be home right now. Had to be strong, be like Michael, look for a way to get out of here...

Slowly she slid off the bed and went to the window, thinking that she could try that again. She had tried it earlier, when it was still light out, but the latch wouldn't budge--maybe if she broke the glass she might be able to get out...nodding to herself she drew the curtain back and jumped back at seeing the face before the window, heart thudding painfully in her chest and jamming a fist against her mouth to smother her cry.

Michael placed a hand against the window, giving her a reassuring smile, and Rachel felt tears of relief course down her cheeks, trembling as she put her hands on the window as well. His eyes scanned the window and he pointed at the latch, eyebrows raised questioningly, Rachel giving a shake of her head in answer. Nodding he stood still for a moment and then motioned for him to go back to the bed, indicating by pantomine that he wanted her to bring the pillow.

Placing the pillow against the window, she saw him raise a gun and understood immediately what he was going to do, pressing the pillow harder against the glass in an attempt to muffle the sound of cracking glass. It broke under the impact, Rachel using the pillow to keep the glass from falling to the floor, and Michael pulled the broken pieces away, clearing enough of it from the window frame that Rachel could squeeze through. Dropping the pillow she grabbed a chair and dragged it to the window, climbing up on it so that she could slip through the window, Michael helping her.

Once out on the other side she threw her arms around him and gave him a hard hug, shaking in his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he extricated himself from her arms and drew her away from the cabin, to a truck parked in the driveway. Trailing behind him, clinging tightly to his hand, Rachel stumbled as he came to a halt, looking over her shoulder to see the heavy-set man that had menaced her before.

"Going somewhere?"

"Run." said Michael tersely over his shoulder, releasing her hand and moving to protect her as the other man lunged forward, going down under a hard right to his chin, losing his gun in the process. Rachel stood frozen as he fell to hands and knees, watching in horror as the man grasped a handful of Michael's hair and dragged him up to slam him against the truck. Gasping Michael kicked out as the man came at him again, catching him in the stomach, the man grimacing as he lunged forward to put hands around Michael's throat. Grunted as Michael scored another blow and hands squeezed the throat between them, Michael's struggles slowing.

Dazedly Rachel bent to pick up the fallen glove and pointed it at the man's back, hands shaking. "Let...let him go." she said.

The man cast her a grin and then turned his attention back to choking Michael, Michael going slowly limp in his grip. Closing her eyes Rachel squeezed the trigger twice, the gun jumping in her hands, heard a startled cry of pain and then slowly opened her eyes, watching numbly as the man released Michael and crumpled to the ground. From the cabin came shouts of alarm but Rachel could only stare down at the man she had shot, nausea churning in her stomach. Coughing Michael struggled up to his feet and took the gun from her hand.

Rachel lifting her head to look at him, eyes filled with horror. "I...I killed him."

"No, you didn't. I did." said Michael firmly, wiping the gun with the tail of his shirt and pressing his own fingers against it. "Get in..." he said, pushing her at the truck and raising the gun to fire a shot at the door as it started to open. Hurriedly he got into the driver's side and bent head briefly to press wires together, the truck's engine roaring to life. Sticking his head out the window he fired again as two men slipped quickly through the door and shoved the truck into reverse, gunning the engine and sending the truck careening down the driveway, waiting till he had reached the dirt road before turning it around and roaring off.

Hannah was waiting at the door as Michael and Rachel returned, bursting into tears of relief as she threw her arms around her daughter, Rachel weeping as well, clinging to her mother. On the trip back, Michael had convinced Rachel to tell no one what had happened, determined to take the blame for the man's death if it ever came out, and she had eventually agreed, too much in shock from her abduction and the shooting to object. She had killed the man to save Michael and the least he could do was protect her in turn...

After putting Rachel to bed, Hannah and Michael had sat up a little longer, Michael passing along to her the story of how he'd found Rachel but omitting Rachel's participation in the man's death. As much as he hated to lie to her, he felt it necessary, but that didn't assauge the guilt he felt.

Morning came and passed uneventfully, both Hannah and Rachel electing to stay home. And then afternoon came and with it an unexpected visitor...

