"What's so special about this one?" Operations inquired.

Madeleine smiled at his skepticism. She knew that after all his time in Section, getting a new recruit was hardly a matter to get his pulse racing. She turned his attention to the recording she had queued up on the monitor.

He could see a long figure, dressed in the traditional white Section garments given to new arrivals, lying across the floor. As he watched, the figure stirred, recovering from the effects of the sedative that had been administered prior to removal from prison.

"This took place within ten minutes of arrival," Madeleine informed him.

He raised an eyebrow. That was an extraordinarily quick recovery. Most people remained unconscious for several hours after their initial arrival at Section One. He would have been impressed but perhaps proper procedures weren't followed or the prescribed dosage not administered.

Madeleine shook her head, reading his mind. "An extremely high dose had to be administered before transportation. In fact, after the standard amount in food had little effect, they were forced to utilize tranquilizer darts normally reserved for the use of large animals. It appears our new recruit has a natural resistance."

Operations looked back at the monitor, his interest growing. The recruit had shaken off the remaining symptoms of the medication and was now walking, no, prowling he revised, around the room. He recognized the gesture: looking for an escape route or other weaknesses. The cameras were noted, as was the absence of door handles or windows. Satisfied that there was no way out except through the door which had to be opened from the outside, the recruit went to the wall farthest from the door and in very fluid movements sat down in what Operations recognized as the seiza position: sitting on the heels with knees about two fists apart.

She was incredibly beautiful, he thought. In itself, this was not an unusual fact. Section frequently sought attractive operatives: Michael and Nikita rapidly came to mind. Yet there was something different about this woman. Perhaps it was in the way she carried herself: she had a dancer's lithe grace with a warrior's lethal precision. He was reminded suddenly of his best operative's dangerous feline qualities.

Suddenly, the woman tore a small strip of cloth from the side of her pants. As the leaders of Section watched, she braided her nearly waist-length hair into a tight plait and tied it off with the scrap of material. Tossing the braid over her shoulder, her posture began to relax and she closed her eyes.

"She went back to sleep?" Operations was incredulous.

"No," Madeleine disagreed. "She's meditating. She realized that nothing could be done for the moment, so she decided to conserve her energy. She appears to be completely at ease, but I suspect she's aware of everything around her."

"All right, Madeleine, who is this woman?"

"Her name is Mahleah Brennan, and if used properly she could become a very valuable Section asset. I suspect, though, that she may prove difficult at first. It seems that she suffered a slight breakdown in the aftermath of her actions."

"Understandable," he nodded, "but unfortunate. Can we still use her? She may be unstable."

"I think not," Madeleine replied calmly. "She is in the process of recovering her mental equilibrium, but that could be to our advantage. We can mold her to our standards while she's off-balance."

"Fine," he agreed with her assessment. "How do you recommend proceeding?"

"I suspect unusual measures will be required. I suggest we give her dual trainers - operatives who will approach this assignment in very different ways."

"Ah," he was quick to take her hint. "Michael and Nikita. Interesting idea, but do you think that Nikita will be able to work closely with Michael after their last mission? As I recall, Nikita slugged Michael and called him our favorite pet."

"Errand boy," Madeleine corrected. "I think they need to be able to focus on the work and not let their personal animosities get in the way of their Section duties. It will be a good lesson."

"Indeed," his smile broadened. "Let's just hope they learn it."

***********

Nikita gave an exasperated sigh, and leaned over Birkoff's shoulder. She wasn't sure why she had been asked to help train a new recruit. She still shuddered when she thought about her last such assignment. She had only been in charge of Karen for a short time, but the idea of being responsible for deciding if the woman lived or died had been terrifying. Learning that Karen was a sociopath who loved pulling the trigger had helped with her decision, but it wasn't a duty she looked forward to performing again. At least, this time she would be able to judge a person from the beginning of her training and the burden of decision would not rest upon her alone. Of course, that brought up the other uncomfortable situation: she would have to work with Michael on this assignment.

It wasn't like she could avoid him forever, she knew, but to be forced to work on such a delicate project together was pure sadism on someone's part - Madeleine she suspected. No doubt, Section's foremost strategist understood what Nikita's feelings about Michael were but for her own amusement, and the good of Section of course, they would be required to spend inordinate amounts of time together. Well, she refused to provide entertainment. She would treat Michael with complete professionalism, but only when the assignment demanded that she actually speak to him. After his contemptible actions on the Peruze mission, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him...which, depending on her mood and his willingness to be thrown could be farther than that simile usually implied. She smiled, and put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"So, what else do you have for me?" she asked.

They had been observing Mahleah Brennan as she sat motionless in the sterile white room. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular. She was astonishingly reposed for someone whose world had just turned upside down. Nikita almost envied her new charge's calm. She certainly had not entered Section life in such a tranquil manner.

Birkoff brought up the footage that Madeleine had shown Operations earlier. Nikita watched as the woman awoke and searched the room for any avenue of escape. Suddenly, the two young operatives heard a familiar voice behind them.

"Hey sugar, what's going on?"

"I've been assigned material," Nikita told him.

"You have your own recruit to train, huh?" The older man looked at the monitor, where the woman in question was braiding her hair. "Is that her? Wow," he whistled. "If you need any help, any help at all, just let me know, sugar."

"I've got all the help I need," Nikita said dryly. "I'm not her only instructor. I'm sharing that pleasure with Michael."

