The pulsating beat of the nightclub did nothing for Michael's headache. He had just spent the past two weeks groveling around in the dirt of the Amazon, stalking a Brazilian arms dealer. All he wanted was some downtime. God knows he had it coming to him. Instead, he was on yet another mission.

He downed his shot of vodka and let his gaze prowl about the bar. His line of sight quickly zoomed in on the girl. She wasn't hard to pick out. Her satin blue dress was like a beacon in the fog of strobe lights and inebriated patrons. Michael studied her physique, noting the way she nervously bit her bottom lip every few minutes.

She was a blonde, and very tall for a woman. Michael hated blondes. And he'd always had a preference for petite women. He sighed inwardly and began making his way toward her. Might as well get this over with now, he thought to himself.

"Hi," Michael said in his most non-threatening tone.

The girl's head jerked up and fear flashed noticeably across her pale face. She quickly plastered on a seductive smile when she saw who had addressed her.

"Hi," she responded. "You must be Michael." She paused. "Care to join me for a drink?"

Michael simply clasped his hands in front of him.

Cheeks flushed, the girl slid off her stool. "Of course not," she half muttered.

She stood before him and Michael found himself staring into her deep blue eyes. They were almost at the same eye level, and he found this disconcerting since he was used to staring down at females.

"This way," he said. Michael turned, confident that she would follow, and lead the way out of the club and into the hotel lobby.

The girl hesitated for a fraction of a second before following him. She forced herself to relax her hold on her purse and concentrated on the beautiful architecture of the luxury hotel. She had spent many nights in hotels, but none in such a fancy one as this. She marveled at the glass fountain in the center of the lobby. An impatient cough brought her to the realization that she had stopped walking. The man was staring at her, his arms folded in front of him. She could have sworn there was a faint smile on his lips, but she quickly muttered an apology and resumed her pace.

By the time they reached his room, her feet were aching from the long walk in her stilettos. She forced a smile to her painted lips, and allowed the man to usher her into his suite. She stopped upon entering, her mouth dropping at the sight before her. Four-poster bed, gold gilted curtains, a fireplace, and a painted ceiling. Still in a trance-like state, she felt the man's hand on the small of her back, nudging her forward.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

His voice brought her crashing down to reality.

"No thank you," she answered avoiding eye contact with him.

Tossing her purse onto the mahogany desk, she made her way to the bed and sank down gratefully onto its plush covering. She immediately slid off the offending stilettos, but remembered just in time to cross her legs.

Concentrating on a point just to the left of the man's ear, she recited her standard invitation.

"What would you like to do?"

"Talk."

The girl blinked. She'd had many strange requests from her clients, but nothing like this.

"About what?" she asked.

"First tell me your real name," he said.

"Is Michael your real name?" she answered. She leaned back on her elbows, thinking this must be some sort of game.

He simply stared at her. "Yes."

"Then my real name is Nikita," she said. "I know, I know," she added hurriedly, "it's a Russian name for a male. You can probably tell I'm from Australia from my accent." She shrugged. "My mom was an Elton John fan, so she named me after his song "Nikita".

When he didn't respond right away, she rushed on.

"You don't really sound like a New Yorker yourself," she said. "Is this a business trip from across the Atlantic or something? You know I've always wanted to go to Europe. I can't speak French or Italian though, but I do know a little German . . ."

The man shook his head at the girl's prattling.

"You know a man named Perry Baur," he said.

Nikita cringed. "I'm not suppose to talk about other clients."

"You know him," Michael repeated.

She shrugged, not talking.

"I need to get a hold of him," he said.

"So talk to Zalman," she replied.

"I understand that you see Baur on a regular basis."

"Look, I can't tell you anything," she said. Nikita played with the hem of her short skirt. "Who are you anyways? Are you a cop?"

Michael shook his head.

"Ni-ki-ta," he began.

She shuddered at the way he spoke her name.

Suddenly, a movement on the balcony caught his attention. Nikita gasped when a gun suddenly appeared in Michael's hand. He shot at the window, and she heard herself scream. Diving off the bed, she was stopped midair by his hand yanking her hair back. She cried out in pain when he dragged her to the broken glass door and shoved her against the wall.

Stepping gingerly onto the balcony, Michael stared down at the video camera that the bleeding man clutched to his chest.

"Who are you," Michael demanded.

"Go to hell," the man responded.

"Jamie!"

Michael swiveled back to the girl. "You know him."

"No!" Nikita cried. "I mean, yes. But I didn't know he was out here!"

Michael turned away from her. Cocking his gun, he leveled it at the man. A bullet to the head finished him off. Michael quickly snapped up the video camera, sliding out the tape and pocketing it.

Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming rattled the paintings on the walls. He turned around just in time to see a flash of blue disappear behind the closing door.

Nikita Wirth raced to the elevator. She managed to slip between the closing doors just as they shut. Once safe inside the cube, she hugged the wall.

"Oh my god," she repeated over and over to herself.

Heart pounding, she clutched her stomach, willing herself not to throw up.

"Get a grip," she told herself even as tears trickled down her rouged cheeks.

She reached the lobby and carefully stepped out. She tried to walk confidently toward the exit, hoping no one would notice her lack of footwear.

"Almost there," she whispered.

Fear came crashing down on her once again when she saw a man striding toward her. The man was dressed as Michael had been, entirely in black. The look in his eyes matched Michael's, deadly intent. Nikita backed up a few steps, before taking off again. She didn't have to turn around to know she was being followed. Her bare feet slapped against the marble floor as she ran without seeing. Before she knew it, she had entered a restaurant and patrons were standing up, gawking at her. When her pursuer entered with his gun all hell broke lose and women began screaming. Nikita ignored all this as she dodged into the restaurant kitchen. Bullets scattered food everywhere and Nikita nearly slipped on a spilled platter of fruits. She threw herself flat behind the counter and covered her ears as bullet shots pierced the air.

This can't be happening. Nikita peeked out from her curtain of hair, surveying the chaos of the kitchen. Most of the cooks had cleared out, but a few dead bodies now littered the floor.

"Don't shoot," a familiar voice cut through the barrage of gun shots. Silence settled in, but Nikita's ears were still ringing. She trembled violently as fear assaulted her battered body.

Footsteps. They were coming closer to her. Nikita got into a crouching position, ready to do anything to survive. Out of the corner of her she saw the garbage chute. Did she dare? The footsteps got louder. Soon his shadow would be over her. Taking a deep breath, Nikita exploded into action.

One, two, three, four, DIVE She slid with increasing speed down the chute, both dreading and welcoming her eventual destination. The smell of rotting food hit her nostrils before she hit the can.

UGGHH Gingerly, she crawled out of the muck. Her legs were still wobbly, and she was on the verge of fainting. Pure adrenaline kept her going. She limped out of the alley and hailed a taxi. The driver threw her a curious glance, but she just threw a wad of money at him and he turned around. Collapsing in her seat, Nikita curled up to conserve heat.