Hannah opened the door to find Austin and two of his deputies on the other side of the door, inclining his head in greeting. "I'm here on official business, I'm afraid." Slowly, a chill spreading through her, Hannah let him inside, watching as Michael gave Rachel's hand a squeeze and rose from the couch. "I've got a warrant here for your arrest, Michael. Also got a warrant to search the premises...maybe you'd like to make it a little easier on me, tell me where the gun you used last night is."

"In the cabinet." said Michael calmly and Austin nodded to his deputy, walking slowly over to Michael, handcuffs in one hand. Turning his back to Austin, Michael presented his hands and Austin clapped the cuffs on.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and if you cannot so afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I've read them to you?"

"Yes." Rachel half-rose from the couch and Michael gave a slight shake of his head as Austin led him towards the door.

"Hannah, you're going to want to get a lawyer. Depending on the judge, the charge is going to be at least manslaughter."

"Got the gun." said the deputy, showing a large plastic envelope, and Austin nodded, eyes a little sad as he met Hannah's stricken gaze briefly before leading Michael out of the house and to the waiting car.

***********

Hannah sat beside Michael on his cot, holding his hand tightly in hers. Yet she realized that he was the one comforting her. But that was Michael. Always protecting her. He was the one in jail, facing charges of manslaughter, while she was the one weeping.

"Hush.." Michael whispered, one hand lifting so that he could brush the tears off Hannah's face. "It's going to be all right," he told her.

"It's not fair!" Hannah hissed, using anger to replace her sorrow. And her fear. "Richmond instigated all of this, Michael. You protected me...and Rachel...yet you're going to go to jail. And there's nothing we can do about it."

Michael wrapped his arms around Hannah, hugging her to his chest. "We'll find a way," he whispered. Just then he heard footsteps and saw Austin at the door to the cell.

The Sheriff unlocked the door and smiled at Michael. "You're free to go," he announced.

"What?" The question came from Hannah as she jumped to her feet. "I don't understand. Why?"

"Prosecutor's office has dropped all charges against Michael," Austin explained.

Hannah looked at Michael and saw her confusion reflected on his face. She turned back to Austin. "But...they had a solid case. Why would they drop it?"

Austin shrugged. "Well...seems there's no gun. No cabin....no bodies. No evidence...no case. End of story."

"Michael..." Hannah breathed, knowing that this wasn't possible, yet not questioning their good fortune. She embraced him.

"Thank you, Austin," Michael whispered, as he hugged Hannah back. He could see the the Sheriff was relieved, but Michael was not. There was a flash of an image and Michael caught his breath. He saw himself standing before a man with gray hair and pale eyes. Cold eyes. Then heard himself speak. :::::::::::we sanitized the area::::::::::

Hannah felt Michael stiffen in her arms, lifted her head to see that he had gone pale. Felt his knees buckle and she pushed him down onto the cot. One hand lifted to touch his shoulder. It had only been three days since he had been shot by one of Ricmond's men. Michael was so damn stoic that she had forgotten his injury. "I want you to go to the clinic," she stated firmly.

Michael blinked to shake away the image, yet could make the feelings disappear. He forced a smile. "I want you to go home, Hannah," he said softly. "I have to do something."

"No...Michael," she countered, hands lifting to cup his face. "All you have to do is come home. You need to rest, and to be with your family."

"I will," Michael promised, taking one hand from his face and kissing the soft palm. "It will be all right, Hannah," he whispered.

She wanted to argue with him but didn't. Hannah knew that Michael was disturbed by something, and she would respect his need to work it out. Besides which, she trusted him. "Don't be long," she replied, brushing a kiss over his sensual lips.

Michael kissed her back then stood up. A moment later he was gone.

Austin watched the young man go, then turned to Hannah. "Any idea where he's going?" he asked, wondering if more trouble was brewing.

"To see Richmond," Hannah replied, then she walked out as well.

"What do you want from me?" Michael asked, as he stood before Richmond's table. They were in Richmond's favorite resturant, which he just happened to own. Michael ignored the four other people at the table, his eyes locked on Richmond's face.

"Let's talk in my office," Richmond replied, rising to his feet with a smile on his face. He had been expecting Michael, and was delighted not to be disappointed.

Michael followed Richmond to the second floor of the building, closing the door behind him after entering a richly decorated room. He watched the other man moved to sit behind a huge, oak, desk. "What do you want?" Michael repeated.

Richmond shrugged. "What makes you think I want anything, Michael?" he challenged.