Walter's eyebrows raised. "You're both training her? That's odd."

"Why, hasn't it been done before?" Nikita was growing curious.

"Yes, but not very often. It usually means that the material needs some sort of special attention." He glanced at Nikita, wondering what sort of skills were being planned that would require both Nikita and her former mentor.

"Birkoff, can you get a closer look at her? I'd like to know if she's really as relaxed as she looks."

"Sure Nikita," the computer wizard tapped a few keys, and they were treated to a close up of Mahleah's face.

This time Birkoff whistled. "Oh my God, she's...."

"Very pretty," Nikita finished with amusement.

"Don't damn her with faint praise, Nikita. That's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

Nikita looked at the screen with interest. It was true that the newcomer was quite comely. A heart-shaped face with high-cheekbones was graced with luminous, impossibly perfect skin. A sculpted but almost lush mouth was set under eyelashes that were thick and dark as soot without mascara. Actually, the woman wasn't wearing any makeup at all, which was natural Nikita realize since she'd come straight from prison, which made her flawless skin all the more impressive. As for that long mane of hair that had been pulled back out of the way, well it was...

"Honey," Walter announced.

"What?"

"Her hair - it's the exact color of a jar of honey held up to the sunlight." Walter now had his own suspicions about Michael's part in Mahleah Brennan's "training" but didn't think Nikita would like it. This woman had Valentine op written all over her.

Nikita decided to change the subject before her two male friends drooled themselves into idiocy. Addressing the younger of the two, she asked, "So, why is she here?"

Birkoff frowned and turned toward Nikita, "I haven't had a chance to look over her entire file, but apparently she was convicted for murdering the man who raped and killed one of her students."

Nikita nodded, feeling better about the woman already. While most Section operatives were killers before they were recruited, she had quickly learned to look beyond the action to the motive. Killing a rapist ranked low on her list of heinous crimes. "So, she's a teacher, then?"

"She's been many things," her friend replied. "A teacher, an actress, even a nightclub singer. I'm not sure how one goes from performing to teaching but that was the last job she had. She was an instructor at a small college in California - she taught history I think."

Interesting, she thought, an academic and an entertainer. "What..." she began to ask.

Birkoff interrupted, "Nikita all the information you need to know will be on your panel." He hit a button and the screen returned to the current view of the new guest.

"Hey, her eyes are open," Walter noticed.

Her eyes were indeed open. She was staring forward intently and the three friends saw the door was swinging inward and a dark-clad figure came into view.

"Well, I guess Michael got the job of welcoming her to her new home," Walter observed.

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

As Michael suspected when he entered the room, his new protégé's eyes were wide open. He was a little surprised that was the only change in her posture. She remained sitting, her hands in a relaxed posture on her thighs. Calm brown eyes met cool green ones. The door closed behind him, but she held his gaze, not looking away. He waited for her to ask where she was, what had happened to her-all the usual questions that new arrivals asked. She remained mute. He studied her closely. She wasn't old, records indicated she was in her late twenties, but she appeared at least five years younger.

Madeleine had made a point of noting in Mahleah's file that she had traveled extensively. She had specifically requested that Michael discover exactly how many languages the woman spoke. He stepped forward and said, "This isn't your prison cell." He spoke in French. She did not respond, but he saw a small gleam in her eye and thought she understood. "You're now in Section One. We are a covert anti-terrorist organization and you have been selected to join us. To the outside world, you are dead."

He waited for a response, when none was forthcoming, he repeated his statement in German, Spanish, and Italian. She stared at him, but said nothing. He tried Russian, Vietnamese, and Arabic, but was met with complete silence. Finally, in English, he said, "We know you speak English. Do you need me to translate what I just said?"

She tilted her head to one side, still examining him. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Finally, she responded by saying placidly, "Sorry, I was just wondering how many more languages you were going to try. What was next, Urdu?"

"Do you speak Urdu?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

She just looked at him. He was beginning to understand Nikita's irritation with his own blank stare. Well, at least, this trainee wouldn't require many lessons in emotional control. "Did you need a translation?" he repeated.

She blinked. "No. I've been recruited into a top secret government agency that fights terrorists and everyone else thinks I'm dead. Does that sum it up?"

He nodded.

She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "So if I have no desire to become Jane Bond, I assume fiction becomes fact - you'll kill me."

It wasn't really a question. He nodded again, and held out a photograph. "This is a picture of your funeral."

She stiffened. It was the first sign of emotion she'd shown. She rose gracefully from the floor, walked toward him, and accepted the picture. She gazed at it for a moment, but her mask was back in place.

"So," she commented. "Do all your visitors receive such a cheerful present?"

"Just the ones who are staying," he responded.

She nodded. "I see. Do I have a choice? I mean, am I allowed the option of dying instead of joining?"

"Yes," he assented. "If you would prefer to die that can be arranged. Which would you prefer: to die or to save innocent people from the same fate?"

Her head jerked slightly. "Do I have to give you my decision now?"

"No, I'll return in one hour if you wish."

She nodded. "I wish."

He knocked on the door, indicating he was ready to leave. He rather expected her to rush him, but she stayed in the middle of the room watching him leave.

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

After the strange man had left, Mahleah stared at the picture of her fake funeral. The hair on her arms tried to stand up when she spotted her father.

He was being held by someone whose face was turned away from the camera, and her stepmother was standing close to them. Belinda was weeping.

"I didn't know you cared," she mentally told the woman.

