Alternate Universe
NC-17

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Paul Eugène-Henri Gauguin's paintings with their bright hues of reds and greens hung proudly on the Parisian museum walls, a gentle reminder of what Paradise should be. The sculptures and carvings made of smooth highly polished native woods sat atop lighted podiums enhancing the conscientious reality the artist had made for himself and imparted on us. His most famous masterpiece told a story of where we came from, what we are and where we are going, reading from right to left the majestic insight to the Master's mind.

Nikita Wirth stood before the portrait of the artist painted by Pizarro and her eyes filled with tears from the sheer beauty of the masterpiece. "Gauguin was the son of a French journalist and a Peruvian Creole mother who was a writer." The impeccably coifed woman told Nikita, the blonde woman's head nodded slightly in understanding and Adrian Sands continued. "In 1874 he bought for 17,000 francs paintings by Manet, Monet, Sisley, Pissarro, Renoir and Guillumin. Then Cezanne gave him a painting and Gauguin drew a pencil sketch of Pisarro and vice-versa."

This last statement Adrian made while pointing at the canvases before them. The privately owned treasures the elegant curator had listed and that had never been exposed to the curious eyes of the world surrounded Nikita. The tiny metal plaques that hung beside each perfectly lit work of art spelled flawlessly the artist name and the title of each composition. Adrian, a very astute educated woman noticed with great amusement the silent interest of the pretty blonde and noted the profound impression the beauty of the work made on her.

Adrian continued her brief profile of Gauguin's achievements. "In 1883 the artist settled in Rouen with his wife and five children after losing his bank job and deciding to paint instead. It was then that Van Gogh, Seurate, Signac and Degas gave him a sample of their work," with this Adrian pried Nikita away from a Cézanne still life that hung behind a portrait that Gauguin also owned. "All these Masters liked the lyricism of Gauguin's early work and compelled him to have an exhibition in 1891 that raised 10,000 francs that was used to take the excursion described here." Adrian handed Nikita a leather bound book as she ushered her to a room beside the one that housed the hidden treasures.

The Master's handwriting screamed from the pages at a totally emotional Nikita, ". . .to places where I could live and paint on ecstasy, calmness and art"

Adrian pulled a chair to the table Nikita sat at and continued her brief lecture, a 'Cliff notes' tour of the artist's life. "Gauguin's art will always be a flight from civilization."

Nikita interrupted, her deeply accented voice startling Adrian who was having a profound philosophical moment. "He was searching for new ways of life."

"Yes, yes and he found a more primitive, more real, more sincere way." Adrian said and daintily blotted her eyes with a handkerchief.

They had joined a stout man and a select group of journalists who had not been given access to the works of art, but who were now busy taking pictures of the seated blonde woman. The stout man acting like a tour guide recited the prepared speech. "One of the leading French painters of the Postimpressionist period was born on 1848 in Paris France and died in 1903 in the Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia."

He paused when someone asked if this was the same place as the 'Survivor' television show had held its reality based third season. The man nodded quite annoyed and continued. "During the last decade of his extraordinary life he lived and worked in Tahiti and the South Pacific and he counted among his friends Van Gogh, Picasso and Pizarro. Sadly though during his exceptional stay in this worldly plane the man never found his much-needed eclat and regretfully his paradise turned out to be colored in muted greens and grays instead. Eventually, he did find immortality for his peculiar take on reality after his death, and his legacy, his extraordinary work a gentle reminder of a great man's view of glory."

Nikita Wirth closed the artist's journal after being allowed to finish perusing it; the immense leather bound chronicle usually sat encased in a shrine outside the Master's Paris home. She put down the especially manufactured reading glasses amidst a flurry of flashbulbs lighting her golden hair. The museum's curator, the world renowned George Jones handed Ms. Wirth a beautifully monogrammed linen handkerchief he retrieved from his breast pocket to afford her a way of drying her tears. Recognizing this was not the appropriate moment to profit from the emotional reaction of the heiress' review of Gauguin's work, Jones asked the media present to retire, which surprisingly they graciously did.

The cavernous room fell silent and the natural light returned to the area filtering carefully through the special windows that prevented the masterpieces housed there from fading because of the rays of the sun. How ironic that the Master had required sunshine and fresh air to create his masterpieces and those same works of art now found themselves for posterity enshrined in a sterile, perfectly acclimatized ambiance for the enlightenment of humanity.

Adrian Sands continued speaking in hushed tones to the heiress, who was drinking this whole scenario in, like a thirsty survivor of The Marquesas, "He broke away from a middle-class world and abandoned his wife and 4 of his 5 children to go to Paradise. He refused to accept easy glory and easy gain. . ."

"Wait, what happened to the fifth child?" Nikita asked standing to re-enter the room with the masterpieces but was rerouted by Adrian and George to another room, "You said he abandoned only four."

"A son, he took him with him to his Paradis." George said as further silence fell over the room that they had entered, a public area of the museum where Gauguin's most well known works were on display. The museum was closed to the public, after all this was a private showing for the incredibly rich heiress in an attempt to raise funds for the privately owned institution.

Adrian continued as Nikita sat on a bench before one of the master's great works taking in its savage beauty. "He did lead a fascinating life especially in his first stay in Tahiti, were he left in 1893." Again Nikita interrupted.

"Wait, did he bring back his son?" Nikita asked, now looking at the curators, her blue eyes brimming with tears.

"No, he returned in 1895 and remained there until his death." Adrian answered.

George continued his dissertation, he was so focused he was not aware of Nikita's change of demeanor, she was not listening to his drone now. ". . .discovering primitive art, with its flat forms and the violent colors belonging to an untamed nature and then, with absolute sincerity, he transferred them onto canvas."

"Did anyone ever find out what happened to his son?" Nikita asked standing and holding on to the journal.

"No dear, this is why we have this financial situation now," Adrian said and gave George, who was getting ready to interrupt a stern look. "There is tremendous wealth belonging to the Master. All these wonderful paintings by other Masters are also his. Because of his testament, we cannot as of next year continue to display his work and it will be collected from all over the world and destroyed along with the other masterpieces he owned, as he asked." Adrian held Nikita's proffered hand, "That is unless we find an heir."

George stated at Nikita's obvious distress, "We don't have the funds to fight this atrocity in Court. How could we allow this monstrosity to take place, the world would be robbed of this man's take on beauty."

"I won't allow them to do this." She promised, took the journal, "May I?" And at Adrian and George's nodding she left the museum through a private entrance away from the media.

In the limo she was alone with the artist, who slept sweetly in the pages of the book and she promised to find a solution to the tragedy she could see was about to unfold.

///

Nikita Wirth entered the mansion and stood in front of a ruffled Roberta, her mother as always attending to her addictions, smoked a cigarette in a long bejeweled gold holder, drank expensive champagne from an equally expensive flute and read a gossip rag that screamed of royal scandals. The young woman, who had just represented her stepfather Paul Wolfe at the museum, was dressed like a 'bag lady' and Roberta wouldn't have any of this. The mother stood and began beating an impassive Nikita, unprovoked reaction of a crazy woman. The young woman held her bleeding face, dropped the journal and ran out of the room coming into a crashing stop against Paul Wolfe's broad chest.

"What happened?" Wolfe asked holding Nikita gently in his strong arms.

It wasn't necessary for the girl to answer; Roberta was screaming and losing her cool further while on weak legs moved to retrieve the Master's journal. She was intent on throwing it into the fire that roared in the fireplace and further punishing her daughter – for what? In her inebriated state she tripped on her own stiletto heels and tumbled hitting her head on the edge of the table that sat next to her chair. The glass shattered into a million pieces and Roberta's blood spilled staining the white rug with its scarlet tint.