"You arranged to free me," Michael replied. "You do nothing without a reason. And everything has it's price. What do I owe you?"

"You were freed because there was no evidence of wrongdoing," Richmond countered, enjoying their verbal sparring. Michael was far more intelligent than anyone else in this town. He understood things on a different level than the rest.

Michael moved forward till he reached the desk, then he braced himself on his palms. "You destroyed the evidence, stole the bodies from the morgue, and the gun from lock up. We both know that. No more games. You want something from me." Michael paused and let a smile curve his lips. A cold smile that matched the glimmer in his eyes. "I'll do what you want," he conceded. "I have no choice."

Richmond was stunned by Michael's declaration. "Why do you say that?" he countered, his curiosity piqued.

"If I don't pay my debt to you, you'll destroy my family," Michael replied, and his voice was calm. Matter of fact. "I won't let you hurt them."

"All right," Richmond conceded. "No more games then. I want you to work for me, Michael. It's that simple."

Michael blinked, then moved to sit in the chair across from Richmond. He leaned back and adopted a relaxed posture, intended to put the other man off-guard. Michael knew that his actions and his attitude were at odds. It gave him the edge. "I'll work for you," he allowed. "But not here...not in this town. I won't hurt my friends."

Richmond had expected as much and was willing to give in on this point. "I have other businesses," he stated. "I want you in Las Vegas. I've been having some...troubles."

"Fine," Michael replied, rising from the chair and heading for the door. "I'll leave in the morning."

"Make it tomorrow night," Richmond countered. "I'm going with you, Michael. I want to watch you work. We'll stay two weeks. Should be more than enough time to do business...and a little sight seeing." He waited for a response, but received nothing but a blank stare. "Oh....one more thing. I found something that might interest you." As he spoke, Richmond withdrew a folder from his desk drawer then held it out.

Curious, in spite of himself, Michael crossed the room and took it. He opened it and glanced at the contents, then felt himself grow pale. Richmond had uncovered Michael's past. At least part of it. After rereading it Michael looked up and locked eyes with Richmond. "How did you get this?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Richmond smiled. "I have my ways. Interesting...isn't it, Michael? I must say, for a man who's been...dead...for thirteen years, you look fabulous."

"I want to know more," Michael hissed, tossing the file back on Richmond's desk. He had to more than the fact that he had died in a French prison after being convicted of a fatal bombing in Paris.

"We'll see," Richomnd allowed, his eyes locked on the other man's face. A moment later Michael was gone. Richmond shivered as a chill rippled down his spine. But a smile was on his face. Michael was his.

Hannah watched Michael packing. He told her about accepting Richmond's job offer. She had ranted and raved about him selling out to the enemy. Then she had cried as Michael had apologized, then softly explained that Richmond would destroy their future if he didn't. Hannah knew that Michael was telling the truth. But she wasn't willing to let him go. He would sacrifice his soul for her and Rachel. "So you'll be Richmond's hired killer?" she hissed, her eyes flashing.

"I'll do what I have do to protect you," Michael replied. He went to Hannah, one hand lifting to touch her face. "You don't trust me," he whispered. "I don't blame you."

"Michael..." Hannah felt tears fill her eyes. His words should have held an accusation. Instead he was accepting of her words and her attitude. Michael didn't feel he deserved her trust. "I love you," she whispered, rising on tiptoe to claim a kiss. And with those words, all was forgiven.

***********

Michael stood at the window of the hotel room suite, staring down at the city laid out before him. Darkness shrouded the city of Las Vegas, turning the worn-out, fading whore of the day into a sleek, colorful lady of the night, concealing the cracks and pits in her foundation, the ugliness of streets littered with trash and street people. Night hid the faults that the light of the day showed in its harsh glare and the lights of the marquees and billboards added an exotic, glitzy air. They were too far up to hear the honking of the cars but their headlights were visible from above, tiny glowing ants winding their way down the strip. The streets would be full at this hour, tourists in knee length shorts and bright colorful shirts snapping photos, gamblers moving from casino to casino, the heavily made up prostitutes drifting as close to the casinos as they were allowed, drawn by the smell of money like a bee to honey.

Behind him Michael could hear the sound of Richmond talking on the phone and he slipped hands into the pockets of his black blazer, trying to lose himself in the sight before him. He had been here for three days now, trailing at Richmond's side, acting as his bodyguard as the man moved through the city.

