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

Michael heard me coming and had a chair pulled out for me at the kitchen table. The coffee was already brewed , poured into cups and placed on the table as well. Michael sat with his hands nursing his coffee cup, a muscle in his jaw twitching nervously. He seemed more than a little jittery, and I knew with certainty that his edginess had nothing to do with caffeine.

"Sit down," he ordered quietly.

I obeyed, feeling quite a bit of trepidation, my pulses jumping. I know I didn’t need it, but I hastily swigged down a big gulp of coffee, almost burning my mouth in the process. "What gives?" I demanded bluntly, when I had set down my cup and lifted my eyes to meet his. "What is this about?"

He said nothing at first, just rubbed his chin nervously with one hand, regarding me thoughtfully.

I waited, not patiently, but in silence, sipping my drink. I had finished about half my coffee before he finally began.

"I have some information that might make things easier for you, or it might make things harder…" he started out softly.

I sighed, and struggled not to groan. Another mystery, of course. Always, with Michael, nothing was straight-forward. Here was another puzzle to solve.

"Easier?" I queried, blinking in confusion. "Harder? Harder to do what?"

He looked away from me then, and visibly winced. "I’ve known something about your ….case for quite a while, but I had decided it was better that you be kept in the dark…." He turned back to me then, his eyes wide with compassion and sorrow. "But after I saw you today, with Elena, I think it is better if you know…"

"Wait, Michael, wait…" I said breathlessly, holding up my hands as if to stave off the train wreck that I could see coming. I didn’t understand anything yet, but I already knew that when I did finally hear the whole story, that I wasn’t going to like it. "What do you mean, my CASE?" I demanded, my lip trembling. "And what does my crying on Elena’s shoulder about Roger and Rob have to do with your - with OUR- spy stuff?"

He sighed, and then took a healthy gulp of his coffee. "It has everything to do with it," he said grimly.

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to stand up and grab him by the shirt front and shake the truth out of him. Instead, I gripped the edge of the table until my knuckles went white. "Don’t talk in damn riddles," I hissed out in alarm. "Just tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Michael…"

"Please," I added, with a whimper.

He nodded solemnly, took a deep breath, and did just that. Brutally, baldly. I wished to God I had just kept my big mouth shut and let him break it to me gently like he was trying to do. But no, it was too late. There he was, spilling out the information, his words like a knife twisted in my gut. Or like that train I saw coming plowing into me…

"The terrorist that I am tracking, the man who is the reason I am undercover, is the same man who we believe is responsible for the death of your husband and child."

I doubled over, letting out a sharp gasp. "But it was an accident!" I mewled in pain. "The plane crash was an accident…" I whimpered, staring at him in horror.

He leaned forward across the table, and took both my hands into his. "No, it wasn’t," he insisted in a firm voice. "One of his terrorist organizations claimed responsibility, and we have since confirmed independently that his group planted the bomb that caused the crash..…." His hard fingers squeezed mine, painfully.

"His group is responsible for several other recent plane crashes that were officially pronounced to be accidents," Michael went on softly. "The public wasn’t told what really happened in order to prevent a panic, but his group is definitely to blame…."

I couldn’t say a word, couldn’t respond at all, the breath stopping in my lungs…..

Michael continued, his soft words sledge-hammering me into the ground….

"I thought it would help you to know that everything we do—you and I, together- all the sacrifices we make- are because we are trying to stop this bastard from doing this to anyone else…"

Pain and horror, and rage roared within me, searing my soul, as Michael’s meaning really registered. It hadn’t been God or Fate punishing me, it hadn’t been bad karma or even just plain bad luck; it hadn’t been just chance that had my family had been taken from me. It was HIM- it was this soulless bastard that was to blame. HE had coldly, deliberated planned my baby’s death, had cruelly arranged to blow my beloved husband to bits. And HE was the reason Michael lived in danger, risked his life, was shot at, and…

My breath froze in my lungs at the next thought, my vision blurring, my heart pounding deafeningly in my ears…

HE was the one who Michael feared would harm his precious Adam, his beautiful Elena…..

I let out a strangled moan, and then I did something I thought that only Victorian ladies in corsets and delicate heroines in bad romance novels do.

I fainted. Dead away.

I slid off my chair, totally limp, and I don’t remember hitting the floor, but I know I must have. Because I DO remember Michael lifting me in his arms from the kitchen linoleum and carrying me to the living room, and settling with me on the couch. He pulled me into his lap, put his strong arms around me, and let me bawl my eyes out on his shoulder. The tears I had shed in Elena’s arms were just little sniffles compared to these great wracking sobs, these wrenching paroxysms of grief that I let go in Michael’s embrace. I shook so much, I had Michael shaking, too. He held me tight, held me safe, although I knew I would never, ever, feel really safe ever again….

At last, after what seemed like hours, I quieted a little, enough to pull out of his arms and look up into his face. Michael’s eyes were red, too, his cheeks wet with tears, his visage almost as ravaged as mine. I felt a new link forged between us- we were united now, united in our common goal to see that the Bastard got what was coming to him.

We were going to get even. If it was the last thing we did.

"Who is he?" I said at last, my voice surprisingly firm and calm to my own ears. "What is his name?" I demanded grimly.

Michael didn’t pretend not to understand. His gaze flickered down, and he let out a sigh. "I can’t tell you that," he said apologetically.

I nodded, still amazingly calm, although I think now I might have still been numb with shock. "It doesn’t matter," I answered serenely. "We’ll get him, won’t we?" I met his eyes, and saw my own sorrow, and his, reflected back to me in the glittering emerald depths. "We’ll stop him before he has a chance to hurt.. Adam and Elena…."

I felt Michael tense, and his arms tightened around me. "Yes," he answered tightly. "Yes, we will."

I threw my arms around Michael’s neck, feeling so close to him, my ally, my protector, my friend. I trusted him, trusted him completely. It wouldn’t be for almost a year later that I would finally know the whole truth, that the Bastard who killed MY family was part of HIS…

But right then, I didn’t know. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. I didn’t know that Michael had only given me a calculated, edited, version of the truth, and not all of it.

It wasn’t all a lie…. As he would tell me later.

But that is another story, I guess, that I’ll get into later. Right then, all I knew was, like I said, that I trusted him, and that I needed him, and that I… loved him.

"Thank you," I whispered roughly into his collar as I hugged his neck. "Michael, thank you…."

His arms tightened around me, and he gave some advice that I ignored completely, but should have, looking back, heeded. But I guess I’ll never learn….

"Don’t," he choked out gruffly. "Don’t thank me…."

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

We didn’t talk anymore after that, because I started crying again. Not big wracking sobs like before, just a steady flow of sad tears and sobs that kept me pretty much helpless. I couldn’t seem to stop myself, and I wondered if Michael would think I was a total useless wuss or something and not want to have me on his team, as it were, anymore.

But, sweetly, he didn’t seem to mind. I think he almost wanted to let go and join me in my sob-fest if he could. Very gently, before I even knew what was happening, Michael had stood from the couch, with me still in his arms, and then laid me back down on it. The next thing I knew, he had adjusted the pillows beneath my head, and was covering me with the afghan off a nearby chair. Then he tucked me in, as gently as I knew he must tuck his own Baby Adam into bed.

I had my eyes closed, still sobbing, when I felt his hand on my hair. He stroked my cheek, and then with one feather-light touch of his finger, softly caressed my eyebrow. The touch relaxed me, soothed me, more than I can say. I took in a deep sigh, and then I think I must have fallen asleep, from pure exhaustion and grief.

I remember mumbling his name before he left, and he soothed me again, with that soft voice of his. "Shhh," he murmured gently. "Get some rest…."

And then he was gone, back to his own house, to the party, to his own lively family. And to his secret spy life as well.

I didn’t see him for a long time after that, although he seemed to phone me more frequently, and when he did call, he stayed on the phone longer, and our conversations seemed warmer, even more friendly than before. I use the word SEEMED because I don’t know how he really felt about me. If you’re looking down the barrel of a gun into ice-cold green eyes, it changes your perspective a little, about the past I mean. At the time, I thought Michael was my friend, my good friend. I thought he really cared for me. But now, here in his apartment, with a gun to my head, you won’t blame me if I’m no longer sure.

