One more hour, Nikita reassured herself, glancing down at her wristwatch for the third time in ten minutes. One more hour. You can make it that long.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It was quiet and dark in the airplane. Overhead miniature lights shone intermittently over some passengers; the clackity-click of Nova’s knitting needles and the low murmur of a half-hearted poker game in the back of the plane were the only sounds. Beside her, Michael was working. Nikita watched his hands move over the keyboard, fingers quick and sure ...

... and gentle, too, she remembered. Tracing the vein that wrapped round her middle finger, light, feather touches on her arms, as brief as a breeze ... the feel of him against her ... the way he cupped her chin in his hands ... his lips ...

Nikita gritted her teeth. Something was very definitely wrong with her. Lately, all she could think about was Michael, and frequently in her thoughts, he was unclothed. Or if he wasn’t, she was. I’m acting like some undersexed old maid, she thought. Maybe I am, but still ...

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat and tried to think of something else -- anything else -- but her legs tingled as she recalled the way Michael’s bare knees -- and other parts of his anatomy -- felt against her. Almost she could taste him and smell the scent that was undetectable unless one’s face was nudged into the crook between his shoulder and neck.

It was better if her eyes were open. That way, other images didn’t haunt her. Nikita swallowed hard and focused on her knees, but the damage was done: now, the only thing she saw in her minds’ eye was Michael’s ear lobes.

As lobes went, his were really nothing special. Kinda nonexistent, to be truthful. But Nikita always had a thing for ears, and, though she didn’t look in his direction, her mouth watered.

Oh, really, she thought furiously. This is ridiculous. He’s been with you for almost two weeks.

Maybe so, but never alone, Nikita thought rebelliously. Get your mind back on track. Think of something else. Anything else.

Michael tapped away at his laptop, and Nikita mentally began to dissemble a machine gun. Her concentration was broken when Michael gave a satisfied grunt and closed up the computer.

Nikita pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t curse. Really, this is intolerable, she thought, irritated. He’s my co-worker, for goodness’ sake. She got a sudden, brief vision of Michael rolling her over in a tangle of sheets, hair wild around his face and eyes luminous. Okay, well, maybe he’s more than that, but really, things are as good as they can be, under the circumstances. At least we got to see each other for a little while, and it was good to be working together, even if we weren’t alone.

... the way his fingers felt in her hair ... the flat muscles in his chest that contracted when she touched him ... the way his stubble scratched her skin ...

Nikita abruptly rose. “I need out,” she announced.

Michael’s eyebrow raised. “Nikita, we’re 30,000 feet up. Where do you want to go?”

“I need to walk.”

Michael rose and stood aside; Nikita avoided his eyes, for what she really wanted to do was throw herself at him, tear off his clothes and lick every square inch of his skin ... starting with his ears. Fleetingly, she wondered what her chances were of getting him alone in the airplane bathroom, but the physical difficulties seemed insurmountable, not to mention impractical. She pressed her lips firmly together and stalked down the narrow aisle.

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

Two hours later, Michael shrugged into his overcoat and pocketed Nikita’s hand-held computer. She’d left it in her seat on the plane, and he’d scooped it up with his own when they landed. She’d been preoccupied with her losses from a poker game, and he intended to return it to her immediately, but Madeleine pulled him aside, and by the time she was finished with him, Nikita was in the middle of debriefing. Maybe I can catch her before she leaves Section, Michael thought, and he headed out the door.

Nikita had been acting a little odd lately. It was obvious to Michael that she was hiding something from him, and the knowledge hurt him. He was not surprised -- after all, he didn’t deserve her trust -- but that didn’t make him feel better.

If she’d tell me what’s bothering her, maybe I could fix it, he thought. But I can’t help her if I don’t know what’s going on.

He caught a glimpse of a tall blonde disappearing through the exit. He quickened his pace but didn’t call out -- that would draw attention, and if there was one thing neither needed, it was attention.

He followed her to the parking garage, moving with his usual soundless tread. She reached her car and fumbled in her purse for her keys, and Michael, not realizing that she hadn’t heard him approach, reached out and wrapped his fingers around her arm. “Nikita --”

She moved, twisting around and out of his grasp, her keys up and ready to attack. When she saw it was Michael, her keys dropped from her hand and she sagged against the car. “Don’t DO that, Michael.”