She had given the driver Carla's address, but was now second-guessing herself. What if they followed her there and hurt Carla? She couldn't go back to Zalman's place though. That would be the first place they'd look for her. Her only other option was to try and make it on the streets. God knows she'd done that enough. Nikita swiped at her nose. That's where she had met Jamie, on the streets. She'd never wanted anything to do with him, but on the streets you needed associates. Now that he was dead, she didn't know whether to mourn him or not. Yeah, he'd given her places to sleep every once in awhile, but he was also the guy who'd introduced her to Zalman. Zalman. Nikita shuddered at what he'd do when he found out what happened. Your life just got worse she told herself.

~~~~~

"So it seems Zalman had other lines of revenue," said Operations as he looked down from his aerie.

"Yes." Michael agreed. "I was not the only businessman targeted. However, the target claims she knew nothing of the extortion ring."

Operations chuckled. "Zalman uses the girls to get these men into compromising situations. Then once he gets the act on tape, he blackmails them. It's possible the girl was ignorant of his plans, but not likely."

"It's possible that Zalman has a tape of her with Baur," said Michael.

"Yes," said Operations. He paused. "We have to bring this Nikita in."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Michael. "We can accomplish the mission without exposing her. She can remain on the outside."

Operations shook his head. "She's seen too much already. We might as well make use of all that she has to offer. Bring her in." Operations lit his cigar. "And this time, make sure she doesn't escape."

Michael inclined his head ever so slightly. "Of course."

__________________

Timothy Zalman reminded him of a vulture. It didn't matter that the skinny stick had a head of hair, it was his bulging Adam's apple and beady eyes that gave him the appearance of a scavenger; surviving off the misfortunes of others. Michael settled himself onto a lush armchair that stood behind Zalman's desk. Zalman poured himself a drink, then followed suit.

"So what can I do for you, Michael," Zalman asked. His British accent almost made him sound sincere, but his expression showed otherwise.

"Last night I was with one of your girls, Nikita," said Michael.

"Ah, yes," said Zalman. "The lovely Nikita. Leggy thing, isn't she?"

"She ran away," said Michael.

"Really?" Zalman arched an eyebrow, but he didn't seem too surprised.

"Yes."

"That's strange," said Zalman, "because she was here this morning as usual, in our breakfast hall."

"Then she is here," said Michael.

"Yes," said Zalman. "Where else would she be? All my girls come home to me."

"I'd like a word with her."

Zalman chuckled, and Michael felt his insides churn at this sound. "If what you say is true," he said, "that she ran away, then I must talk with her first. Our girls are very well trained, and they never behave irrationally unless there's a reason. Perhaps you did something that frightened her."

Michael allowed his gaze to stray to the left. "I would make it worth your while," he said, before turning back to look at Zalman.

Zalman chuckled again, a queer gasp of breath that immensely irritated Michael.

"She must have made quite an impression on you," he said. "But honestly, how important is she to you?"

"Two thousand dollars."

Zalman shook his head. "All that for what, a second-rate blonde whore?"

Michael merely folded his hands and leaned back in his chair.

Zalman appeared to be contemplating the offer. "Very well," he finally agreed. He reached across his desk to punch a button on the terminal. "I'll have Marla show you to Nikita's room."

"Thank you. I'll have the money wired to your account."

"I assume," said Zalman, "that all you intend to do is talk."

"Yes."

"Good," said Zalman. "Because anything more will cost you." He smiled.

"Of course."

***

Placing her knee on her bulging suitcase, she finally managed to snap it shut. Nikita exhaled, batting away at her wayward strands of hair. Finally, she was packed and ready to go. She slipped on her jacket and paused to survey her room one last time. As much grief and pain this place had given her, she was going to miss having a decent roof over her head. She was also worried about how she was going to make enough money for Rudy. That was the only reason she had opted to take this job. It made fast money, and a lot of it.

Rudy, her cousin, was the only relative she cared about. Unfortunately, he was mentally challenged and needed to stay in an institution. Nikita would never allow him to be put in a state institution. But since her mother, Roberta, had wasted all her money on alcohol, Nikita was left paying the bills for the group home that took care of Rudy. Decent, specialized care didn't come easy, and Nikita knew she'd have to find another high paying job. For a high school drop out, that wasn't going to be easy.

Having finished putting her hair into a ponytail, Nikita swung her purse onto her shoulder. She then proceeded to move toward the door when it abruptly opened, nearly hitting her in the process.

"Nik?" Marla's pointed face peered in, "someone to see you." She grinned at Nikita, conveying a thumbs up attitude to her.

Who could it be? thought Nikita. She really couldn't afford to waste anymore time. The door slid open all the way and a familiar figure slipped into her room.

Nikita stepped back, caught off guard not only from his presence, but also by the intensity of his gaze.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She tried to stay cool, but even to her own ears she sounded defensive, scared.

Michael closed the door behind him, much to Marla's disappointment when she saw she was to be shut out. Thereupon he began to prowl about the room, his alert gaze quickly taking in every nuance of the area.

"We never finished our conversation yesterday," he said, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her.

Nikita shrugged. "Tough, I'm through with this business," she said. "So get yourself another girl."

"But I want you."

Nikita bit her lip. Something about the way he phrased the words made her shiver inwardly.

"There are plenty of tall blondes in this place," she said. "Just ask Zalman. I gotta go." She turned to leave, but was stopped by his hand on her upper arm.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked.

Nikita laughed shortly. "That, is none of your business," she said. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure you know your way out."

"Yes," said Michael. "I do."

Nikita gasped when something pricked the skin of her arm. She shuddered when her sight suddenly became blurry and a wave of nausea crashed into her.

"What did you do to me?" she gasped.

Michael shook his head, catching her lithe form in his arms when she finally collapsed. Her head lolled onto his shoulder and he found himself staring down at the top of her golden head. Her hair, soft as a child's, pressed against his cheek. Unable to stop himself, he inhaled her scent. Wild flowers. Michael sighed. I hate my job. Hefting his load over his shoulder, he began egress.

__________

Cold. That was the first sensation Nikita experienced when she regained consciousness. She shivered then opened her eyes. She immediately regretted this action when a glaring white light greeted her sight. Moaning she tried to get up but was stopped by restraints on her wrists and ankles. What the heck?

"Good morning."

Nikita opened her eyes again at his voice. Sure enough, Michael, if that really was his name, was staring down at her.

"Where am I," she snarled at him.

"Easy," he said when she pulled viciously at her restraints. Sliding a key into the metal locks, he released her.

Immediately Nikita jumped off the cot and threw herself to the opposite side of the white room.

"Don't come near me!" she said. Shivering from the cold, and maybe fright, she crossed her arms over the thin white tank top she wore.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Michael assured her.

"Did Zalman put me up to this?" Nikita demanded. "I told him I was through with this business."

"No," said Michael. "You're in a place called Section One. We are a covert anti-terrorist operation. You now work for us."

"Really?" Nikita laughed shortly.

"We start tomorrow morning, five a.m." Michael told her.

"And if I refuse?" she asked.

Michael sauntered toward her with a photograph in his hand. "Row 8, plot 30," he said, showing her a photo of a graveyard.

Nikita didn't hesitate to ask her next question. "How much do I get paid."

Michael stared down at her, but she more than met the intensity of his gaze.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, turning to leave.

"Hey!" Nikita protested. "I asked you a question."

Michael stopped at the door, his back to her.

"You'll get your money," he told her.

"Wait," she said. "What are you doing? You're going to lock me up in here? You can't do that! That's illegal."

Michael ignored her and proceeded to open the door.

Infuriated, Nikita strode up to him and wedged herself between his body and the door. "I'll report you for this," she threatened.

Gripping her upper arm, Michael easily moved Nikita aside. However, he wasn't prepared for her next move.

"Not so fast," she said, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. Sliding a hand up the front of his chest, she molded her body to his.