She couldn't bear to see her father's grief and so studied the person who was with him. The figure was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair. She would have known that back anywhere.

She swallowed hard and sat down on the floor again before she fell. What was he doing there? Surely he, of all people, hadn't bought into her phony death? Wouldn't he know she was still alive? Couldn't he feel it in his heart?

"Oh, mo saighdear-bard, my poor warrior-poet, I'm so sorry," she thought.

Anyone observing her through the cameras that she knew were there would think she remained uncannily serene, but inwardly she was seething. There was absolutely no way, though, that she would give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Thus far, she had held together by using meditation and slipping into the patterns of behavior that had ensured her survival as a warrior. Now she used all of her training as an actress to supplement this control. She must seem calm and rational - otherwise, they would have an advantage over her.

The man who had just left was proof of that. He remained unruffled even when she taunted him with silence. Yet, she had gotten his attention with the Urdu quip. She allowed her lips to curl up ever so slightly. She did speak Urdu, as well as all the languages he had tested her with. She wasn't sure really how many she could speak these days; it had been a while since she'd tried to count them. In the beginning they had only been part of the bizarre education she'd received. By the time she'd started school, she'd known the basics of at least four languages other than English. She had a natural talent for other tongues - a true polyglot. Of course it helped when your first lessons began at age three. Reading English, speaking French, learning martial arts: she'd started it all early. She stifled a laugh. No wonder they wanted to make her a spy!

That thought led her to the decision she had to make. Should she join Austin Powers and his bosses? Now that was an unfair description. Section One did not feel like a comedic place and the man she had spoken to, certainly neither looked nor acted anything like Mike Myers' creation. In fact, he made 007 (excluding Sean Connery, of course), look like a kitten. This man in black exuded danger. It was subtle but definitely detectable. Mahleah had studied him closely and decided it was no act. The fluidity and economy of his movements told her that he would be a formidable opponent. It was possible she could overcome him, but she would reserve judgement until she saw him in action.

Could she trust him? Mentally, she frowned and allowed herself to paint a mental image of what she wanted to do right now, which was pace the room. She wouldn't allow herself to actually do this, because it was a dead giveaway of her mental condition. So, in her imagination she walked every inch of the floor. Her instincts were usually trustworthy (if you ignored that one incident in grad school when the man she was dating tried to attack her, and after all she was mourning the death of a close friend then), but were now giving her mixed signals. Part of her said to trust him and the other said no. After said incident with psycho boyfriend, she was cautious whenever she felt ambivalence.

More to the point, however, would she join Section One? The last month of her life had been utter chaos. The arrest, the trial, and the sentence were quickly followed by her arrival in this strange place. Did she really want to become an anti-terrorist operative? The imaginary Mahleah pacing the room, bit her lower lip. It wasn't the fighting terrorists part that disturbed her. She had always tried to protect the innocent. Unfortunately, she wasn't always successful.

She closed her eyes trying to blot out the picture of Savannah's lifeless, broken body sprawled on the floor outside the dojo where she'd been working out. She didn't regret one thing she had done to the monster that had killed her student. If the authorities wanted to hold her responsible for that act, fine. She could accept it. It still disturbed her sleep, though, because she hadn't been able to save the girl.

The acts that gnawed at her, pricked her conscience everyday, were considered lesser crimes by the authorities, but not by her. She had used her skills to taunt and provoke violence so she could feel justified in retaliating. How did that make her any different from the men she had targeted? She hadn't killed any of them, but she had come extremely close.

So, she could let Section One kill her -- little did they know the escape that would prove for her - or she could join them. She had no illusions about their benevolence. Any organization that recruited criminals and maintained the illusion that they were dead was not a Sunday school picnic. Showing her the photograph of her funeral and tombstone was a tactic to break her spirit, not the last she suspected. Well, they would have a hell of a fight on their hands, she decided.

The imaginary Mahleah looked down at the picture she'd been clutching and told it softly, "I'm sorry, cariad, there's something I must do. Be patient, because I swear I will come back to you." One lonely tear fell on the picture as she raised it to her lips.

The real Mahleah opened her eyes, and slowly tore the picture in half and laid it on the floor before her. The decision was made.

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

When Michael returned to his office, he found Nikita waiting for him. He paused for a moment at the door, his eyes closing briefly in pain. After scanning Mahleah's file, he understood why Madeleine wanted Nikita involved, but that wouldn't save him from the icy silences and pointed quips she would aim at him. He hoped this assignment would allow him to mend the rift between them. He had known that Section was using drugs to make her assignment with Peruze easier, but it wasn't until she had hit him that he'd learned the full extent of their manipulation of her emotions.

He walked through the door. She was lounging in her usual chair studying a pda intently. He walked over to his side of the desk. She waited until he'd sat down and lifted her eyes from the screen.

"Well, Michael, how'd it feel to look into a mirror?"

He blinked. Apparently Nikita had seen his irritation, but he asked anyway, "What do you mean?"

She'd been amused to see Michael, for once, losing a staring contest. "Why, didn't you see your own face staring back at you?"

In truth the only other attribute they'd had in common was height. Even in her bare feet Mahleah had looked Michael straight in the eye. In fact, Nikita had thought they were probably the same height. She had noticed this after listening to a couple of lustful comments from her closest male friends about the woman's more Amazon-like qualities.

Michael sighed. "Nikita..."