“I’m ... sorry,” he said, and reached out to pull her upright.

It was his touch that did it. Before he even knew what happened, Nikita launched herself into his arms; Michael fell against the car behind him, one hand out to steady himself, the other around Nikita to prevent any further mishap. Her lips moved over his face, one hand gripping the fabric of his coat, the other burrowing under his scarf. He shivered when one finger traced the outline of his ear, and once his neck was properly uncovered, Nikita rested her forehead against him, her arms around his waist. He could feel her breath on his neck, and her arms tightened a bit.

“Nikita, I don’t --” he’d been about to say, I don’t like these long missions either, but she stopped him.

“-- think this is a good idea,” she finished for him. “I know.” She pulled away, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m ... I’ve just been at sixes and sevens all day long, I guess. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Must be the full moon or something.” She bent down and retrieved her car keys, and still not looking at him, she separated one key from the rest, turned and fit it into the lock.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked gently.

“Home,” she said, not turning around.

“Would you ... would you like company?”

She looked over his shoulder, and briefly her eyes caught his before moving to focus on something beyond his right shoulder. “That’s probably not a good idea, Michael.”

“I didn’t ask if you thought it was a good idea,” Michael reminded her. “I asked if you wanted company. Me,” he clarified.

Her eyes snapped back to his and she turned back around. “Okay,” she said in a small voice.

“Good. I’ll follow, then.”

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

Nikita sat up with a gasp and nearly choked. Her heart felt like it was about to pound out of her chest and skip across the room. She pressed down on her breastbone, and automatically looked to her right.

She hadn’t woken Michael. He still lay beside her, entwined in sheets. Various limbs -- an arm, a leg -- emerged from the bedding.

Nikita’s hand traveled from her chest to her stomach. She felt sick. No, not sick, exactly. Just not ... normal. She tried to identify what was wrong, but her symptoms were so vague, she finally decided that she should just take an aspirin and try to get back to sleep.

Nikita slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the light. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright illumination, and she opened the medicine cabinet, located the aspirin, and shut the mirrored door closed.

She felt a little stiff. Well, no wonder -- after a very enthusiastic, long overdue evening with Michael, she bet she’d be moving like an 80-year-old arthritic woman tomorrow. Not that it wasn’t worth it, she though quickly, grinning a little. Nikita shook out two aspirin and, as she brought them to her mouth, she saw her face.

Oh, no.

Her hand froze, and she stared at herself.

No. No, no, no ...

Her face looked the same. Same mouth (a little swollen from kissing, but otherwise normal); same nose; same cheeks; same forehead. But her eyes were different. They were the same normal blue shade as always, but there was something ... slowly, she replaced the aspirin. It wouldn’t help her, even though she felt slightly nauseous and very shaky.

Nikita’s face flushed and she put cool hands to her hot cheeks, then she leaned against the wall and slid down, head on her knees.

This was always a possibility, she reminded herself, the heels of her hands pressed against her closed eyes. She stayed that way until her leg muscles began cramping. Then, slowly, she staggered upright, turned off the light and returned to bed.

Michael was still wrapped up in the sheets. Nikita unwound him, settling beside him, trying to be quiet. She lay on her side and watched him. Sometimes when they were together, any little noise woke him; sometimes, like tonight, it would take an explosion to rouse him.

He’ll never know, she thought. By the time he wakes up, I’ll be in the shower ...

Nikita edged closer to him, and when he didn’t stir, she unfolded his arms and very quietly climbed on top of him, lowering herself slowly down, inch by inch, till she lay on top, her head on his chest, her knees resting on the mattress. She reached down and pulled up the covers, then wedged her arms underneath his. There. That was better.

He didn’t move or protest, and Nikita relaxed against him, wriggling down a little so she was more comfortable.

What was she going to do? Nikita stared into the darkness and tried to figure out an easy answer, but for this there were no easy answers.

“What are you doing?”

The voice rumbled through Nikita, even though Michael hadn’t spoken loudly. He lightly traced the knobs on her backbone, and Nikita frowned. “Nothing. I’m sorry I woke you.” She prepared to roll off, but Michael wrapped his arms around her instead.

“Your eyelashes were tickling me,” Michael said, though she hadn’t asked, and he felt her smile against him. They were quiet for a few minutes, then, finally, he said, “You’ve been acting a little ... odd lately.”