Michael's breath caught and he felt his pulse quicken. Merde, this can't be happening, he scolded himself. Think of Elena. And Adam. He closed his eyes. I can't believe this, this hooker thinks she can get to me.

"I have work to do," he said angrily. He pushed her aside more forcefully than he had intentioned. Consequently she ended up stumbling over her own feet and falling to the floor.

"Bastard," she growled at him.

"Remember," he told her, "row 8, plot 30."

With those parting words, he shut the door behind him.

***

Nikita stuck her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and leaned back onto the wall. She yawned. Being a "lady of the night," she usually slept in until noon. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to wake up at five a.m. Still, she was pleasantly surprised when Michael showed up in her room with a tray of breakfast and orders that she "get dressed." Fulfilling those orders meant taking a trip to the wardrobe of "Section One," as he had called the place. Nikita smiled at the memory of all those racks of clothing. She would have liked to spend the whole day in there, but she hadn't wanted to push Michael's already apparent sour mood. After trying on a couple of outfits, she had finally settled on the casual look. Nikita decided she had had enough nights of provocative wear. Today she wanted to look like your average twenty-one year old college girl.

"Hey beautiful."

Nikita's eyes narrowed when she heard the catcall. Two men, or "operatives", as Michael had explained, were coming toward her in the hallway. They had an all too familiar look in their eyes.

Nikita looked away, trying to ignore them. I don't even have make-up on, she thought bitterly to herself. I can't believe I'm still getting hit on.

Never having been in a real, loving relationship, Nikita didn't understand her own natural appeal. Her long blonde hair and perfectly shaped body alone stopped traffic. Nevertheless, Nikita didn't care much about her outer appearance. Her interest in clothes was merely aesthetic, as she liked to be "artistic" with fashion.

One of the men, a tall bulky golden boy, approached her.

"So you must be Nikita," he said in a long southern drawl.

Nikita didn't respond right away. Where the hell was Michael?

"Fanning's the name," he said sticking out a hand. "David Fanning."

Not wanting to start off by making enemies, Nikita tentatively gave his hand a shake. However, when she tried to extricate her hand, Fanning refused to let go. Pulling her toward him with alarming strength, Fanning candidly wrapped his other arm around her waist. Nikita turned her head.

"Looks like she doesn't want you," the man Fanning was with remarked.

"Of course not," said Fanning. "She's off the streets and without her pimp." He laughed crudely. "But watch this."

He was talking as if she wasn't even there.

"Hey," he said, finally addressing her eye to eye.

Nikita turned away again.

"Hey you," Fanning said in a louder voice. "Look at me when I'm talking." He grasped her chin in a bone-wrenching grip and forced Nikita to face him.

"I want to show you something," he said, taking a billfold out of his leather jacket. "You see this," he said. "This," he waved the bill in front of her face, "is a fifty-dollar bill."

Nikita grit her teeth and stared icily at him.

"What'll that get me," Fanning asked.

His friend chuckled at this, and pretty soon both men were laughing loudly. Nikita placed her hands on his chest and tried to push herself away, but his hold only tightened.

"Hey Blondie, you've got an attitude problem," he sneered.

"My only problem right now," Nikita shot back, "is you."

Her comeback only caused the men to laugh harder.

Clearly insulted, Nikita summoned up all her strength. She managed to wrench herself out of Fanning's arms, but not after his hands had taken several liberties with her body.

"Hey baby," said Fanning's friend. "If you're done with him, why don't you come on over here."

He flexed his hips, causing Fanning to double over with laughter.

"What's going on here."

Michael's authoritative voice cut through the hyena-like sounds of the men. Nevertheless, it took a good half-minute before either of them quieted down.

Face red, Nikita couldn't bring herself to meet Michael's eyes.

Michael calmly surveyed the all too apparent scene in front of him. Clasping his hands in front his body, he waited for an answer from the operatives.

Fanning coughed. "Nothing Michael," he said. "Just sampling the goods you brought in." He made a big show of shrugging. "Girls like her are, after all, public domain."

Michael stared coldly at the operative. "Drop it Fanning," he said in a quiet, but threatening tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said not contritely, "Am I out of line?"

"You have a briefing," said Michael. "Go now."

"Right," Fanning drawled while his friend coughed. "Well, I'll see you two later." He strode away, his lackey in tow, but not after shooting Nikita a sideways glance. She pretended not to notice.

"Thanks," she said to Michael after they had gone. "I think."

Michael inclined his head ever so slightly. "You're new here," he said. "So I've made allowances. But from now on, you have to learn to survive on your own."

"I didn't ask for your help," Nikita said, pointedly.

"I know," said Michael.

"And I didn't exactly have a choice about being here."

"No one does."

"What do you mean," she asked. "What exactly are we here for? Doesn't the government already have some sort of anti-terrorist group?"

"Right now," Michael said slowly, "we're here to meet with Madeline."

"Who's that." Nikita snapped her gum, much to his annoyance.

"Think of her as the mother of Section One."

"Oh, and are you the father?"

"No," Michael answered even though he had been on the verge of telling her to get rid of the gum. "You'll meet him soon enough."

He stepped up to the door in front of them, and it slid open. Stepping back, he gestured for her to proceed him.

Nikita eyed him warily. Then, taking a deep breath, she sauntered in to meet this, "Madeline."

"Nikita, come in."

Nikita stared at the brunette woman in front of her. She looked like a hostess in a fancy restaurant. Her smile was that superficial. Forcing her own smile, Nikita walked up to the woman's desk.

"Please, sit down," Madeline invited.

Nikita flopped down into the chair, and slouched down.

"I understand Michael has given you a brief overview of what we do here in Section One."

Nikita shrugged. "Well, he isn't exactly Mr. Personality. But I've managed to get the gist of this place from the few words he's said to me."

Madeline smiled widely. "Yes," she said, looking at Michael. "Michael can be rather taciturn at times."

"Maybe you can tell me why I'm really here," said Nikita.

Madeline folded her hands in front of her.

"You work for Timothy Zalman," she began.

"Used to," Nikita corrected.

"And," Madeline continued, ignoring this, "one of your regular clients is a man by the name of Perry Baur."

"Was," Nikita felt compelled to make that clear.

"Our mission," said Madeline, "hinges on your connection to Zalman and Baur."

"What, "mission"?" Nikita demanded, leaning forward.

"I want you to see something," said Madeline. She turned her computer terminal so the screen faced Nikita and Michael.

Nikita leaned back in her chair and looked up at Michael, who had remained standing. He gave her a look that clearly said "behave yourself."

Rolling her eyes, Nikita focused her attention on the computer screen. Her eyes widened at the display. The screen showed what appeared to be an embassy building burning while people streamed out in a frenzy of terror. Close-ups of the people revealed blood spurting profusely from open wounds.

The screen changed to show another building, a hospital. One moment the building stood, in the next scene, it was reduced to rubble by a large explosion.

"This is what Baur likes to do in his spare time," Madeline stated matter-of-factly.

"He kills people with bombs?" Nikita asked, horrified by the images on the screen.

"Indirectly," said Madeline. "And sometimes directly." She turned the screen away from Nikita. "He funds the manufacture of terrorist weapons. Sometimes he uses them himself to attack target groups."

Nikita looked ill. "I slept with him," she murmured.

"We need your help to stop Baur," said Madeline.

"Me?" Nikita shook her head. "What can I do?"

"Your contact with Baur will allow us to find out who and where his next target is," Michael told her. As he had expected, her clear blue eyes suddenly became stormy at this.

"So that's where this is going," she said. Her eyes turned accusingly to Michael. "You brought me here to whore for you."

Michael maintained his blank stare, saying nothing in response. His silence was answer enough for her.

"If you help us, you'll be saving lives," Madeline told her. "Think of the innocent women and children."

"It's not my problem," Nikita said in a trembling voice. She tried to keep her emotions in check, but it was of no use. "How can you ask me to do something like this?" she nearly cried.

Madeline's smile slowly dissolved. "I'm not asking you," she said in a cold voice.

Nikita shook her head. "You can't force me against my own free will."

"In Section, there's no such thing," Michael said, coming to stand behind her.

