Neighbor is inspired by two things:

1. The line Michael says in Opening Night Jitters in the hospital when Nikita asks him where Adam is. He says "with a neighbor." This is the story of who that neighbor might be.

2. BetsyG and her beautiful journals have inspired me to try my hand at first person singular, and if the style is reminiscent of BetsyG's writing, it is definitely deliberate. This is not meant to rip her off, but as an experiment for me to learn from the best. Thank you, BetsyG, for your inspiration.

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

It’s funny, but all those old cliché’s are really true. You know, all those old sayings, those old wives’ tales, the trite, stale things you hear over and over, and never quite believe until they are happening to you, and then they don’t sound so trite and stale anymore. Not when you are in the middle of them, right in the maelstrom, when life has thrown you in at the deep end of sh*t creek without the hope of a paddle….

It really is true what they say. When you’re about to die, your life REALLY, honestly DOES flash before you. Like now, here, right this instance, as I’m lying here on Michael’s couch in Michael’s apartment with Michael’s gun pointed at my head, watching him tremble, with his finger on the trigger, seeing the look of pure sorrow and regret on his face, it’s all coming back to me. Everything, my whole life, all the circumstances that have led up to this last final moment-

Oh, I don’t mean I am reliving my infancy or childhood, or every moment of high school, or even college, or what came after. No, mercifully, my memory has not subjected me to THAT. No, what time has slowed down and presented me with in this last, almost eternal moment, is a sort of overview of the salient points of this encounter with destiny, like, for instance, the first time I met Michael, when he kissed me, and I felt his warm breath on my neck, whispering soft words in French in my ear, with his hand on my breast, the feel of his burgeoning erection pressed against me in the dark, the erection meant for someone else….

But that came later. Long after I was already involved in Michael’s life, even though I had never met him. I was already in love with him, a little, anyway, or maybe with the idea of him. Perhaps because I was already hopelessly in love with an incredibly wonderful bit of magical human charm in the form of a child. A child named Adam. And Elena.. I couldn’t help but love Elena, too, after all she did for me, saving my life and all…

It was all so simple, really. Not a complicated story to understand, I see that now, now that my life is flashing before my eyes, like a slide show of separate images with the projector set on super-high speed…

Yeah, it’s all clear. Why I’m lying here, staring into the barrel of a gun, a gun held by a dead guy (he is supposed to be DEAD, but somehow he isn’t at all) about to have my brains blown out by this beautiful green-eyed stranger with the sad face, so very sad….

And you know what? I’m sad, too. Because now my life is over, because I shouldn’t have been so stupid to follow him like I did, but I just had to see, had to know if the ghost that I saw was real…

God, I don’t want to die, not now, not by HIS hand, after all he has meant to me and…

Deep breath. Okay, while time has stopped here for me, maybe I can sort it all out. Maybe I can explain it all, to myself, as well as to you. Because it HAS to make sense, if I start at the beginning….

The beginning. WHEN was that? Oh yes, I think I know when that was. That summer day when the most beautiful dark-eyed angel toddled into my life….

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

You see, to understand, you must know how things were with me that summer. The summer from Hell. Rob and I- Rob, that’s my husband- had finally found the house of our dreams, a Tudor charmer in the suburbs, with real trees and grass and a big back-yard for our little boy, Roger, to play in. There was even a nice family next door, the Samuelle’s, with their own little boy for ours to play with. It was perfect, as perfect as it could be. Rob would commute to the city, I would stay home and write, and Roger would grow up in that beautiful, beautiful house that we all loved….

Well, it was perfect. It was a beautiful dream, until the plane crash….

Forgive me, I really didn’t want to remember this part. I’m only explaining it now, because without knowing this about me, you will never understand the rest. The part about Michael, and why met him, why I encountered Adam and Elena at all, why I even went on living after that…

Deep breath again. I’ll grit my teeth for a few minutes and then force myself to let go of the breath I’m holding. Choking sigh. Okay, I think I can go on. You see, I wasn’t really living at all after my husband and baby died in that fiery inferno of twisted metal that used to be a plane. The only reason I didn’t go with them on the trip to visit Rob’s parents was because I had to stay behind and sign papers to close on our beautiful house, our house of dreams….

The same day I was the new owner of a new home for our family, I didn’t have a family anymore. How ironic is that? Fate is really twisted sometimes, you know that? And cruel, very cruel. As cruel as what something called Section did to Michael…

But I digress again. Okay, let me get back to my story. The beginning, the day I met Adam.

The movers were scheduled the day after the funeral. I was too numb to cancel them, and too stunned with my loss to figure out what else to do than let them come. The lease on the apartment was up anyway, and I had no other place to go. No place but the new house that should have been filled with children’s laughter, and warmth, and nights of love-making with Rob, and the smell of Christmas trees, and summer flowers from out garden and..

Well, you can imagine the rest. Or maybe you can’t. The silence. The silence of that house was deafening, that big, beautiful, cruelly empty house. I unpacked everything, kept myself busy, even though each box unwrapped, each item from the past life when I had them with me wounded me anew.

The clothes were the hardest. The box of suits for Rob’s closet still had his scent on them, and I stuffed them roughly into the closet that was his, trembling and teary-eyed, shaken to the core. But it was the little t-shirts and sleepers and play-clothes that Roger would never wear that left me completely undone, collapsed on the nursery floor, sobbing until I fell asleep from exhaustion, crying hard for hours, from the afternoon into the night. I didn’t even bother turning on the lights, just laid down on top of all those beautiful- smelling tiny little clothes and passed out from the pain….

I woke up at three in the morning, still exhausted and confused. Numbly, still in the dark, I tidied up, put the clothes away, each little reminder of pain, each little garment tucked neatly, uselessly into the drawers and stowed away, never to be used. I took my time, moving slowly, dazed, zombie-like, but mercifully numb.

Still dazed, I shut the door on Roger’s room and went downstairs to make some coffee. It should have been booze, but I had never developed a taste for liquor, something I regretted now. I would have welcomed oblivion, even in a temporary form. Coffee was the strongest drug I had in the house, so I made that. A full pot, enough for Roger and me both, out of habit. But now I had no one to share it with. Damn, I hated that house. Every goddamned thing in it was a reminder that my life was over.

That’s why I took my coffee cup and wandered into the backyard. I had to get out of that house. Had to. The dawn was arrestingly beautiful, so beautiful that while I paused to look at its pink and gold and magenta glory, I almost felt good again. I almost felt alive again, almost felt just a teeny glimmer of hope….

I stepped further into the lush backyard, with its pretty trees and flower beds, with the birds starting to twitter in the shrubbery, and the cool morning air raising gooseflesh on my arms. I cradled the warmth of the hot coffee in my hands and strolled on, trying to ignore the swing set that the movers had assembled and placed in the yard, mistakenly thinking that a child would live here to use it. I turned my head resolutely from the sight of the my dead child’s play area and rushed on, striding quickly to the end of the hedge, where a tall stand of Leyland cypress, all dark bluish green, lush but solemn, divided our property from the neighbors, the Samuelle’s.

That’s when I heard it. A splash, and then a whimper, and then a soft cry. Then more splashing, then silence. An awful, awful silence…

Awakening from my trance, I realized what was happening next door and ran, throwing my coffee cup to the ground and pumping my legs as fast as they would go. I bounded through the soft screen of cypress, only to find a brick wall directly behind the trees, blocking my way. The wall was only five feet high, and I scrambled over it, scraping myself up in the process, but quite unconscious of my injuries, or of the fact that my knees and elbows were bleeding until much, much later.

Breathless, I landed heavily on the other side of the wall, in the neighbor’s yard, the neighbors I hadn’t met yet, and saw what I did not want to see.

More horror. Another child, another dead little boy, like Roger…

Or, at least, I thought he was dead. He looked it, floating face down and still in the pool like that, his dark hair fanning around him, his little flannel baby sleeper clinging to him, making him seem smaller than he was…

I dove in. I can’t even swim, not really. Can’t do anymore than dog paddle, actually, and have never had the courage to go all the way to the deep end of the pool. Usually, I kind of stay in the shallows and pretend that I know how to swim, but I don’t. But this time, none of that past experience mattered. This time, when I needed the skills, they were somehow there, provided for me by Providence, or angels, or Fate, I don’t know which. All I know is, I dove in, swam to him, grasped the little, limp body in my arms, and swam back to the edge of the pool.