Well, how the hell did I get to that point, you ask? Well, I’m getting to that. One of the starting points had to be when it happened again, when Michael snuck into my house several months later to see me, before he had even been home to his wife. Well, okay, he didn’t sneak in this time. Just tapped gently on the kitchen window while I was washing dishes and nearly scared me to death.

"Let me in," he mouthed the words through the glass. I gulped in a deep breath, my heart pounding, and then nodded, and went to open the door for him.

He slipped past me quickly, and then strode with that panther-like grace of his to the wall and switched off the light, plunging the room into intimate darkness. I was glad to see him walking without a limp this time, looking pretty healthy and whole, but, with Michael, looks can be deceiving, as I found out. I had to ask my next question to make sure.

"Michael!" I demanded in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," came the immediate reply. Then silence. A man of few words, is our Michael.

I let out a sigh of frustration and walked toward him, pulling him down by his sleeve into a chair at the kitchen table and settling into the seat opposite him.

"What’s up?" I whispered urgently. "Why are you here?"

He paused for a moment, and then answered with infuriating calm. "Nothing’s up, as you put it. Everything’s fine. I’m just on my way home, to Adam and Elena, and I thought I would check in with you first, to see how they are doing….."

This sentence should have raised alarm bells in me- since when does Michael do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, casually like this, on the spur of the moment, without calculating and planning first? I should have known he was up to something, but at the time I was just happy to see him, and rather touched by his concern for his family.

"They’re good, Michael, really good…" I told him eagerly, leaning forward in my chair. "Adam just won a prize in karate class, a trophy for winning a competition he was in, and he’s dying to show it to you. And he’s growing like a weed!" I babbled on happily. "You won’t believe how tall he’s getting, and…"

He cut me off. "And Elena?" he asked tensely. "How is Elena?"

I blinked. He sounded really worried, really uptight. The thought flashed in my mind that maybe he was concerned that she was having an affair or something? Or doing something he really disapproved of. His voice held that anxious, horrified tone. Although I couldn’t believe he would ever be worried about Elena that way. She had MICHAEL, for God’s sake. Why would she ever even look at anyone else?

Still, you never know with men. They have their little insecurities, even the best and bravest of them. Even Michael.

"She’s fine," I told him gently, indulging this male weakness. "The same as always. She’s sweet, and beautiful, and she misses you terribly. She talks about you all the time…" I told him assuringly.

Michael nodded in the darkness, but I could tell he was just as tense as before. My words had done nothing to soothe him at all. "No worries?" he quizzed me sharply. "No concerns? Nothing’s bothering her?"

I blinked. What was Michael getting at?

"No, Michael, nothing at all," I answered, bewildered. "She’s fine, like I told you…"

He was silent, still waiting, and I wracked my brain for something to tell him that was out of the ordinary. I only came up with one thing that could be remotely considered a concern…

"Well, there was one thing she was distressed about…" I offered tentatively.

He leaned forward quickly, almost pouncing like a jungle cat, and reached across the table to capture my hand in his. "What?" he asked urgently. "What was it?"

I shrugged, sorry now I had made such a big deal about it. "Nothing, really," I replied. " She just was mooning a little, you know, acting sad, after Adam won his prize. She was just a little wistful that Adam’s grandfather couldn’t be there to see him…."

The grip on my hand tightened painfully. "She did that? She talked about wanting to see her father?"

"Yeah, she did," I answered with a sigh. "Although why she would even WANT to see him, is beyond me.." I said scathingly.

The pressure tightened on my hand, and Michael leaned forward, hissing out his next words. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

I shrugged again, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze on me. "Well, look, Michael," I began. "The slime-ball ran out on her and her mother when she was just a kid. And he’s never shown any interest in her since…" I shook my head in disgust. "He didn’t even show up when her mother died, for crying out loud, just to see if she was all right. As far as I’m concerned, Elena’s father is a real shmuck, and she’s better off not knowing him…."

"A guy like that doesn’t DESERVE to know his grandchild…." I finished acidly.

The pressure on my hand from his increased enormously. I let out a little yelp of pain, and tried to pull away, but he clutched my fingers tighter still. Even in the darkened room, I could tell he had gone deathly pale. "Did you tell her that?" he said tensely.

"Tell her what?" I mewled, having a hard time concentrating while my hand was being crushed. I don’t even know if he was aware that he was doing it. At least, I like to think that he didn’t.

"Did you tell her what you just told me?" he hissed sharply. "Did you tell her your opinion about her father?" The intensity of his voice, his eyes, was beginning to frighten me.

"Of course not," I gasped out truthfully. "I wouldn’t be that rude. I wouldn’t say stuff like that to her, because I know it would hurt her feelings. I was just being honest with you about what I thought of your father-in-law…"

At last, he let me go. With a sigh, he relaxed back into his chair, and closed his eyes. "Thank God," he said fervently. "Thank God…"

I cradled my aching hand in my lap and eyed him curiously. This was obviously a very big deal to Michael. I have to admit, his concern puzzled me. Confused, I took a wild guess as to what this was all about.

"So," I probed carefully, "Does that mean you WANT Elena’s father to come back into her life?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes," he answered intensely. "Yes, I do."

I blinked, a little stunned. "Why?" I gasped in surprise.

He stared at me, his face grim and… desperate. His eyes were infinitely sad. "Between us, Elena and I have very little family left," he began in a whisper. "I know her father is not the best parent in the world, but he’s the only one we’ve got-- the only grandparent that Adam will ever know.."

He looked away, and I swear I could see tears glittering in his eyes. "Flawed as he is, he’s still.. family…" Michael continued roughly. "And if there’s any way to reconcile with him, to bring him back into Elena’s life, I’m willing to do that…."

My heart softened. "Oh, Michael…" I sighed. Michael had surprised me once again. I never realized what a sentimental person he was….

"That’s very sweet and forgiving of you," I told him gently, "But, really, you shouldn’t get your hopes up about Elena’s father coming back, not after all this time…."

He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes fixed pleadingly on mine. "But you could help make it happen, Nancy," he begged. "Elena trusts you…. She listens to your advice. If you told her not to give up hope, then maybe, just maybe, she’d have the courage to start looking for him…"

I tilted my head, regarding him thoughtfully. "So, you want me to talk to her, nudge her in the right direction, is that it?" I asked slowly.

He let out the breath he was holding and smiled at me. "Yes, that’s it.." he said in obvious relief. "I would be so grateful if you would do that for me….." he pleaded earnestly. "Please?"

"Of course, Michael," I answered softly. What else was I going to say, anyway? How could I resist those beseeching green eyes? How could I turn him down when he asked me so sweetly? How could I refuse to do him this small favor that was totally in my power to give?

"If it means so much to you, then I’ll talk to her," I assured him gently. "I promise."

"Merci," he groaned loudly. "Merci…" The next moment, he was up out of his chair and was leaning down over me, kissing me. On the cheeks, I might add, just to make it clear that there was no hanky-panky stuff, just affection between good friends. Just to show him I meant my promise, I kissed him back, taking his face in my hands and planting a big friendly smack on his warm, heavenly-smelling, stubbled cheek. It was just my duty, you see- I didn’t enjoy it….

Yeah, right.

Actually, it was a little intoxicating to know I had the power to make Michael happy with such a little thing like this. It was nice to be that important to someone, to be needed again….

I didn’t know then that he was just playing me, using me in his revolting Section scheme to murder Elena’s father. Yeah, I know Elena’s father was a bad man, and that he needed to be taken out. Still, the cold calculating way it was done appalls me.

But, back then, I was a fool. I fell for Michael’s lies, hook, line and sinker. I was the one being sentimental and soft, NOT him.

If I’d known then what I know now, instead of feeling all warm and fuzzy and ooey-gooey inside, I would have seen him for the cold-blooded snake he was, and then maybe instead of kissing that charming face, I would have slapped it hard instead….

Maybe…..

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

The year wore on, the rather mild winter melting into an even gentler Spring. I was beginning to feel sort of normal again, beginning to recover, little by little, from my crushing grief, the cold lump of misery in my heart thawing and melting just like the snow on the sidewalks under the warm Spring sun.