Nikita didn’t answer. Michael tried again. “Is there something bothering you?”

Nikita reached back, unlatched his arms and moved off of him, curling up on the opposite side of the bed and facing away from him. “No.”

“Nikita --” he reached out, and she sat up, back toward him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said flatly.

Michael propped himself up on an elbow and studied her back. Slowly, realization dawned, and he said, “You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, surprised. She didn’t turn around, and Michael placed a hand on the small of her back.

“Nikita?”

“Please ...” she moved away from his touch, and he frowned, moving back to turn on the lamp near the bed. He sat up, leaned down and scrabbled among the clothes on the floor.

“You’re cold,” he said quietly, and shaking out his shirt, he threaded her arms through the sleeves, carefully buttoning it from behind without touching her.

Nikita closed her eyes tight, teeth clenched, body rigid. Michael finished and sat back, waiting. Nikita concentrated on breathing, but then she noticed that she was surrounded by Michael’s scent -- his shirt, while clean, still retained the smell of laundry detergent, soap and Michael. Tears welled up in her eyes and she drew in a shuddering breath.

“Nikita?”

She leaned over, elbows on knees and forehead pressed into her hands and sobbed. Michael circled her waist from behind, and she struggled against him. “D-d-don’t t-t-touch me.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Michael insisted, becoming seriously alarmed.

“N-n-n-nothing.”

“Nikita --”

“I’m f-f-f-fine,” she cried, pulling away so he was a good arms-length away. But Michael narrowed his eyes and scooted closer.

“No, you’re not --”

“I t-t-t-told you not to t-t-touch m-m-me --” She wriggled in his grasp, but Michael pulled her firmly toward him, resting his back on the headboard and curving his legs around her. She shook against his chest.

“Maybe I can help,” he suggested.

“N-no one can help,” she said, her voice muffled. Gradually she stopped shaking and when her sobs died to hiccups, he gently wiped her face with the edge of the sheet. Then, he wrapped his arms more firmly around her.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Not pregnant?”

“No.”

“Fatal disease?”

“No.”

“Worried about the next mission?”

“No.”

“Worried about us?”

Silence. Michael relaxed his hold on her and she moved up, head on his shoulder and arms close to his chest. She drew a shaky breath and wiped a stray tear away with the back of her hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her chin trembled and she began crying again, tears hot and heavy on her face. “I -- I --”

“Nikita, shhh ... it’s all right,” Michael folded her into his arms, and she shuddered against him.

“It -- isn’t --”

Michael rocked her back and forth; Nikita’s sobs slowly quieted, and without a word, Michael reached over, pulled a tissue from a box and handed it to her. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and Michael gathered her close to him.

“Michael.”

He waited, and Nikita took a deep breath.

“Michael ... I ... I love you,” she said, and burst into tears again.

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

“Ah,” Michael said, then, as the full weight of what Nikita said sank in, he said, “Oh.”

“I t-t-t-tried not to,” she stuttered, tears finally spent but breathing still erratic.

“When did you discover this?”

“J-j-just now. In the bathroom.”

Well, it was certainly unconventional, but then, Nikita had never been especially moved by convention. Michael looked at her, eyes moving over her face -- swollen with crying, nose drippy and eyes red, then moved down her shirt -- his shirt. “I have a confession to make,” he decided, and Nikita’s hands faltered.

“Our relationship is part of a mission,” she guessed, eyes wide.

“Nikita, no.”

“You’re gay.”

He didn’t even answer that one, but his mouth quirked up in a rare smile.

“You’re ... married?”

“You are the only one I love,” Michael said, avoiding the question. “No matter what we do for a mission, no matter how we compromise ourselves, you are the only one in my heart.”

Nikita’s eyes dropped, focusing on the inside of Michael’s elbow.

“Do you remember the first mission with Millovich? When we were introduced to him and he assumed you were there for his pleasure?”

Nikita nodded, still not looking at him.

“You put him in his place so neatly,” Michael mused. His fingers laced through hers, his thumb rubbing her wrist. “Before, I felt responsible for you. I didn’t mind working with you, and in fact, took steps to ensure you would remain in Section. It was purely an economical choice. I invested a lot of time in you, and I wanted to make sure you repaid the capital, so to speak. And you were good to have on missions. You were easy to subdue, and once you behaved, the rest of the team did, too.”