She held up a hand, "Sorry, comment withdrawn." She looked back at her file, "She's certainly had an interesting life. She lost her mother when she was two and her father became an alcoholic. Hmm, must be why Madeleine wanted me working with her. It says here that she got into some trouble at school. She was involved in a couple of fights and ignored the teacher."

"She stopped the school bully from picking on her classmates, and she ignored the teacher because he was boring her. Apparently, he was rather uncharismatic and she was discovered reading War and Peace instead of her assignment. When questioned, she proved to have completed all her homework for a week."

"War and Peace in elementary school," Nikita shook her head. "That's hard to believe, but her records indicate that her i.q. is well within the genius range. She's traveled all over the world. Where was she born again?"

"In the southwestern part of Virginia -- the Appalachian mountains."

She frowned at him, "She has no accent."

"I'm not surprised considering the number of languages she speaks. Remember she's also been in the theatre and so has trained herself to speak very plainly. I suspect with her ear, though, she can probably adapt any accent she pleases."

Nikita stared. Coming from Michael that was almost a gushy compliment. High praise to give a woman he'd barely exchanged words with. She briefly recalled Viscano's warning that Michael needed a quest and dismissed it. He was just expressing professional admiration for anyone that could beat him at his own game.

"So, how does a girl from Appalachia end up a world traveler?"

"After the death of her mother, a neighbor stepped in to make sure none of her needs were neglected and he obviously made her education a top priority."

She had to agree with that. "But what's she doing here, Michael?"

"You've seen most of the file. She killed a man."

"Yeah, a serial killer and rapist who mutilated one of her students. Why couldn't her lawyer get her off? Surely the jury didn't want to convict her."

Inwardly Michael groaned. Obviously Madeleine had held back a few of the gorier details from Nikita. How the rapist died seemed to be one of them. Apparently she wanted Nikita to like her new student and didn't trust that to happen if his co-trainer knew too much. He would be expected to withhold the information. How on earth would he ever gain Nikita's trust, if he were forced to lie to her over and over again?

"There were extenuating circumstances," he hedged.

"You mean the men she beat up? Come on, it's not like they were the cream of society. Pimps, drug-dealers, hoodlums -- they all admitted, eventually, that they had thrown the first punch."

"She provoked the attacks," he replied, "and she nearly killed a couple of them. The prosecuting attorney convinced the jury that she was caught in an escalating spiral of violence and was a danger to society."

"When all she was doing was protecting others," Nikita mused. "It's not fair."

"Was it fair that you were recruited into Section?" he asked her.

She was stunned. She'd always thought that he didn't believe her claims of innocence for the crime she'd been convicted of. She felt confused and didn't want to deal with the emotions churning inside her. She rose to go, but turned back at the door.

"Do you think she'll say yes?"

His eyes met hers as he truthfully answered, "I don't know."

Twenty-five minutes later Michael re-entered the bare room to ascertain Mahleah's answer. She looked at him, rose to her feet and said, "Yes, I'll join Section One."

A part of him was relieved. She held a lot of potential and it would have been a shame to cancel her. He nodded and said, "Good. Training will begin at 5 a.m."

He thought he saw her flinch and felt amusement. So the recruit hated mornings. It made her less perfect and more likable.

"Nikita will show you to your quarters. Then we will both meet you in the morning."

She raised an eyebrow at the way his French accent caressed the three syllables of the woman's name, but refrained from comment.

He turned to the door again, but hesitated before leaving. As he faced her, she saw the question in his eyes, "You're wondering why I haven't attacked you when your back was turned. I imagine many of your students begin their lessons this way."

He nodded.

She smiled for the first time since entering Section. "Maybe I could take you," her grin broadened, "or maybe I couldn't. If I did, there's God-only-knows-what waiting for me beyond that door. Besides," her eyes twinkled at him, "when I was a teacher, if a new student tried to tackle me before the first lesson, I'd have been ticked."

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

A few minutes later a tall, blonde woman entered the room. Mahleah looked her over as carefully as she had Michael, then offered a guess, "Are you Ni-ki-ta?"

Nikita froze for a second. Mahleah had given a perfect imitation of Michael's accent. Well, he'd said she probably had the ability and here was the proof.

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Mahleah, but then you already know that."

Nikita held out a pair of soft slippers. "I thought you might like some shoes to put on before we go anywhere." She smiled at her new student.

Mahleah accepted the shoes. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful."

Nikita grinned at her, "Well, I knew that Michael hadn't brought you anything, and it could be uncomfortable walking barefoot in Section. There's too many grates to walk over."

Mahleah sat down and began putting the slippers on her feet. Well, now she had a name for Mr. Tall Dark and Mysterious Frenchman. Nikita seemed quite different from him. For one thing she actually smiled. She didn't appear to have Michael's mastery of his facial expressions. She could read just about every thought the woman had across her face.

She rose and followed Nikita through the door. Section seemed to be very utilitarian. Drably painted hallways, metal staircases and not a single decorative motif in sight.

As they walked through the hallways, many male operatives watched the two women pass by. Some nodded to Nikita and she would always offer them a cheery greeting in return, "Hey Moen, just get back? What've you been doing? You look like something the cat coughed up."

Mahleah noticed that Nikita was well liked and she felt herself warming to her also. Unfortunately a few of the comments and stares addressed to them were openly lewd. She resisted the desire to slug them, and Nikita herself frowned and told one, "Put your eyes back in their sockets and your tongue back in your mouth before Medical comes along and decides to use them for experiments."