----

Nikita and Paul Wolfe stood alone by the grave of the woman who had brought them together. Nikita's father had been an excessively rich man who lived an excessively wild life and had come to a very early death, leaving his young widow, an equally exceedingly wild woman and their only child, rolling in dough. Enter Paul Wolfe, the equally immoderately rich partner of Nikita's father who married the beautiful Roberta a year after Wirth's demise. The marriage occurred for many reasons, none of which was love for the woman, but mostly it was for Nikita's well being. The new family was fractured from day one, Roberta against Paul and Nikita, the latter always showing a united front.

Now they were left alone with each other and stood by the grave of someone that had lived an empty life and whose only achievement was this blonde beauty, Paul spoke, "Nikita. . ."

She interrupted throwing a white rose into the grave and turning to hug her stepfather, "Paul you are my faddah now. You are the only father I've ever known. You'll continue managing my father's estate after all it was always mine as you know. We'll continue our lives. . . Roberta's better off. . ."

----

Three months passed since Roberta's death and one day a beautiful brunette came to visit Nikita. The blonde had changed her looks; she had seen her mother's untimely death as partly her fault and silently promised Roberta by her gravesite that she would amend her ways. She was wearing a gray pair of linen trousers and a matching short jacket, flats and a sterling silver barrette that held her blonde mane back as she walked to the room where the visitor waited. She was a totally different being than the one that witnessed her mother's death; she was gentile, refined and simply luminous.

"Hello?" Nikita uttered holding unto the creamed color business card. "Madeline Sands. . . what can I do for you." Madeline was indeed beautiful and elegant reminding Nikita of. . . "Oh my God, Gauguin, you are from the museum."

Madeline smiled a sly smile and nodded, still not uttering a word. Nikita was beet red and ran to hug Madeline in a move that startled the brunette, the blonde continued, "I am so sorry, oh my God what you must think. . . see I just lost my mother. . ."

Nikita was talking and walking them towards a sunroom's sitting area, ringing a bell for service, asking for refreshments from a petite boy servant that fussed with a dying orchid. Madeline drawn to the plant moved to help the young man and uttering her first words, "These are my passion."

"Well by all means it is yours then. I am sorry you probably thought I stole the journal, my faddah must have put it away, I don't even know where it is." Nikita said and watching Madeline's reaction of sheer terror added, "Oh don't worry I can guarantee my faddah has it. . ."

"I am sorry for your loss Ms. Wirth, we are aware that your mother. . ." Madeline said.

"Yes, the day I returned from the museum she had an accident." Nikita interrupted a bit distraught. "But. . . I am going to finance the search for Gauguin's heirs. To tell you the truth my faddah this morning asked me to stop mourning and to get on with my life. I think this would be a very good project indeed, he will approve. . ."

Madeline who had just been served a spot of tea and had moved away from the beautiful orchids said, "Ms. Wirth this will be extremely. . ."

"Nikita please. Are you married Madeline?"

"No I am not married. . ." More a question of her own than an answer.

"Well then, you will come with me. We will go find these heirs." Nikita said touching her teacup to Madeline's as it traveled to the brunette's lips.

"This will be dangerous and expensive. . . I don't think," Madeline said.

"Bullshit, it will be dangerous and expensive, so what? I have the money, mine not my faddah's and I have the need for dangerous. . . it is in my genes."

"I see. . ." Madeline said.

"Now we need someone to be 'on point', as they say on the telly." Nikita enthusiastically said. "Do you know anyone?"

"My father's brother works for an enterprise. . ." Madeline thought out loud.

"Call him, hire them, let's go, time's awaisting. . .." Nikita said and handed Madeline a phone.

Of course there was someone listening to this whole encounter and Paul was already on his way to the mansion to check on his daughter's enthusiastic new venture. Instantaneously the powerful machinery of Paul and Nikita's Section One had been put in motion to check this entire group out. Walter Sands was also on his way to the mansion, as was Adrian and George and Walter's boss Michael Samuelle.

------

Nikita sat with Madeline in the solarium of her house, with its floor to ceiling windows letting in the dim light of the overcast day. Madeline navigated herself through the beautiful rattan furnished space fascinated by the wall of orchids growing in individual porcelain containers. The down cushions were covered in white canvas and the tables were topped with thick glass. Some of the windows showed off beautiful stained glass panes with soft pastel hues reflecting the interior of the room.

Nikita asked Christopher, the butler that had served her father and now served Paul, to ask the staff to prepare refreshments for the guests arriving momentarily. The blonde young woman allowed Christopher to choose the food offerings and the drinks. Christopher returned with silver platters of ripe sweet fruits, tapas and pitchers of white sangria to be served in frosted crystal glasses.

Although there was a vast difference in age Nikita took to Madeline quite well, they shared a love for the postmodernist painters whose works filled the library of the mansion. The pretty brunette's knowledge of said works of art owned by the Wolfe's impressed the beautiful heiress. Of course Nikita had other treacherous plans for Paul deserved a new woman in his life.

This Madeline Sands with her honey sounding voice, her beautiful face and her elegant personality would be a perfect candidate to return a semblance of happiness to her white haired dad. Paul would be angry if he learned what his daughter was up to. They had agreed to never play cupid and interfere with each other's love life, but then Paul had yet to even attempt to meet a new woman.

The women toured the mansion's library, the cavernous great room, the formal dinning room and some of the surrounding verandas with the two chitchatting amicably. It amazed Madeline how plush some people lived. The museum her parents were in charge of didn't own as many masterpieces as the residents of this not so humble abode possessed. The tastefully displayed wealth was nothing like Madeline had expected after reading in the tabloids of the sad demise of Nikita's mother and Paul Wolfe's wife.

Madeline worked for an art gallery that specialized in neophyte artists with great potential, it was the woman's job to scout out these talents and help them develop their gift. She now confided in Nikita that she had tried to approach her mother, a very well known patron of the arts, long before in an attempt to ask her to purchase some of the works of art in her gallery. What Madeline didn't tell Nikita was that Roberta, who had been quite inebriated and smoking at the showing, had insulted Madeline, physically attacked the young Seymour Birkoff, an artist who worked wonders with discarded computer parts.

Nikita remembered her mother coming home weeks before she died, with a couple of pieces by the artist Madeline was speaking off and Nikita decided to show her the pieces. The brunette sighed when she saw Birkoff's work hanging in the office by a computer station. Madeline again didn't explain to Nikita that her mother had basically stolen the works when she took the canvases in exchange for not pressing charges against the gallery and Birkoff. The woman had been smoking, one of the canvases caught fire and Madeline used the fire extinguisher to put out the flames, wetting the woman's Oleg Cassini retro coat, in itself a work of art.

This fiasco had caused Madeline's gallery to almost go bankrupt and Michael Samuelle, her Uncle Walter's boss, had bailed her out. She owed him, in more ways than one and Michael, who owned a thriving security business, had become her business partner, so one hand washed the other and Madeline hopefully had just helped Michael land the job of a lifetime. The brunette looked at her watch as the very ornate grandfather's clock stroke 4:00, they returned to the sunroom as Paul was entering the room.

The striking man smiled at his daughter and kissed her on the forehead as he moved to offer a welcoming hand to Madeline and the pretty brunette's coquettish smile obviously interested the man. "Enchante," he uttered.

Nikita smiled having felt the chemistry developing and asked her father the question she had been dying to ask, "Paul, where is the Gauguin journal?"

Paul answered as he moved to the table where Christopher had placed the drinks. "In the safe in my office."

Nikita who knew when she was being a third wheel excused herself and ran to get the journal, tripping on the heels she was not used to wearing as Christopher was ushering the newly arriving guests to the solarium. Her body rolled from the red carpeted steps in a most ungracious fashion and she landed unceremoniously in the arms of a dark clad angel with the greenest eyes and the most delicious smile the young woman had ever seen. She was mortified beyond believe but thankfully the ruckus had gone unheard by the other guests; the angel had been bringing in the rear. He held her in a familiar way that made her nervous, but not uncomfortable, he smelled divinely and his strong arms made her feel safe and secure.