Nikita clenched her fists, feeling his shadow looming over her. She now felt trapped between his body, and Madeline's unrelenting frosty eyes.

"You have a cousin, by the name of Rudy," Madeline said. She turned the computer monitor back to Nikita. This time it displayed a live video feed of people milling about a pleasant green yard that stood in front of a cheerful red house. The camera zoomed in on a particularly stout man with thick rimmed glasses.

"How . . ?" Nikita's mouth opened slightly. Then realization hit her like a shower of hail. "You wouldn't."

"We have Rudy's location," Madeline informed her. "As long as you cooperate with us, he will remain unharmed."

Nikita drew her legs up as she curled into a ball, laying her head onto her knees.

"All right," she finally responded after several minutes had passed. When she lifted her head, her eyes were visibly brighter with unshed tears, but her chin jutted out defiantly. "I'll help you."

Madeline nodded. "Michael will take you to our training center. He'll get you started on some basic protocol that you'll need once out on the field." Her smile returned, but this time Nikita saw completely through it. "That'll be all. Thank you Nikita."

Unfolding her long body from the chair, Nikita stalked out without a backward glance at Michael.

Nikita's back felt like an army had marched over it. She leaned against the wall for support and watched, with bleary eyes, the action around her in the gym. Operatives, mostly men, were sparring with each other on the mats. Their grunts echoed in the sweat filled air, and Nikita suddenly felt nauseous.

The "training session" had started well enough. First, the resident computer genius, Birkoff, had given her a crash course on hacking and "Beyond the World Wide Web 101." They had bonded over a mutual love of junk food, and Nikita smiled slightly at the memory of their animated dialogue. Next, she'd had a session on handguns with Walter, a wonderfully dirty and loving old man. He had been just the antidote for her depressed mood. After having encountered Fanning, Nikita was glad not all Section men were like him. At least she had made two friends in the place.

"Ni-ki-ta."

But if she thought Fanning would have been her number one worry, she would have been wrong. Michael won the Mr. Sadistic Award, hands down.

After her session with Walter, Michael had whisked her away to the gym where he had spent the next hour playing drill sergeant. The memory of the forced mile run, fifty sit-ups, twenty push-ups, (plus an additional ten as punishment for mouthing off) and a 200 meter swim were enough to make her want to collapse from exhaustion.

"What?" Nikita barked out in a hoarse voice.

She eyed Michael with a sardonic eye. In workout clothes, his firmly toned muscles were finely displayed. The fact that Michael looked so sophisticated while she probably looked like a drowned rat only exacerbated Nikita's crabby mood.

"We're going to spar," Michael told her matter-of-factly.

Nikita closed her eyes. Would this nightmare ever end?

"No," she said in a firm voice. "I'm done for the day. Go spar with yourself."

She made a move to head to the locker room, but too late, she found his hand on her arm. She stiffened, preparing herself for the worst. Would he throw her to the ground and proceed to beat her into a twitching pulp of sweat?

"Nikita," he said in an almost gentle voice, "I know you're tired."

"How very perceptive of you," she said sarcastically.

"You've done well for a beginner," he continued. "I know how difficult this day must be for you. But tomorrow, one of the most valuable skills you'll need is how to defend yourself. I want you to stay with me a little longer so I can teach you one more thing. Then you can go."

Nikita sighed. Goddamn the man. Why did he have to start acting nice now?

She looked him into the eye. "After this, I want a hot shower," she said.

Michael looked confused. "Yes, we get hot water here," he said slowly.

"And real food for dinner," Nikita continued. "No more of this packaged crap. If I wanted airline cuisine, I'd get on a plane."

Michael still wasn't catching on. "Of course," he said. "Christopher is making us dinner tonight."

"And I want some clean clothes," Nikita said firmly. "The wardrobe room was nice, but I want something soft and comfy that smells of Tide."

"Of course," Michael repeated. Grasping her by the elbow, he quickly led her to a mat before she could make any more requests.

Half an hour later, Nikita was drenched with sweat, while Michael wasn't even breathing hard. Still, he had to admit she was a fast learner. Michael watched her tired form limp toward the showers. Usually trainers sparred with their recruits so the recruit could externalize any hostile emotions he or she might have. Michael had been fairly surprised that Nikita didn't show any ill will toward him. After her meeting with Madeline, he had assumed she would either ignore him or eventually throw a tantrum. He had, after all, ruined the rest of her life. Michael was normally able to displace any guilt he had for bringing an innocent into Section, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to just brush Nikita off. She wasn't even a true innocent. While Michael wasn't really a "bien pensant" he had, on several occasions, unconsciously viewed prostitutes as second-class citizens. Having been brought up by a wealthy family, he was not immune to the social stigmas dictated by convention. He could see no reason why he should feel differently toward this new material. Perhaps it was "nostaligie de la boue?" Michael shook his head. The girl had a beautiful smile, despite the horrid language that came out of her mouth.

Michael shook his head. He had work to do, why was he standing around contemplating the unknown?

***

Nikita tiredly ambled into her "cell." After a soothing hot shower, she had been treated to a plain, but fulfilling dinner of stew, biscuits, and pie. She was so sleepy, she didn't think she'd make it to her cot.

"There's a briefing at 8 tomorrow morning," Michael had reminded her.

Eight. It was past midnight now, so that meant she'd get at least a full night's rest. Wunderbar.

Eyes squinting in the harsh light white light of the room, Nikita stared at her cot. So he remembered after all, she thought delightedly to herself.

Picking up the cotton shift from the bed, she pressed it to her face and inhaled the scent of clean clothes.

"Nothing beats a fresh nightgown," she said out loud. "What's this?" She picked up the scrap of paper that rested on her pillow.

This was not washed with Tide. The crabbed handwriting read, but it is clean.

Nikita smiled and flopped onto the bed.

"Thanks Michael," she whispered to the ceiling.

***

"Sit up."

Nikita nearly bolted out of her chair at Michael's whispered command. She swiveled her head around, cracking her forehead against his chin.

"Ow!"

"Pay attention," Michael reminded her before taking a seat next to her at the briefing table.

Straightening her spine, Nikita's focus was immediately drawn to the silver haired man that strode to a spot behind the table. He picked up what appeared to be a remote control, and suddenly, 3-d images floated above the table. Nikita leaned forward to get a closer look at the images.

"Kita," Michael whispered.

Contrite, she quickly shifted her eyes back to the man who was speaking. So that was "Operations." He seemed demonic enough.

"This is Perry Baur," Operations began.

Sure enough, the image displayed was of Baur's ferret-like face. Nikita shuddered with disgust.

"A week ago, our sources linked him to the Prague attack," Operations continued. "It seems Baur has a large resource of biological weapons at his disposal. Last night, we received a tip that Baur has plans to strike a new target. We will be using a new recruit, Nikita, to infiltrate Baur's headquarters and determine his next course of action."

Nikita slouched down again at Operations' piercing stare. She had the distinct feeling that he didn't like her.

"Michael will also be on team one," said Operations. "He will fill in as one of Zalman's," Operations paused, "secondary contractors."

With a flick of his wrist, the images above the table dissolved.

"See Madeline for wardrobe," Operations finished.

He waited for the operatives to depart.

"Oh Nikita."

Nikita turned expectantly. "Yeah?"

Operations strode up to her so he was less than a foot away from her body.

"Madeline has filled me in on you," he said, pausing to let the weight of his disapproving voice sink in. "I do not tolerate insubordination. On this mission, you will do exactly what Michael tells you. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, whatever," Nikita shrugged.

Operations' eyes narrowed.

"This is a serious matter," he said in a hard tone. "The lives of hundreds of people depend on the success of this mission. I don't like your attitude."

"I'll do my best," Nikita promised him.

"That's not good enough," Operations told her. "I'll expect more."

With that, he left her. Nikita couldn't resist rolling her eyes.

"He's right," Michael said.

"Goddammit!" she cried, whirling around. "Will you stop sneaking up on me like that!"

"Nikita," Michael spoke in a low voice to point out to her that she was speaking too loudly. "Save the language for the streets. If I hear anymore profanity from you while you're in Section, I'll have you running laps."

"Furthermore," he continued, "Operations does have a point. This mission should not be taken lightly."