The lascivious comments were generally directed toward Mahleah. The operatives were usually friendly even respectful of Nikita. Mahleah wondered why.

"Does it ever get on your nerves?" she ventured.

"What?" Nikita replied.

"Being stared at. It's always been a pet peeve of mine."

"Well that's the price you pay for being gorgeous," Nikita told her jokingly.

Mahleah frowned. "Maybe for you, but for me it was because I was different. Everyone knew I had a strange family. I knew things that kids usually didn't. I went to strange places and did unknown things. I physically matured at a young age and was always the tallest girl in my class." She glanced at her companion. "You probably have some experience with that. I was stared at a lot until people grew used to me, but whenever I go somewhere new it starts over again."

Nikita was flabbergasted that the woman who could outstare Michael would open up to her. "Yeah, I used to get comments about my legs all the time. It was really annoying and embarrassing as I was growing up."

"Did you have problems fitting into those desks they gave you at school?"

"Oh yeah, they weren't designed for people with long legs."

"Tell me about it. When I started first grade they had to bring me in a desk from one of the third grade classrooms because my knees kept turning over the one I had."

They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed.

Nikita stopped in front of a door. "Here we are -- home sweet home -- at least for the next two years."

"Two years?" Mahleah inquired.

"That's the standard training period," Nikita explained.

Mahleah's dark eyes sparkled, "We'll see."

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

Nikita was pleased with Mahleah's progress. She seemed to have no problems discerning the people she could be friendly with and those whom it was better to be wary of.

Birkoff had approved of her computer skills, which were no where near his own but better than the average person's. Secretly, Nikita suspected Birkoff would have been enthralled had Mahleah simply spouted names from a phone book. She still chuckled when she recalled their first meeting. Mahleah had walked up to his station, flipped the chair beside him around, and straddled it. Then she'd reached across him and snagged a Twizzler.

"Do you mind?" she'd asked.

"N-no," he'd stammered.

"I'm Mahleah. Nikita tells me you're the genius around here, so I'm all yours."

"All mine?" his eyes got round as saucers.

She smiled gently at him, "To teach me what I need to know about computers."

Nikita liked the fact that Mahleah had been careful with her young friend. She teased him but treated him with respect. When she left, Seymour Birkoff had stared after her with an expression that Nikita recognized. "Dear lord, he's twitterpated," she'd thought.

Mahleah had a similar effect on Walter, but the older man was experienced enough to conceal it. Nikita had been worried after Mahleah's remarks about being leered at that she might resent Walter's brand of humor. That fear had been groundless. Mahleah and Walter joked and flirted like old friends. He called her "darlin'" and she called him "honey." Today would be Mahleah's first target practice and Walter would be there. Nikita hoped he would let them get some work done.

As they entered the target range Mahleah asked, "Where's the spymaster today?"

"Working on the profile for the Cairo mission," Nikita answered without thinking. "What?" she demanded at the amused look the other woman gave her.

"Nothing," Mahleah chuckled. She had noticed that although Nikita seemed angry with Michael about something, she usually kept up with him and the man in question knew without a doubt every movement Nikita made. Despite the fact that Michael tried to keep a wall between his emotions and Section, Mahleah had seen the pain in his eyes whenever Nikita would pull away. It was one of the strangest relationships she'd ever witnessed, but then Mahleah wryly reflected, who was she to judge?

"Ladies," Walter greeted them enthusiastically. He leaned over the table holding ammunition. "Mmm, you two together are quite a sight."

"Walter honey," Mahleah replied looking over the weapons at her disposal, "do you know what a sight is: a gnat's rear end stretched over a barrel."

Both Nikita and Walter burst out laughing.

"What?" Nikita managed to ask.

Mahleah shrugged amiably, "It's just a little something handed down from my great-grandfather."

"Yeah, I guess it's one of hillbilly sayings, huh?" Walter chuckled.

Nikita smiled as well but noticed that their new friend hadn't responded. Instead Mahleah picked up a handgun, slammed in a clip and ratcheted, all in very smooth movements. She raised it and fired from the table. Nikita saw that all three bulls-eyes on the target were hit dead on. Mahleah emptied the gun, popped the clip and reloaded.

Walter whistled, "Not bad, darlin'. Not bad at all."

Mahleah raised the gun again, turned it sideways in her hand and looked at him, "Ah, that's nothing for us..." pow a bullet hit the target, "hillbillies," pow, "and rednecks," pow.

Nikita knew that Mahleah had gotten herself into the position she'd wanted before firing and was probably using her peripheral vision. Still it was impressive shooting.

"Look," Walter hastened to say. "I'm sorry if I upset you by implying that such a cultured woman as yourself could ever be considered..."

She laid a finger on his lips, "Stop please, before you make it worse."

Nikita noticed that Mahleah's voice had changed. She now had a distinct accent, partly Southern, partly something else - a mountain dialect, perhaps. Was this the woman's true speech pattern?

"I may be a well-educated world traveler who speaks dozens of languages, but I was born in the mountains of Appalachia and nothing will ever change that."

"They can take a girl out of the mountains..." Nikita said lightly.

Mahleah glanced at her, flashing a grin, "...or out of Australia for that matter."

"Absolutely," her trainer agreed.

"Look, Mahleah, I didn't mean to insult your people. I was just making a joke."