I don’t remember getting him out of the pool, or really very much else after that. I think my mind has mercifully blocked out the next bit, when I struggled to breathe life back into the bluish tinged lips in that sweet, dead-looking face. What I do remember is that glorious moment when Adam finally breathed on his own, coughing, and opened his beautiful brown eyes, looking up at me with such trust and sweetness and…. love…

I screamed then. Screamed, in a good way. For life, for Adam, not for my own grief. I screamed for someone to help me! please help me! please call 911….

Elena came running then, her nightgown flowing around her legs, her dark eyes wide with fear, her long hair streaming behind her. Her face was as white as the pretty flower boxes on either side of her back door that had just slammed behind her. She screamed, too. "Adam! ADAM! MY GOD, NO!."

I surprised myself again that remarkable day by talking to her calmly, as if I hadn’t just been screaming from terror, too. "He’s okay," I told her gently, even though I was gasping for breath. "He’s breathing on his own, but I think a doctor needs to look at him…"

Elena nodded then, her eyes filling with tears. She gathered me in her arms, and since I was holding Adam, it was a three way embrace, the warm, definitely breathing, most positively alive child between us forming a bond, a new connection, feeling a baby against my breast again healing me somehow….

"Thank you…" Elena sobbed raggedly, rocking both Adam and me in her arms, comforting us both. "Thank you…."

I started to cry, too, and then, to our great joy, so did Adam. He set to wailing loudly between us, proving there was nothing wrong with those precious little lungs…

Elena and I laughed and cried at the same time, went on rocking each other, and the baby between us. She was a remarkable woman, that Elena. I think in that moment, even though she knew nothing about me, or my need, she determined to share her baby with me, to give me, perhaps instinctively, what I most needed in the world to survive- her friendship, and the chance, a second chance, really, to watch a little boy grow up, to be part of his life.

She always felt she owed me, but I saw it differently. It wasn’t I who saved Adam’s life, but HE who had saved ME….

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

Well, that was how it all began. My close friendship with my neighbors. Elena learned that Adam was capable of getting out of his crib and getting downstairs on his own, on his little three year old legs. He was also capable of opening the back door by himself, the clever rascal. That trying to drown himself incident must have shaken her badly, but she never showed Adam how frightened she was, never spanked him or yelled at him afterwards for what he did. Histrionics were never her style. She was much too refined and genteel for that. She dealt with the problem in her own classy way. She had new dead-bolt locks put on the doors and within a week, the swimming pool was gone, filled in with lots of dirt to make more flower beds and room for a swing set. Elena always seemed to handle things gracefully and efficiently.

She was that way with me. She wasn’t bossy, but she always seemed to manage to get things where she wanted them. Including me. Before I knew it, she had incorporated me into her life. She took me under her wing, so to speak, looking out for me. For instance, when the doctor came to the house to examine Adam (only a woman like Elena would know a doctor who made house-calls) she insisted that the doctor take a look at me, too. I protested at first, but then gave in. It felt good, really, to sit on one end of Elena’s living room couch, her and Adam on the other, wrapped in a warm blanket, while the doctor tended to me, cleaning my scrapes and cuts, and taking my pulse. Reaction set in before he was half through with his examination, and I started crying again. Feeling stupid, I was grateful when the doctor insisted that he give me a shot to calm me down, and that I should get a good long rest.

Thus it was that I spent that day out of my own hateful house and in hers, sleeping the afternoon away in Elena’s guest bedroom bed. I woke up at twilight, feeling distinctly more human (I don’t think I had slept more than a few hours a night since the plane crash) and hungry for the first time in days.

Elena fed me when I wandered downstairs, and I submitted to her more powerful will, letting her seat me next to Adam’s high chair at the big table in the kitchen, and feed us both warm soup and home-baked bread, bathing us in her love and her calm regard. Elena’s grateful smile was sustenance enough for my aching heart, but my body was hungry and I ate two bowls of soup, and I helped spoon Adam’s portion into him, which fed my soul even more.

She let me rock Adam to sleep in the living room ,and then let me put him to bed, the sweet warm weight of baby boy against my shoulder somehow breaking my heart but healing it at the same time. I went home that night to my own house, my own bed, and slept peacefully as the little boy next door, my dreams nebulous and serene, with no images of plane crashes or drowning children to haunt me. I think Adam and Elena saved my soul, my poor, battered, shredded, soul.

But what about Michael, you may ask? When did I meet him, and how did we end up in bed?

Well, that is a long story, too, but a simple one.

I think I need to take another deep breath….

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

Michael, oh my. How to begin? Well, you see, I didn’t meet him for a long while. Elena and I were fast friends, and she trusted me with Adam, letting me help her, letting me baby-sit him, letting me stay overnight in the house frequently, sometimes with her there when Michael was gone, sometimes alone with Adam when she wanted to be gone to a conference or play or event out of town. She even let me stay alone with Adam, even after she learned of my circumstances, and how I was so recently bereaved of my own child. Elena never looked at me like I was a grieving nut-case. She always respected me, trusted me, with her son, her house, her very life. She trusted me with everything but Michael.

Or maybe it just seemed that way. I had known Adam and Elena for months, and never once saw Michael, even though I knew he was home off and on during that time. Elena would get all excited when she knew he was due home, and I think the fact that she got to see him so seldom due to his job made her particularly jealous of sharing what little time he did have to spend with them with anyone else, even me, her best friend in the neighborhood.

Elena just sort of disappeared for a few days whenever Michael was home, and I didn’t blame her. If my Rob had still been alive, I would have been very cherishing of the time we had together, too. I saw Michael’s picture around her house, and glimpsed him a few times getting out of the car in the driveway, and I was impressed with what a compelling attractive man he was. From how Elena described him, I knew he was gentle and caring and sweet, and that the two of them were deeply in love. I held no bitterness in my heart, or resentment toward her because of her more preferable circumstances. Elena had been too good a friend for me to feel anything like that. I did feel, however, a sort of painfully sorrowful envy, when I thought of how it must be for her to have Michael, so sweet and handsome, in her arms, on those nights when he came home to her, and she did not visit me. What deliriously sweet reunions those nights must be.

I’m sure Michael knew of me, knew of my existence, and that I had saved his child from drowning, and was now his wife’s best friend. Flowers arrived from him shortly after the incident, a beautiful bouquet of tulips and freesia and, perhaps appropriately, baby’s breath. Along with the flowers was a card, thanking me briefly, but sincerely for what I had done. A very gallant man, our Michael. And very devoted to his wife, and his son. I knew some day it would be a thrill to meet such an honorable and dreamily handsome man.

When I did at last meet Michael, in bed, no less, it was nothing like I had anticipated. And, believe me, it was nothing like how either of us wanted it to be. If I could have taken it back, had it to do over, I would exchange our awkward, mutual horror for some ordinary, boring meeting anyday. In a heartbeat. But, like my encounter with Adam, my meeting with Michael was destined to be just as dramatic. I wonder if that was a curse/blessing of the Samuelle men, of whatever age. Who knows?

It started out simply enough. And totally innocent on both our parts. I was babysitting Adam for the night while Elena had gone on the spur of the moment into the city to attend the theater with some old college friends. I gladly jumped at the chance to spend more time with Adam. He adored me, and frankly, the feeling was totally mutual. He was a delightful, utterly charming child. No child could have been more perfect, unless, of course, my own son Roger had lived. Then there would have been two perfect children in the world.

This particular night, Adam had had one of his bad nightmares, and after about an hour of rocking him in the chair in his room, and cuddling him in bed, saying soothing things, I had finally gotten the little guy to settle down. He clutched my hand and looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes before I could slip from the bed to go back to my own bed in the guest room down the hall.

"You’re too far away…." He whimpered. "I miss you. I miss Mama and Daddy next door…"

I smiled at him and patted is hand. "What if I sleep next door, just on the other side of the wall, okay?" I compromised, knowing Elena was trying to get Adam to sleep alone at night in his own bed. If it was up to me, I would have curled up with him for the remainder of the night, cuddling til dawn, but I knew that’s not how Elena would have handled it.

Adam smiled, and let out a contented sigh. "You’ll sleep in Mommy’s bed?" he asked with hopeful eagerness. "You promise?"

I laughed and kissed him on the nose. "Yes, Darling, I promise. Right next door, in Mommy’s bed." Then I leaned forward, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably at it, as usual. I always had a hard time being stern with him.

"Go to sleep now," I ordered in mock gruffness.

Adam smiled again, seeing right through this ruse. "Yes, Nancy," he said meekly, his brown eyes closing sleepily. "I will…"

I stayed with him for the full forty-five seconds it took for him to fall asleep, and then I kissed him good-night again on the cheek, knowing with amazement that in a few short years he would no longer cherish kisses from his Nancy like he did now, but would be craving them from girls his own age. Better to get in all the kisses I could before that happened, I reasoned.