"What do you want me to do!" Nikita hissed. "I'm being forced into this. You can't expect me to just smile and sit pretty. I'm not getting anything out of this. I'm doing this for Rudy."

"No," said Michael. "You're also doing this for yourself. Your survival in Section depends on the outcome of this mission."

Nikita folded her arms. "Survival?"

"If you haven't noticed already, human life here is cheap."

Michael gave her one last look before turning on his heel.

"Good-night, mademoiselle," she quipped behind his back.

"Wardrobe," Michael ordered as he walked away. "Now."

"I was sooo looking forward to a relaxing stroll in the park," Nikita yawned.

"Now, Nikita."

***

"Well, Peter, your resume is overall quite outstanding," Baur said to Michael.

Baur turned to the girl on his lap.

"What do you think, darling?"

Nikita pretended to look Michael over. "Well," she said, "he's always been good to me. Makes sure I don't have to cater to any pigs." She blew Michael a kiss.

"Is that so?" Baur laughed.

Nikita held back a shudder when Baur slapped her thigh. His fingers began creeping up her skirt.

"Okay, Peter," said Baur. "You're on the team. But only for a probationary period. I need to make sure you have what it takes to work for me." Baur wrapped an arm around Nikita's upper torso and rested his hand on her cleavage. "Tomorrow, I'm taking some men of mine on a little excursion. Come along, show us what you've got," he invited.

"All right," Michael agreed. He stood up and extended a hand.

Baur did likewise, roughly shoving Nikita off his lap. Momentarily ignoring her, Baur shook Michael's hand.

"Now that our business is concluded," Baur said with a grin, "let's get on with the program I've planned for tonight. I have a five-star chef cooking our dinner as we speak."

He slapped Michael on the back and ushered him out of the room, leaving a scowling Nikita to trail after them.

***

"So tell me, Peter," Baur said, licking batter off his fingers. "Tell me how and where you met this gorgeous blonde beauty."

Nikita, strategically lounging across the counter from Baur, spun around in her stool. She surveyed Baur's massive kitchen.

"Well," Michael began.

"Rio," Nikita interrupted him, spinning to a stop. "It was carnival. He met me on the streets and took me to his place. It was love at first sight."

Hopping off her stool, Nikita smiled wickedly as she approached Michael. "He was my first, my only, true love!" Leaning forward, she tenderly bit his jawbone. She was delighted when he responded with a slight gasp. Or was that her? When she pulled back, his eyes glittered dangerously green.

"Now, that's strange," said Baur. "Because Zalman told me he discovered you."

Michael folded his arms and stared at Nikita. His look clearly said "you got yourself into it."

Nikita shrugged. "Zalman wishes he'd had me," she said nonchalantly. "But he couldn't squirm his way into a virgin's bed if he was dressed as a priest."

Baur chuckled loudly at this. "Now that sounds like Zalman."

He picked up a wine bottle. "Come, my friend, dinner awaits."

He was clearly addressing Michael. Nikita sighed as once again, she was left to trail behind the two men. Pigs.

***

"Mmm, thanks chef!"

Giddy with wine, Nikita absolutely floated up the stairs. Or rather, she staggered up with Michael's arm around her waist.

Baur had found himself another girl. He was swaying with her, making out with her, whatever you wanted to call their dancing. They were dancing to country music. Nikita hated country music. Combined with the effect of too much alcohol in her system, the warbling of Big Sugar made her head painfully pulsate.

"Go on," Baur encouraged them, "dance. I want to see you two together."

Nikita bit her lip and leaned against a desk. Her eyes were everywhere but on Michael.

Suddenly, she felt something warm and strong on her wrist. Michael's hand. He gently traced the outline of her vein, almost as if he was taking her pulse. Nikita looked up at him. She felt like a wallflower that was finally being asked to dance.

Michael pulled her to a standing position and rested his hands on her waist. Captured by the intensity of his gaze, Nikita couldn't remember what to do with her hands. Her arms hung at her sides while he led them in a slow, swaying circle.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. It was as if all Michael saw, was her. She felt special, like she was the only person that mattered in his universe. Just Michael and Nikita.

Stop that, she scolded herself. It's just a "mission." Don't delude yourself. You barely know the man. For all you know, he could be married.

"Now, you two look beautiful," Baur cooed.

"Ni-ki-ta is beautiful," Michael responded without hesitation.

Oh god, I hope he's not married. What was this feeling Nikita was experiencing? Was this love?

The feeling of Baur's arm around her shoulder jolted Nikita out of her romance. His breath, musty and stale, fluttered against her cheek. She gripped the lapels of Michael's jacket, needing to be closer to him.

"Let's talk," Baur said to Michael.

No, please don't go.

Nikita tightened her grip on Michael's jacket, her eyes pleading with him to stay. But a hood had dropped over his features, he was wearing someone else's face. Pushing her aside, Michael accepted the drink Baur offered. The two men walked away, laughing raucously.

Nikita felt abandoned again. She curled up on the edge of the desk. Waiting for them to finish "negotiations." It was a procedure she was all too familiar with. This time, along with the usual feelings of fear and disgust, she felt a sense of betrayal. But what did she expect? Michael was only doing his job. I guess I should do mine.

***

"Kita," such a deep, but comforting, voice.

Nikita wondered if he ever read poetry out loud. She would love to hear that.

"Nikita, wake up."

"Mmmm?"

Michael sighed and settled down into a crouching position. She reminded him of a cat; her lithe body curled up in a ball beneath the desk of Baur's study. Her eyes slid open to slits. Brushing hair away from her face, he half expected her to nuzzle his hand.

"Let's go," he urged her up.

Grumbling, Nikita crawled out of her napping area.

"I have to use the bathroom," she said, breezing past Michael.

"We don't have much time," he reminded her.

"Let me guess," she said. "Baur's waiting."

"Yes."

"Just give me a minute," she said, slamming the bathroom door in his face. "You don't have to follow me all the way."

She groaned when she saw her face in the mirror. Her make-up was starting to run. If it were any other job, she would do a touch-up. But for Baur, she didn't care what he thought anymore. Grabbing several Kleenexes, she scrubbed her face clean. Then she dunked her head under the tap.

"Much better," she said.

She opened the door to find Michael leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded.

"No," he said when he saw her gaze stray toward a half-empty wineglass that was left on a table. "You've had enough for tonight," he admonished. "Let's go."

He grabbed hold of her elbow. To make up for lost time, he quickly ushered her down to the lower level bedroom.

"You know, Peter," Nikita drawled, her head lolling onto his shoulder "I just want to take a moment to say, I don't hold this against you."

"That's great," Michael said shortly. He noted her flushed cheeks. Cupping her neck, he felt the erratic beating of her pulse. Apparently she couldn't hold much alcohol.

"I know you're just doing your job," Nikita continued. "And I guess if you fail, you'll be in big poopy with Mr. Operations too. And I don't want that. . . Isn't that a pretty picture?"

"Yes," Michael readily agreed, pulling her away from the distraction. "Come."

They had finally reached the door to Baur's playroom.

"So really, Peter, Michael, whatever your name is," said Nikita, "I don't blame you. Really! I think you're just swell. Not bad looking either. Bloody fine specimen of a man."

"Glad to hear it," Michael shoved her into the room.

"But I have to be frank with you," Nikita said, stumbling into the bed. She flopped onto her stomach, kicking off her stilettos. Agile as ever, Michael quickly ducked before he lost an eye.

"Perry Baur is grade A swine," she said. "I'm really not looking forward to this. Last time I did him, he ripped my favorite red satin gown in half." She rolled herself up into a sitting position and shook an indignant fist into the air. "That dress cost me half a month's salary!" She hiccupped, and Michael found the sight to be very charming.

"How much experience do you have with negotiating anyways?" she queried in a voice that was an octave higher than her usual husky undertone. "I hope you got a good price for me, 'cuz I'm worth it!"

"I made a good deal," Michael assured her.

"Really?" Nikita cocked her head to the side. "Well, then, by all means, bring him on."

"You're not sleeping with Baur tonight," Michael told her. He eased off his leather jacket and carefully folded it up before setting it onto a chair.

"Huh?"

"You're sleeping with me."

***

"Pig."

"Funny, a moment ago I was a fine specimen of a man, and Baur was grade A swine."

"One and the same. You're both pigs."

"I really can't be that bad can I?" Michael inquired innocently. He moved so that he was but a foot away from her, but he did not touch her.

"No," Nikita said after a moment of thought. "You do have your good points. I guess."