"I'm okay really, you can put me down now." Nikita declared.

Michael deposited her on the carpet with great care, as if she was a fine china container like the ones that held the delicate orchids and bent retrieving her expensive shoe. He was highly improper as he softly stroked his hand down her naked arm like if he was checking for scrapes and bruises. He was not breaking contact and his eyes had burrowed into hers, mapping her face in a mouth-eyes-mouth pattern. Nikita grabbed the shoe, she was blushing and was as giddy as a school girl and her legs were unstable hardly holding her up; so Michael had to again steady her.

"And who the hell are you?" She asked thinking that rudeness would show him who was in charge.

He made his accent thicker, his voice impossibly sultry as he answered her, "Michael Samuelle and you are?" By this time Christopher had finally come looking for them and unknowingly saved Nikita from a heartattack.

///

Nikita and Michael entered the sunroom right behind Christopher; she still smoothed her hands down her crumpled linen suit trying nervously to occupy her sweaty hands. The close encounter of the Michael kind had left the inexperienced novice quite shaken; no chaste being should be thrusted into the vortex that was Michael Samuelle. He wore his serious look now that he crossed the threshold of the festive room, but before finally entering he held Nikita's gaze. Smiling deliciously at her, he brushed some strands of blonde hair that had stuck to his black sweater from when he stopped her from falling.

The room's occupants were busy talking, laughing, serving themselves the tapas and drinking the white and red sangria, Walter signaled to the new arrivals calling out, "Michael come here, you are not going to believe the coincidence."

Michael approached the men; his stylish walk making Nikita salivate and blush as she watched him move towards a pony tailed older man and her stepfather. Madeline was watching Nikita and secretly smiled while Adrian and George inspected a painting. The blonde woman realized that the brunette was watching her and made an apologetic gesture as if saying, I am sorry for having impure thoughts. Madeline moved to greet Nikita and handed her a glass of the white sangria, her reassuring smile not reaching her eyes.

Madeline asked softly like if sharing a secret with Nikita, "What happened to you?"

Nikita took the wine and timidly smiled again answering, "Oh nothing, linen wrinkles so easily," stating the obvious.

Walter put a friendly hand on Michael's shoulder while the younger man shook Paul Wolfe's hand, "Michael this is Lieutenant Paul Wolfe, my C.O. in Nam, hadn't seen him in. . ."

Nikita's stepfather interrupted, "Paul Wolfe," and Michael stated his name in response. "Actually Walter saved my life and I did try to find him so many times."

Walter laughed and handed Michael a drink, "You should have hired Michael, he would have found me. This young man is the best-of-the-best security expert there is."

"Walter, Michael, let me introduce you to Nikita." Paul Wolfe presented his beautiful stepdaughter to the two men.

Michael smiled as Nikita said amicably to Walter, "So this is the famous Walter you have spoken about, Paul?" She continued hugging Walter, "I have heard about every adventure my father and you shared, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Nikita turned and pulling nerve from she didn't know where said, "Michael just saved my life faddah." She hugged Michael and clinged a bit too long. "So hurry up and hire him, before his reputation goes to his head and charges us more than he usually gets."

Paul was a little putout with his daughter, she was being especially rude to the handsome young man and this behavior was not usually her modus operandi. She was trying to belittle the unflappable Michael and Paul ignored the remarks and said to him, "It would be wonderful if you worked with us on this project, my people will arrange the financing."

Adrian and George stopped their hushed discussion about the painting, Madeline let out a laugh and Walter almost rolled on the floor laughing out loud; Michael didn't say word one, but Nikita asked, "Did we miss something?"

"I must apologize for my friends." Michael said in his impeccable tone, "I . . . thank you for the offer."

"But. . ." Paul sputtered, "I thought Walter. . ."

"Madeline said. . ." Nikita uttered.

"No Nikita, you said to call Walter and Michael and hire them, I think your exact words were 'times a-wasting.' And Paul, I have also heard your name from my Uncle many times, and you should know him well enough to realize he is still a sarcastic coot." Madeline explained.

"Paul - Michael could probably buy and sell you, even if you pooled your wealths." Walter told them.

"Please." Michael said annoyed that he was being spoken about as if he was not in the room. "I am an art collector Mr. Wolfe and I am here to lend any support you need in the effort of finding Gauguin's heir."

"You are not The Michael Samuelle?" Paul who made it his business to know these things asked flustered.

"The?" Michael asked.

"As in Samuelle Oil, Samuelle Communications, Sa. . ." Paul asked.

"Of course he is Paul, so you see Nikita I doubt you can hire him for this little enterprise." George said.

Madeline interfered trying to catch Paul's attention, she moved and put both hands on Michael's shoulder, "He has saved my life Nikita in many occasions and I know all Michael wants is to save the Gauguin masterpieces."

"I want everyone to stop this silly tribute to our Michael and let's talk about finding Gauguin's heirs." Adrian said and kissed Michael's cheek.

Nikita thought she was going to explode, she was blushing madly as the handsome young man looked intently at her. He was pensively brushing his lips with his fingers, gulping down his drink in one swoop. She finally led them all to sit down around an enormous round table.

Michael followed closely pulling her chair out and standing by his chair next to Nikita until everyone was seated for this pow-wow. Nikita's disquietude continued for she didn't like this whole scenario. There was something afoul with the mysterious hunk seated now to her right.

///

That night at Wolfe' Manor deals where made, friendships rekindled, plans sketched out and agreements reached between the group of diverging personalities there present. Nikita watched silently taking everything in and wished she could understand the transactions better, after all, she was the one with most to loose as she was putting her extensive fortune on the line. Michael realized that the blonde beauty was apprehensive and not convinced by anyone of the participants, least of all him, so he needed to address that anomaly. The plan previously forged was starting to unravel and he felt he needed to go 'rogue' for this one, working two missions at once.

Michael signaled Madeline and the beautiful brunette concluded the impromptu party feigning a headache; everyone then agreed that they needed to retire for it was getting late. Paul asked Nikita to take Michael to the library to get the Gauguin journal she had previously been unable to retrieve and suggested his stepdaughter go with Michael so that the young man could assist with this endeavor. Paul whispered to Nikita that he would like to offer Madeline a ride home and possibly get some time alone with the enchanting woman and thereafter Madeline, as if scripted made all kinds of rationalizing excuses about Paul seeing the museum so she could leave with him.

Nikita bid everyone good night, the servants had already retired and she found herself alone with the man that made her feel nervous and uneasy. He was the one who she mistrusted most of all but Nikita didn't have a clue why she felt the way she did. Perhaps she felt that Michael was too sleek, too perfect, to disarming and without realizing it, he made all her 'antennas' go up.

The two moved up an ornate staircase while she asked him, "Do you remember the way to the library?"

He answered her in his monosyllabic way, "No."

She was still using sophomoric defense mechanisms and came back with a retort she wished she could take back immediately after she spoke it, "Well I watched how you 'cased' the joint."

Michael let out a chuckle; he understood the intent of the riposte but couldn't help letting it pass un-critiqued, so he asked almost purposely bewildering her, "Hmm, do I make you nervous?"

His voice deep, sultry almost a kiss, she shivered at his proximity and almost yelled her response, "Nah one has to care to be affected by someone else."

He smiled again and nodded his head remarking, "I see. . . then why are you so hostile towards me?" Michael said coming to a stop on their tour of the upstairs, "Is it that you don't like me?"

Nikita turned away from Michael and continued walking, "I don't trust you that's all."

By now they passed the room containing the safe and she noticed the door, which was always locked, slightly ajar. She hesitated and Michael noticed asking, "What's wrong?"

"I watched Christopher lock this door tonight after I had opened it, as he always does." Nikita said.

"Perhaps he forgot something in there." Michael said, pushing her behind him as he took the knob to open the door in his hand.