Being busy helped. There was, of course, all the usual stuff that goes along with just living and owning a house and having a yard- laundry, shopping, cleaning, mowing, etc. I started taking classes at the University, too- in Nursing, since I figured it would come in handy if Michael ever showed up on my door-step shot again. And then there was my unofficial full-time job as watch-dog over Adam and Elena, as well as being Spy Boy’s sidekick.

Yes, that Spring I felt I was making progress in having a life again, after the life I had had before had been so brutally destroyed. I still could cry at the drop of a hat, though, and I never knew when some small, stupid reminder of Roger or Rob would set me off. I learned to avoid the baby-food aisle in the grocery store, and the sporting goods store in the Mall. Those places got to me every-time. I was healing, but that didn’t mean my soul wasn’t still pretty tender and raw.

I was making progress on the Spy stuff, too. Or, at least, progress with Elena’s search for her father. After a few gentle nudges, and a lot of encouragement, I had persuaded Elena to stop just mooning around and wishing that her father was back in her life, and really do something about it. She decided to ask Michael if they could hire a detective to find her father and Michael had, of course, been delighted to agree. Michael had even come over to my house to thank me for that, again in the middle of the night.

This time his stay was brief; he didn’t even sit down, just popped in long enough to tell me he was pleased with how things had gone, thank me, and then leave. But he didn’t look pleased. He looked, it seemed to me, well….

Frightened.

There, I said it. Yes, it’s hard to believe, but that’s how it was. Even though his lips mouthed those satisfied words, his eyes gave him away. Even in the dark, I could tell that the idea of Elena’s father coming back into her life spooked him. No, more than that. I think it scared the living sh*t out of him, excuse my French.

After he was gone, I sat on the couch in my living room, too keyed up to go to bed, even though it was late, and thought about this new Michael mystery. WHY, I wondered, would he work so hard for something to happen that he really didn’t want to happen at all? Why was he torn like this, why was he split in two? Just who the hell WAS Michael, anyway?

I wondered, too, what his life was like when he wasn’t home playing the dutiful father and husband with Elena and Adam. I wondered what other things beside getting shot at and chasing bad guys he did for the mysterious organization that he was controlled by. I went to bed that night, still wondering, and never dreaming that very, very soon, I was about to find out.

And, boy, did I NOT like what I learned. I didn’t like it one bit.

You see, Michael had gotten in the habit of dropping in like he had that first time, after the more grueling missions, before he went home, to gauge my reaction. I guess he figured if how he looked shocked or upset me, it was bound to shake up Elena as well. I think he used me as a barometer to test just how good his cover was, as Mr. Play-It-Safe Average Joe Yuppie business man. I must admit, I’ve never had much of a poker face- all my reactions are pretty much on the surface for anyone to read. I guess it was that very quality of mine that kept Michael coming back again and again to catch me off-guard and check my response to him; Maybe the long years of living a lie had basically rendered him incapable of judging the truth about himself anymore. He needed a mirror, and I acted as one.

A very opinionated mirror, I might add. But honest. I learned that what he wanted was for me to be totally up-front with him, to not hold back. And, let me tell you, this time, I didn’t. I really let him have it.

It was at the end of the summer, when the leaves were just beginning to turn color again, that it happened. I had come home from my nursing class, my stomach still roiling from enduring another gruesome bout in the biology lab. It had been frogs, this time. Let me tell you, there can be nothing grosser than a frog when you cut into its…

Oh well. Let’s not go there.

Anyway, there I was, glad to get home from class, and back inside my own front door, in my own house, which I could gratefully say contained no cold clammy frogs in it.

Just one, very handsome….. snake.

There he sat, on a love seat in the darkened corner of my living room, looking devastatingly attractive in his usual black suit. His hair was still long and glorious then (why he cut it, I never knew) and my heart did its usual somersault inside my chest at the sight of him. He was so utterly beautiful.

"Hello, Michael," I greeted him casually, trying to sound nonchalant while my pulse raced and my throat went dry. No matter how many times I saw him, no matter how many times he appeared in the night at my house, I never got used to it. His presence still excited and unsettled me.

"Hello, Nancy," he greeted me back, with a small nod of his head.

I threw down my books and my keys on the coffee table and then jerked my head toward the doorway. "Want to come into the kitchen and talk to me while I make us some coffee?" I invited. That was our usual spot, in the kitchen. We hadn’t been alone together in the bathroom for months.

"No, thank you," came the unusual, but polite reply, after a brief pause. "If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here…."

I squinted at him, alarmed, and took a few steps forward. I saw now what I hadn’t seen before. I had assumed that because there was no crutch this time that he was uninjured, but that was clearly not the case. Michael’s hand was inside his jacket, holding his ribs, and he was wincing, his face contorted in pain.

"Jesus, Michael…" I exclaimed, rushing to his side. "What happened to you?"

He looked away, his mouth firming grimly. "Nothing," he answered flatly. "Just a beating, that’s all."

His tone shocked me, as well as his words. He had spoken this news as if it WAS nothing, as if getting beaten to a pulp and having your ribs broken was just an everyday thing.

Christ. Maybe for him, it was.

"Let me see," I demanded, kneeling on the floor in front of him.

As first I thought he would refuse, he sat so still, staring into my eyes. But after a moment he let out a deep, weary sigh, and unbuttoned his jacket for me, and then started to unbutton his shirt. The movement made him wince sharply again, hissing in a breath, and his fingers stilled on the buttons as he paused to let the paroxysm of pain pass.

"Let me," I said gently, and then, as before, he leaned back, dropped his hands, and allowed me to take over. Carefully, I eased the jacket over his shoulders and down his arms, and then off. I know I hurt him, by the irregular way he was breathing, and the way he squeezed his eyes shut a few times and tensed up, although he never uttered a sound.

The shirt buttons were next, and I took great care not to jostle him in anyway, although my hands were trembling badly.

I swore loudly when I saw just how badly he was bruised. Whoever had worked him over had done a thorough, professional job of it. He was black and blue on both sides of his abdomen, ugly, huge bruises, too. I eased the shirt back over his arms, and gasped in horror again. There were fingerprint bruise marks on his biceps, where hands had gripped him tight…

Oh, no, I thought. They held him down. Michael had been held down, helpless, while someone beat the crap out of him…..

"No…" I moaned out loud. "Michael…" I sobbed in sympathy.

"It’s okay," he soothed me. "I think I can get away with telling Elena I was mugged, if I go home tonight, but I need you to tell me if the other… marks are still too blatant…"

I stiffened, afraid. "OTHER marks?" I gasped. "Where else are you hurt?"

He gave me that intense stare of his, and then he turned carefully on the couch, sitting sideways, so that the long expanse of his muscular back was presented to me.

I wanted to be sick right there.

He was marked, all right. By a woman. Long scratch marks scored his shoulders and the small of his back, where a lover had very obviously dug her nails into him at the height of sexual passion…

And that lover had definitely not been Michael’s wife.

I staggered back away from him, not trusting myself not to attack him, to slap him, to punch him in my rage and wrenching disappointment. However devious and cunning Michael was, however much he had deceived Elena into thinking he was someone he was not, I never dreamed that he had been deceiving her in THIS particular way.

No, not like this…

"You Bastard!" I screamed at him, tears stinging my eyes. I was almost as hurt and betrayed by this as if I were the wife he had cheated on. God knows, I had envied Elena her good fortune many times, but now I felt only horror for her, and a rank disgust at how she had been duped and deceived for so long.

"What happened, Michael? Did you get caught?" I demanded scathingly. "Did her husband come home unexpectedly and then whip your worthless cheating butt for you?" I yelled, my voice breaking on the last words. "Or are you going to lie and tell me you f*cked some bimbo under orders for a mission?"

I saw his back stiffen, and he let out a low moan, a moan that had nothing to do with the physical pain he was in. Slowly, he turned around, and then collapsed back on the couch, facing me once more.

"Nancy," he pleaded, his sculpted chest heaving, both arms cradling his ribs, "Nancy, please………"

I took in a sharp breath, feeling myself weakening, despite what I knew he had done. Even with the evidence of his infidelity right before my eyes, the sight of him in pain, with those beautiful eyes looking at me like that, still had the effect of softening my heart.

