FOURTEEN

A dreary fog had rolled in during the early morning hours and now sat heavily over the city of San Francisco. Matched by a misty rain and cool temperatures, the day promised to be uncooperative, encouraging people to stay inside their homes with a hot beverage and some form of entertainment. Most seemed to be heeding the call, as the street remained fairly empty, people more than likely gathered with loved ones, preparing for the upcoming holidays.

Michael sat listlessly in one of the plush armchairs in the sitting area of his and Victoria’s bedroom, legs propped up on the ottoman, mindlessly staring out the window and across the bay. Jazzy renditions of classic Christmas carols played through the in-house speakers and the faint sounds of chitchat and laughter floated up from the kitchen as Victoria and Adam used this lazy, late Sunday morning for baking Christmas cookies. Warm, sweet smells drifted up as a result of their culinary activities and Michael smiled softly at the holiday traditions Victoria had brought into his and Adam’s life.

He had slipped up stairs after breakfast this morning while Adam and Victoria had prepared for their baking extravaganza, leaving them to their fun and seeking some time alone to deal with events of the last several weeks. Since returning from D.C. a few days ago and Adam’s homecoming for winter break a day later, Michael had done his best to put on a good show for his son and lover, having no desire to worry either of them or to answer the inevitable questions that would arise if their concerns were aroused. There was little that could be done over the next several weeks anyway, as it were, until the mission reached closure nor did he want to alert Ferguson to Section’s involvement either by behaving differently.

Then there was Nikita. She had occupied his mind ever since the soiree at the Meridian House. He could not stop thinking about her; she haunted his dreams and invoked memories long forgotten. Of the two situations he found himself dealing with, Nikita and Ferguson, he believed the latter to be the easier of the two. While there was great danger involved in his dealings with Ferguson, at least the situation was black and white. Help Section. Get the bad guy. Go home. Nikita, on the other hand, was not so simple nor had she ever been.

When he walked away from her that day at the train station over twelve years ago, he would have sworn to his dying breath that he would have waited as long as it took for them to be reunited. Reality, however, turned out to be something quite different from grand gestures and painful partings. Years passed and life kept going. He found a permanent home for Adam and himself, challenging work and eventually a close circle of friends. His focus unobtrusively shifted from profiles, targets and mission parameters to PTA, piano lesson, and soccer practice. He adapted to survive, and survival happened to included developing a romantic relationship with another woman.

He had never stopped loving Nikita. His actions were never about that. Nor was it ever about loving Victoria more than Nikita. He just began to realize over the years how much he missed having someone to share his life with – a warm body to wake up with in the morning, someone to share the responsibility of raising Adam, a lover to come home to at night. He never made a conscious choice to be with Victoria over Nikita, but one day while he was out with Victoria for dinner, as friends, he began to realize that maybe he wanted more from her than friendship. The rest just seemed to fall into place after that.

A sudden knock on the bedroom door drew Michael away from his deeply pensive thoughts to see Adam’s head peaking through the doorway, his eyes asking for permission to enter. Gesturing for his son to come in, he watched Adam plop his body down in the armchair opposite himself and sprawled his long limbs every which way. Adam smelled of sugar and spice, his navy blue long sleeve t-shirt dusted in flour and bits of various baking ingredients.

“What can I do for you?” Michael asked his son after a few moments.

“Nothin’,” Adam replied nonchalantly.

“Done with the cookies?”

“Just waiting for them to bake and cool so we can frost them. Wanna help with that?”

“Sure,” Michael answered, “I can do that.”

“Okay.”

As the conversation halted, the sound of the Christmas carols continued to resonate through the room along with the soft patter of rain on the windows. Father and son sat in his respective chair, each seemingly lost in thought.

Suddenly, Adam straightened up and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs and asked abruptly, “Dad…did you love Mom?” in the shy tone of a child who wants to be completely secure in the knowledge that his parents loved one another.