She folded her arms and stared impishly at him.

"Such as?"

Just then, Baur entered the room with a busty brunette hanging off his arm.

"You're ability to lie through your teeth!" Nikita hissed when she saw what was an obvious set-up.

"All right kids," Baur toasted them with his bottle of wine. "Let's get this show on the road!"

He settled down onto an overstuffed armchair, pulling his girl onto his lap. Picking up a remote, he turned on the bedroom's stereo system. Once again the warbling of Big Sugar flooded Nikita's system.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she moaned into Michael's ear when he wrapped his arms around her.

"Do it after the mission," he ordered her. "Focus."

Taking in a deep breath, Nikita finally admitted defeat. What could she do? If she broke her cover, Michael would surely abandon her to the mercy of Baur. At least if the mission succeeded, she'd get out alive. Remember Rudy. He needs you. This is no time to stand around crying.

"Okay," she whispered more to herself than to Michael.

Abruptly grabbing hold of Michael's head, she forced herself to begin kissing him. Before long however, she realized she didn't have to force herself anymore. In fact, she didn't have to do anything. As usual, Michael had taken over and was directing the intensity and direction they were going. She moaned when she felt him pull away from her lips so that he could devote his attention to her neck. So soft, and gentle, yet firm and commanding. The combination was heady. Nikita wanted more. Of their own accord, her hands began to pull off her own shirt. She wanted to feel herself against him, skin against skin.

Michael's hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at him quizzically. He merely shook his head.

"Perform for me," he ordered.

***

Nikita stood erect, hands on her hips, feet shoulder width apart. She couldn't believe this. He wanted her to perform for him? Fine, she thought to herself, I'll give him a performance he'll never forget.

While Zalman had never graduated Nikita into his "stripping" club, (he had told her she danced like Daffy Duck) Nikita had picked up several tricks of the trade during her short-lived career. Seeing the way Michael had leaned back in his chair with an expectant look on his face, Nikita quickly decided on one particular tactic she was sure he wouldn't approve of.

A wicked smile graced her red lips. Slinking over to Baur, she flashed the drooling man a heart-stopping smile before turning her attention to the girl on his lap.

"What's your name?" she whispered.

The girl looked around the room, at first unsure of who Nikita was addressing.

"Irene," she finally muttered.

"Irene," Nikita repeated. "You want to have some fun?"

The girl's confused expression confirmed Nikita's suspicion that there was little more than air beneath the girl's thick chocolate curls.

"Come on," said Nikita, pulling the girl up.

"I like your dress," Nikita commented, running a hand down the girl's arm.

When Irene didn't readily respond, Nikita moved in to kiss her, gently. At first, the girl shivered, but Nikita carefully coaxed her into cooperation. With expert precision, Nikita worked her way down the girl's neck. Reaching her cleavage, Nikita artfully pulled the girl's dress down so the twin globes eased out. Irene moaned. Baur's breathing became labored. Nikita didn't dare look at Michael.

Concentrating on the girl, Nikita turned Irene around so she could unzip her dress. Keeping in time with the music, Nikita spun the girl around until her body was completely bare except for a pair of high heels that encouraged her to thrust out her full bosom.

"Let's show these boys what women really want," Nikita whispered into her ear.

Irene laughed, finally getting into the mood. This time, when Nikita began kissing her, Irene responded enthusiastically.

Seeing that the girl had finally relaxed, Nikita decided it was time to move on. Swaying to the music, she turned Irene so that her back was to Nikita, and her front was fully displayed to Michael and Baur.

Reaching around, Nikita firmly clasped the girl's breasts in her hands. Rolling the smooth flesh around and around, pushing them up so her rouged tips arched toward the ceiling. Then, keeping one hand up in motion, Nikita eased her right hand down the girl's slightly rounded stomach. She slid her fingers into Irene's nest of curls, gently massaging her cunt. Irene moaned loudly. Baur sounded like he was having a heart attack.

Her hand still ensnarled down below, Nikita led Irene to the bed. Placing a hand on her stomach, she nudged her down to lay on her back. Unconsciously, the girl spread her legs, unabashedly displaying her crimson treasures to the men. Baur's sharp intake of breath encouraged Nikita to move on, and milk the performance for all it was worth. To hell with Michael, she was only giving him what he asked for.

Settling on the side of the bed, Nikita stretched Irene's left leg over her lap. She ran a hand up and down the girl's smooth thigh. When she reached the apex of the her legs, she continued on the ease a finger inside her wet core. Irene trembled.

"Shhh," Nikita whispered, bending to press a kiss to her belly button. Looking up, she made eye contact with Michael's stormy green eyes. His expression was absolutely thunderous. Uncaring of this, Nikita kept her eyes on him as she inched ever so slowly down with her mouth, pressing kisses all the way to Irene's open cunt. Reaching her destination, Nikita's pink tongue crept out to lav the girl's clit with more moisture.

Irene immediately tensed, and began begging incoherently for more. Nikita readily complied. Ignoring Michael, she focused her attentions on the girl's throbbing center of desire. Within minutes she brought Irene to orgasm and the girl's screams filled the room.

A victorious smile on her face, Nikita gently gave the girl one last caress before standing, leaving the girl to lie in her unconscious state of bliss.

Apparently Baur had also achieved fulfillment, as she saw that he had collapsed in his chair, reduced to a blob of satisfied sweat.

"She's quite a girl, isn't she Peter?" he gasped.

Michael didn't respond right away. Getting up, he moved toward Nikita.

"Yes," he said, his eyes hooded.

Nikita swallowed hard. Suddenly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to be so near him. She took a step back, too late, his hand was already on her wrist, pulling her toward him. She struggled to get out of his arms, but he had already trapped her body against his.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

Michael kept silent. His face came so close to Nikita, that she thought he would kiss her, but then he suddenly moved his lips down to brush against her neck. She trembled. Such a simple, erotic gesture. She found herself drowning in a sea of sensations as his lips brushed a pattern down her neck.

Suddenly, his hard chest jerked against her, and she realized, too late, that he had knocked someone out. Someone behind her. Turning around, Nikita saw Baur's limp body on the ground. He was out cold.

"Oh my," she breathed.

Securing her upper arm in a firm grasp, Michael quickly began to pull her out of the room.

"What - "

"Later," he cut her off tersely.

Speaking into his comunit he reported, "Send in housekeeping for Baur. I'm enroute to his office."

"What about Irene?" Nikita asked.

Michael's face darkened. "We will speak of her, later."

Nikita gasped when he quickly cut around the corner. Her arm felt ready to be torn out of its socket.

"What's the rush?" she asked breathlessly.

"We have to get out of this compound right away," he told her. "But we can't leave without downloading Baur's files."

"Why do we have to leave right away?" she asked, breaking into a run to match Michael's brisk jog.

"This is still hostile territory," he told her. "Once Baur's guards find out that's he's gone, we'll be shut in."

Nikita sighed inwardly. So much for her knock-out performance. Any other man would be on his knees demanding relief, but all Michael could think about was the mission.

"Oh and Nikita," he said, coming to an abrupt stop.

Nikita slammed into his waiting arms, and he shoved her against the wall. Stepping in to close the gap, he whispered into her ear. "Don't ever do that again," he threatened.

Nikita took in a deep breath, feeling the evidence of his arousal against her stomach. Michael stepped back, his mask falling into place, but his eyes still gleamed with intent.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing hold of her arm.

Again, they were off and running. But this time Nikita couldn't resist smiling.

***

"Stay here," Michael ordered once they had reached Baur's office. He motioned to a spot next to the door. "If you see any of Baur's men, use this." He handed her a gun.

Nikita stared apprehensively at the heavy block of metal in her hand. "Right," she murmured.

She watched as Michael seated himself behind Baur's desk. Soon he was absorbed in a conversation with Birkoff as he downloaded files from Baur's hard computer.

Shifting uneasily on her feet, Nikita kept an eye on the darkened hallway. She really hoped Michael would hurry. The last thing she wanted was to have to use the gun. She had never liked violence. Even in the movies, she could never watch fight scenes without wincing. All that blood and pain just seemed senseless to her.