So, with one last light smooch on his forehead, I left the room, and turned out the light. I almost wandered back down the hall to my own room again, but then I remembered my promise to Adam to sleep nearby in Mommy’s bed.

I went next door and turned the handle, and pushed open the door. I had been in Elena’s bedroom many times before, but never alone, and never to sleep through the night. Without turning on the light, I tossed my robe aside on a nearby chair, and slipped underneath the big down quilt. I was immediately surrounded in warmth and comfort, and was glad that my nightie was a short, thin one. It would have been too hot under there in flannel. In a moment, I was drifting off into sleep, with just the top of my head visible above the big bulky all-concealing comforter. I guess that’s why when Michael came home to surprise Elena in the middle of the night, he mistook me for her…..

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

So, there I was, sleeping peacefully, and with no dreams or nightmares to bother me. That was something Adam and I had in common, all those nightmares. I don’t know what the poor little guy had nightmares about. Monsters and goblins, maybe. I know my bad dreams were of plane crashes and funerals and empty nurseries, empty marital beds, but sometimes I dreamed I was an old, old lady, with Rob a grizzled old man by my side, bent and gray-headed, but still with that same old twinkle in his eye when he looked at me. And I would dream that we old folks were going to visit the great-grand-kids on Sundays, all six of them, the ones that all looked like their dear old grandfather, Roger, our son, who had lived such a long full, happy life…

Those were the worst nightmares of all. I usually had to cry all day after I dreamed that one.

Anyway, there I was, sleeping, not dreaming, when Michael came home and went to bed. With me. Granted, he was in his own room, in his own house, thinking it was his own wife and not his neighbor curled up in the center of the big bed. So it wasn’t his fault. Not a bit. And it wasn’t my fault that I was sleeping so heavily after a full day of playing hard with a three and half year old, and didn’t wake up until Michael was lying naked behind me, his lean warm length pressed up against me, his hands on my hips and my breasts, whispering in my ear in a melodious passion-rough voice his entrancing, incomprehensible, but incredibly plain in their meaning, love words in French…

I must admit at first I thought I was dreaming again. But usually my erotic dreams, when I did have them, were of Rob panting in my ear, or sometimes Mel Gibson kissing me, but whenever these two dream lovers spoke to me, it was never in French. And Rob never felt like THIS, not like Michael did. Rob knew my body well, and had some pretty clever techniques to please me, and a good imagination, too, and sometimes when he…

But I digress. Sorry. Back to Michael. Anyway, my point was, in comparing them, Rob and Michael, they were so different. There was an intensity to Michael, a fierce darkness, and insistent power in the way he caressed me, in the way his clever hands pushed aside my nightgown, in the way he pushed that powerful hot throbbing length of himself against my buttocks, caressing me with his hard maleness as well as those firm hands…

I must have whimpered then, even as I snuggled closer, wriggling my soft back-side against his hard front, and clutching his hand firmly to hold it on my breast, so he wouldn’t stop what he was doing. Confused, I turned my head over my shoulder, blinking slowly awake, and groaned out a name.

"R-Rob….?" I gasped, still bewildered from sleep, and in a passion-drugged haze. I thank God to this day that I didn’t call out for Mel Gibson in that moment—I knew I would have been even more humiliated and embarrassed than I was afterwards if that had happened. And Mel isn’t French, anyway, is he?

It’s hard to say which of us was more shocked when our eyes met, and we both realized with horror our mistake. He wasn’t with his wife and I wasn’t with my husband. It might have been funny, you know, looking back. But neither of us saw anything humorous in the situation at the time, then or since.

We both froze, but Michael recovered first. In a moment, I found myself flipped on my back, Michael on top of me, holding me down with his hands on my neck, looking intently into my eyes. I looked up into his, and the look that he gave me frightened me to the core. Elena had described Michael so many times to me as good and gentle, and sweet and kind, and I had an image of him as being sort of… well, tame, I guess you could call it. Not wimpy, you know, or sissy, just… tame. Like an old house cat that had been well- broken in.

But there was nothing tame or safe or even gentle about the way he was holding me now, the way he was looking at me. This was no damn house-cat, but an honest to God jungle animal. Michael may have been elegant and refined, like a panther is elegant, but no one would mistake such a creature as TAME. And Michael was just like that. Dangerous, very dangerous. He was regarding me intently, appraisingly, studying me, as if he were a jungle cat who had discovered some new species of prey and was deciding if its captive was edible or not. Or if I was a threat. His green eyes glittering in the dark were like a panther’s, too. I have to tell you I was really scared. I mean, REALLY, really scared. I sensed instinctively that my life hung in the balance just then. I didn’t know how I knew it, I just did. If I made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, he would tighten that firm grip he had on my throat, and it would all be over….

So then I did what most people do when they’re scared out their minds. I screamed.

Or, at least, I tried to. I opened my mouth and took in enough air to really yell, but before I could let out any noise, his hand was over my lips, pressing down. The feral green eyes came closer, boring into mine, just inches away. I let out a muffled whimper and struggled beneath him, panicking. I was sure he was going to snap my neck….

"Hold still," he whispered, his voice calm and surprisingly… polite, the words uttered levelly, almost like a request, although his air of command was unmistakable. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my room? Where is Elena?"

He moved his hand away from my mouth then, to allow me to answer. I gasped in a great gulp of air and tried to speak, fear making my mouth dry and my tongue feel about three sizes too big. "I-I… uh… I.." I choked out incoherently, and then began to cry. I couldn’t help it. He really frightened me so I could hardly get out a word, if my life depended on it, which it probably did. I just lay there sobbing like and idiot and letting out little frightened squeaking sounds.

He released me then, letting me sit up against the headboard while he sat back on the bed, casually pulling the quilt over his naked lap in act that was more efficient than modest. He reached for the nightstand and retrieved the glass of water that stood there, and now, his eyes gentle, not glittering like before, he offered the drink to me.

"Drink that, and then tell me who you are," he said very gently, the panther looking tame once more. I guess he had decided I was harmless, and that he wouldn’t kill me after all.

I did as I was ordered, gulping down the contents of the glass while still blubbering a little. When I finished it, he took it from me and set the glass back on the nightstand. His eyes never left mine.

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and then began babbling out the explanation he had demanded.

"I’m Nancy," I squeaked out, still a little breathless. "Nancy Farrington, from next door," I elaborated further. "Elena got a last minute call from her university friends about a ticket to the opera, an extra one they had, so she decided to go, and spend the night in the city, cause she wouldn’t be back til real late…"

Michael relaxed, and then he smiled slightly. It was a beautiful smile, so dazzling and sweet, that I almost forgot how frightened I was of him before.

Almost.

"You’re here to baby sit Adam, then," he responded softly.

I nodded, speechless.

He tilted his head, regarding me thoughtfully. "Why were you sleeping in our bed?" he queried gently.

I blushed, remembering the rather wanton response I had made to his advances just minutes before. I bit my lip and looked down at my lap, my fingers plucking nervously at the comforter. "I was planning to sleep in the guest room, but Adam had a nightmare, and when I finally got him calmed down, he was still upset because you and Elena weren’t here, and he said I was too far away," I babbled. "So I promised him I’d sleep close by, in his Mommy’s bed, so I’d be near…."

"I see." The answer was a gentle whisper, the soft voice tinged with amusement, and perhaps relief. I flinched, wondering if her were laughing at me, or at himself for thinking I was a threat in the first place.

"I’ll go," I said abruptly, feeling decidedly uncomfortable, not to mention totally embarrassed, and still, I admit it, more than a little spooked by this dangerous man. I wriggled off the bed and clutched frantically for my robe on the bedside chair, very conscious of how much the short nightie didn’t cover. I threw the garment on and then turned to leave. Bolting like a frightened deer, you might say.

Before I could walk past him to the door and make my escape, Michael leaned forward and caught my wrist in his firm grip, stopping my flight.

"Don’t go yet," he said in the sonorous French-tinged sultry voice. I dared to raise my eyes to meet his. He wasn’t laughing, mocking me anymore. His expression was deadly serious. "Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs," he invited gently, his tone almost coaxing, as if he knew I was still a little scared of him. Okay, I admit it. MORE than a little scared. Still terrified.

"I’d like to talk to you, okay?" he pleaded. His hand still gripped my wrist.

I lifted my eyes to look into his and took a deep breath for courage. "Okay," I agreed meekly, with a soft sigh.