Startled by Adam’s utterly unexpected question, Michael just stared at his son for a moment in silence, rendered a bit speechless. Prodding his father for an answer, Adam asked again, “Did you?”

“Yes…I…,” Michael stuttered, “Why?”

“Did you?” Adam returned, unwilling to be distracted from receiving an answer.

“Yes,” Michael answered, regaining his equilibrium, “I loved your mother dearly. Elena…she was,” he hesitated, attempting to find the words that would express the truth to his son without belying the actual nature of his and Elena’s marriage, “She loved us both so much. There’s nothing she wouldn’t have done for you. She was an incredibly beautiful woman and I’m a better person for having known her,” he finished simply.

Adam merely nodded his head in agreement, as if he had expected his father’s answer to be nothing less. A certain look of satisfaction crossed his face and the worried expression that had taken residence in his young eyes eased slightly.

Reaching out to place a hand on Adam’s knee, Michael softly inquired, “May I ask why you wanted to know? Not that I mind. I’m just curious.”

“Can I ask you something else before I answer?” Adam countered, his gaze focused on the floor, almost shyly.

“Of course.”

Glancing back up to look his father in the eye, a rather pained expression filling his own soft, brown eyes, Adam finally asked a question that had preyed on his mind for years. Softly, he inquired, “Did you have an affair with Nikita while you and Mom were married?”

A sucker punch to the stomach could not have robbed Michael of his breath faster than his son’s last question. Collapsing back against the armchair, Michael exhaled loudly and then massaged the bridge of his nose with his right hand, pondering the significance of the preceding inquiry. Although Michael had a good idea of where all of this was coming from, he chided himself for not being bettered prepared.

In the ensuing silence, as Michael dealt with his son’s question, Adam began to grow antsy and the longer his father took to answer the question, the more he began to fear the reply. When his father continued to remain silent, now staring down at the floor, as if ashamed, Adam answered the question himself, saying, “You did, didn’t you?”

Snapping his head back up to look at Adam, Michael emphatically replied, “No! …No,” revealing only half the truth of course, but he knew it was what Adam needed to know.

“Oh,” his son whispered pensively, almost to himself. “I…I just assumed…from your silence that….”

“That I was guilty?”

“Well…yeah,” Adam replied honestly, if slightly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Adam,” Michael comforted, “You have a right to ask.” He paused briefly, before stating, “Victoria told you more about Washington.”

“Yes.”

“And she told you about the party?”

“Yes,” Adam admitted, then. “Was it her?”

“Was it who?” Michael countered, not trying to be obtuse, but wanting to make sure he and Adam were discussing the same person.

“Nikita, Dad. Was the woman Victoria talked about your Nikita?” Adam asked impatiently.

“Yes.”

“Did you know…?”

“No,” Michael interrupted, “I was completely surprised.”

“Oh,” Adam’s replied.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Adam. I wasn’t trying to keep the information from you,” Michael said honestly, “There just hasn’t been the time since you’ve come home.”

“I know. I figured as much,” Adam returned, giving his father a small smile of understanding. Then he wisely commented, “Something happened there, didn’t it?”

Inwardly, Michael almost laughed to himself, thinking how if Nikita had been here to hear his son’s words she would have said like father, like son, claiming smugly that Adam had his father’s intuitive sense while Michael would have argued he did not believe in intuition. She would have chuckled at his pat reply and promptly corrected herself, saying, “Of course not,” adding that it was Adam’s keen sense of “observation,” which allowed him to be as perceptive as his father, her teasing tone filled with contained mirth. He could hear the husky lilt of her voice so clearly, as if she were standing behind him, whispering in his ear and his heart clenched for a moment, realizing it has been a long time since he had heard Nikita inside his head.

At the sound of a soft rustle from Adam’s jeans as he shifted in the armchair, Michael’s attention was drawn back to the present, remembering that he had yet to respond to Adam’s overly perceptive comment. Dragging the moment out as long as possible, uncertain of what to tell him, he ambiguously said, “Yes, something happened.”