Three days away from Hannah and Rachel...and already it felt like an eternity. Missed having the warmth of Hannah beside him, the comaraderie of the mornings the three spent together, the love that the two surrounded him in--

Absently Michael lifted a hand to wipe at the tear that escaped the corner of his eye and straightened his shoulders. By being here, by agreeing to work for Richmond, he made them safe...and that was the important thing. No matter what he did, what Richmond forced him to do...that was all that mattered. Protecting his family from Richmond...and perhaps even from himself.

Richmond had made a gift to him of the file he'd gleaned on Michael's past and despite himself, Michael had read it over and over, until every word, every photo, was etched permanently in his mind. His arrest, his trial, his imprisonment...and his death-- all ringing true...though somehow he knew there was a piece missing of it. It was as if when he had "died" for that first, the Michael he had been had ceased to exist...and another was born. But what had happened to him in those intervening years? What events had forged him into the killer he sensed lying dormant inside him? What actions had brought him bleeding and robbed of his memory to the comfort of Hannah's arms?

If Richmond knew--*if*--he would no doubt dole out the pieces of his past like a miser with his gold...and there were times like this when Michael did not care at all to know who he had been. The present was a complicated enough place for him to dwell in...without the specter of his past raising its head...

"Michael."

Michael turned his head slightly at Richmond's call, attention shifting back to the city as the other man came striding to stand beside him. Tensed as a tendril of cigar smoke trailed across his vision, Richmond contentedly puffing on his cigar, letting the silence between them grow. When it suited him he would tell Michael what he wanted...and Michael would not press the issue.

At last Richmond moved to lean back against the window, cigar held between two fingers as he focused on Michael. "Time for you to earn your keep." Michael didn't acknowledge his statement or presence, eyes still staring out the window, though he did not see the city. Saw instead the wild untamed landscape of the ranch, Hannah astride her favorite mount, hair whipping in the breeze, laughing in delight and pleasure.

Irritably, Richmond flicked ashes on the carpet and moved a little more to the right, into Michael's field of vision, forcing the younger man to acknowledge him. He did with a shift of cool grey eyes, skewering Richmond with the piercing ice of his gaze and sending an imperceptible shiver through him. Odd how the younger man could go hot and then cold...almost as if there were two personalities housed in his body, one becoming dominant when the situation warranted it and the other fading back.

"I want a man killed." said Richmond bluntly. Smiled as he saw a flicker of pain in Michael's eyes, the young man looking away from him, as jaw clenched...and then back, eyes empty again.

"Who?" he asked simply.

"Partner of mine...about to become a very *late* partner." Richmond took a deep drag of his cigar and blew a ring of smoke, smirking as he regarded Michael. "He's been screwing me over...and it's about time for him to pay the price. Don't worry, Michael--he's a bad guy. Shouldn't hurt your...conscience to kill him." He placed a sarcastic emphasis on the word *conscience*, knowing that the dig would score...even if the younger man didn't show it. That was the main problem he saw here--Michael was a cold, efficient killer...but a fleeting sense of humanity was hindering him. Get rid of the humanity...and he would be perfect.

"Dinner in an hour. I'll point him out to you." said Richmond with a smug grin and strode off.

Closing his eyes, Michael leaned forward to press his forehead against the cool glass. He had to do this...for Hannah and Rachel--he couldn't bear it if something were to happen to them. And it did ease the guilt a little knowing that the man he would have to kill for their sakes was deserving of it... If only he could convince himself that he was doing right.

His dinner plate lay before him untouched as Michael sat at Richmond's right. A tight band of tension had encircled his temples, setting them to throbbing, and his stomach was taut with tension as well, so that fleeting appetite was gone. Oblivious--or perhaps relishing it--to his discomfort, Richmond was enjoying his dinner and chatting with the lovely young thing serving as his escort. Platinum blond hair was wound in an artfully disarrayed knot atop her head, diamonds glittering at ears and against the tanned skin of full breasts, revealed by the low-cut bodice of her white gown, her laughter high and breathy, arm wound through Richmond's, seeming to hang on every word and gesture of the older man.

"There."