"Kita," Michael murmured.

Nikita jumped slightly. "Done?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, pulling out his gun.

He began jogging down the hallway, waving at Nikita to follow him. After a brief moment of hesitation, she followed, doing her best to keep up in her stilettos. Suddenly, he stopped, and Nikita slammed into the hard length of his back.

"Umphf," she said as he pushed her to the wall.

"Get down."

Before she could obey, the hallway erupted into a firefight. Her heart in her throat, Nikita began shooting back at Baur's men. As a novice, her aim never hit home. Nevertheless, she continued shooting in hopes that she would slow them down.

Her body shook with every shot she took. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Nikita felt Michael's reassuring hand on her arm. With a firm hand on her back, he pushed her to hunch down, even as he nudged her forward.

"Run," he commanded.

Keeping a hand on her back to remind her to stay down, Michael propelled her down the hallway. She couldn't see him, but she thought he was still shooting at their attackers. Suddenly, she felt his body convulse. He fell on top of her, bringing her down with him.

"Michael?" she gasped. "You've been shot!"

"I'm fine," he told her. "Keep going."

Nikita turned to obey him, but then she realized he wasn't following her.

"Go!" Michael yelled.

"Don't be silly," she said.

Looking up, she saw that one of Baur's men remained, and he was coming toward them with his gun drawn.

"Drop it," the man ordered.

"Okay," Nikita said, raising one arm in defeat. Then, without giving it one more second of thought, she shot the man. He fell back immediately.

Nikita exhaled deeply, the gun sliding out of her numbed hand. I can't believe I did it. In a trance, she walked toward the fallen man. He was dead, his eyes still open in shock. She shuddered.

"Nikita," Michael broke into her thoughts. "You have to get out of here."

"So do you."

Without heeding his protestations, Nikita heaved him up. Slinging his arm over her shoulder, she gently urged him on.

"Kita," he said, "I'm slowing you down. You don't have much time."

"Michael," she replied. "Just shut-up."

***

Michael grunted as he limped around Section on his crutches. Having been shot on the lower part of his left buttock had been embarrassing enough. Having to hobble around only added to the indignity of his predicament. At least Nikita wasn't jumping anymore when he approached her without his usual soundless tread.

"You've done well," Madeline was saying to Nikita as they strolled through the center of Section.

"Yes," Michael agreed.

"So what now," Nikita asked. She looked away, fearing the inevitable answer. "What happens to Rudy?"

"He's been moved to a secure location," said Madeline. "He'll be cared for by good people. There'll be nothing for him to want."

Except me. "Great," Nikita replied sarcastically.

"As for you," Madeline continued. "You will start formal training with Michael. In two years, we will reassess your situation."

"Whatever," Nikita muttered. The first chance she got she planned to escape. Whatever it takes, I'm getting out.

She glanced up at the aerie where Operations was having a drink with a suit. She was about to look away when the man Operations was talking to turned toward the window. She instantly recognized his profile.

"Baur," she growled. "What is he doing there?"

"As long as he's willing to sit between fences," Madeline told her, "he's useful to us."

"So you're just going to let him go?" Nikita accused. After all that he's done?"

"Shades of grey, Nikita," said Madeline. "Not everything is black and white."

Nikita glared at Madeline's smug, retreating back. Anger filled her soul, blinding her of any rational thought. All she could think of was justice. How dare they let that bloody pervert rapist free into the world, while keeping her imprisoned?

Taking a deep, hard breath, she forced herself to turn away. Two steps later, she whirled around, gun in hand. Pointing the weapon at Baur, she chambered it and prepared to squeeze the trigger.

"What do you hope to accomplish by killing Baur?"

Nikita grit her teeth. "Go away, Michael."

"You're signing your own death warrant," his calm, rational voice drove her to the edge of insanity.

"I'm already dead, according to you," she retorted. "Besides, what do I have to look forward to here in Section?"

"Me."

Nikita laughed. "Go to hell." She raised her arm higher so she was aiming at Baur's head.

"I can help you," said Michael.

Nikita hesitated. "How?"

"You want freedom."

"You can help me get out?" Nikita asked, suspicious.

"Yes."

"How do I know this isn't some kind of manipulation," she demanded.

"Would I ever intentionally hurt you?"

"I've known you less than a week," Nikita reminded him. "How am I suppose to know?"

"You trust me," Michael said. "I can see it in your eyes."

Nikita laughed shortly. "I used to trust everybody," she said. "That was my downfall. After I started working for Zalman, I realized how wrong I was about the world."

Michael stepped up to her. Leaning on his crutches, he placed one hand onto her shoulder. "Yes," he agreed. "The world isn't what it should be. But killing someone isn't always the answer."

"The world will be a better place without Baur," Nikita said. Her lip trembled.

"Maybe not," Michael countered. "He has many contacts that are useful to us. With his resources, we can help more people survive terrorist attacks."

Nikita shook her head. Suddenly, she just felt incredibly tired as her adrenaline rush of rage drained out of her body. Slowly, her hand lowered. She felt Michael gently massaging her shoulder.

"Get some rest," he told her. "You've had a long week. Tomorrow we start training and you need energy for that."

Nikita closed her eyes. "You said you would help me get out of here," she reminded him. She felt him take away her gun.

"Yes," he said. "I told you that."

His voice sounded quieter to Nikita. Almost like a whisper.

"I saved your life," she felt compelled to say it, but to her ears she sounded like a petulant school-girl.

"Yes," he said. "Thank you."

He brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "For your information, the glass panel up there is bullet proof."

Nikita opened her eyes. "So why," she stammered. "So why did you go to so much trouble to stop me?"

Michael's lip twitched, and for a moment she thought she saw a trace of tenderness in his harsh features. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

"Good-night, Nikita." Without another word, he left her.

Nikita stood for a moment, feeling the rest of Section darken around her. Suddenly she felt alone. Very alone. She hugged herself, looking at the activity around her. Operatives milled about, completely absorbed in their work. She was in a new world, far different from her home on the streets or her room at Zalman's headquarters. Would she survive again using her instincts and sheer will power? Or would this time, be different?

***

Two years later

The misty grey sky rumbled, and Nikita watched as the clouds seemed to swell before her eyes. She sighed. She didn't think she could take anymore rain. For the past week she had been inching through the Amazon jungle floor like a worm on her belly. Sure, it had been great that Michael had saved her from her fate as a Valentine operative. Still, at times like this she wondered if she had a choice between sharing a bed with a terrorist or spending a week covered with dirt. . .

Definitely the dirt. Nikita wrinkled her nose. Her days with Zalman had permanently turned her off to the night trade. It didn't matter that her days were numbered as a field op. At least she was doing something good for humanity. Right. Just keep telling yourself that.

***

"I'm pleased with Nikita's progress," Operations said to Michael. "Frankly, I didn't think she'd last this long."

Michael inclined his head. "She's a lot stronger than she appears."

Operations shrugged. "Although I do sometimes wonder if her talents are wasted as a field op. There's always a demand for more Valentine operatives."

"No," said Michael. "Due to Zalman and Baur, she has a distinct aversion to prostitution. She would never survive as a Valentine operative."

"True." Operations lit his cigar. "Now, about your request. It is rather unusual. However, I'm willing to allow it as long as she doesn't affect your performance."

"Of course."

"Let's give it a one month trial period," Operations said decidedly. "Then we'll reassess the situation."

***

"I don't understand," said Nikita. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," said Michael. "Just start packing."

"Are you finally coming through with your promise?" she asked with a wry smile. "Am I getting out of Section?"

Michael paused. "In a sense," he allowed.

"Well," said Nikita sifting through her closet. "I'll be glad to get out of this room. I don't understand why Madeline insisted on me keeping the walls white. Surely Section has enough in its budget to repaint its own walls."

Michael leaned against the door as he watched Nikita pack. She chatted on while he offered monosyllabic responses. Finally, when her last bag was packed, he stepped forward to carry her suitcase.

"Come on," said Nikita excitedly. "Can't I at least have a clue?"

"Come."

"You're no fun," said Nikita. She trailed after Michael as he led her through Section.

"I know."