“Something?” Adam repeated, his tone reserved, “Vague much, Dad?”

This time Michael could not hold in the chuff of laughter Adam’s comment provoked, realizing how many similar conversations he had with Nikita so many years ago. His laughter also invoked a look of confusion on Adam’s face since his son could not understand how his last question was at all humorous, but there was little Michael could do to explain the source of his amusement to Adam. Glancing over at his son, he felt a wave of pride wash over him once again, amazed not only at Adam’s perceptiveness, but his ability to understand and accept without great fuss his father’s secretive past, including Nikita.

Realizing he deserved as much truth as he could possibly reveal, Michael commented, “Seeing Nikita again has…changed things,”

“With you and Victoria?” Adam clarified.

“Yes,” pausing, “Among other things.”

Nodding his head, Adam seemed to contemplate this last statement for a moment before zeroing on the real question. “Are you returning to Nikita?”

“I don’t know,” Michael whispered hoarsely, now mirroring Adam’s earlier position, forearms resting on his thighs, head hanging down.

“You still love her, don’t you? That’s what changed in D.C. Seeing her in person reminded you of that.”

Pressing on the edge of his thighs with the heels of his hands, Michael lifted his head to look at Adam and inquired, “When did you get to be so damn smart?”

Adam grinned devilishly at his father, a hint of amusement in his eyes and answered, “Ah…that’s what approximately 20K will get you for a semester’s worth of learning.”

Chuckling at his son’s jest, Michael returned, “So is that how all my money is being put to use? In pop psychology?”

“Yup,” the son intoned joshingly. “But I’m right though, yes?”

“Possibly,” the father answered, hesitantly.

“So I guess then whatever decision you made this summer is suddenly…what? Null and void?” Adam pondered.

“I suppose that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Michael commented. “You know,” he continued, directing a dubious expression at his son, saying, “I don’t think I would’ve ever predicted that in a discussion about love and women that you would be playing Dear Abby to my ‘Confused Reader.’”

Adam just smiled smugly and shrugged his shoulders, causing Michael to shake his head in exasperation at the eighteen year old’s antics.

“Yeah…well, I hear genius runs in the family,” Adam blithely answered, laughing.

Michael just shot him a look of pointed disbelief.

“But really Dad,” Adam continued, “Like I said this summer – do what makes you happy. I’m grateful for Victoria. She’s been the best. But if you’re still jonesing for Nikita, then is that really fair to Victoria? Or you?”

“Are you sure you’re not channeling Dear Abby?”

“Nope. Just my very cool, very wise dad.”

“H’m…,” aforementioned wise father replied, “Smart man – this dad of yours.”

“Yeah, he is,” Adam agreed, pride and love evident in his deep voice.

Michael smiled warmly in response. “But so are you.”

This time it was Adam’s turn to smile in response. Then he added, “Well…that’s my advice. I hope it helps.”

“Yes.”

Adam then rose from his chair and gave his father an enveloping hug, hunching over to reach him in the chair. He then turned and began walking towards the bedroom door. About halfway there he stopped and swiveled back to his father to make one last statement.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“One more thing,” Adam said.

Looking at his son with great curiosity, Michael inquired, “What?”

“There’s something else I’m guessing…about this situation with Nikita,” pause, “Somehow I don’t think you seeing her again, especially after what happened six months ago, is a coincidence. Something else is going on, isn’t there? Something to do with your past…related to those missing two years?”

Michael did not answer, unsure of what to tell Adam.

At his father’s silence, Adam stated, “It’s okay. I get it. You’ve got secrets. There are lots of things about the past I can’t know. Yada, yada…. But promise me something?”

“If I can.”

Cocking his head to the side and scuffing his foot along the carpeted floor, Adam look pointedly at Michael and said, “Someday I would like to know. Where you were those missing years. What really happened in the past. Your involvement with Nikita…,” the last part stated hesitantly, as if he was making his father aware that he had figured out that the timing of his father and Nikita’s relationship had to have occurred while his mother was still alive. “Maybe I can’t know everything. But I would like to know some things,” he finished, the tone of his request clear.