Nikita bit her lip and didn’t look at him, but she tried to twist her fingers from his. “Then, something changed,” Michael continued, fingers loosening so she could withdraw. “I stopped thinking of you as a commodity, and started thinking of you as an essential component. But not to the missions, exactly. To me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Her eyes snapped to his, and he pulled her close, chin resting on the top of her head. “I fell in love with you. The minute you put Millovich down, I was a lost man. I’m not proud of the choices I’ve made for us, and I could have helped you more had I not been emotionally attached, but, Nikita, I love you. I have, for a very long time.”

“Then ... how?”

“How do I do the missions?” He thought a moment, then he nodded slowly. “I’ve taught you a lot of things, Nikita. But I think now, it’s time for you to learn a new skill. I’ve always hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but ...”

“W-w-what is it?” She looked frightened, and Michael didn’t blame her. It was scary, what they were doing, and it was dangerous for both of them. Not to mention nerve-wracking.

“Poker.”

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

Michael sat up in bed, the sheet tucked modestly around his waist and his legs crossed comfortably underneath. Nikita sat opposite him, a mug of tea in one hand and a piece of baklava in the other. Between them was a pile of money -- pocket change, mostly, but there were a few big bills mixed in. Michael shuffled the cards twice, Nikita cut the deck, and he shuffled again.

“I already know how to play,” Nikita said, stealing a glance at the clock. It was nearly 3 a.m., and if they went to sleep now, they could have at least three more hours of uninterrupted rest.

“You always lose,” Michael said flatly, dealing the cards. “Poker is more than just a card game. It’s a lesson in subterfuge.”

“What do you mean?” Nikita picked up her cards, and Michael let out a sigh of impatience.

“Give them back,” he demanded, and bewildered, Nikita complied. “You can’t let your face show what you think,” he explained, reshuffling the deck. “I’ve noticed you’ve gotten much better about showing your emotions. But Madeleine can still read you, and Operations always will follow her lead. You have to learn to be blank.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be blank,” Nikita said rebelliously.

“Nikita, you have to be. It’s either that, or we stop seeing each other. It’s your decision.”

“Deal,” she sighed.

“Sure?” He raised an eyebrow and she nodded. Five cards were dealt her, and Michael’s hand came down on her wrist. “Wait.”

Nikita froze, and looked at him quizzically. “What kind of hand do you have?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, confused.

“Could be good. Could be bad. I want you to imagine what your cards are. Now,” he instructed, removing his hand. “Look at them.”

Disappointment flashed over her face. Brief, but discernable. Without a word, Michael flipped the cards from her hand, reshuffled the deck and dealt.

“Try it again,” he said.

This time, there was a small flicker in her eyes. Michael again took her cards, reshuffled and redealt. “Again.”

Nothing. Michael smiled his approval, and the game began.

It was unlike any game Nikita ever played. For one thing, they never got far before Michael took her cards, shuffled them and started the entire hand again. The pile of money in front of him grew. He didn’t go easy on her, and cheating was out of the question. She tried it once, but Michael sternly reshuffled her hand and took half of her money.

“Hey,” she protested.

“This isn’t a game you can cheat at, Nikita,” he said flatly. “Play fair.”

“But you just --”

“Concentrate. And play to win.” Five cards were snapped down in front of her, and Nikita grudgingly took them up.

“Learning about weapons was more fun,” she grumbled.

“Nikita. Focus.”

Silence. The only sound was the clink of coins when they were exchanged and the snap of cards. Even their speech was quiet. “Raise you.” “Fold.” Words spoken in whispers, voices flat and emotionless.

Four o’clock came. Then five. Nikita yawned, then, hoping to distract Michael, she shifted her position, languidly bending a leg so his shirt rode up.

“Nikita,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes from his cards. He tapped her knee and her leg obediently lowered. “Play to win.”

Nikita’s eyes were gritty. This whole night has been an emotional roller coaster, she thought grumpily, staring at her hand. In fact, I think I may have just experienced every emotion a person can ...

“Flush.” Michael lay down his cards.

Okay, well, maybe not quite every emotion. She glared at Michael and handed over her money. She had $21 dollars left. If she played right, he’d win and this whole thing would be over.

“If you lose, we start over,” Michael informed her, shuffling the deck again. “And we’re playing until you win.”