"I know, and I'm sorry Walter. I don't want to jump down your throat. You'd think I'd have grown used to it by now: misconceptions, myths and stereotypes. You know, we're supposedly the dumb ones, but the 'outside world' shows its ignorance of us on a daily basis. Take this gun business, for instance. Supposedly, we're all given guns in our cradles and can shoot as soon as we can walk. There is a history of firearms in our area: there had to be to protect families and put food on the table. Yet my best friend Diana, a girl I've known since we started school has never fired a gun in her life, and I grew up in a household that was gun-free."

"Why was that?" Nikita asked.

"Well, my father was a musician. He didn't really like guns. Then, after my mother died and he started drinking it was thought a wise precaution to remove any temptation for him to join her."

"Who taught you to shoot?" Walter was intrigued.

"My grandmother actually. Some people considered her a bit of a terror, but I always thought she was a cat-bird. She collected guns and taught me how to handle and take care of pistols, rifles, and yes shotguns. Hey, I never said there was no truth to the stories, just that they shouldn't be used to judge everyone. It's been a long time since I shot anything, so I didn't know how well I'd do. Grandma never had any machine guns, though, so I'll need some help there. Are you game?" she asked Section's weapons master.

"You bet, darlin'. We'll have you shooting as well as Nikita in no time. Hell, the way you shoot a .45, we'll have you as accurate as Michael."

Nikita didn't think Mahleah had actually gotten as upset as Walter seemed to think. She had sensed no anger from the woman, just a desire to make a point. She'd certainly done that. There was something in that conversation that disturbed Nikita, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She frowned and said, "Well, I think I can leave you in capable hands for a little while," she said.

"Very capable," Walter waggled his eyebrows.

"Behave yourself. I'll be back in a little while." She left, with questions on her mind.

After Nikita's departure, Mahleah looked at Walter and said, "So, what's the deal with Nick and Mick?"

"Oh darlin', don't ever let him hear you call him that. Once you meet Mick Shtoppel, you'll understand. As for Michael and sugar, well, it's a sad story." He brightened. "Maybe you can help me do something about that."

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

While Walter was giving Mahleah the history of his favorite couple's tortured past, Nikita was heading for Michael's office. She had assumed that Mahleah had shot the rapist she'd killed, but a few minutes earlier the recruit had made a comment about being rusty on shooting things. Nikita had re-examined the file she'd been given when Mahleah arrived and discovered that very little information about the murder had been provided. She wondered why.

She ducked her head inside Michael's door. "Do you have a minute?"

He was typing, but paused, "What is it?"

"It's probably nothing," she said airily, "just a little detail that got left out of the profile on Mahleah."

He sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping Nikita would never notice the discrepancies in the report but had known it was just a matter of time. He was a little surprised she hadn't spotted them sooner. "Such as?" he asked softly.

"Her m.o., for instance. How did she kill that man?"

Michael's reflexes kicked in and he automatically responded the same way that he always had when he needed to conceal information from Nikita: he gave her his "patented" blank stare. She glared back at him, and his better sense kicked in. If he wanted Nikita to be closer to him, he had to lower his barriers.

Nikita was getting angry. Damn the man anyway! She just wanted a simple piece of information not herbicide to kill Madeleine's prized plants. As she stood there fuming, though, an amazing thing happened - Michael's eyes thawed and began speaking to her.

He said truthfully, "Madeleine has decided to withhold that information from you." I can't really tell you anymore, his gray-green irises told her.

"Why?"

He never spoke, but wordlessly she understood, "Because she didn't think you'd like the answer, and your cooperation was important for the success of this assignment."

She nodded at him, but for the benefit of the eavesdroppers she said, "Well, thanks for nothing."

She left, chewing her lower lip. Could Mahleah really have committed an act so atrocious that Madeleine feared that Nikita would see her as a monster? She would have sworn that her student was a candidate for Walter's 5% club, but she'd been wrong before. How could she find out the truth? The best information would have to come from Birkoff.

She walked over and sat down beside him. He glanced over at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I just realized that my information on Mahleah is incomplete. Could you pull up the complete file for me?"

He glanced up at the perch. Operations was gone - having a chat with Madeleine about abeyance operatives no doubt. He quickly accessed the file. "What do you need to know?"

"The guy she killed," she said slowly, "how did he die?"

Birkoff scanned through the text, and then turned pale.

"What is it?" she asked immediately.

He spoke in a voice that was strained and barely above a whisper, "According to this, she decapitated him."

"She cut his head off?!" Nikita tried not to scream it, but her whisper came out in a shocked hiss.

Birkoff nodded. "It's the main reason they convicted her. Apparently the jury wouldn't have minded if she'd walked up and shot him, but they chopping his head off a bit extreme."

"A bit extreme?" she repeated. "Birkoff, that's so...."

"Perhaps you should reserve judgement until you have all the facts," came a soft voice behind her.

She jumped. She'd been so stunned by Birkoff's bombshell that she hadn't heard Michael's approach.

Birkoff had been busy sorting through data. "Yeah, Nikita. From what I can tell, this guy was a world-class psychopath. They believed that he was responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen young women. And he didn't just kill them, he...oh my God!"

Birkoff had pulled up pictures of the mutilated bodies of the female victims. Nikita swallowed hard to force the gorge rising in her throat back down. To call this man a modern-day Jack the Ripper was no exaggeration. Involuntarily, her mind wondered what she would have done if she had caught Formitz over Danielle's body.