Giving Adam the honest response he deserved, Michael answered, “Someday I hope I can. Because there are some things you have a right to know.”

Satisfied that his father was being truthful and not patronizing him, Adam nodded his head in acceptance and then exited the bedroom, leaving Michael alone once again.

FIFTEEN

A somber twilight stretched out over the skyline; pale pinks, blues and purples colored the dusty horizon as the grayness of an early winter evening rapidly approached. A bitter wind snapped through the crisp air and the bare trees shivered in its wake. The secluded suburb was strangely empty for four o’clock in the afternoon. An almost eerie quiet filled the air without the bustle of adults rushing home from work or children from school. Amidst the approaching December evening, a mysterious black limo with its darkened windows and boxy shape sailed through the streets of the neighborhood.

The limo soon pulled up to a familiar house and headed down the driveway towards the back of the property, providing door-to-door service for its passenger. Once the vehicle came to a halt, a burly white male stepped out from the front passenger’s seat and then paused for a moment, surveying the surrounding area before closing his own door and heading towards the rear of the limo. Crossing around the back of the vehicle to the rear driver’s side door the burly man, clothed all in black and heavily emitting the vibe of a bodyguard, opened the door. As the man held the door open, Nikita exited the limo, wrapped tightly in an ankle-length gray woolen coat, black leather attaché slung over her right shoulder. When clear of the car door, she turned back towards her guard and spoke briefly with him.

“Ma’am,” her guard called out.

“Yes Jordan?” Nikita inquired, referring to her guard by his first name, as was her custom.

“If you’d like, you can go ahead on inside and I’ll bring your luggage in for you,” he politely offered.

Gracing her protector with a grateful smile, she wearily returned, “I would very much appreciate that, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you,” Nikita replied, briefly placing her hand on Jordan’s arm in thanks.

“Welcome,” he answered.

Leaving Jordan to his task, Nikita walked on over to the front door of her home, unlocked the door and entered into the small foyer. Inside lights were already blazing; the security system had been disarmed; and the mouth-watering smells of oregano and garlic wafted through the house. Nikita smiled pleasantly as she placed her attaché in the hallway and hung her coat up in the closet, having a pretty good idea of who was at work in her kitchen. Kicking off her high heels, she scooped them up on her fingers and made her way back to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway a large grin crossing her face as she merrily watched Walter dance around the room, preparing some sort of meal. After a few minutes her position was revealed as Walter glanced in her direction and saw her standing there watching him.

Flashing her a warm, sparkling smile, he winked and said, “Welcome home, Sugar. I hope your hungry.”

Nikita dropped her shoes where she stood and then moved inside the kitchen, replying, “Starved. And it’s good to be home Walter.”

He then put down the knife in his hand and walked over to give Nikita a long, tight embrace, the two just standing there for several heartbeats, absorbing one another’s warmth and love. Pulling back first, Walter gave the woman in his arms a once over, taking in the strained, glassy look of her eyes and the slight hunch of her shoulders. He gently smoothed a withered, calloused hand over her face, brushing some stray strands of hair and said, “You look tired, kiddo.”

“Yeah Walter. I am,” Nikita admitted honestly.

“Well come on,” he replied, tugging her hand and leading her over to one of the stools behind the kitchen counter, “Have a seat. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and you can tell me all about it while I finish dinner.”

“That’s sounds nice, Walter. Thanks,” she returned as she propped herself up on one of the high-back dark chocolate brown suede bar chairs.

“Red or white?”

“White, please.”

“A glass of white coming right up.”

While Walter uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge that he had pulled out of her wine cellar earlier, Nikita asked, “What’s for dinner?”

Glancing up from his sommelier duties, Walter replied, “Your favorite of course.”