I moaned, and collapsed into a nearby chair, burying my face in my hands. "How long?" I gasped out in anguish. "How long have you been doing this? And how long have *I* been helping you betray your wife?" I sobbed, feeling guilty for not realizing he had made me his unwitting accomplice in his infidelity.

"It’s not like that," he protested softly. "I swear, it’s not."

I looked up at him warily, and then took an anxious, trembling breath. "What is it like, then?" I asked tensely. "Just tell me that…."

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

He was silent a long time, just looking at me, looking miserable. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head wearily back on the couch. Still he was quiet, for so long that for a moment I thought he must have passed out, or fallen asleep, until he startled me by suddenly speaking, his eyes still closed.

"There is a woman I… care about," he confessed softly. "A colleague. I trained her; I was her mentor. I feel responsible for her. She… cares about me, too, I think…"

He sat up, the green eyes coming slowly open, and he looked at me with such wistful sadness, that I couldn’t reply with my acid tongue, although I thought he deserved it. Instead, the words came out gently.

"Is she the one you were with this time?" I asked softly, feeling sad, too, my anger dissipating.

His mouth twisted in a grimace, and he shook his head. "No." The word was full of anguish, and I knew there was so much more to this story.

I sighed. Another huge mystery. "I don’t understand…" I whispered softly. "Who were you with, then?"

He let out a long breath. "It’s… complicated," he choked out roughly.

I almost laughed. Since when was anything about Michael’s life NOT complicated?

I settled back in my chair and gave him a small smile to encourage him. "If you speak slowly and start at the beginning, maybe I can understand," I said in a gentle, light tone. "Try me."

I wanted to understand, desperately. I wanted to believe in him again. I wanted to be on his side. I wanted him to my hero once more.

Michael shifted uncomfortably on the couch, and looked down at the floor. He winced, from the memories, I was sure, not from the pain of his damaged ribs.

"Last year, we were assigned to take down a terrorist, an assassin…." He began, his voice so low I had to strain to hear. "His security was tight, his house was like a fortress. We needed to get into his computer, to a file he kept on all his planned activities.." He sighed deeply and went on.

"There was no way to get to him, except through his one weak point…" Michael said sorrowfully. "His wife."

I flinched, not liking where this was going. A love story I could handle. I could have forgiven him for falling in love, for caring about two women at the same time. Hell, how could I NOT understand that? Wasn’t I in love with Michel AND Rob, and with Roger and Adam, all at the same time? I understood what it was like to be confused, conflicted, to have your heart in two places at once. But this…

This sounded…. Well, calculated. Ice cold and calculated.

"You were ordered to seduce her," I choked out, feeling sick. "Weren’t you?"

He didn’t try to deny it, or soften it, or make this ugly truth prettier than it was. "Yes," he admitted baldly. "It was very easy. She was afraid of her husband, intimidated by him. He.. beat her…" Michael whispered, his voice full of pain. "I promised her I would take her away, I promised her that I would love her forever…" The words were wrenched out of him, and I knew he had hated what he had done. I hated it, too.

I groaned, and put my head in my hands. I could see it all clearly. How hard would it be for a man like him, a man so compelling, so charming, to sweep a vulnerable woman off her feet? Hell, I adored him myself, and he hadn’t even tried to seduce me….

Or had he? A cold slither of doubt sneaked up and stabbed me, like a knife slipped stealthily between my ribs. Michael hadn’t seduced me into his bed, but there were other ways to be seduced than that..…. Wasn’t I just as devoted, just as captivated and enslaved, just as ….duped, as this poor girl was? I slammed the brakes on this disturbing line of thought, ignoring my doubts, my sick fears, and asked him another question.

"You said that was a year ago," I reminded him tensely. "What happened now?"

He sighed again, still turning his head away, not wanting to face me. "The organization I work for decided not to kill her husband when it was over," he answered softly. "They decided he would be useful to them because of his criminal contacts." His mouth twisted grimly. "My protégé and I were sent on a mission with him."

I gasped, not believing my ears. "What?" I choked out. "This killer, this wife-beating bastard, this man who KNEW you slept with his wife—they expected you to work with him?"

Hi eyes finally flickered up to meet mine, and then he nodded. "Yes. It went badly, of course….."

I eyed his bruised ribs and nodded. "I see that," I said softly. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes, and the arms that cradled his ribs tightened around himself, as if he needed this self-hug for comfort. "He killed my team and kidnapped my colleague," he whispered harshly. "He told me he would kill her if I didn’t find his wife for him and bring her back to him."

His words affected me like a kick to the gut. This was horrible, for everyone involved. For Elena and Adam, for Michael’s friend, for the poor girl he had had to trick and dupe again, and most of all for Michael himself. I realized that no only did Michael worry about his family’s safety and his own while he did his dangerous job, he worried about losing his fellow operatives as well. How many comrades had he lost over the years? How many friends had he gotten attached to, only to have them ripped away from him by the violence of evil element he dealt with?

And, I wondered too, how many times had he prostituted himself to save the innocents he was trying to protect? The thought of him with this poor girl sickened me, for both their sakes.

"I see," I said after a long silence, letting out a shuddering breath, my stomach heaving. "You found her, and you seduced her again…."

Michael said nothing, his face blank again, and after a moment I asked another question. "Did you save your friend?"

He stared at me, blankly, for a long while, not answering for so long that I thought it must be bad news. I wasn’t prepared for the answer he finally gave me. "Yes," he said at last, but so sorrowfully that I knew something else bad had happened.

"Good," I said uncertainly. "And the bad guy? Did you get him? Did his wife get away from him?"

He sighed again, looking at the floor once more. "He’s dead and she’s free, yes." There was no happiness in this announcement, no satisfaction at all. The whole thing had been a total ordeal for him. I could see then how much he hated himself, how guilty he was, about betraying this woman that trusted him, about betraying Elena….

I realized I really didn’t know him at all…

"Oh," I gasped out stupidly, not knowing what to say to all this. My head was spinning a little, I must admit. It was going to take a long time to digest this huge chunk of indigestible information he had given me.

"Nancy," he pleaded suddenly, his eyes wide with fear. "You won’t say anything to Elena, will you?" he begged. "Please…"

I sighed, and leaned forward in my chair, and stretched out my hand to place it on his. "Michael," I chided him gently, "You should know me better than that by now. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Elena – or YOU—like that…." I assured him softly.

I understood now, more than ever, how important it was that Michael’s secret life be kept from Elena at all costs. I know I was in anguish about what he did, the danger he was in, the ..depravity and deceit he was mired in. This information shook me to the core, and I was only his friend. If Elena knew the truth, it would destroy her. She had to be protected from it at all costs.

"I don’t like what you’ve told me," I told him in a sorrowful, but sympathetic tone. "But you’re still my friend, and you HAVE trusted me enough to confide in me, and I will respect your confidence. I promise you, your secret is safe with me." I vowed solemnly.

I thought he was going to cry right then. He looked at me so gratefully. I think he needed my friendship right then even more than he needed my silence.

"Thank you," he choked out. "Nancy, thank you, more than I can say…"

I waved it away, feeling choked up myself. "It’s okay," I dismissed it gruffly. "What do you say we have that cup of coffee now, before you have to go?" I offered tenderly.

At last, he smiled at me. Through his tears, yes, but it was a dazzling smile nevertheless. "I’d love that," he whispered hoarsely. "I’d really love that."

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

A few weeks later, Michael returned home to Elena and Adam, looking fit and fine again, not clutching his ribs in pain as he had done with me. I heard no tales of Michael having been mugged, and there were no rumors of any other mishaps or misadventures- it seemed everything was just as normal as could be.

Except me. As much as I felt in a way honored that Michael had trusted me, had given me a glimpse into his secret life, I was almost sorry that he had. It would have been easier, much easier, if he had kept the truth from me. Because now I couldn’t really look at him the same way. The friendly, mellow neighbor he portrayed himself to be I realized, more than ever, was just a facade. Whereas before I had begun to feel comfortable around him, felt close to him, now I was disturbed, unsettled, and unsure.