Another hour passed. Nikita’s alarm sounded and Michael, without taking his eyes from his cards, whacked it off. Nikita lost another hand and sighed. “I need a break.”

“No.”

“Michael, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No.”

“You’ll be sorry ...”

He looked at her and grudgingly said, “One minute. I’m timing you.”

“You’re sadistic,” she grumbled.

“Clock’s ticking.” Michael set the timer on his watch, and Nikita stumbled to the bathroom. She was barely able to finish up when Michael pounded on the door.

“Time’s up.”

“I don’t think I like you anymore,” Nikita spat out, brushing past him and trying to ignore the fact that he was naked. “I can’t wait to go into Section and get away from you.”

“We aren’t going in today,” Michael informed her, taking his place on the bed and tucking the sheet around him. “I called in and told Operations we were doing some critical training.”

Nikita snarled at him, and Michael blandly handed her the deck. “It’s your turn to shuffle.”

Nikita looked at the cards in her hand and her lower lip began to tremble.

“Shuffle, Nikita.”

Slowly, she halved the cards and folded them toward each other, but her fingers were off, and part of the deck ended up on the bed. Nikita burst into tears and flung the rest of the deck toward Michael. “I h-h-h-hate you! This is a stupid game and you’re being b-b-beastly --”

Michael reached across the money and the cards and the baklava crumbs and hugged her close. “Hush, Nikita, it’s all right ...”

She managed to get in one well-deserved punch to his midsection before he kissed her, a long, slow, deep kiss, his hands drifting under the shirt she wore, his mouth warm and soft and incredibly erotic. Nikita’s sobs arrested and she enthusiastically returned his kisses, hands sliding up his legs to rest at his hips. “And you said I cheated ...” she mumbled.

He kissed her lips, her eyes, her forehead. “Have you counted your take recently?”

“My ... what?” she asked, tracing the shell of his ear and nipping at his neck.

“You’re pile of money. How much is it?”

She sat back and counted. $61.75. She frowned and counted again. $61.75. “That means you’ve got ...” she did a quick calculation. “$88.25?”

“You’re catching up to me,” Michael said. He reached over and gave her another searing kiss. “I know you’re tired and angry, but just think -- if you’re able to beat me when you’re in this condition, how much better will you play when you’re rested?”

Nikita was silent, looking at the crumpled bills in her hands. “That’s all very nice, Michael,” she said slowly, “But I’m not going to be playing poker with Madeleine ...”

“Trust me,” Michael said, moving back and gathering the cards. “If you can do this ...” He didn’t finish, but he handed Nikita the cards. “Again.”

Resigned, Nikita sighed, shuffled, and dealt.

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

Nikita strolled into Section a little slower than usual. She’d finally won in more ways than one, she thought, and though she felt like laughing out loud, her face was a neutral pale blank. After winning two games in a row, Michael rewarded her -- or had she rewarded him? -- and they spent what was left of the day in bed, making love regardless of the cards, the baklava crumbs or the stray change that worked its way into the sheets. She’d gotten her eight hours and, when she’d woken, Michael had still been there. He was working, but he was present, and, in an unusually domestic turn, he’d even made her breakfast. Of course, it was ice cream ... but since she seldom went grocery shopping, she supposed she was lucky to have anything at all.

“Nikita?” Birkhoff twisted around from his monitor. “Madeleine wants to see you.”

“Thanks.” Boy, talk about timing. Nikita wondered, once again, if Michael was out of his mind. Just knowing how to win a card game didn’t mean you could deceive one of Section’s smartest -- and scariest -- strategists. Nikita took a deep breath and punched in her code, then when the door opened, she stepped inside the room.

Madeleine was trimming her bonsai. Nikita studied her back, attempting to fit the lessons Michael taught her to the situation at hand. “You wanted to see me?” she asked politely.

“Please sit down.”

Nikita obeyed, blocking out her muscles that protested.

“How did your training with Michael go yesterday?”

“My scores were satisfactory.”

“So I understand,” Madeleine smiled and sat at her desk, and Nikita smiled gamely back. “He was a little vague about the exercises ...”

Nikita got a sudden mental picture of Michael and herself, tangled in sheets and each other, and she smiled blandly. “It was a lesson in strategy.”

“Did you learn a lot?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikita said, face still impassive.