“M’mmm…Eggplant Parmesan,” she stated happily, adding in a teasing tone, “You know Walter if I didn’t happen to know better, I would think this was the only thing you know how to cook since it’s what you always seem to make for me.”

“Oh yea of little faith,” he scoffed, placing the glass of wine in front of her. “Keep saying things like that and this might be the last time I make my specialty for you.”

“Oh no, not that,” she countered in a mocking tone.

Walter just rolled his eyes and huffed in displeasure, but he could not keep up the role of insulted chef for long and found himself chuckling along with her. Amidst their laughter, the front door suddenly opened, causing Walter to cease his laughter and look up in concern.

“It’s just Jordan with my luggage,” Nikita explained.

Satisfied, Walter nodded his head in acceptance and then picked up his knife to continue the work he had been in the middle of before Nikita’s entrance, dicing some garlic for fresh garlic bread. Several minutes later footsteps could be heard coming back downstairs and then the door opening and closing one last time as Jordan exited the house for the guards’ quarters above the garage.

“I didn’t see any lights on at the main house. Michelle, Jared and the kids are still out I take it?” Nikita inquired casually.

“Yeah. Michelle is actually working late, so Jared stopped by to say he was taking the kids out for the evening. Said they would see you both in the morning.”

“Okay,” Nikita responded.

“So…,” Walter questioningly intoned, “How did things go?”

“Fine.”

At Nikita’ brevity, Walter looked up and gave her a pointed look that said “fine” was not going to cut it for an answer. Prodding further he asked, “How was your grand coming out?”

Chuckling at her friend’s choice of words, as if her trip to Washington had been equivalent to a debutante’s coming out ball, she answered, “It went well. I think Jonathan was happy with my performance and will duly report so to the Committee.”

Walter harrumphed dubiously at the fact that Nikita still had to perform a ‘dog and pony show’ for her colleagues on the Committee (the oversight board of C.I.I.). Changing the subject, he ventured forth into more sensitive territory. “And Michael?”

“Ah, yes…Michael,” she countered in an evasive tone of voice. “That was….”

“That was what?” he questioned when she trailed off.

“Wonderful and horrible all at once,” she confessed quietly, hands wrapped around the wine glass, as if she needed something to grip for support.

Reaching out to place a comforting hand on her arm, Walter said, “I know, Sugar.”

She smiled affectionately in return, placing a hand on top of his for a moment. Then she let go and continued with the details of her trip.

“He held up well - in spite of the shock. I felt terrible forcing him into such a situation. Having not only to find out in a public place, but then he had to endure introducing me to Victoria and her family,” pausing, she grinned and added in an unsurprised tone, “Of course he handled it all well. He’s still Michael…after all.”

“I can imagine,” Walter responded knowingly, then asked, “How was it, meeting….”

“Meeting Victoria?” she interrupted.

Walter nodded his head yes, concern filling his eyes.

“Not so terrible actually. I was kind of glad to finally have it over with ya know.”

“H’m, yeah, I can understand that Sugar.”

She then paused for a moment, taking a sip of wine and collecting her thoughts. Walter continued to putter around the kitchen, finishing with the garlic bread and sliding it into the second oven, checking the time on the baking Eggplant Parmesan and generally tidying up the kitchen a bit. He knew he did not need to push Nikita to speak. She would give the details when she was ready.

Head hung low, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, causing Walter to pause in his movements and turn his full attention on her. Finally releasing her breathe, she look up at Walter and said, “We danced that night. He specifically sought me out and we danced. And Walter…,” she whispered, as if afraid to confess her next words, “It’s felt so good…to be in his arms. I didn’t know if I could leave him again.”

In her silence, Walter made no move to speak or touch her. He simply waited for her to pick-up her story again.

“We met the next day to discuss the mission. He’s afraid for Adam, which he every right to be. I assured him as best I could that I would let nothing happen. To either of them.”

“And I know he knows you’ll do just that. Hell Sugar, you’re the only person Michael’s ever trusted, heart and soul. I doubt that that’s changed in the last twelve years. No matter what.”