And, worst of all, I couldn’t look at Elena the same way, either. I would watch her bubbling over with excitement at Michael’s presence, listen to her sing his praises, and think what a poor deluded fool she was. I wondered all the time when or if she would find out the truth, and be shattered by it. Whereas before I had always admired her strength, envied her life, now I was filled with pity, and a deep sorrow. Her dream life was just that- a dream, her happiness not based in reality at all. The Michael she loved was not real, but just some made-up character that he played.

You might say I brooded over this a lot. I knew some of the joy I was beginning to feel at living had faded a little. Okay, more than a little- A LOT. The golden dream that was my neighbors’ idyllic life had faded to tarnished brass, and I guess I needed to mourn this loss a little, just as I still mourned my son and my husband.

I suppose Elena chalked up this new wave of depression to just my still working out my grief. I was grateful that she didn’t ask any questions, or probe into this new melancholy of mine. She was just as sweet and supportive as before. The secret that I kept from her burned in my breast, and I think not being able to talk to her, to be open with her, made me feel even lonelier than before.

But it wasn’t long before I had a new worry to think about. Several new worries, in fact. Things began to happen fast that Fall, one quirk of fate after another. I didn’t know at the time that it was the beginning of the end, that the things that happened were omens of the disaster yet to come. Or, at least, my conscious mind didn’t know that they were. I think now that my soul did, however- why else would I spend those glorious autumn days feeling such sorrow, such cold, sick dread?

The first omen of gloom, although it didn’t seem that way at the time, was a ray of pure sunshine named Nikita. She was Michael’s cousin, a long-lost relation whom he had lost touch with, and both he and Elena seemed delighted to have her back in their lives. Adam adored her, too. She had an easy way with children and adults alike, and I must say I was completely charmed by her as well. She seemed so open, so free, so… uncomplicated.

Boy, was I wrong.

But before I get into that, let me tell you about the next omen, this one not nearly as nice as the first. A few days after Nikita’s last visit, Elena invited me over for coffee, saying she had some big news. We settled into the couch in her living room with our coffee cups for a good chat. Michael was at work, Adam upstairs in his room playing video games. It was a perfect opportunity for sharing confidences. I gave my friend a curious look, and an encouraging smile, and asked her what was up.

The beautiful dark eyes softened, and she bit her lower lip. I could tell she was both nervous and excited about whatever it was she was going to tell me.

"I got a letter," she told me a little breathlessly. "From my father."

"Your… father?" I gasped in shock. The alarm bells were going off in my head. Just how much of a coincidence could it be that this was what Michael had been arranging and planning for, that this was just what Michael had wanted to happen, and now it had?

"Yes, isn’t if fantastic?" Elena went on eagerly. "He wrote me, out of the blue, and said he wants to meet with me…" She blushed and lowered her lashes, and I could tell this meant the world to her. "He wants us to be a family again," she whispered softly, as if she were afraid she would jinx the whole thing if she spoke the words too loud.

"Why… why, Elena…." I stammered in shock. "That’s just… just amazing!" I told her truthfully. I put my hand in hers. "What are you going to do?" I asked in concern. "Are you going to meet him?"

She nodded, and let out a soft sigh. "Yes, I think I will…" She gave me one of her sweet, shy smiles. "I almost decided not to, because I was still too angry at him for abandoning me and my mother, and for being silent so long, but Nikita persuaded me that I should give him another chance…."

"Nikita?" I said tightly, the alarm bells clanging alarmingly now. "She told you to meet him?"

Elena nodded. "She said that even though he wasn’t there when I needed him in the past, that I would need him in the future, and that it was worth the risk to get him back in my life, so that Adam would know his grandfather…"

"I see," I answered, my voice still tight. And I was beginning to, all right. Maybe Nikita wasn’t the straightforward bit of sunshine I thought her to be….

I forced a smile, and because she expected it, and because Michael had demanded it, I answered her with an enthusiasm that I didn’t feel. "How… wonderful!" I exclaimed. "When is this meeting going to take place?"

"I don’t know yet," Elena replied anxiously, shaking her head. "I wrote him back, saying I wanted him to come, and giving him my phone number…" She bit her lip again. "I hope he calls me soon…"

I closed my eyes, feeling awash with pity. Poor Kid. Her father hadn’t phoned her in twenty years. What were the chances he would call her now? I faked enthusiasm again. "He’ll call," I lied to her face. "I’m sure of it."

Elena smiled and gave me an impulsive hug. I kissed her cheek, feeling like some kind of Judas. This set of circumstances was just too convenient, too contrived to be chance. Things were being manipulated- ELENA was being manipulated- and I was just another puppeteer, pulling her strings.

I promised myself I would confront Michael about it as soon as I got a chance. It came sooner than I thought- When I walked home form Elena’s house a half hour later, Michael was there in my kitchen again.

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

He was sitting nonchalantly at the kitchen table again, looking quite beautiful, as always, although his hair was now shorter than I liked it. However, a sweet silky strand of it still curled over his ear, very endearingly, and I almost forgave him for having it cut.

I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready to forgive him his other trespasses.

"Hello, Michael," I began quickly, seating myself in the chair opposite him and getting right to the point. "You’re here to talk about Elena’s father." It was a statement, not a question.

He got right to the point, too. "Yes," he answered in that soft voice of his. "I suppose Elena told you about the letter?"

I nodded. "Just now," I told him. "She seems anxious to see him again."

Michael rubbed his chin thoughtfully and sighed. "Good," he said, somewhat morosely. "If all goes well, it won’t be long now." He sounded less than eager for this meeting to happen, let me tell you. It sounded more like he was discussing someone’s funeral rather than a happy family reunion….

Was he?

I leaned forward abruptly and took hold of his wrist; maybe I was afraid of him getting away before he had answered all my questions; or maybe I just needed to touch him to assure myself he was all right, I really don’t know. I do know that I was beginning to feel very apprehensive and frightened.

"What’s really going on, Michael?" I demanded, fear making my voice waver unsteadily. "What’s up with this letter?"

He glanced briefly down at my hand on his wrist, but did not pull away. He just stayed where he was and lifted those compelling green eyes to mine.

The blank stare. AGAIN.

"What do you mean?" he queried levelly.

I let out a groan, and gripped his wrist harder. "Don’t leave me in the dark, Michael, please…" I begged. "It’s just too much of a coincidence that Elena’s father would write her out of the blue like that…" I shook my head. "It doesn’t seem…. Real…."

He grimaced, and I saw an inner struggle play across his face, as if he were weighing whether or not he could trust me with the truth. I waited tensely while he made his decision.

"It’s not," he said at last, gently taking my hand in both of his.

I blinked. "The letter’s not real?" I repeated dumbly.

"No," he said softly, looking down at our entwined fingers. "It was faked. It was written in order to get Elena to write to her father," he explained gently.

I stiffened in shock, my mind whirling. This was even more devious a plan than I had thought, more twisted and convoluted than I had ever imagined. Before I had a chance to respond, Michael continued with his explanation.

"We’ll rearrange the wording of what Elena wrote, make it seem like the idea of a reconciliation with her father originated with her," he went on, squeezing my hand tighter. "Hopefully her father will respond and then when he does, we’ll take him out."

I took in a sharp breath. "So, you’re using Elena to lure him out," I said tightly. "You’re manipulating her emotions…"

He had the decency to look guilty at my words. "Yes, we are." His mouth twisted in a grim line. "But it has to be done."

This time, I pulled away from him, retrieving my hand from his grasp, and asked him my other pressing question. "Is Nikita a part of it, too?" I demanded, my own guilt making the words come out sharply. "Is she manipulating Elena as well?"

A flash of pain crossed his handsome face. "Yes," he confirmed grimly, his voice taut with anguish. "Her as well."

I let out a deep sigh. "So she’s not really who she appears to be, either," I said sadly. "I suppose then, she’s not really your cousin?"

He closed his eyes and looked away. "No," he answered tersely. "She’s not."

I waited for more from him, but he remained silent for a long, tense few minutes. Then I couldn’t take it anymore, and broke down and forced out the next anguished question.