~~~~

Nikita's mouth opened wide when she stepped into the apartment. Everything was so, black. And clean, bordering on antiseptic.

"Is this your place?" she asked.

Michael carefully set her suitcase onto the floor. "Yes," he answered shortly.

Removing his coat, he brushed past her to his study. He moved around to his desk, standing behind his computer. Nikita watched as he worked silently for a few moments. Finally, he glanced up at her.

"I have some work to do," he said. "Why don't you fix yourself some dinner?"

Nikita bit her lip. "Are you hungry? I could fix you something too."

Michael nodded absentmindedly as he stared at his computer screen. "Fine. Whatever you're having."

Moving to the kitchen, Nikita opened the refrigerator. She peeked in. Hmm, fast food city. Taking out a doggie bag, she sniffed the contents before removing them.

Ten minutes later, she had a reasonable dinner set out on the table; microwaved pasta, apple slices with cheese, leftover mousse and a bottle of wine.

She watched as Michael breezed into the kitchen. He gave the food a cursory glance before sitting down in front of the plate she had set out for him.

"What's going on?" she blurted out. "I mean, why am I here?"

Michael sampled the pasta before replying. "It was time for you to move out of Section," he said matter-of-factly.

"Move out," Nikita repeated.

"Due to a long-term undercover mission," said Michael, "I don't get a chance to stay here very often. Therefore, I've decided someone else could use this space."

"You're giving me your home?" Nikita asked, confused.

Michael shrugged. "Thanks to me, it's one of the most secure buildings in the city. You'll be safer here than inside Section."

"I don't know what to say," said Nikita. "Thank you."

She looked down at her plate. "But where will you live?"

"I have other quarters," Michael said in a vague tone.

"Can I redecorate?" she asked hopefully. "I mean," she added quickly, "the black theme is great. But I'm more into colors, you see."

"Of course," said Michael. "Whatever you like."

He stood up and moved to the counter. Nikita watched as he opened a wooden box and turned its contents toward her.

"Everything you'll need to survive on the outside is here," he said. "Credit cards, I.D., etc."

"And this," he said picking up a black cell phone and handing it to her, "is something you'll need on your body at all times."

"What for?"

"When you're needed at Section, you will receive a phone call from me," he said. "Your code name is Josephine."

Nikita smiled slightly. "Funny, and I thought my days as a call girl were over."

Michael settled back into his chair. He seemed to be pondering his next words.

"Would you say your life now is better," he asked, "now that you aren't working for Zalman?"

Nikita shrugged. She looked up at Michael, then quickly dropped her eyes. "You know," she said. "I really don't know. I think, maybe it is better that I'm not in that situation anymore. However, with Zalman I always had the choice of getting out. I wasn't his slave. With Section, sometimes I feel, trapped." She finally lifted her eyes back to Michael. "Like I'll never be able to get out."

Michael nodded. "That is true," he said. "The sooner you accept that, the better. There is no escape from Section."

They ate silently for a few minutes as this grim reality hovered over them.

"Thank you for dinner," said Michael.

He took her empty plate and placed it over his to carry to the kitchen sink. Nikita placed her hand on her chin and observed him while he washed the dishes.

"I wish I knew more about you," she said when he had finished. "I've known you for two years, and yet, sometimes I think you're still a total stranger to me."

Michael's lip twitched. "You know all that you need to know about me," he said. He slipped on his coat and turned to leave. "I'll see you later. Good-bye."

Nikita watched as he shut the door behind him. Then, her whole body filling with happiness, she bounded toward the French doors, which led to a balcony. Flinging open the doors, she skipped into the night air. City lights glittered all around her.

Maybe Michael was distant, she admitted. And maybe she meant nothing to him. But he had given her the gift of his home. Maybe he had some feelings for her. Maybe. . .

Nikita shook her head. Breathing in the night air, she forced herself to concentrate on the present.

Four stories below her, a lone figure watched from behind his car. She was so beautiful gazing at the night sky, he thought. He didn't know why he felt so protective toward her. Michael smiled to himself. No, he knew. But it would be a long time before he would admit the truth to himself.

fini

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