A look of gratitude crossed her face at his words, thankful as ever to have him in her life, offering his love and support. “Thanks Walter. It’s always nice to be reminded.”

“No problem kiddo.”

Resuming her narration, she said, “I ended up asking him to lunch,” her tone of voice repentant, as if her actions somehow made her guilty of committing a sin.

In response Walter pointed out the obvious. “There’s absolutely nothin’ wrong with that!” he challenged her, the romantic in him peaking out behind his question.

“Walter,” Nikita chided.

“I know; I know Sugar. But cut yourself some slack. A mere dance and lunch date hardly qualify as cause for concern,” he countered, “You shouldn’t feel guilty for indulging in a moment’s happiness Nikita. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe,” she consented, “But it was still dangerous.”

“Why? Because of Jonathan? Or because of Michael?”

“No…because of me,” she stated.

“Whadaya mean?” Walter inquired curiously.

“I had a taste, Walter. Now I want more,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a hush and her eyes darting to look out the window, away from her friend’s overly perceptive gaze.

Crossing around the kitchen counter, Walter seated himself next to Nikita, sitting perpendicular to the position of the chair. Gently turning her head back towards his with his hand, he looked her directly in the eyes and said, “You deserve more. And I have a hunch Michael wants more now as well. Our boy never could resist you, Sugar,” at which Nikita smiled indulgently, “Which probably scares you just as much as not getting him back,” pause, “Right?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Well, let me say one last thing on this and then we close the topic for the night if you wish,” his voicing taking on a serious, paternal tone, “The Nikita I know has never been one to back down from anything, no matter how difficult or painful, if it was the right thing to do. And this, my dear, could not be any more right.”

“Oh Walter,” Nikita breathed raggedly. “I don’t know what to think any more,” she commented wearily, dismay clouding her voice.

Rubbing his hand up and down her back, he sympathetically intoned, “Aw Sugar, I wish I could make things less complicated for you.”

Tilting her head towards Walter, she graced him with a dubious glance and huffed out, “Yeah, me too.”

He smiled resignedly at her and then gave her a supportive hug. With one last squeeze, he let go of Nikita and declared, “Alright, enough of this serious discussion tonight. Let’s go pig out on my world famous Eggplant Parmesan,” a comment which earned him a snort of laughter from his companion, “And I can tell you all the gossip I picked up while you were gone.”

Planting a quick kiss on Walter’s cheek, Nikita commented affectionately, “Thanks again Walter.”

“You’re welcome, my girl,” he returned and then they both slide off the bar chairs to go eat dinner.

Chapter 16

The starkly white hallowed halls of Center resonated with the click, click, click of Nikita’s narrow heeled shoes as she strode down the far-reaching corridor leading towards her office. As she approached Khalil’s area in front of her office, she could hear him softly speaking with someone on the phone through the wireless communication unit fitted inside his ear. From her distance the only detail she could determine was that Khalil and the caller were speaking French. Her assistant’s low murmurs prevented her from catching the actual conversation. When she finally came into Khalil’s line of vision, he looked up at her and then asked the person on the phone to hold for a minute.

“I have Stefan on the line. He wants to discuss the Sections meeting with you,” he informed her.

“Fine. Transfer him to my office,” she replied and then placed a disk on the desk, adding, “Here are the numbers we need for the report for Committee.”

“Okay. I’ll add these in for you.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you know when I’m done with Stefan and then hopefully we can get this report finished,” she finalized.

At Khalil’s nod of acknowledgement, Nikita left her assistant to his work, crossing to her office door and punching in the entrance key code. Picking up her communication unit as she passed around her desk, she took a seat and then hit a button to connect her with a waiting Stefan.

Resting back slightly in her chair, she greeted, “How did it go?” forgoing formalities.

“Better than expected actually,” Stefan immediately replied, following Nikita’s lead.

“Well that’s a change,” Nikita returned, a slightly sardonic tone coloring her words, “Don’t tell me Section three and four agreed to work together on developing new interrogation techniques.”