This answer seemed good enough at last, and he finally let me go. I bolted from the room, snatching up my overnight bag from the floor as I went, and then, dignity forgotten, ignominiously ran for the safety of the guest room.

Once there, I locked the door and fought to get my breath. Trembling, I dressed quickly in my jeans and sweat shirt and ran a comb through my hair. The mirror over the dressing table showed that my face was puffy and red from crying, and my eyes seemed wider than usual, as if too large for my face. I guess that’s what fear does to you. Believe me, it’s no beauty treatment, that’s for sure.

I took me a full five minutes to gather my courage to open the door and slip downstairs. I think if I had had a way to do it, I would have slipped out the guest room window and avoided this confrontation altogether, but the room was on the third floor, so escaping that way was not an option.

I found Michael waiting for me in the big kitchen, dressed in black, his hair smoothed and combed, looking very controlled, as if he had not just been writhing on the bed with me a short time before.

He had made coffee, and was just pouring us each a cup. He looked up at my entrance, and smiled the charming smile again. It crossed my mind that he was even more dangerous like this, when the panther was in this perhaps deceptively docile mode.

"Please sit down," he invited warmly, the green eyes soft and friendly.

Warily, VERY warily, I took the offered cup from the panther and sat down at the table, wondering just how sharp and deep were those sheathed claws of his….

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

He took his cup and settled in the chair opposite mine, his movements pure feline grace. "I frightened you," he stated softly, his tone apologetic and gentle.

I let out the breath I was holding, and let myself relax a little. I even managed to lift my eyes to meet his and smile just a little, too. "Yes, you sure did," I admitted frankly.

He smiled back. "I’m sorry." The words came out with genuine sincerity, and I relaxed a little more, and took a big gulp of my coffee.

"It’s okay," I responded with a shrug, dismissing it. "No big deal," I lied, perhaps not convincingly.

"No, but it is," he protested, and then leaned forward to rest his hand briefly on mine. I stiffened, and looked up into his face, saying nothing, only waiting tensely for him to go on.

"I truly regret upsetting you, Nancy, " he said, my name sounding like music on his tongue. "You are important to my family, and to me," The green eyes darkened with what I thought was grateful tenderness. "You saved my son’s life," he continued in that same sincere tone. "Elena had told me what a good friend you are, and how much Adam adores you…"

I closed my eyes for a minute, and then nodded. "I adore him, too," I confessed softly. "And Elena, as well. She’s been very good to me, since.. since……" My throat closed up on me and I was unable to go on.

Michael squeezed my hand. "I’m sorry about your family, Nancy," he told me gently. "Very sorry."

Tears blurred my vision, and I looked away, blindly. "Thank you," I choked out.

"I apologize for being so …. aggressive with you, but when it comes to my family’s safety, I am perhaps a little over-protective," Michael explained intensely. I was glad he apologized just for the roughness, and didn’t mention the sensual stuff that had come before. I suppose he did it to spare me more embarrassment, and I was pathetically grateful for his tact. I was feeling somewhat shaken and unsettled, and I was profoundly glad to let that subject drop as well, believe me.

"It’s okay," I told him again. "No harm done." I took another big swig of coffee, wishing it was booze again, feeling the need for Dutch courage.

I looked up at him again, and forced out the next words. . "Is it okay if we don’t tell Elena about… about…." I stammered to a halt, blushing. "I don’t want her to be hurt by what was just a simple…. misunderstanding…. between us….." I stared pleadingly into his face. "Can we just pretend it didn’t happen and …. start over?"

Michael nodded solemnly. "Agreed," he said quickly, his voice tinged with relief. "Thank you," he added in a heartfelt tone.

I looked up at him, surprised. Could it be that he was just as embarrassed as I was? Could it be that he was…. Shy? Or was there something else he was …hiding?

I stared at him, more than a little intrigued by this puzzle of a man called Michael. He was damned interesting, that was for sure. Even if he was pretty spooky.

Spooky… hmmm. I wondered if I was on to something here. Michael, despite what Elena believed, was more than just an ordinary businessman. I was sure of it. Something about the deadly grace with which he moved, the James Bond-like move he had used on me, the way he had talked about "safety" when I’m sure he meant "security" instead….

I cocked my head to the side and smiled at him, taking a stab in the dark.

"So, tell me, Michael," I hazarded, unaware of the effect my words would have on him. "How long have you been in deep cover?"

His response was instantaneous. He went white, his smile fading abruptly as his face settled into a blank mask. The next moment, he had pulled a gun from his jacket and thrust it under my chin, the cold barrel digging into my throat..

My eyes bugged out of my head in shock, and I know I would have peed my pants from fright if I hadn’t just gone to the bathroom right before coming into the kitchen. As it was, I felt all the liquid inside me turn to ice, my blood feeling solid and cold, my throat closed up, and as cold as the gun pressed into my skin.

"What did you say?" Michael hissed, his eyes no longer warm and friendly, all cordiality gone. The rampaging panther was back.

I closed my eyes and groaned. Great, Nancy, I told myself. You sure hit the jackpot with that stupid guess. Now you’ve really done it, I derided myself. Maybe you can figure out a way to get through this evening without getting yourself killed…..

Michael jabbed the gun harder into my flesh. "Answer me," he spat out. "NOW."

I opened my eyes and started babbling again. "Deep cover," I choked out. "You’re in the FBI or something like that, aren’t you? You seem to be too edgy about security, too hyper-alert to be just an ordinary businessman, so I figured you had to be an undercover cop or something…." I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry, and begged for my life with my eyes.

"Oh God, please, Michael--- It was just a guess, I swear. I don’t know anything about you, really….." I assured him breathlessly. "You just seemed a lot like one of Rob’s brothers who was in NSA and could never talk about what he did all day…." I babbled, hoping he would believe me.

He did. Maybe he realized I wasn’t clever enough to lie, that only an honest person would have blurted out all that, made all those blunders. A REAL spy would have probably- okay, CERTAINLY- handled things much cooler than me. A real lady spy would have probably not been afraid at all, would not have cried like a baby, would not have fled the bedroom like a scared rabbit. Hell, a real spy would probably have found a way to sleep with him and make witty repartee afterwards, would have been really cool and sophisticated not a walking/talking disaster like me…

Suddenly, to my untold relief, the gun was lifted away from me. I slumped in my chair, trembling, all my joints feeling like jello.

"All right," Michael whispered softly, clicking the safety back on the gun and putting it back in the holster under his jacket. "I believe you."

I gasped out a strangled cry. "You ..do?" I blubbered, feeling very much like crying again.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me speculatively. What he was thinking, I had no idea. I was totally unprepared for what he said next.

"You’re a very perceptive woman," he said levelly, tilting his head to regard me thoughtfully. "I think you might be able to help me."

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

I blinked. Then I think my mouth fell open. I’m sure I gaped at him stupidly. MICHAEL needed help from ME???? This did not compute- the idea of it totally stunned me. Here was Mr. Suave Super Spy asking me, ME! - emotional wreck and original scared chicken- to help HIM? I shook my head in disbelief. How could this be?

"My… help?" I choked out, almost incoherent with shock. This was about as articulate as I was capable of being in that moment.

Michael nodded, and leaned forward, so that he was so close I could see the flecks of blue and gray in the depths of those mesmerizing green eyes. He lowered his already low voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You’re right, I am in deep cover," he confessed tensely, confirming what I had already suspected. Still, this confirmation jolted me. I felt like maybe I had fallen into some alternate universe where impossible things happened to rather ordinary people like me--- You know, like I was suddenly some ingenue heroine in a Jean Claude Van Damme movie, or caught up in a really good Man From U.N.C.L.E. episode. My sense of unreality was overwhelming. I could almost hear the Twilight Zone music playing in my head.. Nee Nee Nee Nee nee nee nee nee ………..

"I can’t tell you any details about what I’m doing," he went on in an apologetic tone, the soft voice almost pleading, "All I can say it is a matter of great national security. I’ll have to keep you in the dark about what’s really involved, but if you would trust me, if you would be willing to be my eyes and ears, your input would be invaluable to my mission…."

I let out a strangled gasp, and then a startled squeak. For a moment, it crossed my mind that he was toying with me, that this was all some sort of joke he was playing, that he was teasing me, and that in the next minute he would lean back in his chair, let out a great guffaw, hoot with laughter, slap his knee and yell "GOTCHA!" But I looked into those green eyes and I knew this was no joke, no trick. The mask he wore had partially slipped, and I was able to see the real person behind the slick, debonair exterior. I looked into those eyes and saw genuine, raw emotion.