"No one goes in there except me or my father and we always have Christopher lock it in our presence." Nikita remarked softly speaking into Michael's ear.

The door was pushed open and a pair of strapping men who started attacking Michael knocked the couple to the ground. Michael managed to stand, managed to fight both men gallantly while a third one picked Nikita up and held her as she tried to get away from him. A struggle ensued and in the end a fourth man ran out of the vault and hit Michael on the temple with the butt of his gun. The other three men ran away carrying tubes containing works of art, while the fourth one ripped Nikita's mother necklace from her neck and pushed her down once again.

////

Sometimes the best-laid plans go array. This was a simple fact of life that the perpetrators to the illicit crime at Wolfe manor realized when the beautiful Nikita gave chase as they tried to escape with the loot they lifted. Having made sure Michael was not bleeding and that he was breathing properly and satisfied with the fact he was just merely unconscious and not dead, the blonde took off after the criminals.

She knew the house much better than the men who only carried a copy of a blueprint that did not include the recent additions to the enormous home and grounds. So she arrived at their hidden black van before the thieves had a chance to. With time to spare Nikita managed to render the vehicle stationary and succeeded in retrieving a cell phone from inside the van she would use to call the authorities. Nikita moved swiftly to a secret garden to find privacy and shelter from the danger the perps posed.

Nikita arrived at a tiny stone cottage that looked like a building straight out of a children's book, the phone she took from the van came to life. She realized that the futuristic looking instrument was some sort of communications device to be used by the perpetrators to talk to each other and not a cell phone she could employ to access help. So she sat on the stone bench underneath a weeping willow and listened in amazement as Paul Wolfe and Seymour Birkoff discussed the recent developments and the heist.

Paul asked for an update from Seymour and the distinct voice of the computer genius reported what happened in the manor since the older man's departure, making references to those whom participated in the robbery. Astounded by what she was hearing Nikita made a decision and angrily stood pounding her fist against the trunk of the willow, she needed to return to the site of the incident. This exchange she was eavesdropping in was helping Nikita conclude that Michael Samuelle was the only one left in this world that she could relay on.

Listening to the conversation through earphones attached to the walkie-talkie, the blonde woman returned to the house through more hidden passageways, ready to retrieve her fallen ally. Somehow she learned he was someone she quickly needed to learn to trust. She still had a funny feeling about the whole thing but had to learn how to let go, release control and let someone help her out of this jam. If Michael was to be that ally, then so be it.

Birkoff reported in a whinny ass voice, "The man is unconscious and Nikita is with him outside the vault room. By the way, it seems that our van is damaged."

Paul's angry voice thundered through the earphone, Nikita knew that tone first hand, "How can that be possible Birkoff?"

The young man answered with a lot of apprehension his superior's query, "It did have a problem earlier tonight when we were preparing for this job. I think Walter said it was a loose belt but it was my understanding he fixed it, ask him." Birkoff said.

Paul spoke to Walter and Nikita then could hear the pony-tailed man's voice in the background instructing the driver in what to do to the vehicle. She was moving quickly through the labyrinth she had discovered in her childhood and arrived at a waking Michael's side in no time. He began to speak and she placed a quieting hand on his mouth, his eyes half shuttered and his hands instinctively going to his bruised temple.

Michael nodded at her pleading expressive look and with her help finished raising to his feet and followed her into hidden corridors, walls that moved and doors that slid open at a strategic touch. Soon after Michael, who was being aided in his moves by Nikita, found himself on the outside where he could observe the dark clad men closing the hood of the van a couple hundred feet from where they stood. The handsome man looked confused and bewildered and heard through the speakers in the van Paul Wolfe's angry voice.

"Retrieve them, you cannot leave them behind you incompetent fool, they are witnesses to the crime." Paul shouted.

"Yes sir." Seymour answered and with this sent two of the burly men to return to the place were Michael had lain moments earlier.

Making sure the communications device was in receiving mode only, Nikita whispered touching Michael's brow with a handkerchief she pulled from her breast pocket, the expensive piece of cloth reeking of delicate perfume reminiscent of the woman. "We need to move."

Michael acquiesced allowing the beauty to lead him once more, he was too bruised to argue and she knew the area far better than he did. They walked for what seemed like an hour, every once in a while stopping to rest by a tree, drinking from a brook, turning left or right. The conversation from the communications device, which had long been disconnected from its earphone, the only chatter they could hear. The amateur criminals not able to start the disabled van, not able to find the missing couple, not able to explain their bumbling ways to the agitated and angry Paul Wolfe who was now on his way back to the Manor.

Finally Michael and Nikita arrived at a marina; a single sailing yacht sat moored to a lonely pier, the enormous face of the moon watching brightly from a star filled firmament. "Where are we?" Michael finally asked.

"I figured we needed to hide until we could understand what was going on, or formulate a plan." Nikita said as they walked unto the wooden landing.

"Whose boat is this?" Michael asked watching Nikita prepare to sail after handing him a now wet handkerchief full of ice chips she retrieved from the fully stocked galley.

"Here put this to your temple." She said and then proceeded to answer his question as she removed a fat rope from a cleat. "Mine."

He decided to help and moved around the boat with surprising ease, making it obvious that he was also a sailor. "Won't your stepfather. . ."

Nikita interrupted the apparent question with amicable conversation; the radio still crackled with the discourse among the men who supposedly were busy looking for the handsome couple. "This is my liberation tool, my green card as it were, no one knows about it. I decided long ago to emancipate myself and sail away, but then I determined further that this wouldn't be freedom either."

Michael grabbed the charts she had brought out and studied them, "Why do you need to find freedom?"

The kerchief thrown in a bucket, forgotten by the now busy man, but Nikita retrieved it, wrung it out and placed it back on Michael's temple. "Hold this, I mean it." Then giving juice to the engine, she pushed the red button by the wheel and the propeller hummed. Putting the beautiful craft in motion away from the shore with enough distance between it and land to unfold the sails.

"My parents are both dead Michael, I finally got access to my fortune and I grew up really quickly. Let's just say none of what happened tonight surprised me in the least, after all Paul Wolfe is not my real father and I. . . own him, something he can't stand." Nikita said.

"What do you mean, you don't trust him? Michael asked.

"No, never did. . . well I trusted him more than I trusted my mother but. . . I've known all along what he is capable of. I don't want to hurt him in anyway, for whatever reason he was a good stepfather while I was growing up. . . and if he wants my fortune he can have it but I must. . ."

The walkie-talkie that had been placed carelessly on the deck by either Michael or Nikita slid off the shinny wooden bench landing with a silent splash in the water. The couple watched how their communication line to the robbery and the manor disappeared, "Shall I get it?" Michael asked Nikita removing his sweater in order to dive into the inky ocean.

"No forget it, we know who is on first. . ." She said turning the wheel and moving to the sails.

"What?" He asked confused as he moved to kill the engine.

"What's on third. . ." Nikita said laughing when she realized the French man was not aware of the old comedic skit. She sighed and continued sharing her views of life with her new best friend. "Paul was my faddah's business partner and my faddah was the brains, the money man and the one who invested wisely and watched his fortune grow. Paul always stayed one step behind and when dad died, the Collective protected dad's fortune for me while Paul pissed his share and my mother's away in ridiculous projects. . . He needs my fortune, he can have it."

"If that is what you want," Michael said a bit disapprovingly, "So be it, however, if you disappear there will be all manner of legal proceedings. . . it will take years before he can access your money..."

Nikita interrupted putting three fingers to Michael's mouth and her other hand to his bare chest, the smooth pecks rippling unconsciously beneath her warm touch. "Precisely Michael, I am a good girl, just not a stupid one. . ." And then winking with a sexy nod of her head, she whispered into his ear, "The paintings they took. . . are fake. . . he'll have to show me he is worth keeping my money."