“Actually, yes they did. Both Anais and Chen agreed to the proposal – with a few modifications of course,” he answered.

“Of course. And the modifications were acceptable?”

“Yes. Even an improvement I think.”

“Good. That’s the kind of cooperation I was hoping would develop. What else?” she inquired.

“The rest of the meeting went as expected. Andrea wasn’t thrilled with the change in procedure for the monthly reports, but there’s no worry about compliance,” Stefan reported.

“Yes, I figured as much from Andrea. Once she realizes this will be more effective she’ll be on board. I’m not worried. Anything more?”

“No. The details are in my report and you’ll have that on your desk by the morning.”

“Fine. I’d appreciate that. I’m glad to hear things went fairly well. One less situation to worry about,” Nikita commented, pleased by the success of Stefan’s monthly meeting with the Section heads. “Now if only everything else could go as smoothly.”

“Yeah,” Stefan chuckled, “Now I know you’re asking for too much. I’m still not sure I was at the right meeting today, but not looking a gift horse in the mouth and all.”

Smiling knowingly at his comments, Nikita retorted, “Well the head of a major covert, anti-terrorist organization can hope, can’t she?”

“I suppose so,” he laughed, “I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

“Definitely.”

Switching the conversation to a more personal level, Stefan commented, “I wanted to thank you again for inviting me to spend the holidays with you and your family. I really enjoyed myself.”

A warm smile crossed her face at his kind words and at the pleasant memories they invoked. She returned, “Yes, it was a nice couple of days. And you’re welcome. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”

“I’m glad you’re glad too,” he teased, causing Nikita to laugh out loud, her whole body relaxing at the casual banter. “I’m also glad,” he added in a more serious tone, “That you told me about Washington. I really do appreciate your honesty. I meant what I said in the restaurant that night.”

“I know,” Nikita stated quietly. “That’s why I felt comfortable enough in sharing that with you. Besides, you were right about just being honest. I just hope you understand where I am right now.”

“I do. I didn’t bring this up to pressure you. I hope you know that,” Stefan said, seeking reassurance.

“No, no of course not. I do realize that. I guess I just didn’t…,” she stutter slightly, then regaining her train of thought replied, “I just want you to know how much I appreciate your understanding and your patience. As much as I do want to figure out what’s between us and where this relationship is going, I just can’t. At least not until this situation with Michael is resolved.”

“I know. And you’re right. I didn’t mean to get into all of this at the moment. I just wanted….”

“I know,” Nikita finished, truly understanding the Stefan was merely trying to give her his support and assurances.

“Good,” he said resolutely.

At that moment, the door to Nikita’s office slide open and Khalil entered, a look of apology gracing his countenance. Crossing to her desk, Khalil stated, “Sorry to interrupted. But I think you need to see this,” and then slide a PDA onto her desk.

Nodding her head in understanding, she turned her attention back to Stefan and replied, “Stefan, I’m sorry. Something’s come up.”

“Say no more,” he replied, “We’ll talk later.”

“Thank you,” she returned and then disconnected the call. Glancing briefly at Khalil, Nikita grabbed the PDA off the desk and looked over the information. While she showed no outward reactions, Nikita was surprised by the PDA’s content, to say the least. Looking up again at Khalil she commented, “This is certainly unexpected.”

“Yes.”

“Has the message been verified?”

“Yes.”

Nikita paused for a moment, contemplating Khalil’s answer, weighing her options. Then, “Alright. Go ahead and set-up the meeting for the end of the week. In Paris. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“Fine,” Khalil confirmed before inquiring, “Usual precautions?”

Handing the PDA back to him, she answered, “Yes. I don’t think there’s any concern for extra security.”

“Okay. I’ll go ahead and send your reply then.”

Instructions in hand, Khalil took leave of his superior, leaving Nikita to ponder the strange turn of events brought on by the cryptic message she had just received.