What I saw there was fear. Raw, grating, gut-wrenching out -and -out FEAR. Michael was terrified of something, pure and simple. I didn’t know what it was, but I did know that I was scared, too. Anything that could rattle this obviously brave and dangerous man had to be something really horrible.

I was afraid. Almost too afraid to ask him the next question, but I did. "What do you want me to do?" I choked out.

He leaned closer, his eyes riveted on mine. "I want you to watch the house for me, the neighborhood; report anything unusual, any strangers in the area…" His eyes flickered downward, and I could see a muscle in his jaw working. His sensual mouth twisted grimly. "I need you to keep an eye on Adam and Elena," he finished tensely.

I let out an immediate sob, my world rocking sickeningly. No, I screamed inside my head. No, not Adam. Not Elena… No… My eyes filled with hot, stinging tears and my stomach knotted painfully. I had already lost one family, cruelly, senselessly. Now from the way Michael was talking, there was the possibility that I would lose another….. The idea was unbearable….

"They’re in danger," I stated baldly, my voice coming out calmer and more controlled than I had expected. I surprised myself with how rational and together I sounded, when inside my guts were quivering in panic…

He nodded, then looked away. I think his own eyes were blinded by tears, like mine, but I couldn’t be sure. "Yes," He answered simply. "They are."

I leaned forward, taking a deep breath, and gripped his sleeve, clutching hard. "Who?" I demanded angrily. "Who is trying to hurt them? WHY?"

He turned back to look at me, his eyes liquid with sorrow and something else- Was it …. Guilt?

He regarded me solemnly, and for a tense, silent minute I thought maybe he wasn’t going to tell me anything. Then the soft lips parted and he let out a sigh, the words flowing.

"There’s an… organization that is watching them. Watching me, too. I can’t tell you who they are. But they know about Adam and Elena, and they will use them to…" he swallowed hard, his throat working. "To keep me in control," he finished in an anguished whisper.

I inhaled a harsh breath. I felt like I was standing at a precipice, teetering, about to go over into a abyss of horror. Wild theories and speculations swirled in my head. Was Michael undercover in the Mafia? Had someone in the Mob found out he was a mole and had threatened to kill his family? Or was it even more sinister than that? Was the government itself that he worked for forcing him to do things he didn’t want to do, and the price he paid for disobedience was too high to contemplate…

"My God," I groaned, just as anguished as he. "They would hurt Adam and Elena?" I choked out, bile rising in my throat. "They would … kill them?"

He said nothing, just looked at me, the pain in his eyes giving me all the answer I needed. I saw in his face what I hadn’t seen before—Michael was a panther, all right. But this proud animal wasn’t free. He was trapped, caged, tethered, and bound. The injustice of it hurt me deeply, in some deep place inside. This wasn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening. Not to him, not to his family. He deserved to be free, to be safe….

Resentment flared in me, indignation burning away my fear. I would get those Bastards, I vowed. Nothing would stop me. Nobody was going to mess with MY Adam and get away with it….

"Michael," I stated levelly, my voice as deadly calm as his had once been. "You can count on me." I lifted my chin and stared into his eyes. "If anyone even DARES to come near them, they’ll have to come through me.." I slammed my fist on the table for emphasis, feeling the power of my anger, like a tigress protecting her young. I had had my life ripped from me, but God damn it, it wasn’t going to happen again. No one was going to take my new family away from me…

I gripped his hand, hard, and made him a promise, a promise I meant with every fiber of my being.

"No one’s going to kill Adam or Elena," I hissed out. "Because I swear I’ll kill the mother-f*ckers first."

Michael looked a little startled at my profanity, but to his credit, he didn’t laugh at the idea of me killing anyone. I think he knew just how sincerely I meant every word, and I think he realized in that moment just how deep my attachment to his beautiful child, his gentle wife, really went. I loved them, maybe as much as he did.

I felt his hand moving under mine. He turned my fingers in his and gripped them, hard. His eyes softened, and I felt something click in my soul- a bond was forged between us. We were allies, friends, kindred….

"Thank you," he choked out solemnly. "Thank you…"

I smiled at him then, all of my unease in his presence gone. "It’ll be okay, Michael," I assured him confidently. "It’ll be okay…."

The next moment flowed of its own accord. Both of us were pulled out of our seats by some unseen force, by this new connection between us. In an instant, I was enveloped by his arms, and he by mine. There was nothing sexual in the embrace, although I was very aware of the sensual feel of his heart beating against mine. He squeezed me tight, and then let me go, but before he did, he kissed me very gently on both cheeks. I could feel his tears on my face.

We stood looking at each other then, hands still clasped. I blinked back my own tears, and grinned at him, letting out a quip to lighten the mood. The intensity of his gratitude was just too much to bear.

"So," I said, my eyes wide and innocent. "What am I going to get?"

"Get?" he asked, confused.

I grinned wider. "Yeah, get. You know, weapons. Arms. Guns. Gizmos…" I explained with a twinkle in my eye. "If I’m going to fight the bad guys with you I’m going to need armaments, right?" I teased. "How about an Uzi? Or a bazooka? Or maybe a Scud missile…"

He laughed, a genuine, honest- to- God light-hearted laugh. It was almost a giggle. My heart warmed at this achievement, glad that I had somehow eased his pain, even for a moment. I realized suddenly that my pain had been eased, too.

"No missiles, no bazookas," he answered with a smile, his mouth twisting wryly. "I’ll get you a cell phone and a pager, how’s that?"

I tried to look coy, but failed. "That’s great, Michael," I said sincerely. "Really great." I gazed into his eyes, feeling emotional again. "Thank you, Michael," I choked out. "Thank you…."

He tilted his head, puzzled. "For the cell phone?" he asked, bewildered.

I shook my head. "No," I told him, impulsively stepping closer and rising on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Thank you for trusting me."

His arms came around me then, and he hugged me once more. I got a kiss in return, a chaste one on the forehead, but the caress was no less heart-felt than mine. I could tell. He was as moved by our new friendship as I was.

The next moment he let me go, and stepped back, giving me his most dazzling smile. "More coffee?" asked my charming host.

I nodded, and after he had filled our cups again, we both settled at the table and, like close neighbors do, talked through the night….

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

Well, thus began my career as a real Spy. Or, at least, a real spy’s assistant. Michael got me the phone and the pager, along with a card with his private number and instructions to report in on a weekly basis. He told me what to look for, anything suspicious and out of the ordinary. He waned to know everything that went on in the neighborhood. He wanted to know about anyone new in Elena and Adam’s life, anyone that seemed too interested in them….

It was strange, looking at the world this way. Strange, and quite a bit disturbing. It was good, in a way, don’t get me wrong. The new tasks I had been assigned gave me a focus, and kept my mind off of Rob and Roger for long stretches of time. But I realized I had just replaced one anxiety for another. I hated looking at everyone with suspicion and distrust. Everyone from the mailman to the clerks in the stores or the old lady at the park that smiled at Adam too much when he was playing on the swings. My innocence was gone. The bogey-men were everywhere, and, unlike Adam who only had bad dreams at night, my nightmare was a 24 hour thing. I was afraid, and I lived with that fear, wondering, waiting, every minute of every day, for the bad guys to strike. I learned what it felt like to be Michael, trapped and wary, and believe me, it was miserable.

Ignorance is bliss. Whoever said that knew damn well what he was talking about, that’s for sure.

Still, I didn’t regret that Michael had confided in me. I was, despite my discomfort and distress at the secret knowledge I bore, sincerely glad that I knew what was going on. Glad that I had been given this chance to help, to be prepared for the worst…

I had already been blind-sided by Fate as it was, and this time, I thought morbidly, if disaster struck, at least now I would see it coming…

See it coming, and maybe be able to avert it somehow. I prayed that that’s the way it would go down this time. Maybe between us, Michael and I, we could prevent the ominous dark forces from touching the true innocents, Elena and Adam…

It was funny, but the secret I kept with her husband brought me at once closer, and at the same time distanced me from my friend Elena. I was constantly aware when I was with her of the need to hold things back, to guard my tongue, to speak with care. This stifling of spontaneity was a burden I shared with Michael, and I realized how , well, LONELY, it made me feel. It had to be a hundred times worse for him, all the caution, all the pretending. He couldn’t even tell his own wife who he really was, what he was really involved in, for God’s sake. What kind of Purgatory was that?