Michael didn't move or react to the intriguing declaration, her proximity was intoxicating and his voice became hoarser. "So where are we sailing then?" After all Michael had plans of his own when it came to the pretty woman before him.

She lingered longer than necessary within the man's personal space and finally removed the rag from his temple throwing a clean sweater to him as she answered; "We are going to paradise."

"Paradis." Michael repeated in French, grinning widely at the possibilities one single word offered.

////

The water was vivid blue, so much of the same color that it hurt the eyes, and the couple wore dark shades in order to block the effects of the blueness. The brilliance changed with the depth of the ocean, the white caps announcing reefs, the sparkle detailing the play of the sun against the vastness of the water and the endless movement of the tide demonstrating unending force. A sprinkle of rain fell on the deck, the tapping sound caressing Michael's hearing, and he shuttered his eyes content.

The balmy breeze tickled Nikita's face while leaving a kiss of rose on her unprotected nose. Up to this moment it had been a wonderful crossing, a smooth sailing that was leaving them covered in the splatter of salt water and coated in the smell of the sea. They traveled in silence each tending to their tasks. When it was time to come about and the main sail swung from side to side with the brute force of oxen driven cart, they both crouched to avoid being hurt. Moving in tandem in perfect synchronization, as if they had known each other forever, as if Michael had studied Nikita well.

She asked trying hard to contain all her sparkling blonde hair with a rubber band, "Isn't it invigorating?"

"Indeed," he said raising a brow, allowing her to understand he didn't only mean the voyage and then adding, "Here let me."

She froze on the spot for he had some high count SPF sunscreen that he was ready to apply to her exposed shoulders. She spoke a warning, more to herself than to the handsome man, who as she spoke shrugged his shoulders, "Don't."

"Burn then, or better yet, here you are already starting to blister." Michael told her handing her the tube of sunscreen as he applied the glob of cream he had in his palm to his own face, after removing his shades.

A gust of well placed wind filled the jib and the craft lurched forward and then smoothly cut through the water like a hot knife through butter, leaving a perfect wake behind. The pounding of the now speeding sailboat when it hit rough waters was the only sound that could be heard. The crew of two sat silently, taking in the warm breeze, the emptiness, the vastness. At some point Nikita did apply the cream, prepared a fruit and cheese tray from which they ate and drank an awful lot of bottle water.

The two hardly spoke during the 5-day voyage, except perhaps to arrange for a schedule that dictated that if one slept the other one remained on deck. The routine became just that and the perfectly arranged charts, at Nikita's insistent suggestion, were put away and the electronic medium in the yacht was used instead. Michael warned about his concerns and argued for using both, a commingling of the old and the new, but Nikita quickly reminded him that she was the skipper of the yacht and what she said was law.

On Michael's persistence and almost mutiny, she did allow the dingy, a 15 foot Boston Whaler with two 75 hp Johnson engines to float cozily behind them pulled by a red marine line. Michael explained that there was no purpose to the dinghy sitting high on back of the yacht if an emergency arose, and after much consideration and back and forth Nikita acquiesced. . . Michael thought this cooperation was a beginning if nothing more.

"Good evening" Nikita said as she took her place next to the instruments, "I am ready to relief you."

She didn't chitchat with him during the entire 7 day voyage, too engrossed in the misery of knowing that Paul Wolfe was just as the Collective had told her and she was saddened by the revelation making her drift in and out of a self imposed funk. The trip was already 2 days over her estimated time of arrival at the Pearl Islands. She was stubborn and was not going to admit to the arrogant gorgeous hunk she had watched sleeping that she was in need of help.

"I'll see you in the morning, the main sail is pulling a bit." Michael said and stood zipping his navy windbreaker and strutting downstairs into the cabin and the berth that could be seen from where the controls sat.

She mimicked him as a little child would when he turned to leave and then sat transfixed watching him step out of the shower moments later, in his birthday suit, drying his magnificent body without a modicum of modesty. He grinned inwardly as he watched her watch him, and enjoyed observing her tongue bathe her lips after her teeth bit into them, for she was literally drooling. At the man's not obvious performance Nikita kept her gaze wondering over him and he purposely waited for their eyes to meet simulating decorum. Indignantly wrapping the towel he had been using around his waist, he plopped face down on the mattress.

Hours passed and Nikita was getting bored and horny for Michael's towel had slid off his perfect body and the nightly boner had made its scheduled appearance. She wondered what he was dreaming that gave him such a reaction and fretted with herself for she was too naïve in the ways of men. The distraction so total that she was not paying attention to the boat, the coordinates and much less the instruments, concentrating instead on the once again arrival of her own excited hardness. Her nipples were hard, her core was wet, ready to jump Michael even if not asked and became very curious wanting to see closer up what this Adonis looked like as he thrashed through an obvious 'X' rated dream.

She tied the wheel to a rope thus maintaining the course and stood barefoot moving to the darkened berth where Michael slept. Beams from the moonlit night filtered into the interior of the sailboat bathing Michael's body in its enchanting light. His breathing was labored and he thrashed around moaning in his sleep, bunching the sweat soaked sheets in his closed fists. She approached him and watched enthralled at how his mouth formed a perfect 'o' and afterwards he licked his sensual lips while his head was covered in ringlets of rust and gold.

He awoke startled and reached for her arm as she tried to escape, but it was too late and he pulled her towards him asking in a sleep filled voice, "Is it my watch yet?"

"Nnnnoooo", she mumbled scared of what she was feeling, what she wanted to do to him.

"Then what is it that you want?" He said smiling.

At this point, while she laid a top his naked body the boat hit something, the bottom scraping against shallow ground and the horrific noise of water rushing in. There was ocean pouring into the cabin, the boat's keel visible at times, the rudder out of whack and a usually calm Michael moving around the boat like a man on a Mission. He had knocked Nikita off his body and sent her flying on her ass.

He was screaming over the combination of sounds, "We've run aground" and then "here. . ." and threw a life jacket that floated by to the blonde beauty that still sat astonished on the floor under a couple feet of water.

////

Michael moved around swiftly and with efficient steps, trying hard to contain the rushing sea from further entering the cabin. The effort was futile as the gaping hole invited the tide to stay and partake of the shredded hull. Nikita was mesmerized by the expeditious fashion Michael employed in trying to save the vessel and how he moved around with calculated steps in a fascinated ballet of motion.

She shivered in shock with no dry safe place to rest her cold self; the violence of earlier moments replaced by the calmness that comes after the storm. The periodic banging of the yacht against the jetties surrounding the small group of islands that could be seen through an inverted porthole set a rhythmic tone when combined with the deafening sound of the pounding surf. A glimpse of land would reappear on the tiny windows as the boat stopped heeling and finally sat upright; the exercise repeated in a perpetual mimicking of the sea currents around it.

Over and over again Michael shook Nikita, he was addressing her for the past few minutes, trying to instigate her to follow him off the boat, to no avail. The shore lay within 100 feet of where the previously majestic and now injured vessel decided to rest and daylight was approaching, Michael needed to investigate the area and secure the craft as soon as possible, he had a mission to fulfill, a task to conquer.

Nikita on the other hand was dazed and had no intention of doing much more than holding unto her life vest with a penchant for survival. The sun was slowly raising, an enormous orange ball appearing in the horizon, and this magnificent display of nature finally startled the blonde woman into consciousness. She shifted in her pose; timorous and alarmed with the knowledge that she was to blame for the position they found themselves in.

"Oh God Michael what have I done?"

"No time to worry about it Nikita we need to get off the boat."

"But. . . but, I ran the damn boat aground. We are shipwrecked, God knows where we are and it is all my fault."

"Nee-kee-tah think of this as an adventure, I am sure it is not as bad. . ."