The single word brought Michael's attention to Richmond, eyes shifting from the rare slices of roast beef on his plate to the other man. With his fork, Richmond pointed and Michael followed his gaze, to the figure of a man moving through the tables. Average height and thick bodied, thinning dark hair slicked back, dressed in a black suit with crimson shirt opened at the throat to show a thick mat of hair on chest, fleshy features were spread in a wide grin as he went to sit at a table, bending to bestow a kiss on the cheek of the woman that sat there.

The same young woman that had come to the ranch a few months ago. The young woman named Nikita--looking sleek and elegant in a black evening dress, a polite smile curving lovely mouth that did not quite reach blue eyes. Seeing her here...remembering her appearance at his door and the way she had seemed to know him...sent a jolt through him. Could see her stretched out on a hospital bed, clad in white tank top and sweat pants, hair a wild cloud about her fair features, body twisting against the restraints that held her to the bed--could remember throwing her to the ground, the feel of her body against his, the glare of those blue eyes stabbing him--

"Michael."

Michael jerked at the sharp sound of Richmond's voice, tearing his eyes away from the young blond, and Richmond gestured with his chin at one of his goons seated beside Michael. Reluctantly Michael turned in his chair to face him, the man taking his hand to place something in it--a gun, he knew even before fingers closed on it, other hand travelling down it to find a silencer attached to it.

"Do him." ordered Richmond flatly.

"Here? Now?" Michael fought to keep his voice calm and level, to not show the flare of panic and fear. The dining room was full, there were too many witnesses, too many variables--he had no idea where the target's security was and who they were--

"I want it public so people know what it means to mess with me." Richmond turned a smoldering glare on Michael. "Shoot him and go down to the lobby--out in front there will be a car waiting for you."

Restaurant, the blond Nikita seated across from him, staring with horror down at the red velvet interior of a box and the gun that lay there--resolutely Michael shook that vision from his mind and rose from his chair. Jacked the slide to chamber a round and kept the gun down at his side as he strode over to the table; around him all sound vanished--the click of glasses, the tinkle and scrape of silverware on plates, the laughter and chatter of the patrons--and his footsteps were like thunder, eclipsed only by the pounding of his heart.

Then Michael was before the man whose name he did not know, his hand lifting to point gun at him. Napkin was tucked into the opened throat of the man's shirt, pristine white against the blood red, eyes focusing on Michael as mouth parted to take in the forkful of pasta, one noodle slithering off fork to land on white tablecloth, the man's eyes widening in comical disbelief at seeing the gun in Michael's hand. Michael squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and the man fell back, blood and matter spraying from the exit wound in his head. The hollow thump of the man's body and chair on the floor seemed to restore his hearing for he could hear the shriek of a woman seated behind the man, hands waving ineffectually in the air as blood splattered on her dress.

The young woman Nikita sprang up out of her chair, shouting something that he could not distinguish, one hand going out as the other reached for Michael.

From out of the corner of his eye, he sensed movement and turned as one of the men seated at the table rose, dragging out gun. Fired even as the man did, his bullet striking the man in the throat and the man's bullet tearing through his side. The shock of being hit tumbled Michael back, the next two bullets fired by another at the table missing him.

Rolling, he struggled up to his feet, aware of Nikita shouting and the screams of nearby patrons, shoving his way through the fleeing patrons, gun still tightly clutched in his hand. Hit the door to the restaurant with one shoulder and tumbled out, gun coming up instinctively as security guards loomed before him. Though he was trembling from shock, his gun hand was steady and the two guards backed off, hands upraised, allowing him to move through the lobby. He was half-running by the time he reached the exit and then was out on the street, looking wildly up and down the block.

No car, no car--the thought ran wildly through his mind. Stumbled two steps down the sidewalk, turning back to look at the front door of the casino, and then turned as a taxi rolled up to the curb. Even as a blue-haired old woman was escorted out of it by a chubby man in plaid suit, he was ducking into the cab, thrusting his gun at the cabbie's head, even as the man turned in his seat.

"Hey, man, I already got a--" The cabbie's words died off at the sight of Michael's gun and he swallowed audibly, turning back. "So where to?" he asked with false cheer.

"Anywhere but here..." whispered Michael, sinking back against the seat as he pressed a hand to his side.