Still, I think - no, I KNOW- that I preferred knowing. And I’m sure Michael preferred it as well. It gave us both a measure of control over the uncontrollable circumstances we faced. Or, at least, it gave us the ILLUSION of a modicum of control, which amounted to the same thing. I felt closer to Elena, more protective, almost motherly, although I wasn’t really that much older than her. But because I knew things she didn’t, knew of dangers she wasn’t aware of, I felt WAY older, almost like her parent. I hoped she didn’t mind my authoritative ways, or how I sometimes got bossy when she suggested going out to a new place that Michael or I hadn’t had a chance to check out first. I’m sure she thought I was a wet-blanket at times, or maybe a little paranoid about safety. Luckily, she usually indulged me, taking my advice and going along with my wary caution about what activities she should or shouldn’t pursue.

I think she chalked it up to the trauma of my having lost my family, and now being paranoid about losing hers. Which was the truth. She was gentle with me, very gentle, and indulgent. Because of her sweetness, her kindness about not wanting to worry me, I’m sure she curtailed herself in many areas that she probably would have liked to pursue. Between us, Michael and I had managed to clip her wings, so to speak, and at times I felt very guilty about that. We had taken away some of her freedom, but, I reasoned, what good was freedom if you were dead?

As for Michael and me, well, the relationship that had started in circumstances of the most—er—intimate terms, both physical and emotional, continued that way. We were close, closer than I was with Elena, although I saw him less than I did her. There were the phone calls, and the occasional social event, dinner at the Samuelle’s, and so forth, and once in a while I happened to be out in my yard when Michael went to work and we would wave to each other. But I suppose my sense of attachment to him just grew because we were allies in the same cause, and, in some ways, I felt guilty that he trusted me more than he did his own wife- trusted me with his confidences, his fears, his heart, and… occasionally… even his body.

Oops. Well, maybe I should explain that a little further…….

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

The first time it happened was a chilly evening in the Fall, when the pretty tress in the yard were no longer green and hopeful, but drearily brown and dead -looking. I always hated the cold, dreaded the winter. It depressed me, and this year I had even more reason to feel despondent as the sun retreated and the warmth left the earth. My family was dead, and I hadn’t heard from Michael in a while. I was worried. More than worried. I wondered if he was dead, too. I wondered if the organization that he was afraid of had gotten to him.

Elena had told me that Michael was on a rather lengthy business trip out of the country, in a remote region where the phone service was sporadic and unreliable. She commented blithely that he called her whenever he could, but that sometimes the conversations were very brief, and got cut off in mid sentence, due to the primitive state of the phone lines.

"When is he coming home?" I asked her anxiously. "Did he say?"

Elena shrugged serenely. She wasn’t worried, not like I was. She missed him, of course, and she was frustrated with the lack of communication, but she wasn’t worried about his safety. She was confident that, just like the sun rose everyday in the East, that Michael would come back to her. I wasn’t so sure.

"In the next few weeks, I think," she answered with a smile. "It might be longer than that. I hope he’ll be home in time for Adam’s birthday…"

I plastered on a fake smile, feeling more unsettled than before. "That would be nice," I choked out, trying to pretend to be as serene as she was. "Let’s plan a party, what do you say?"

She smiled at me, and gave a relaxed laugh. We spent the evening talking about birthday cakes, party themes, balloons, the merits of a Chuckie-Cheese kind of event vs. a quieter shindig at home, and what kind of gifts an intelligent, lively little boy of four would like to unwrap for his birthday. I smiled til my face hurt, pretending a light-hearted gaiety I definitely did not feel. I was grateful in a strange way that I had an excuse for being melancholy. I don’t think I’m that clever an actress. I think Elena saw through my act, and in her sympathetic way chalked it up to the fact that I was sorrowful about not having my own little boy with me to plan birthdays for.

She didn’t say anything, but she did give me an extra big hug that evening as I was leaving, and told me how glad she was that she had me as a friend. I think that was her way of letting me know that she was aware of how upset I was, without coming out and mentioning the plane crash directly. She was gifted that way, was Elena. She had such a big heart. I prayed fervently it wouldn’t be broken like mine was….

Thanks, Love," I told her with tears in my eyes. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek good night, and fled for own house, where I was planning on crying in peace. Or maybe, peace is not the right word. I was planning on torturing myself with grief, is more like it.

For the last three weeks, there had been no answer when I called Michael’s private number. Only a recording asking me to leave a message. I was beginning to dread the empty feeling when I got when I dialed that number. Was he dead? I wondered. Was he captured? Tortured? Were the brief phone calls to Elena just carefully pieced together recordings that the other side used to deceive Elena into thinking that her husband was still alive, still all right?

I fretted all the way home, worrying these thoughts in my mind, thinking of ever more frightening scenarios, working myself up into a real doozy of a panic attack. It sucks being paranoid, let me tell you. The worst part was, I might never find out the truth. Michael might have disappeared off the face of the earth and I would never know what had really happened to him. I could only speculate, in terror, and I could never share those speculations with anyone, especially , and particularly, NOT with Elena.

I slipped through the gate, taking the short cut through our back-yards and reached my back door. I fumbled with the key and then went inside, clumsy in the dark. I had forgotten to leave a light on in the house when I had left, forgetting how dark it got this time of year..

Before I could switch on the light, a soft voice from the inside the kitchen made me jump in shock.

"Don’t," said Michael. "Leave it off."

I gasped, dropping my keys, purse, and gloves with a loud clatter on the floor. "Jesus!" I yelped, alarm and elation warring within me. I was afraid and joyous at the same time. "Michael!" I whispered intensely, groping my way anxiously forward and straining to see him in the dark. "Are you all right?"

His answer unsettled me more than I can say. "I… don’t know," came the soft reply. "I need you to tell me that."

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

I froze, his words alarming me, chilling me to the core. I took another staggering step forward, and I could see him then. I could just make out the outline of his lithe figure sitting at my kitchen table in the dimness. As much as I wanted to flip on the light and get a good look at him, I was afraid. Was he scarred? Mutilated? What had happened to him that he didn’t want me to see?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" I demanded, my anxiety coming out as anger. "How am I supposed to tell you how you are if I can’t even see you?"

He rose from the table then, leaning heavily on it, and I saw that he was supporting himself with a crutch. I let out an anguished whimper.

"Oh, God, Michael…" I groaned.

His rich voice came through the darkness then, its warmth and calmness soothing me. "The light needs to stay off, because I can’t risk Elena seeing me," he explained gently. "Do you have an interior room with no windows where we could go and talk?"

"The bathroom," I said immediately, pointing to the downstairs hall. "It’s just a few steps away…"

I could see him nodding in the dark, and he maneuvered himself and the crutch around the kitchen table and came toward me. I saw that he put no weight on his left leg, that it was bent at an angle. I let out a sharp breath, relieved at least that all his limbs still appeared to be there.

"What happened to your leg?" I demanded harshly, as I guided him down the hall with a protective hand at his back.

He turned to look at me, his green eyes glittering in the darkness. "I was shot," he stated flatly, his voice full of pain. I knew there was way more to this story than just this bald statement, and I was determined to get the whole truth out of him. I hated being in the dark, like now, literally and figuratively.

"In here," I ordered gruffly, opening the door to the bathroom for him. We went inside, Michael making sure the door was securely closed behind us before he turned on the light.

"Jesus!" I said again, as the glaring florescent light flooded down on him, illuminating him harshly. "You look like hell!"

He grimaced, and then smiled crookedly at me. "Thanks," he said dryly. "Thanks a lot."

I smiled back, incredibly glad that he felt well enough to joke about it. Because his appearance was definitely alarming. He was pale, almost deathly white, and there were dark circles under his eyes and lines in his face that I had never seen before. I could tell he was tired, to the point of exhaustion, both physical and mental. God knows what kind of strain he had been under, what horrors he had endured…

"Sit," I ordered him, helping him ease down on the closed lid of the toilet seat. "What did those bastards do to you?"

His face closed down, and he looked away, his mouth firming grimly. "I told you, I was shot," he said tersely. "It doesn’t matter how."

I let out an impatient sigh, and put my hand under his chin, tilting his head up, forcing him to look in my eyes. "It matters to me," I told him gently. "Now, SPILL," I insisted.

He gave me another wonderfully crooked smile, although at the same time he winced with pain from the memory. "A… colleague of mine shot me to prevent me from going back into a building to set off a bomb that we had planted in a terrorist lab that had failed to go off properly …"

My stomach heaved, registering the pain of his words viscerally. "A suicide mission," I gasped, comprehending. I locked eyes with his. "What happened to your friend?" I asked tensely, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.

Michael’s eyes shuttered closed, his lower lip trembling. "He’s dead," he choked out.