“Good.” Madeleine quickly pulled up a file and turned the screen so Nikita could see it. “This is Esmond Taylor. I’ve already downloaded this information to a CD for you ...” she pushed the disk across the table, and Nikita accepted it. “As you know, we’re a little short on mission leaders this week. For reasons that will become apparent to you when you review the file, Michael must ride point on this one. Unfortunately, our other leaders are all out on other missions ... so for this mission only, you’ll be the team leader. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to choose a partner for Michael,” Madeleine said off-handedly. “Because of his history with Taylor, it’s necessary for him to be married.”

“I see. Last time --?”

“Simone accompanied him,” Madeleine smiled, looking into Nikita’s eyes. “They were always very convincing as a couple in love. Unless my intel is incorrect, Taylor still likes to watch. He’ll have them under surveillance, so they’ll be expected to perform every ... activity ... married people do. As mission leader, you will, of course, be expected to monitor them as well.”

Nikita nodded. “How observant is Taylor?”

Madeleine blinked. “What do you mean?”

“If he’s observent, I’ll have to find another Asian that can pass for Simone. If he isn’t, I can choose anyone.”

Madeleine studied Nikita’s face, and slowly said, “I’d suggest an Asian. Samantha, perhaps, or Ping.”

Both women expressed interest in Michael in the past -- Madeleine knew it and so did Nikita. Samantha was perhaps the more aggressive of the two, and she was more attractive. Long, blue-black hair, a slim figure ... she was lovely, and, had she chosen, she could have had any man in Section. What she wanted was Michael. She had a way about her that made Nikita feel inferior -- perhaps it was because she’d been brought up in educated luxury, or perhaps it was because she acted as if she knew exactly what she wanted, and Nikita scarcely ever did.

“Not Ping,” Nikita decided. “She’s too tall, for one thing, and as I remember, Simone was quite small. I’ll take Samantha.”

“You’re sure? She could cause some friction between you and Michael...”

Nikita raised her eyebrows. “Friction? I thought this was a mission, not a dating service. Are you saying Michael won’t be able to perform all the duties of a husband?”

“I’m not concerned about Michael.”

“Then,” Nikita said, smiling sunnily, “I should get to work. If Samantha is on someone else’s team, do I have clearance to pull her?”

“Certainly,” Madeleine said.

Nikita briskly exited Madeleine’s office, and Madeleine sat back in her chair. Slowly, she brought up Nikita’s file and her fingers hovered over the keyboard. How to update it? She’d expected this meeting to be volatile. She’d expected Nikita to protest in Michael’s behalf. Instead, she’d questioned his capability. Not only that, but she apparently was eager to substitute a rival for herself -- for Madeleine knew that with a little bit of editing, the mission could have just as easily included Nikita as a player, rather than a leader.

Madeleine mentioned the monitoring as a personal jab to Nikita. She hadn’t even reacted. It’s almost as if she expected it ... or at least didn’t mind it, Madeleine mused. Then her thoughts took on a decidedly disturbing turn: what if Nikita liked to watch? All Madeleine’s intel indicated that Nikita expected a modicum of privacy for herself, and afforded others the same consideration.

Madeleine rubbed her temples. This mission was meant to be a test for Michael and Nikita, not to mention Samantha, who was treading a fine line between abeyance and the lowest level of performance allowed.

Nikita had been as blank as Michael, though.

Madeleine frowned and again wondered about the training exercise Nikita went through. What exactly had Michael trained her to do? Be a better liar? More lessons in subterfuge?

Or maybe she didn’t really care. Perhaps her crush on Michael had burnt itself out, as crushes usually do.

Realizing that she’d just wasted five minutes thinking about Nikita, Madeleine exited Nikita’s file without making any notes on it. She’d wait. She’d see how the mission played out, then she’d make her notes and suggestions for Nikita’s future.

It was all very curious. Madeleine shook her head again, then called up the perimeters for a mission in Tehran. In no time at all, she was absorbed in the task of extracting a military leader, his two wives and 12 children. Nikita wasn’t forgotten, but she was pushed to the back of Madeleine’s mind as she went over possible scenarios.

Take the children? Split them into a couple of groups? Use an embassy as a cover? Kill the leader and ex-patriot the family?

Madeleine propped her chin in her hand and began the SIMMs.

-end-