She looked at Michael. "Okay, Madeleine's not here and neither is Operations. What did you leave out before? You mentioned something about the d.a. using extenuating circumstances to convince the jury that Mahleah was a dancer to society."

He sighed, but Birkoff saved him the trouble. "Do you remember reading about the men she beat up?"

"Yeah, they were scum, what about them?"

"Well, the last one she put into the hospital wasn't just beat up. She pinned his hands to the floor with knives. He claims she threatened to castrate him, but that couldn't be verified, since she didn't actually do it."

Nikita's mind was whirling. No wonder Madeleine had wanted to hide this from her. She was having trouble reconciling the woman she knew with the crimes she had committed.

Michael looked at her sympathetically, understanding her plight. Unfortunately, it didn't matter if Nikita liked Mahleah, as long as she trained her. Mahleah showed every sign of meeting all of Section's standards. It was unlikely that she would be canceled before making full-Operative.

It was Birkoff who spoke first, though. "Nikita, remember that Section Operatives are usually recruited because they committed the crimes they were accused of. It's rare that we have to go outside the box."

"So?"

"My point is: once someone enters Section, their past is irrelevant unless they can't let it go. What makes Mahleah any different now than she was before?"

He had a point, Nikita reluctantly conceded. She started to speak when Michael startled her by saying, "If you want to know more, ask Mahleah herself."

At that moment, Nikita's cellphone rang. She answered it to discover Madeleine on the other end.

"Nikita, when Mahleah is through with her target practice please escort her to wardrobe."

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

As Birkoff suspected, Operations had been meeting with Madeleine and they had discussed who to put in abeyance as well as the results of several missions. Standard Section business taken care of, Operations changed the subject.

"So, how's our new recruit performing?" he inquired.

"Well above average," Madeleine said. "I suspect though that she could do much more if she desired to do so."

"Why do you say that?"

"Based on her life experiences before Section, I believe she's deliberately concealing her true proficiency levels."

"Why?"

"A tactical maneuver. She's still wary of the Section and so holds back, allowing her to examine our strengths without us doing the same."

"I was surprised your psychological profile on her was so thin. You're usually quite thorough in this area."

"She is difficult to read," Madeleine admitted. "She's been trained to control her emotions extremely well. Fortunately Nikita's drawing her out a little more."

"Well that control will be a benefit on Valentine ops," Operations took a sip of coffee.

"More so I suspect on cold ops. I wouldn't advise trying to make Mahleah into a Valentine op - not a standard one anyway," Madeleine warned.

Operations frowned, "Why not? I would have thought she was the perfect material. She has the looks, the intelligence and the control."

"I suspect that Mahleah would not adapt easily to such profiles," Madeleine insisted. "In fact, I think they could very well provoke her to violence."

"It's not like she hasn't done anything like that before," he pointed out.

"You're referring to the men she met in rough neighborhoods and then put in the hospital?"

"Yes, she seduced them. It's in all their statements."

"Yes and no. She teased them, but she refused to follow through. This provoked their attacks and justified her own response."

"Do we know why she did that?"

"I suspect it was a combination of factors but the main contributor was a lifelong feeling of desertion. Her mother died, her father became a drunk and remarried a woman barely older than Mahleah herself. Her lovers have all left her, and just before the attacks she had a huge fight with her childhood best friend. Something had to give."

"Do you think she's recovered from that little escapade?"

"Every indication is that she has, but with her control it's not easy to ascertain."

"Perhaps we should arrange for a test - it proved effective for Andrea."

Madeleine considered this and then responded, "A test is a viable option, but a profile like the one used with Andrea wouldn't work."

"Why not? Michael has managed to handle all our difficult female operatives over the years except for Nikita."

"No, Mahleah would easily see through that manipulation. Besides," she gave him a small smile, "I already have a small gambit in place."

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

When Nikita went to collect Mahleah for her trip to wardrobe, she found her charge and Walter in animated conversation.

She cleared her throat.

Walter glanced up, "Oh, hi sugar. Back already?"

"Madeleine's ordered me to take Mahleah to wardrobe," Nikita told them.

"Well, I'll see you later then Walter."

"Absolutely," he agreed, a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe we could have dinner together some time: a picnic maybe, with just the two of us in some nice, quiet, deserted part of Section. Or don't you ever let your hair down?"

Mahleah flipped her braid over her shoulder. "On special occasions, Walter honey, when the mood strikes me," she winked at him and walked off with Nikita.

The blonde operative was still trying to understand this contradictory woman. "So, are you really going to have that picnic with Walter?" she inquired.

"Sure, sounds like fun," Mahleah responded jauntily.

Nikita raised an eyebrow, "And if he wants you for dessert?"

"Depending on his approach and my mood I may let him have me."

Nikita stopped. "Are you serious? You would have an affair with Walter?"

"If you mean a serious affair, no. But a friendship with fringe benefits...why not?"

Nikita started moving forward again. "Well, there is the age difference," she pointed out.

Mahleah chuckled heartily, "I don't think that will be a problem. I've always had a thing for older men." She smiled as if at a private joke. "Look, Nikita, I'm not looking for love right now. I've been there and I can't have that," but I will someday, she inwardly vowed. If he's still waiting for me.

"I want companionship with no strings. Oh, I'm not saying that I want a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am one-night stand from Walter. He's the best man I've encountered in Section. I want to get to know him better, but I already know he's not my soul mate. I'll probably date a lot of different Section men - Chris Davenport seems intriguing."