I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I’m sorry," I said simply.

"Thank you," he answered quietly. I sensed somehow there was way more to this story than just the bald two sentences he had given me. The torment in his face was just too plain, but I didn’t push for more from him. I was honored that he had even told me that much. I was beginning to get a good picture of just how wretched his life could be, and thoroughly understood his reticence.

Instead, I pushed him on an issue more immediately present. "What are you going to do now, Michael?" I probed gently. "Were you planning on going home to Elena?"

He looked up at me gratefully. "That’s what I wanted to talk to you about," he replied, almost eagerly. He struggled to his feet, planting the crutch squarely on the floor between his knees and then leaning heavily on it to lever himself up from his seat. He balanced himself by leaning on the crutch under one arm and supporting the opposite side by resting one hip gingerly on the edge of the sink. "Nancy, I need your help with something…" he whispered softly.

To my shock, he began matter-of -factly undressing himself, his hands undoing first the buckle on his pants and then lowering his zipper…

I let out a little gasping squeak, forcing my eyes upward to his face. "W-What are you doing?" I squealed, feeling myself blush bright red.

Fortunately, he did not seem to register my embarrassment, his concentration totally on getting the pants down over his lean hips and firm thighs, one of which was wrapped tightly in a white bandage. He was wearing low-cut black briefs, that barely concealed the powerful compelling form of his manhood- in fact, the briefs outlined it perfectly.

I took a deep breath, feeling dizzy.

Michael’s fingers went lower, struggling with the top of the bandage on the leanly muscled thigh. "Help me get this off," he uttered in a tone of impatient frustration. "And then tell me what you think…."

For a moment, I almost swooned. I could have told him what I thought, all right, if I had the power to think coherently at all, which I didn’t. I thought he was the most beautiful, desirable man I had ever met. I thought he was sensuality incarnate. I thought he was the sexiest human alive, man or woman….

My mind whirled, and then it registered that he what he wanted me take off was not the briefs, but the bandage. He wanted me to look at his wound, not the other….

All the air whooshed out of my lungs, and I felt at once disappointed and relieved that it was not that particular comfort from me that he was after. He regarded me as a friend, nothing more. Part of me was hurt by this, my female ego, but the greater part was honored that he trusted me so much.

"Let me see," I said quickly, and knelt in front of him to help him undo the tight wrapping. His hands fell away and he let me take over. I concentrated on being careful not to hurt him, not to jostle the injured leg, struggling to ignore the sensual display that this position afforded me, trying not to be affected by the feel of the warm skin of his thigh under my fingers, or his rich musky male smell…….

All erotic thoughts fled when the bandage came off. A deep, jagged angry red line all the way down his thigh jarred me into sickness. "Michael…" I grunted out, stomach heaving. "This looks like somebody shredded you with a knife, not shot you…" I looked up at him, taking a deep breath to fight off the nausea. "Jesus, how much pain are you in?"

He looked down on me calmly and ignored the latter question, but seemed intrigued by the former comment. "Hmmm," he mused thoughtfully. "It’s a deep bullet graze, but I suppose you’re right…" he said, a speculative light in his eyes. "I suppose it could pass as a knife wound…"

He regarded me intensely as I rose to my feet. "Do you think I could get away with telling Elena I was mugged overseas?"

I bit my lip, not saying anything immediately, weighing my answer. I thought about how I would have felt if Rob had come home from a business trip with his leg looking like chopped meat. On the one hand, I would have been terrified, and on the other, I would have been so glad to see that he was all right….

"You could," I answered carefully. "Elena would believe you. She would also be very glad to see you, of course. She misses you terribly. But it might upset Adam, and her, to see you like this, and she may end up reluctant to let you go on any long "overseas" business trips in the future…"

I knelt again to rewrap the bandage for him as I went on with my explanation. "Right now, Elena misses you when you’re gone, but she has no anxiety about your safety." I pinned the white wrapping back in place and then pulled up his trousers for him over the lean hips, tucking in his shirt. I stood up and stepped back, leaving him to deal with the zipper.

"That would all change if you showed up now, looking like THAT," I continued, eyeing him thoughtfully. "But it might be the best thing for you to be home, to see your family, to rest."

He nodded, looking up from adjusting the last button. He leaned heavily on the crutch, frowning.

"It’s up to you, Michael, which way you think is best," I concluded.

He closed his eyes, the weariness evident on his face. He paused only a moment, then made his decision. "I’ll go," he said wearily. "I’ll come back when he leg is healed further." He looked so exhausted, so worn down, that I impulsively offered what solace I could, although I knew for safety’s sake he would refuse it.

"Lie down for a while here, at my house," I blurted out. " You’re dead on your feet. Get some rest, and then you can go back in the morning."

His eyes opened, and he gazed at me softly, then shook his head, as I expected. "Thank you, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous. Elena might see me."

I bit my lip, reluctant to let him go. I was afraid for him, afraid of what else "they" might do to him. He took a few halting steps toward the door, but I blocked his way.

"At least let me drive you where you need to go," I pleaded. "Let me do that much."

His mouth firmed grimly again, his expression solemn. "No," he said tensely. "That’s not a good idea."

I titled my head, studying him. With Michael, it was necessary to read between the lines of what little words he did say. I was learning there was always so much more that he didn’t say, and I was just beginning to get the hang of interpreting the silences.

"Because you’re going back to the organization, aren’t you?" I hazarded. " They’re the ones that are doing to this to you…" I stated, my eyes narrowing. "You work for them, and if you don’t do what they say, they’ll hurt Adam and Elena…"

For a man with one useless leg, he sure could move fast. In seconds, he had somehow maneuvered himself across the distance between us, and then he lunged toward me. I let out a startled gasp when he whipped out his hand to grab a fistful of my shirt-collar and pulled me up on my tiptoes at the same time pressing me back against the door. Angry green eyes glittered dangerously into mine. The panther was definitely back.

"Forget that you said that," he hissed into my face. "Forget that you know anything about… them. Stay… out… of …. It," he demanded, enunciating each word clearly.

I tilted my head back and gave him a cocky look. This time I was not intimidated by his panther act, although perhaps, considering what came later, I should have been. Time had passed since that first meeting when he had scared me out of my wits. Since then, I had seen other sides to Michael. I had seen him playing patty-cake with Adam, seen him looking tender-eyed at his wife. Hell, I had seen him in the kitchen with an apron on loading the dishwasher. There was an underlying gentleness under the fierce exterior, and I knew that there existed inside of him, along with the jungle feline, a little bit of pussy-cat. He didn’t scare me this time.

I knew him better now, or so I thought. I knew he would never hurt me.

"Michael," I answered coolly, more annoyed than frightened by these last words. "YOU asked me to help you, remember? I’m already IN IT. The time to ask me to butt out is long past…" I said indignantly. "Why don’t you just clue me in as to what is really going on?" I demanded.

This approach got me nowhere. He still glared at me, was still being implacably stern, so I tried a new tactic.

I sighed deeply, then grinned a big grin, then craned my neck forward and kissed him full on the lips. A quick peck, light and teasing. He froze, his eyes wide with shock.

"C’mon, Babe," I wheedled outrageously, giving him a broad wink. "What’s the big deal? You trusted me enough to let me get in your pants tonight, for crying out loud," I teased him, " So why can’t you trust me enough to let me know who you work for?"

Michael blinked. Then blinked again. Then his mouth fell open. I had stunned him into speechlessness. His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and I could see that he was struggling internally with his emotions, anger warring with laughter on his face.

To my great delight, the laughter won. After a brief battle not to, he let out a spontaneous, deep chuckle. He relaxed his grip on me and let me go, hobbling back a step or two to look at me with a humorous glint in his eye. "Nancy," he cautioned me, his voice still lilting with amusement, "Behave yourself."

I grinned at him saucily. "I will if you will," I parried with a smile.

He nodded. "Deal," he said quickly, then lifted an eyebrow at me, and jerked his head toward the door.

I got the hint, and let him out, holding the door open for him. He hobbled past me, and then we walked together down the hallway, side by side, a companionable silence between us. By the time I had escorted him back through the kitchen to see him out, I had sobered somewhat from my earlier lively mood, my depression returning. We still hadn’t caught any bad guys, and from the look of Michael’s leg, I wondered if we even had a chance to be on the winning side anymore.

He was at the door, about to slip out into the darkness, when I stopped him once more with a kiss. This time on his cheek, and this time with no hint of laughter in my eyes.

"Take care, my friend," I whispered softly. "Please."