"Is she the one?" I demanded anxiously. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, but I just had to know if what I suspected of the beautiful blonde was true. "Is Nikita the woman- the colleague- that you care about?"

His response was instantaneous, electrifying. Before I knew it, he had snatched my hands up from the table and was now crushing my wrists in his grip. "Leave…. Her… out… of… it," he hissed sharply, as angry and as dangerous-looking as I had ever seen him. I had definitely struck a nerve with my probing, a raw one. I quivered a little in fright, realizing what I had done. I had stupidly poked a stick at the panther’s cub, and the jungle cat had leapt to his little one’s protection.

I hoped he wouldn’t claw me too badly.

"I can do that," I agreed, in what I hoped was a soothing tone, although I knew my voice quavered with tension. "I can play it cool, Michael," I assured him gently, my heart leaping in my throat, trying not to squeak out the words like a frightened mouse.

He studied me warily, his eyes searching mine. And in that brief moment, mine searched his as well. I learned by the way he looked at me, with such ruthlessness, such cold appraisal, just where I stood. I knew without a doubt that if it came down to protecting either me or Nikita, Nikita would win every time--- he would sacrifice me in a heart beat. The jungle cat would chose his mate over anyone or anything else…

His mate….

Oh, God, I thought. Poor Elena….

My abject ploy seemed to work; Michael relaxed his grip on my hands, and let me go. "All right," he agreed, still wary. "See that you do."

I let out a relieved sigh and stared warily back. "It’s okay, Michael," I promised him meekly. "You can trust me…"

I said the words, but I wonder if he really trusted me now. I wondered if he would trust me ever again. I wondered if he had ever trusted me at all.

"What happens now?" I squeaked out, still alarmed by that look in his eyes.

He gave me the anguished look of a cornered animal.

"We wait," he said sadly, his voice tight with tension. "We wait."

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

We didn’t have to wait long. Within a few days, disaster struck, everything the omens and my bad vibes had portended coming to pass with a vengeance. It was more horrible than I had ever imagined. I felt like I had fallen into some horrid nightmare, and couldn’t get out. But it was no bad dream- it was all -wretchedly- true. Every sickening, heart-wrenching moment of it.

Let me take a deep breath here a moment. I think I’m going to be sick again….

Sigh. There, that’s better. I ‘m still not sure I can get through re-living this, but I’ll try.

I guess the best way to tell you this is to just start at the beginning. The first thing that happened is that Nikita came to visit again, spending the night with her "cousin" Michael. She slept on the couch, I’m sure, but still, it must have been an uneasy night for Michael to have both of the women he loved there in the same house, his two separate lives intermingling like that. I could only imagine how stressed he must have been.

But that was by far not the worst thing that happened to my neighbors the Samuelles. No, definitely not the worst.

Elena called me the second day of Nikita’s visit. It was early, just a little after breakfast time, and Elena’s voice bubbled over with excitement.

"My father just called me!" my friend blurted out breathlessly. "He wants to meet me tonight- at the park…"

This struck me as strange right there, but I didn’t say anything. It just felt WRONG. Why the park? Why not just come to Elena’s house? I had a sick feeling in my stomach, my guts clenching with dread, and it took all I had to answer her with even a semblance of my normal tone.

"That’s great!" I lied, forcing the words from my fear-constricted throat. "Do you need me to watch Adam for you when you go meet him?"

"No, that’s okay," she declined in an excited voice. "Nikita is going to stay with him, but thanks, anyway."

It’s petty of me, I know, but I must confess to the raging jealousy that consumed me at that moment. Nikita had Michael’s love, and now she would have Adam’s sweet affection for the night, too. I had already seen how much Adam took to her, although I could understand completely how both of the Samuelle men would be smitten with the stunning blonde. Nikita was beautiful, and charming, and she had something else irresistible about her, a quality I wasn’t sure I had words for. Was it an innate--- purity? Wholesomeness? Nobility? Just plain goodness? I don’t know, exactly. But whatever it was, it made me just sick with envy.

If I had known then just how barren and miserable Nikita’s life really was, maybe I wouldn’t have felt that way. Maybe. Or perhaps I would have remembered the passion in Michael’s eyes when he talked about her, and I would have been jealous anyway.

I told you I was petty.

I waited anxiously through the rest of the day for the appointed meeting, afraid to go anywhere in case Elena needed me. I paced the floor, nervous and tormented. I didn’t have much respect or sympathy for Elena’s dead-beat Dad, and Michael had hinted that he had done terrible things, perhaps even been involved in some way in Rob and Roger’s plane crash, but still, I thought, even if her father deserved what he got tonight, Elena didn’t deserve it at all. She didn’t deserve having her heart broken like this. But it seemed there was no way to hurt the one without hurting the other.

I only hoped that Elena’s losing her father would not destroy her. I didn’t know then that within the week, she would lose not only her father, but that she would lose her husband, too, as well as narrowly escape losing her own life on top of that.

It’s that ignorance is bliss thing again. If I knew then what I know now, I guess the smartest thing I could have done was to take enough dope to sleep through the week and not wake up until the whole thing was over. But as it was, I was fully, painfully conscious, awake and aware for every excruciating moment of the pure torture that was to come.

The day took forever to go by. At last six o’clock rolled around, and I could see from my living room window Michael and Elena’s car going by on the street, headed toward the park and the meeting with her father. I said a little prayer for them as they drove past, although I didn’t know what to ask for. It was one of those wordless whimper kind of prayers. I figured Jesus knew what I meant, even without words. I wonder now if I had prayed then for Michael not to die if it would have made any difference.

Well, so much for theological debates. I went back to feeling terrified. Do I even have to tell you how God-f*cking-DAMN relieved I was, when Elena called me a few hours later, to say that her father hadn’t showed after all? I wanted to do a little jig right there, I wanted to cry from joy.

Elena, however, didn’t think it was such a happy thing. She was crying, too, from sheer disappointment and misery. She was angry as well- I could hear it in her voice. I had to disguise the elation in mine, and force myself to sound properly solemn and sympathetic, but, let me tell you, it was hard, really hard. Because I was just so happy I could barely contain myself.

I think, looking back, that this little reprieve, this lifting of the oppressive sense of doom that I had, only made what came next even harder. It deluded me into thinking that everything was fine, that everything would be okay now, and, of course, that’s when the other shoe- or was it a god-damned anvil?- dropped.

Yup, the next tragedy blind-sided me but good…..

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

It was in the middle of the night just a few days later that Michael called me, breathless with panic. I had never heard him sound so upset before, his voice strained and tight with fear. I had been fully dead asleep, and even though the jangling phone jarred me awake, it took a moment for me to register just what he was saying to me.

Oh, Christ, I thought, my heart wrenching in my chest. Oh, God, please.. Please, no…

Elena was sick. Really sick. Michael needed to rush her to the hospital, and he wanted to know if I would stay with Adam through the night?

"On my way," I yelled into the phone, and then slammed down the receiver and staggered out of bed. I didn’t bother to do anything first- didn’t bush my teeth, or get dressed, or even lock my door behind me—I just ran. I had been sleeping in sweat pants and a big t-shirt and heavy socks (I always got cold at night) and that was how I arrived on Michael’s doorstep less than two minutes later, my hair and eyes wild, I know.

He opened the door for me, although how he did it with Elena in his arms, I don’t know. I was stunned with horror at how pale she looked, how deathly white her lovely dark skin was. Her eyes were closed, and she let out a moan, and writhed in pain in Michael’s strong arms. Michael was pale, too, his eyes dark with panic and dread, his lower lip trembling.

I didn’t delay them one second, just held the door open for them to pass, and then ran to the car and opened that door for them as well. Michael placed Elena gently on the back seat, lying her down and covering her with a blanket. Then he practically sprinted for the driver’s side and had the engine running before the door was even closed behind him.

You can bet I was really praying hard then.

"Don’t worry about Adam," I called out to Michael, offering the only comfort I could. "I can stay as long as you need me. Just call me when you can, okay?"

He looked at me, a quick glance, his eyes grateful and desperate at the same time. "Thank you," he murmured quickly, and then gunned the car and spurted out of driveway, his tires kicking up gravel, his hazard lights flashing harshly into the night. Numbly, I watched the car disappear down the road, then shuddered as a terrible, sickening thought hit me.