At this point a huge noise startled the couple taking care of the need to hurry and disembark. The yacht had wedged itself between two trumpet coral formations on the other side of the jetty wall. Michael lurched forward as did Nikita and he managed to embrace her in an effort to save them both from further injury. Nikita, now in Michael's arms began to sob with pent-up exhaustion and relaxed in the man's comforting grip. He assessed the situation from the now righted porthole, removed her lifejacket and his and held her for what seemed like an eternity, until she started to pull away.

"Don't cry." He commanded and retained her chin forcing her blue eyes to rest in his green ones.

"Okay." She hiccuped, not even bothering to dry her face, after all everything was soaked.

"Fine? Let's go." And he moved through the boat and the debris finding a pair of moccasins he donned before carrying Nikita through the sharp protruding rocks and the two feet of warm beach water.

The couple arrived on the shoreline, the smooth camel color sand pristine, not a single footprint marring the face of flawlessness, for it was here were nature did its best work. From the beach Nikita, who now stood in 2 inches of warm water, could see the thick lush jungle that made up the island. Michael was back in the water, this time swimming towards the Boston Whaler that he unhooked from the back of the wrecked yacht and pulled safely to the shore.

"When you are ready we need to figure out what we are going to do."

"Do we know where we are Michael?"

"I believe this is almost paradise, Nikita."

"Do you think the boat is totaled?"

"I think I can probably repair it, eventually. But we could live onboard in the meantime."

"Then Michael, we need to live in the yacht and find the reason he thought this was paradise."

"I am not sure we have found Gauguin's Paradise," Michael said as they moved towards the thick vegetation.

Nikita ran ahead in her jelly flip-flops and bringing her hand to shade her eyes said, "We found our paradise Michael, look at this place."

///

Michael and Nikita landed on an island in the Indian Ocean that according to Michael's calculations was not more than 26 miles in diameter. They walked around the perimeter of the small inlet wetted by the pelting drops of ocean hitting the reefs. The couple played 'hide and seek' with the waves landing soundlessly on the white sandy beaches of the coves. The exploration of the initial days was exhausting and after drinking coconut milk and eating bananas they slept on the yacht Michael secured. It was unlikely that the wedged-vessel could become dislodged anytime soon and the couple figured they would be safer on the boat than sleeping on the beach.

The second week brought more of the same exploration, but this time they ventured across the middle of the island, which meant climbing the steep hill that sat in its center. Once they reached the summit they realized the hill was a volcano that was dormant and completely defunct. The discovery allowed the pair of castaways to breathe a sigh of relief and continue on their journey for at least they knew that they would find no menacing forces of nature. Nevertheless, their search changed from that moment forward, since now they were not only looking for signs of human inhabitants, which they didn't find, but they were looking for signs of volcano activity, which they didn't see.

They located fresh water that rushed into a clean pool from a thin waterfall stream and an overabundance of fruits and wild vegetables growing in the lush jungle that surrounded the volcano. Michael determined that there had never been humans in this inlet and Nikita discovered in the far distance other islands probably part of the same archipelago. The couple decided to place their homestead close to the fresh water supply and soon enough started trekking their reserves from the boat towards the clearing near the pond. Nikita arranged everything under a tarp made from a jib sail that tore during their shipwreck.

In the meantime Michael was busy fishing for the seemingly abundant lobster and crab and Nikita on the fifth night netted hundreds of shrimp that they boiled in a kettle on the beach. The new friends didn't stop their work and after fourteen days were exhausted but more comfortable in the survivors' campground. The area near the waterfall was cleared of debris and Michael built a platform between two trees using pallets found in the belly of the boat and fallen timber. They used the netting in the boat to ward off insects and for fishing. The closely weft palm and other plant material made wonderful thatch roofs that kept them dry and shielded from the sun and other elements and also made hammocks, ropes and even clothes.

They placed the bunks he tore out of the yacht side by side because Nikita didn't want to be afraid of the hidden dangers that could be found in the island. Michael brought a table, chairs and even ripped the yacht's toilet out, to arrange for an outhouse away from their sleeping quarters, all done for the woman's comfort, needs and privacy. The waterfall came in handy not only for supplying fresh water but also for bathing and swimming. The cave behind the cascade was perfect to protect them from whatever surprise may arise and it rapidly became their secure encampment.

They divided the chores and Michael asked Nikita to help him repair the sailboat, which he would start fixing after they were completely settled and as comfortable as possible with their new digs. Three weeks passed with little surprises, except perhaps for the nightly strong showers that they did not prepare for. Quickly that problem was resolved and the supplies were moved to a waterproof area Michael built. Nikita was constantly amazed by how handy Michael really was and Michael was surprised by how accommodating and adaptable the blonde rich girl proofed to be.

The flowers in the island were resplendent duplicates of Gauguin's paintings, vivid reds, luscious greens, sunny yellows and extremely aromatic and delicious. Michael taught Nikita that if she saw a bird eating a flower or plant then she could be sure that the herbage was not poisonous. The blonde beauty acclimatized herself surprisingly well to the role of chief cook and bottle washer, after all Michael was a better fisherman and hunter than she and fair was fair. Jobs needed to be equally distributed.

The animals that cohabited with the couple were colorful birds and monkeys that were more afraid of Nikita and Michael than the couple was of the furry small primates. Of course the ocean told a different story and the couple was able to see from a safe distance blue whales, dolphins, sharks and other magnificent sea creatures. On their fourth week they found goats running wild, as well as wild boars and after placing the goats in a pen and hunting for boar, they had milk and meat. However, Nikita would not allow the pets she quickly named and adopted to become supper.

Nikita did most of the talking for she quickly learned that chitchatting was not Michael's forte. Most everything that was said was done in conjunction with their survival and his answers were mostly monosyllabic affirmations of what she wanted, needed or even didn't know she was going to want. He was attentive, although infuriatingly quiet, and he was making sure that his female companion was as sheltered as he could manage to make her. And she was little by little becoming enamoured of the handsome man and frustrated by his lack of need for intimacy.

Because clothing was not a necessity, Nikita had fashioned covers and towels from the items of clothing they had in the boat. The couple wore bathing suits most of the time. As time passed Nikita created a line she called, 'You Tarzan, Me Jane', made of the hide of the wild boars that they ate, nothing gone to waste. The animal flesh, in a barbecue Michael created, was delicious, the bones used to make soap and the hide after curing it in the sun, made the most beautiful 'survival' vogue Nikita had ever seen. Michael had pleased her beyond believe when he concocted sunscreen using fruit, mud and coconut milk, trying many combinations of natural ingredients until he found the correct consistency for Nikita's fair skin.

Nikita in return put together paints made from fruits and berries, brushes from boar's hair and from the dried bark of trees, paper, so that Michael could paint. He told her once in their month together that he studied art at the University and she surprised him with the gift one moonlit evening. Nikita arranged a romantic dinner hoping against hope that Michael would make a move towards her, for in the months they had been together, the handsome man had treated her more as an equal, a little sister than a potential paramour.

The beautiful table was set with candles, plates and silverware retrieved from the yacht. The music from the battery operated CD player, which they conserved for special occasions, played a lustful French ballad. Nikita called Michael to come eat. She prepared a beautiful feast, red snapper with wild boysenberry sauce, hearts of palm and wild mushroom salad and for desert, honey over blueberries. Michael cut wild green tea growing on the base of the mountain and surprised Nikita with it; she was overwhelmed by the gift and ran into his arms kissing him tenderly, act that secretly delighted the man. She was chatty after that and he seemed to smile a lot, in Nikita's eyes he had not been receptive to her attention, but had not been repelled by her overture either.

"Michael, where you a boy scout?" Nikita asked pointing to the shelter were they now ate, the crickets and night creatures blocking the sound of the stereo, so Michael turned it off.

Michael built a tent-like structure where the table sat, to prevent unwanted visitors and keep out the heat that was at times oppressive. The sleeping quarters moved to the grotto behind the waterfall for it was a cooler place to sleep. Nikita discovered an entrance from the ground one-day while exploring and Michael camouflaged it accordingly, making it their perfect hideout. He smiled at her attempt to bring him into the conversation and made a mental note of her change of demeanor, perhaps it was time for his next move.