He looked back at me, his eyes suspiciously bright. He said nothing, but lifted one hand and brushed the back of it gently across my cheek. Then he turned and was gone.

I stood in the dark in the open doorway for a long time after he had left, letting the cold autumn chill of the outdoors wash over me. Winter was in the air, and I shivered, dreading the time ahead…..

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

Michael showed up two weeks later just in time for Adam’s birthday party. I was amazed at the transformation. The crutch was gone, replaced by a cane that he used only seldom, although he still walked with a decided limp. The pallor was gone, too, and I think he had made an effort to sit in a tanning booth to give Elena the illusion of health. Besides, the tan went along with his story about having pulled a hamstring muscle while playing tennis with some business clients.

He looked remarkably relaxed and at ease for someone who had been shot. I watched him admiringly as he circulated the party, smiling and chit- chatting with the parents of Adam’s friends, charming everyone in sight. The weather had held, and the day of the party was one of glorious Indian summer, although we were half way into November. The children, a large gaggle of Adam’s fellow four year olds, raced around the yard, screaming with delight, as they participated in the pirate treasure-hunt that Elena and I had so meticulously planned. Adam looked as charming as his father in his little black eye-patch and pirate garb, brandishing his own pint-size plastic sword. I think I was in love with both of the Samuelle men right then. It was hard to decide which one of the two, father or son, was the more charming, the more heart-breakingly sweet. I think it was tie for which of them had stolen my heart.

I went to the refreshment table and cut a piece of cake for Michael and brought it to him. I sidled up beside him and held out the chocolate offering, and gave him what I hoped was my best casual smile.

"Hi, neighbor," I greeted him nonchalantly. "Long time no see. How was your trip?"

Michael smiled back, accepting the cake from me and answering just as casually. "Routine," he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Rather dull, actually."

I refrained from rolling my eyes at this blatant lie, and just gave him a concerned look instead. "Are you okay?" I queried anxiously, glancing pointedly down at his leg.

His eyes softened. The phony dazzling smile of his faded, and he looked back at me with genuine warmth. "I’ll be fine," he assured me gently. "Thanks."

Feeling a little better after these soothing words, I nodded at him and sauntered off to retreat to the kitchen of Elena’s big house. I made a desultory effort at washing up, but the real reason I had left the party was because, frankly, being there was killing me. I wanted to be alone for a while, away from all those happy, lively kids, none of which were mine. The happy couples and families bothered me, too. I was the only adult there without a spouse and child, or children, in tow. I suppose I was indulging in a bit of sour grapes, feeling bitter and envious. My soul wrenched inside-- I missed Rob and Roger very intensely, feeling their absence keenly, and my vision blurred with tears as I stood at the sink loading cake plates into the dishwasher.

I dashed a hand across my eyes, angry at myself. Damn it, Nancy, I berated myself. Don’t start blubbering now. Can’t you at least hold it together until the party is over?? I admonished myself sharply.

But I couldn’t. Each child’s laugh, each parent’s smile, each candle on the birthday cake, was a reminder of what I would never have. I gave in to grief, my knees suddenly weak, and slumped over the sink, buried my face in my hands, and just let go and bawled.

I thought THEN that this was as miserable as it got. But I was wrong. Mercifully, at the time, I did not know that in less than a year, before Adam would have his next birthday, that Michael would be dead.

Or, at least, I thought he was dead, but found out it was worse than that…

Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Oh, yes- At the kitchen sink, blubbering stupidly…

I had only just begun to indulge myself in this really gully-washing bout of tears, when my privacy was interrupted a few moments later.

"Nancy?" said Elena, coming up quickly behind me and putting her arm around me. "Oh, Nancy, Darling…" She needed no explanation for my stricken state, understanding perfectly, God bless her. I let out a soft whimper and just fell into her arms, letting her hold me for a while, comforted by her warmth as she rocked and patted me right there amid all the dirty cake plates.

I will forever be grateful that she didn’t say anything, just held me like she held Adam when he was tired or scared or upset. She didn’t tell me not to cry, or to buck up, or to be strong, or that everything would be all right. She didn’t care that she was being taken away from her forty-odd guests and that my outburst was, as I knew, damned inconvenient. She knew I couldn’t help it. She just let me do what I needed to do, and that was to sob out my pain in the arms of a friend.

Michael found us like that a few minutes later. He had entered the room so quietly that I was not aware that he was even there. The first I knew of his presence was when Elena looked past my shoulder and spoke to him.

"Michael," she said softly, with that special tender tone that she reserved only for him. "Nancy’s not feeling well. Would you be a love and walk her back home?"

"I’d be happy to," came his immediate, gentle reply. He sounded almost sincere.

I raised my head off of Elena’s shoulder and looked from one of them to the other. "No, that’s okay," I protested feebly, shaking my head. "I can get there alone…"

I took two steps toward the door to make my escape, and found my path blocked by two pairs of very stubborn eyes, green and brown.

"I know you can, but Michael is going to escort you anyway, okay?" Elena said firmly.

I turned pleading eyes to Michael, and got the same implacable look. He held out his arm to me. "I insist," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

I sighed and gave in.

I endured his company silently, feeling grateful for his strong arm under mine. I was thoroughly embarrassed at having him see me crying like that, seeing me really lose it. He probably thinks I am a total wienie now or something, I thought morosely. I also felt guilty for making him limp all the way through the front door of his house and down the sidewalk to mine. Halfway there, I halted and looked up into his eyes. "Michael, you don’t have to go with me any further," I said apologetically. "I’m perfectly capable of making it the rest of the way on my own…."

He gave me that look again. The mysterious blank look, as if his mind was working all sorts of exotic plans behind his eyes, but he wasn’t about to share any of those plans with me until he had weighed and measured and calculated everything very carefully. It was a cunning look, you might say. It seemed to me he was pausing there, trying to make a decision.

The next moment, he made it. He took my arm firmly again, holding me much tighter than before, as if he were afraid I would bolt away on him or something, and started hustling me down the sidewalk at a much faster pace than before, his limp almost forgotten. "I need to talk to you about something," he informed me in a low, urgent tone.

"Oh!" I breathed out, stupidly, startled. Since the last time he had wanted to tell me something had involved him taking his clothes off in front of me in my bathroom, you can imagine what thoughts these words stirred in my mind. I think I trembled a little, my mind whirling. With Michael, everything was always an adventure. I had yet to have a moment with him that could be remotely categorized as boring. Disturbing, terrifying, gross, erotic, or tender, but never, never, boring.

I realized with a start that his sentence had shocked me so that I had stopped crying, and had completely forgotten my grief for the moment, awash in curiosity and excitement. And apprehension. Did I mention apprehension? Or maybe it was more like terror. His words had me scared stiff. There was something about the determined set of his mouth as he dragged me along beside him that made my heart leap into my throat. Whatever he had to tell me, I knew instinctively that it was going to be bad news.

We reached my front door and he stood, a little impatiently behind me as I fumbled with the key in the lock. When we entered, he took my arm again and led me down the hall way to the very room where he had stripped down to his skivvies for me before. The hall bathroom.

"In here," he said gruffly.

I balked like a skittish horse before a jump, clinging desperately to the doorframe. "Why?" I squeaked out breathlessly. "What are you going to do?"

He paused behind me, and then I heard him give a little sigh. I turned to look at him, and to my shock, he was smiling, that, sweet crooked smile, one corner of his sensual mouth quirking up in amusement. No doubt he was remembering the last time he was here, too.

" *You* are going to go in here and wash your face," he explained gently, "And * I * am going to go in the kitchen and make coffee." His eyes twinkled brightly. "And neither of us is going to remove any clothing," he added with a teasing grin.

I blushed, and then lifted my eyes to meet his challengingly, making an attempt to tease him back.

"I don’t get to get in your pants again, then?" I whined innocently, batting my lashes and pooching out my lower lip in a petulant pout.

He laughed (have I told you how much I love it when he laughs?) and shook his head. "No," he said gently. "Not this time."

His smile faded then, and he looked suddenly grim, as if he didn’t relish telling me whatever it was he was planning on revealing. I swallowed hard, feeling my stomach lurch. I didn’t think I could handle anymore bad news just then.

But he gave me no option.

"Go," he said firmly, giving me a soft push on the shoulder toward the bathroom door. Then he turned and headed down the hall to the kitchen.

I watched him go, then sighed and did as I was told, shutting the door behind me. I spent the next tem minutes trying to get it together enough to face what he had to say. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on fresh makeup, and arranged my hair. Then I stood staring at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, taking deep breaths for courage. Still, I was not prepared for what he told me. Not the least little bit….