I hoped to God that wasn’t the last time I would ever see Elena. I tried to shrug off this fear, but it wouldn’t leave me. Unfortunately, I had taken too many nursing classes by then not to recognize a dying person when I saw one.

A noise behind me made me jump, jolting me out of my morbid reverie. I whirled, and looked toward the source of the faint sound, toward the house behind me.

A small, pajama-clad figure was silhouetted in the doorway, outlined by the lights from the bright hallway behind him. The little one rubbed his eyes and let out a soft whimper. "M-Mommy?" Adam called uncertainly. "Mommy, I had a bad dream…"

My heart broke right there. It was a bad dream, all right. I just wished to Hell that I could wake up.

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

I’d like to be able to tell you that I was a tower of strength that night, that I held it together, being brave and strong, that I offered my strength and comfort to the terrified child in my care. The truth is, of the two of us, it was I who was more terrified, and it was Adam who probably gave me more comfort than I did him.

I snatched him up in my arms, carried him into the house, and settled with him on my lap in the rocking chair in the living room. He burrowed his face into my neck, his hands gripping my t-shirt for dear life, and cried his heart out. I did the same, hanging on tight, drawing comfort from the feel of having a warm, living child in my arms again, this sweet boy that I loved more than any other child in the world, except for the one who was gone, the one I could never hold again…

It wasn’t right, I brooded, as I sobbed my eyes out right along with Adam. It wasn’t right for children to be without their mothers, or for mothers to be without their children. I didn’t want Adam to experience the searing loss that I had. Oh, God, I didn’t want Elena to die…

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, Adam and I, rocking and crying, crying and rocking. I had told him a glossed-over child’s version of the truth, that Mommy was sick and that Daddy had taken her to see the doctors at the hospital so that she could feel better. I told him I would stay with him and that Daddy would be home soon. I didn’t tell him how worried I was, but he was a perceptive bright child, and I knew he had figured that out on his own.

Neither of us was up to being brave that night, I decided. Or, at least, I know *I* wasn’t. I left all the lights on in the house, and when Adam had at last cried himself to sleep on my chest I didn’t have the heart to take him to his own dark room to sleep alone. Instead, I carried him just a few steps to the couch, laid him down, and tucked him in, taking care to arrange some big throw-pillows on the floor in case he rolled over and feel off his make-shift bed.

Truth is, I didn’t want to be alone in the dark by myself, either. Not that particular night.

The sound of his quiet breathing soothed me, and at last I began to relax, just a little. My heart was like a heavy, cold lump of ice in my chest, and I shivered, feeling like I would never get warm again, now that that sweet warmth of sleeping child was no longer against my heart like a blanket of comfort for my soul.

Hugging myself, I shivered again, and wandered into the kitchen to make tea. Maybe if I swallowed some boiling liquid, I reasoned, I would feel warm inside again. After the kettle was on, I wandered out into the hall. Truth to tell, I didn’t like being in that kitchen alone. It was too big and empty, too barren without the warm presence of Elena. I shivered again, and then impulsively went to hall closet and opened the door, searching for a sweater to borrow.

There was very little of Elena in this closet. It was all Michael’s, mostly. His scent lingered here, and it was almost as if he were in the room with me. I felt the cold shards of ice in my heart melting a little, and, and not even thinking, I reached for one of his jackets off the hanger and put it on. The warm brown corduroy enveloped me comfortingly, imparting Michael’s strength, and I somehow no longer felt afraid, or cold.

Cheered a little, I went back into the kitchen, where the kettle was boiling furiously now, made the tea, and returned to my chair in the living room. I settled in to drink my drink and stand watch over the sleeping little one, resuming my vigil. I cradled the portable phone in my lap, ready and waiting for Michael’s call.

But it never came. I think I fell asleep—how I don’t know, as tense as I was. It must have been from sheer exhaustion after all that crying, because I had fully intended to stay up until Michael got back. As it was, that’s how he found me the next morning, in the living room with all the lights blazing, dead to the world, slumped in the rocking chair, wearing his clothes, the phone slipped from my hand and resting on the floor.

"Nancy?" Michael said gently, shaking my shoulder.

I jumped, startling awake, and let out a shocked cry. "Huh?" I moaned incoherently, blinking at him stupidly.

"Shhh," he cautioned me, a finger to his lips, and then nodded at Adam, who was still fast asleep on the couch. "Come into the kitchen, and we’ll talk."

I nodded, staggered to my feet, and followed him down the hall, my legs feeling wobbly underneath me. I trotted along behind him, trying to gauge what kind of news he had for me. I couldn’t see his face, but I took in the grim set of his shoulders and the stiff way he held his back, as if he were tensed for a blow. Oh, no, I thought. Oh, no…

When we got to the kitchen, and he turned so that I could look into his face, I knew. I knew he had no good news. His beautiful, full-lipped mouth was pressed in tight line, his handsome face pale, his eyes dark and tortured. Like me, he swayed a little on his feet.

I gasped, tears filling my eyes. "She’s …not… not…?" I moaned, not able to complete my question, totally incapable of uttering that horrible word.. I was shaking so bad I could hardly speak at all, let alone let the Death word get past my throat…

Blessedly, he shook his head. "No," he choked out grimly. "Not… yet…."

I let out a harsh sob, my hand flying to my mouth. "What did the doctor’s tell you?" I demanded, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

Michael closed his eyes, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. I could tell he was having trouble getting the words out, just like I was. "They say it’s meningitis," he whispered roughly. "She’s not responding to the medicine they gave her. …" He took in shuddering breath, and let it out in a ragged, anguished sigh. "She may have only a few days left…" he sobbed, his voice breaking. His words struck me like a blow, and I staggered back to collapse into a kitchen chair, my legs no longer able to hold me. I said nothing, unable to do much more than whimper, letting out little mewling sounds of pain. My mind reeled, unable to process this horror.

"Meningitis…" I repeated numbly, in shock. "Meningitis…"

Suddenly I stiffened, and leapt to my feet, remembering something I had read about this disease in one of my medical text-books. "God, Michael!" I screamed, running toward him. "Isn’t that …. Contagious?" I clutched his forearms to steady myself, holding onto his sleeves for dear life, and raised my stricken face to his. "What if .. Adam has it, too?" I cried in agony. "Oh, God…." I gasped, panicking…

A cold look settled over Michael’s face, and he gripped me sharply by the elbows, and gave me a hard shake. "There’s nothing wrong with Adam," he hissed out angrily.

I stared at him, speculating that he was still in shock over the news he had heard that night, and was deep in denial. I had been deep in denial, too, when I had gotten the phone call about the plane crash, telling me that my husband AND my child had been killed. I couldn’t believe that BOTH of them were gone, that one of them hadn’t survived somehow. It was just too cruel..

I couldn’t let this happen again--- not to Michael. I struggled mightily in his arms, frantic to get to the child in the living room. "Let me go!" I cried, tears streaming. "We have to take Adam in to be checked!" I begged, panicking. "I can’t let you lose your family, too, Michael!" I moaned, staring pleadingly into his eyes. "Not both of them, no…. NO!" I wailed.

Inexplicably, he held me tighter, his face hardening into an implacable mask. He wouldn’t let me go, and I found myself pounding my fists against his shoulders in my frantic efforts to be free. "Michael, please!" I sobbed. "God, Michael, please!"

The next thing he did came as a complete surprise. He slapped me, hard across the face. I didn’t see it coming. I just saw stars for a while, and then I staggered back, reeling, holding my hand to my stinging cheek, gasping, and staring at him in shocked silence.

His face was still hard and grim, but his voice was infinitely tender. "Adam won’t get sick," he said gently, "because Elena doesn’t have.. meningitis."

I blinked, and let out a gasp. "But.. but… you said .. you said that she did…" I stammered in shock.

As I watched, Michael’s face crumpled into tears, his mouth contorting, as he broke into harsh sobs. "No…." he moaned, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. "She was poisoned….."

I thought I would pass out right there. The edges of my vision sparkled white, and the room whirled sickeningly. With what was left of my strength I staggered toward him. This time it was I who shook him, shook him hard, until he lifted his head and looked at me with those liquid green eyes.