"Yes." Michael answered purposely; he loved to see her loose her cool with him.

"Michael, please can you elaborate. . . damn you are a difficult man to love." She said and bit her lip as the four-letter 'L' word came flying out of her mouth.

"Why?" He asked and laughed, saying, "Okay, okay," as a small pillow was thrown at his head in a terribly flirty fashion.

"See what I mean?" She sipped her tea and smiled prettily and then seriously furthered, "Is there something wrong with me?"

"What do you mean Nee-kee-tah?" His French lilt dripping over every stretched out syllable of her name.

She sighed and bated her eyelashes, his proximity making her liquid. "In the entire time we have been here you have never made an overture towards me?"

"An overture?" As always he answered a question with a maddening question of his own, he smiled.

"Yes. . ." She stood and paced close to him, brushing her body against his hand, that sat on the edge of the table. "I mean, do I repulse you?"

"You do not repulse me Nikita." Michael said and gently grabbed her hand bringing it to his lips in a gentle caress. "But you are. . ."

She interrupted, her blonde hair wild around her magnificent tanned face, she was angry, "I'll have you know I am not a virgin, Helmut always said I gave great head." With this she brought her hands to her mouth and gasped at the crude bombshell.

"That was a divine manifestation, a bit coarse but. . . Look Kita, this Helmut character was not a gentleman and even though you wear this pronouncement as a sexual badge of courage, it is not ladylike to repeat such things. I think of you as a little sister, we are here to survive hopefully finish fixing the boat and go back to resolve the problems you have with your stepfather Paul. . ." He said while holding both her hands and looking at her with a studied gaze, familial and brotherly.

"So let me recap," She said with anger flaring from her sparkly blue eyes, "You think of me as your charge, some precious cargo you are sworn to protect?"

"Yes and no. I have a responsibility to you and me to keep us safe, but you are not my charge, who would have assigned that position to me? I just don't want to complicate things by having a short lived fling just because either of us have an itch that may need scratching." Michael reposted in a very levelheaded way.

She looked at him, pulled her hands out of his grasp and stormed off to the darkness of the night screaming, "Ugh."

Michael sat back and waited for her return, only because he knew she was afraid of the dark jungle around them. Her return didn't come and then finally he could see a light behind the waterfall letting him know that she had gone to bed. He sat back, smiled and then started cleaning up the table, tomorrow would be another day. Things were going just as planned and the blonde beauty he wanted desperately to make love to was putty in his hands.

/////

Michael had slept outside of the cave, his own restlessness and sexual frustration, he was sure would be too much to tolerate in close proximity of the beautiful woman. They both shared longing wet dreams that brought them close to the edge of reasoning with Michael acting the man and releasing his tension in the privacy of his bed. Nikita on the other hand wallowed happily in her reverie.

She dreamed of Michael's hands covering every inch of skin with a devotion that overwhelmed her. She fantasized of his warm mouth doing things to her essence that left her floating in a sea of passion. He was caring and thoughtful and totally devoid of shame as he exigently demanded and Nikita willingly supplied.

The morning came much too soon for either one. Michael was frustrated and a bit annoyed and marched quietly to the sailboat to start working his frustration out on the vessel, working arduously to fix the ailing ship. The compulsion to find relief didn't go unheeded and Michael took a few moments in the depth of the sea to flog the frustration from his body. He understood that even that was not nearly enough anymore, he had to have Nikita.

Nikita, although still frustrated, revisited her dream making mental notes of what she would do to Michael when the time came. As she did most days, she sneaked to watch the man alleviate his longing and hid in a thicket of trees and brush. This time though, a family of apes who decided it was time to take the strange creature with them was also watching her. Nikita didn't know what hit her, letting out a yell and fading into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Next thing she knew Michael's strong arms were cradling her as he rocked her back and forward in his caress. She let out a groan as he explained what happened and then she moaned in distress, tears ran down her face as she wallowed in the comfort of the man's embrace. When sufficient time passed and she was tranquil and breathing normally, Michael suggested she go to sleep. He needed to go back to the area where the apes were and make sure they were no longer a threat. After he returned he would suggest they go for a swim, Nikita would acquiesce after he promised not to be away from her and he would finally romance her.

////

Nikita's skin perked up with the marvelous feel of Michael's touch, his fingers playing with her toes inside the water, making her long, even more, for intimacy with this man. He picked up her foot and played with her, sucking each wet toe into his mouth, biting the pad with intense care. He moved closer and bit the knees that were but scant centimeters from the water's edge and in a move that she had never tried with any man before, she placed both her legs on his shoulders, crossing them behind his head and pulling him closer to her.

She was finally going to live those pesky dreams she had been dreaming, regale in his touch, his feel; her eyes were shuttered, relaxed in the proximity of Michael. Her cravings magnified without realizing that she had lost the moment before it started, for Michael was stare to stare facing the dark eyes that had crept up behind her. Michael stopped all ministrations, pulling Nikita's legs softly, removing them from his shoulders. She misconstrued this motion to mean that he intended to move the foreplay outside of the pond instead of what it really meant – there was someone watching them.

The man behind the eyes smiled at Michael and shrugged his shoulders, exclaiming, "Bon soir Nikita."

This utterance startled the woman and she slid into the lagoon, with Michael stepping up and shielding her behind him. She took in the man's fastidious appearance, his khaki colored shorts, shirt, flack jacket and hat made him look like a cheap version of Indiana Jones or Alan Quartermane (could that possibly be an ascot he was sporting?). Michael was appraising the situation, Nikita was sexually frustrated and mad as hell and the ridiculous looking man, while on his knees was offering Michael his hand in greeting.

"Quelle domage." The man said as Michael moved to the shoreline with Nikita in tow, ignoring the man's outstretched hand. "But I understand Michael, I apologize for any interruption of your nocturnal games."

Nikita panicked (was the man wearing eyeliner?), she was sure her stepfather had sent this interloper to bring her back, or worse yet, kill them both. Michael, on the other hand, was systematically designing a profile to resolve the pesky problem this man presented without altering his original plans. The man however now sat on a flat dry bolder trying to act nonchalant and put the couple at ease.

Nikita spoke first, as Michael helped her wrap the towel that she had yanked out of the man's hand moments before around her waist. "Who the hell are you, how do you know our names, where did you come from?"

"Well Nikita, you are quite the handful for poor Michael here, he doesn't say much but he does call out your name during his restless sleep."

"You have us at a disadvantage then," Michael said, "We don't know your name."

"Oh of course, I am Dr. Gau. . . just call me Jurgen since we are on first name basis." The man answered, continuing, "Let's see, so many questions. . . I am a scientist studying the simians in this archipelago. An anthropoid ape expert..."

Michael wasn't saying much, like always, so Nikita saw herself as the official mouthpiece of the two, "How long have you been in the island with us?"

The man ignored Nikita's new question and addressed Michael instead. "I understand that your alpha male persona came through today when you thought your woman was in danger, but the apes were not going to hurt her, Tarzan, I was there to make sure of that."

Michael nodded, not completely convinced of this man's claims, a little annoyed at the whole ridiculous scenario the man painted (was the accent waning from one moment to the next?), the man continued. "I stay in the larger of the islands where I have a home and a private landing strip. For years I've been researching the migratory. . . tracking the movements of the various primates living in this group of islands. . . how do they move from landform to landform. . . uhum... Where was I?"

The man was now following Michael and Nikita who were moving the conversation towards the couple's eating area. The taciturn Michael needed to be on turf that made him comfortable to further assess the situation. Jurgen continued as Michael wordlessly offered him coffee, which he took, "I was born here, my family owns these group of deserted islands, studied in Cambridge and lived in Germany with my mother's family. . . I don't want to bore you with my story anymore, it is getting late and I have an early start. . ."