***********

Michael dreamed. Or so he believed. Flashing of images in his mind haunted him. Of a cold place with white rooms. A woman and man with blurred features standing over him. Looming like spectres. He felt hot and cold and trembled, and pain rippled through him in waves. But then there was blessed darkness for a time, but the darkness faded and the cycle repeated itself. And then there was the voice.

Soft as a whisper, calling his name. Michael opened his eyes and saw the face of an angel. He remembered her name. "Nikita..."

"I'm here, Michael," she replied, one stroking his hair.

"You're going to be all right. You have to be!" The last words were spoken in a sharp tone. More to herself than to him. He was in bad shape and Nikita was afraid of losing him.

"Where....where?" Michael whispered, then words failed him.

But Nikita understood. "A hotel room," she replied, reaching for a cool cloth to wipe Michael's face. "I followed you out of the resturant and saw you get into a cab. I came after you. The cab driver got scared when you passed out. I took care of him and brought you here."

Michael swallowed hard, needing to speak. "Took care of..him. How?"

"How doesn't matter," Nikita replied, the palm of one hand pressing against Michael's forehead. He was burning up yet wracked with chills. Was slipping into shock due to blood loss. Nikita knew she would have to make a decision. Wondered if she had a right to. Closed her eyes and prayed, then said, "Michael...do you want to live?" As she waited for his reply, Nikita held her breath.

"I..." Michael began, then broke off. Images of Hannah and Rachel flashed in his head, mixed with the image of Nikita exploding into flame. He felt tears burning in his eyes and blinked them back. There was so much he didn't understand, couldn't remember. Death would be an easy way out and Michael knew that he was dying. Could feel his soul slipping away. "Yes," he whispered, the effort costing him. "I want to live." He had to. For Hannah's sake. And Nikita's. Even if he didn't understand why.

Nikita felt a tear slip down her cheek. She turned away from the bed and reached for her cell phone. "I hope you will forgive me for this someday, Michael," Nikita whispered, as she punched in a number. She waited then spoke. "I have the package. It's an....anomaly." A pause. "I need a medteam, Code Red." Nikita gave her location then punched the off button. She turned back to Michael, infinite sadness reflected in her blue gaze. "We're going home," Nikita whispered, then she let her tears fall freely.

Michael came to consciousness slowly. Opened his eyes then closed them quickly. The room he was in was blindingly white. He remembered the room from before. He had been awake a few times, but never for long. Someone was always hovering over him, then slipping a sedative into his IV. This time, however, he seemed to be alone. So Michael opened his eyes again and gazed around. He was alone. Lost and alone.

Tears filled his eyes and he let them fall. Hannah was lost to him now, of that Michael was certain. And Nikita...she hadn't been to see him. It seemed logical to assume that she had abandoned him in this place. A place that was strange, yet familiar. Michael sensed that he belonged here. That this was the place that had forged the killer in him. He was home. But home was a cold place and Michael wished that he had accepted Death's hand when it had been offered. But he knew the wish was in vain. Or maybe not.

The IV was still taped to the back of his hand. Michael ripped it off then sat up, forcing himself not to collapse as pain lanced through his side. Made it to his feet and wavered, but held on till the dizziness had passed. Then he went into the next room. A bathroom. Stared at his reflection. A pale and thin face with shadows circling his sunken eyes. A stranger's face. Lifting one arm, Michael made a fist then slammed it into the mirror. It shattered. He reached for a piece of broken glass and held it between two fingers. Pressed a sharp edge to the inside of one wrist and drew it across his flesh. No pain. Just a warm flow of blood.

"It's not that easy, Michael," whispered a soft voice.

Michael turned to find a woman standing in the doorway. She had reddish brown hair and dark eyes. She was smiling but the smile was cold. He smiled back sadly. "I know," Michael whispered, then darkness claimed him.

Hannah read the note again. Her hand shook and her vision was blurred by tears, but she forced herself to calm down. Had to be sure of what she was reading. It was typewritten on plain paper and was precisely worded.

....Richmond is dead. You need not fear him or his kind any longer. I'll be watching over you. The man you married, the man you loved....is dead as well. But Michael is alive and back home. His home. A place you can never visit. So accept him as being dead, for he is in more ways than you can imagine. But never doubt that he loved you and Rachel.....

There was no signature. Nothing more. Just that simple paragraph that shattered her life into pieces. Crumpling the paper in her hand, Hannah fell to her knees and wept.