"WHO???" I shouted angrily, shaking him, my voice quivering in fury. "Who poisoned Elena?"

Unresisting, the fight gone out of him, Michael surrendered to despair, and answered me in a voice of hopeless sorrow. "The people I work for," he told me in a rough whisper. "Section One."

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

Maybe if I had known it was the last time I would see Michael alive—I mean, the last time before I found out he had died, but hadn’t really- maybe I wouldn’t have been so harsh with him. But as it was, I was crazed, consumed, and livid with rage. And terror. But mostly, I was just plain INSANE to find out what he had meant.

"Sit down!" I ordered loudly, shoving him into a chair at the kitchen table. He didn’t fight me, just slumped over, holding his head in his hands. I perched one hip on the edge of the table and leaned over him, and began my interrogation. There was no way he was leaving that kitchen without explaining himself. I would have had to kill him myself first.

"What the HELL are you talking about?" I hissed. "HOW did they poison her? WHY would they poison her?" I demanded stridently. "And just who the F*CK is Section One?"

He jerked his head up at this last question, perhaps a little shocked at my language. It wasn’t pretty, or lady-like, I know, but what those bastards had done to Elena wasn’t either.

Or maybe it wasn’t the F-word on my lips that had startled him. Perhaps it was the name "Section One" coming out of my mouth that had shaken him up. At least, that’s what I concluded when I heard the next thing he had to say.

He looked up into my face, stricken and pale. "You have to forget you heard that name," he choked out tightly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me closer, so that my eyes were level with his. He looked terrified. "You can’t mention this to anyone…" he whispered harshly, his grip tightening painfully on my hand. "Ever.."

At that point, his concern for secrecy, or even mine for my own safety, mattered to me not at all; I was intent on hearing the whole story and this delay infuriated me. I glared at him and raised my voice higher.

"You TELL me right now what the Hell is going on, Michael," I demanded, "Or I swear I’ll take out an ad in the newspapers, on t.v., and announce it on the internet.." I threatened, meaning every word, "I’ll splash the name Section One everywhere!"

He blanched, and squeezed my wrist tighter. "If you do," he groaned harshly, "You’ll be signing your own death warrant…"

I tossed my head defiantly, too angry to be afraid. Or maybe, looking back, I was just too stupid. "If that’s the case, Michael," I countered dryly, "Then you’d better start talking."

To my surprise, he capitulated completely. "All right," he said with a shaky sigh. "I’ll tell you…"

He released my wrist and I settled into the chair across from him, leaning forward eagerly. "Well?" I prompted him.

H took a deep breath and began, answering my questions in the order I had asked them. I wasn’t prepared for the shock of what he told me next.

"I don’t know how the poison was delivered," he said in a low tone, a formidable frown marring that perfect brow. "But they must have found a way to do it after I refused to do it for them…"

I opened my mouth and no sound came out. I was totally, completely, stunned. Michael had been ordered to poison Elena? My mind whirled in horror. How evil could these bastards called Section One get???

"Why??" I squawked out, my throat closing up in cold fear. "Michael, WHY?"

He looked away, a muscle in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth and formulated his answer. "Because her father needs to be drawn out of hiding," he told me in a gruff, anguished whisper. "A fatal illness in his daughter would provide him with an urgent reason to do so…."

I felt sick. What kind of psychos would think of something as purely vile and twisted as this? I gagged on bile.

"They really want her to die?" I choked out, anguished.

He was silent a moment, staring blankly, bleakly, ahead, as if he could see the future and it offered him no comfort. "I don’t know," he said flatly, as if numb with despair. "They said the drug they gave her was not fatal, that it would only simulate the symptoms of a terminal illness, but I’m not sure," he choked out. "I think they only told me that so that I would .. go along with it …"

I lost it then. The blood pounded in my head, and I saw red. Literally. I was so angry I think I may have been close to having a stroke. But I wasn’t angry at Michael- for him, I had only the tenderest feelings of compassion and pity, like the way it tears at your heart to see a wounded and tortured animal, bleeding and caught in a hunter’s cruel trap. No, all my fury was not directed at the victims, but at the real perpetrators of evil here- Section One.

"We’ve got to stop them," I hissed out, gripping both his hands in mine across the table. "We’ve got to find a way to save Elena," I insisted breathlessly. "And then," I added, in a gentler voice than before, " We’ve got to find a way to get you free……"

He laughed. Not a nice merry laugh, like the ones I loved. This laugh was so harsh and bitter that I think it scarred my soul when I heard it. "I’ll never be free," he whispered hoarsely, in a tone of total despair. "They can get to anyone they want, anytime, anywhere.." he groaned. "They got to Elena this time, because it served their purpose to do so." His voice went lower, his words rough with anguish. "They can get to.. Adam, too…"

I almost passed out from shock. I let out some kind of strangled cry, and then I was on my feet, shouting and gesturing wildly like a madwoman. Because, believe me, I was MAD all right.

"What kind of SICK Bastards are these people, Michael?" I yelled. "What kind of monsters would threaten a helpless, innocent child?" I started to cry, from rage, and from pure, cold fear. Adam, not Adam, I thought, my heart wrenching in anguish. It was too horrible to think about…

Michael got to his feet, and took a step forward. His eyes glittered with tears, and I think some of them may have been for me, out of pity for my helplessness and fear.

"Section One is a force for good in the world," he said tightly, his tone flat and grim. "Their ends are just, but.. their means are ruthless…." He explained in a soft voice, edged in sorrow. "They do what they have to do."

I gasped in astonishment, stunned that he would even try to defend the organization that had poisoned his wife and threatened his child. My rage asserted itself again.

"F*CK Section One!" I yelled. I closed the distance between us, and grabbed Michael by the shoulders, and shook him again. "You don’t owe them anything, Michael!" I hissed. "You don’t owe them Adam and Elena’s life, that’s for goddamned sure…."

He said nothing, just accepted my tirade stoically. He closed his eyes and bowed his head in despair.

My heart broke anew. I would do anything to help him. I would do anything to save his family, to ease his pain. I would do anything to see that this noble panther went free…

"Let me help you," I said gently, letting out a big sigh, my anger dissipating to be replaced with a crushing sorrow as great as his. "Please…" I begged.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, then shook his head. "You can’t help me, Nancy," he whispered defeatedly. "No one can."

I hate to be dared like that. It always brings out the worst in me. I could never leave a challenge alone.

"Oh, yeah?" I countered immaturely. "We’ll see about that…" I put my hands on my hips and cocked my head at him. "No one’s going to touch a hair on that’s child’s head as long as there is still breath in my body," I declared defiantly. "What do you say I take off with Adam and hide him somewhere safe, somewhere Section One will never find him, and then, when you get Elena well, you and she come and join us?"

He didn’t laugh at me then- he didn’t laugh at my --looking back now, I see that it was-- ludicrous proposal. He just stared at me, tenderly, the tears in his eyes overflowing onto his cheeks, and then he startled me by pulling me into his arms and kissing me on the cheek. "Thank you, Nancy," he murmured into my ear, "But I can’t let you risk yourself like that…" He hugged me tighter. "I can’t lose you, too…"

I melted right there, my knees going weak, and I leaned into him, and just let go, allowing myself be comforted by his words, his embrace, sobbing brokenly against his shoulder. "Michael," I moaned, "What are we going to do?"

"Let me take care of it," he said softly, brushing a strand of my hair back away from my tear-stained cheek and holding me away from him so that he could look into my eyes. "Okay, Michael," I submitted with a sigh, and surrendered, allowing him to take charge once more.

He kissed my forehead and let me go. I didn’t know it was a kiss good-bye.

"Go home and wait," he told me gently. "I’m going to take Adam to the hospital now to see his Maman…"

Stupidly, I agreed.

I regret that now. More than anything. Maybe if I had persuaded him to run away that night the horrible things that happened later wouldn’t have happened. You can bet if I had known he would be "dead" before twenty- four hours was up, that I would have never left the house without him and Adam, I would have never let him out of arms, I would have never let him go…

But, stupidly, I agreed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.