"Jurgen," Nikita said trying to draw the man out further, still afraid that he was one of her stepfather's men, "why did you wait until now to make yourself known to us?"

"Lovely Nikita." Now looking over the rim of his glasses he said, "I mind my own business. I saw the boat and Michael working diligently to fix it, with your help of course, and I figured that you probably were having boat problems and stopped here for repairs."

He smiled at Nikita, but his eyes were fixed on Michael who was looking down, playing with the edge of the towel that covered Nikita. She asked, "Why didn't you make your presence known?"

"I don't live in this island, only come to gather the Intel from my various experiments, and I figured you would eventually go away." He laughed and moving towards Michael, placing a hand on his chest he quipped, "Now if Michael's strong chest was covered in thick fur, well that would be a different story." Jurgen's attempt at humor escaped Michael, but helped the man endear himself to Nikita.

"You came out tonight because of the gorilla incident?" Nikita innocently asked and the man nodded.

Michael had enough and intervened, "Kita, perhaps Jurgen would like to sleep in our campground tonight, it is getting late."

"Oh yes Michael, lovely idea." Nikita said and stood as her towel slipped exposing her bikini clad half-nude body; Michael watched Jurgen's reaction.

"No, no, thank you I don't want to interrupt your tryst any longer. I also need to gather data from your encounter with the nomadic lemurs before the elements erase all trace of it ever happening." Jurgen stood kissing Nikita's hand, Michael watched.

"Nonsense," Michael said, "You can stay here."

"Then it is settled," Nikita said smiling and turning to Michael she moved forward and kissed him on the lips and then whispered in his ear, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Turning to Jurgen she shook his hand and said, "Michael and I sleep behind the waterfall, he will show you to your quarters as it where, perhaps tomorrow we can go with you and help with your experiments."

"Good night Nikita." Jurgen answered and both men stood watching her saunter away, the towel draped around her neck like a stylish shawl, the man continued, "Are you two an item, or am I just assuming. . . I am bisexual." More information than Michael wanted.

"We are more than an item, Nikita is my wife." Michael answered.

"So do you swing then?" Jurgen wrapped an arm around Michael shoulder as the handsome man showed Jurgen to the tree where the platform was set up.

"We leave that to your monkeys Dr. Jurgen." Michael said and then quickly added with a rare little quirk of the corners of his lips. "Good night sir."

///

Nikita paced the back-land entrance to the waterfall with a nervous gait while waiting for Michael to return from providing Dr. Jurgen a place to sleep for the night. She was chewing on her nails and kicking a pebble over and over with the toes of her tennis shoes that she had donned along with a pair of jeans and tee shirt, right after arriving at the site. She was praying to the heavens to make Michael hurry up, she wanted to get on the dinghy and sail away, after all the Boston Whaler had powerful engines that could serve for a quick escape. Then she remembered that the engines were attached to the sailboat since Michael used them to propel the vessel out of its rocky resting-place and she panicked again.

Her body was damp with perspiration; her hair was held back in a rubber-banded ponytail and her clothing stuck to her in the tropical heat like a peel to a banana. The backpack she gathered contained the documents and money Michael managed to rescue from the bottom of the bay and the heiress was ready to leave. Nikita was sure the sailboat was nearly fitted to set sail, Michael worked hard repairing the damaged keel.

She figured a few adjustments would allow them to sail away. And now she waited and waited for the man to return to make their escape; what in heaven's name could possibly be taking Michael so long to return to her side? She was totally paranoid, very anxious and had even forgotten about her fear of the dark jungle that surrounded them, concentrating instead in the causation of Dr. Jurgen's sudden appearance in their midst.

If the man was her stepfather's employee, then Michael and her were fucked. . . she smiled and then reasoned that the man could possibly be Michael's cohort just so the handsome man could keep her sexually at arms length. How close Nikita and Michael had come moments before to consummating their obvious lust? Her thoughts took a detour, as always happened where Michael and sex were concerned. He could no longer lie to her, he had it just as bad as she did. A noise in the background startled the blonde and she turned to see a pair of green catlike eyes starring amusingly at her.

Michael spoke asking her, "Are you going somewhere?"

She moved to his arms, rattling off questions without waiting for answers, "Michael, oh my god, who is he, are we in danger, does he work for Paul? Please let's get going I am sure we could. . ."

Michael interrupted her outburst with a soft kiss to her lips, "Calm down, we are not going anywhere."

"But. . . but Michael. . ." She said, this was not her usual m.o. and Michael realized that she had reversed to the behavior of the little girl Roberta manipulated and abused.

"Kita, this man seems to be just what he says, a scientist studying monkeys. I don't believe he is a danger to us and I would think your father would send many men to retrieve us, not just one." Michael separated from the woman and dried her tears with his open palm in a caress, "He asked about us, I told him we were married. . ."

"You did?" She said straightening herself, taking control of her emotions.

"Yes, I figure that if he is not what he says he is, then we will need him to think you and I have an amorous relationship." Michael answered.

"How sweet, you are trying to protect me." She cooed, a bit sarcastically.

"No. . . I was trying to protect myself. . . he confessed his sexual proclivities." Michael said raising his eyebrows, keeping the knowledge of the man's bisexuality under wraps.

She laughed and started removing her jeans, to Michael's obvious discomfort, and said, "We better consummate this deal then." The new Nikita was back, bolder, savvier and half-naked.

Michael smiled and went to touch Nikita, relishing in her response and continuing the tryst interrupted by monkey man's arrival. Unfortunately as Michael kissed the pretty blonde heiress she heard him mumble words that enormously pissed her off, he said, "Let's do this. . ." She froze on the spot and pushed his arm off her waist.

"I believe you should go sleep on the boat." She snapped, pushing him again as he tried to place a hand to her face in a caress, she went on, "and make sure the good doctor doesn't leave us stranded."

As she entered the cave Michael mumbled, "What did I do now?"

Nikita continued into their makeshift bedroom leaving Michael alone on the outside of the cave. The handsome man shook his head and laughed at the turn of events and as requested made sure to check on Jurgen before he continued to the moored boat. But he was glad by this anomaly since sleeping on the vessel was going to afford him the chance to communicate with Walter back home and insure himself of Jurgen's position in all this – was he friend or foe?

///

From the inside of a cushion Michael took out a hidden global communications device that immediately transmitted to Walter's similar gadget. "Three months since we hear from you, has the package arrived?" Walter asked.

"Walter please." Michael always economical with his words didn't bother to explain the obvious; that this was the first time he was able to call.

"Paul Wolfe has sent one of his goons for you, has the man arrived yet?" Walter asked.

"Jurgen?" Michael asked, "Yeah he is here." Not waiting for Walter to explain.

"Well, he is no friend of yours. Wolfe has gone a little more than nuts. Since we hadn't heard from you, he has yet to report the woman missing. He told Maddy he could not trust you to follow his orders and kill the girl. So, he sent the man to find you both. He has orders to dispose of you and then try to seduce the woman. . . if this doesn't work, he is to kill her outright."

"I understand." Michael answered.

"Get back here my boy, forget this adventure." Walter advised him.

"No adventure Walter, this is my familial duty. Don't tell anyone I communicated with you, let Wolfe hang a while longer." Michael said.

"What are you planning Michael?" Walter asked, "The plans we so painfully made have gone to hell. . ."

Michael smiled and interrupted him, "We'll be back there soon Walter. I am going to marry her."

"Spare of the moment decisions never fair well my friend." Walter advised.

"If nothing else Walter, I'll be able to keep us both safe." Michael answered and disconnected the call.

"Hell of a reason to get hitched." Walter said to himself as he stood from his bed and started his morning routines.

Michael set out to find Nikita; the information that Walter had imparted was enough to send Michael into mission mode.