Nikita sat in her apartment, on the patio steps. The doors were open to let the breeze in and she held a glass of wine in one hand. It had been one month since she had brought Michael back to Section. During that time he had tried to committ suicide twice. The last attempt was a week ago. He was over it now and Madeline had assured Nikita that he would not try again. She wondered if that was a good thing.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Nikita whispered, raising her glass in a toast before draining it of every drop of heady wine. But she wouldn't allow herself to get drunk. It wouldn't help. Yet even as she accepted that fact, Nikita reached for the bottle. It wouldn't help, but it wouldn't hurt either.

***********

It was all coming back to him slowly.

Two months had passed since Michael had awoken to find himself in the white room, a month since his first attempt to kill himself, slicing wrist with a shard of glass from the broken. A second attempt a week later and after that he was placed in restraints, secured so tightly that he could do nothing more than gaze at the ceiling or walls. That had been bad enough for him to promise that he would do nothing more to hurt himself...and he had held to that promise.

Why he had made that promise he didn't know...for there didn't seem to be any reason to continue. He would never--could never--see Hannah and Rachel again...and without them--without the warmth and comfort of their love--life seemed...pointless.

Depression still held him in its smothering grip and sometimes he would just lie curled up on the bed, tears he didn't realize he was crying sliding down his cheeks. His dreams were heartbreakingly sweet visions of Hannah and Rachel...and horrifying nightmares filled with blood and the screams of the dying. Nightmares that brought to him his past...just as the walks through the halls of this place called the Section brought him memories of his life here. Here he was forced to confront the killer in himself that he had only glimpsed before, to remember the lives he had taken, the deceptions he had perpetrated. It was as if he were split in two, his true self shielded by that cold efficient killer, a personna forged in these halls--a personna used so long as a barrier between himself and Section that it had fused itself to him, in a Siamese twin-like conjunction of spirit. The two so long entwined that it was difficult to see where he truly started...

It would be so easy, so very easy, to allow that Section personna dominance, to hide behind it, divorce himself from thought and action. To forget everything that had happened to him outside of these walls, to banish Hannah and Rachel from his mind..but he couldn't. Without the memory of them to cling to, his days were grey and bleak and endless, a purgatory to be endured. And he learned to hold that vision of the two people he loved so much before him like a lure, a carrot to send him staggering down the road, past the point of exhaustion and sense, in an endless pursuit of that treat.

He remembered as much now as he was ever likely to...but could not remember the events that had led him--exhausted and badly injured--to Hannah, no matter how much prodding he was given, how many tapes of the mission he reviewed. It was lost to him, as were other pieces of his past--the absence of which left great, bleeding wounds in the flesh of his psyche, wounds that would not close.

Without Nikita...he might have succumbed to depression and sought a final oblivion.

He knew now what she had been to him...and he to her. Friend, lover...enemy. Never able to find a balance between their needs and desires...and so never able to be truly together. She was the Grail and he the tarnished knight Lancelot, doomed by his own fallible nature to never attain its golden promise. And haunted always by that vision...

And so now he struggled to find a balance between his two selves, for the sake of his own sanity, if nothing else.

Day by day Nikita watched as Michael recovered, feeling his pain as keenly as her own. Now she could see the Michael that had once been, the Michael hidden away, could see that he had indeed lived his life split in two. And cursed herself for her part in bringing those two selves together, fusing them again.

Whatever had empowered him before--whatever had kept him whole and set him on the path Section had laid out for him--was gone. The Michael she saw here was a mere shell, floating ghost-like through the Section, blank and empty-eyed. A Michael merely going through the motions...and a Michael that would ultimately die...simply because he no longer held the fire the old one had.

Seeing him now, she was reminded strongly of the Michael she had seen in her clandestine surveillance of his small family. A Michael at peace, a Michael that laughed and loved without fear of censure...a Michael that was truly free. And she had chained him once again to the Section.

Somehow she knew that if she tried, she might be able to make him forget Hannah and Rachel. To provide him with the love and support he needed. Suspected that the Section would even approve...if it brought back to them the Michael they wanted. But whatever chance there had been for them was gone...and she would not resurrect it.

What Michael needed was his family again...and somehow she would have to find a way to bring him back to them. Somehow...

the end