###

Nikita stood patiently in front of the huge floor to ceiling glass windows inside the living room of a high-rise penthouse in one of the many ‘safe houses’ Center owned throughout Paris. She looked down over the city, watching the people navigate their way through their busy lives - the clichés of ants marching along readily came to mind this far up in the sky. Dressed conservatively in a sleek dark brown, pin-striped pants suit with a crisp, v-neckline off-white blouse underneath and plain brown leather heels, hair failing loosely around her face in straightened chunks, she turned from the window to face the interior of the room, surveying the sleek, minimalist décor of black and white with shades of merlot red and deep aubergine splashed in for accent.

In the center of the room sat a chrome and black leather sofa with two matching armchairs to the left of the couch and a matching love seat to the right. A glass and chrome coffee table rested in front of the seating with an identical side table placed between the two armchairs. Underneath the furniture laid a plush crème colored area rug that covered most of the room’s dark, rich hardwood floor. A pair of metal bookshelves stood at the far right hand side of the room, one in each corner decorated with a variety of classic and modern fiction and nonfiction books interspersed with several pieces of pottery, sculptures and glasswork. The room was about form and function, used as a place of business, not for social gatherings or as a place to relax. The only additional ornamentation was several pieces of contemporary and modern art and a few large potted indoor trees placed strategically throughout the room.

The rhythmic clicking of a woman’s high heels on the hardwood floor drew Nikita’s drifting mind back to the present. A young woman in her late twenties stood poised at the edge of the living room. Focusing her attention on the woman in question, Nikita inquired, “Yes Mireille?”

“Your guest has arrived and will be up momentarily,” she informed her superior.

“Thank you.”

Having delivered the information to her superior, Mireille turned back around and returned to the outer lobby area, walking back down the short entrance hallway of the penthouse to wait for the impending guest. During her few remaining moments alone, Nikita gathered her thoughts and prepared herself for what she expected to be an interesting, if not revealing conversation. Before she knew it, the door to the penthouse was opening once again as Mireille entered for a second time with Nikita’s visitor trailing directly behind her.

As her visitor came forward, Nikita traveled the few steps between them, closing the distance, and holding out her hand, greeted, “Hello Fernando. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The elegant figure of Fernando Donatello took Nikita’s proffered hand in both of his and warmly returned, “The pleasure is all mine Madam. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Not at all,” Nikita stated graciously. As Fernando released her hand, Nikita politely inquired, “May I take your coat for you before we sit down?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he replied, placing his attaché case on the floor as he spoke and then shrugged his black woolen coat off his shoulders.

Moving to stand behind Fernando, Nikita helped him slid the coat off and then handed the item to Mireille to be hung up. Mireille the quietly and discreetly exited the penthouse once again as Nikita guided Fernando over to the sitting area. He seated himself on the left side of the couch and in response Nikita positioned herself in the armchair closest to couch. A silver-serving tray rested on the glass coffee table with a pot of coffee and hot water for tea along with the necessary accoutrements. Nikita politely inquired if Fernando wanted anything to drink. He requested a cup off coffee, which Nikita fixed exactly to his liking with a little bit of sugar and cream, having procured the information ahead of time and then a cup of Earl Grey tea for herself. Once they were both settled with their beverages, they turned to the matter at hand.

“I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice Nikita,” Fernando began, “I know you are a busy woman.”

Smiling softly, Nikita courteously replied, “You’re very welcome Fernando. Of course I was slightly intrigued by your request.”

“I imagine you would be,” he commented, chuckling softly at her understatement, “I hate to play things so cloak and dagger, but I felt I needed share my information with you in person.”

“I see,” she stated neutrally. Then cutting to the point, “What would this information be?”

Fernando gently placed his cup and saucer on the glass top in front of him, a twinkle of admiration in his eye for Nikita’s directness and then leaned over to pull a folder out of his attaché case resting at his feet. Holding the folder in his lap, Fernando began to offer his accommodating host an explanation.