"How about Birkoff?" Nikita quizzed. He was her "little brother" after all. She had to look out for his best interests.

Mahleah shook her head, "Oh no, not Birkoff."

"What's wrong with him?" Nikita demanded.

"Not a thing," Mahleah said gently, "except that he'd get hurt. I like Birkoff too well to give him false promises. He already has a crush on me, but I can't return the feeling."

"Why not?"

Mahleah sighed, "Because I love someone else. Someone I'll probably never see again."

"Someone from your past," Nikita realized.

"Yes. I passed up an opportunity to reconcile with him, but there will never be anyone that can touch my heart the way he did."

Nikita thought she understood. They arrived at their destination: Madeleine's old domain. They opened the doors and stepped inside where Nikita was surprised to see Madeleine sitting in her old chair. She didn't think Madeleine handled petty details like makeup and costumes anymore.

"Ah Mahleah, I've been looking forward to meeting you."

This had to be the woman Walter had described as the queen of the chessboard. "You must be Madeleine," Mahleah said politely. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You may have heard by now that we give our operatives extensive training in manners, poise and diction. It's been determined that such lessons in your case would be a waste of resources. You've even managed to overcome a regional accent, which is a feat that not all of our best agents accomplish."

Nikita smiled tightly, in response. Section had tried its best to rid her of the Australian accent, but she had resisted. It was the one piece of her past she could hang on to, and no matter how many elocution lessons they gave her, it remained. Besides she was not the only one: Michael spoke English with an accent. They probably decided it was a weapon, she thought, as lethal in its seductive power as his gun.

"We know you've had extensive training for the stage," Madeleine continued, "but we'd like a small demonstration. You are to assume that the profile requires you to escort a target to a formal evening. In the closet behind you, you'll find four dresses I've selected for you to choose from. This room contains all the cosmetics and other accessories you would need. I'll leave Nikita to show you where to find things. When she's done, Nikita, please bring her to my office."

Madeleine swept out, leaving two perplexed women behind her.

"That's it," Mahleah said puzzled. "It's so easy."

Nikita didn't get it either. "It must have something to do with what sort of dress you choose. She's probably having trouble reading you and this is her way of getting more data for her files. Whichever dress you pick will have a certain psychological meaning."

"You're probably right," Mahleah agreed. "I think I can handle that." She gave a wicked grin, "Let the games begin."

"Well, let's see what you have to choose from," Nikita walked to the closet and opened the doors. She pulled out a rack with four garment bags hanging from it. She unzipped the bags and carefully laid each dress out on a chair for Mahleah to examine.

"That's it," she said cheerfully. "I have to say that Madeleine went for taste over flash this time. Can't see that I understand this test any better though." She looked up at Mahleah who was standing in the center of the floor, pale as a ghost, frozen in place.

"Mahleah," Nikita came to her, worried. "What is it?"

The stricken woman didn't even hear her. She understood Madeleine's game all too well. She had been prepared for something more direct, but the first blow in this attack had been a sly stiletto cut right over the heart.

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

Mahleah stared at the clothes lying on the chairs feeling dazed.

Nikita touched her arm, "What is it, Mahleah? What's going on?"

Mahleah licked her lips and found her voice, "She has managed to find four of my old dresses. Four, in fact, that were worn on very special occasions." She was surprised that her voice sounded steady. Good, a point for her.

Nikita understood now with sickening clarity. Leave it to Madeleine to root around not only in someone's old closet but her most precious memories as well, she thought grimly.

Mahleah walked closer to the chairs. She raised her hand and pointed to the first one: a pale pink silk sheath with an abstract blue flower pattern. The top was ruched and the material gathered to the side in a floppy bow whose ends flowed to the hem of the dress and covered a thigh-high slit. It was a dress made for dancing.

"That was the dress I meant to wear to my junior prom," Mahleah said as calmly as she could.

"You were going to wear that to a prom?" Nikita was a little surprised. This looked more sophisticated than your normal teenage prom dress.

Mahleah smiled in response. "I didn't want to go looking like a bad copy of Scarlet O'Hara. I spent a whole day in New York with an old friend looking for the perfect look."

"But you didn't make it to the dance?"

"No, two days before the prom, my boyfriend was killed."

"Oh," Nikita was beginning to see the method behind Madeleine's madness. "What about this one?" she pointed to a two-piece wine-colored outfit. The top was short-sleeved and fitted, made of soft velvet. The skirt was short and made of lace with a scalloped hemline.

"I wore that one on Christmas. The man I was dating proposed to me."

Nikita winced, "And the third?" It was a full-length, sleeveless evening gown of pastel blue and had a hand-beaded bodice with a scooped front.

"I wore it to the opera not long ago with the man that saved me from myself and restored my soul," Mahleah's voice was getting softer.

The other woman swallowed hard, "And the last one?"

Mahleah smiled a little bitterly, "Ah yes, the best for last." It was another long dress of bright red silk with a wrap-around skirt that would give a discreet flash of leg. "I wore it on one of the happiest nights of my life." She looked away from the dress at Nikita. "I was with the man I mentioned earlier."

"I see," she rather wished she didn't. Madeleine had pulled no punches on this little maneuver. She wondered if these were the actual dresses that had been stolen from Mahleah's old possessions or if they were reproductions based upon photographs. Either way, she knew they would be perfect. Madeleine would have seen to it.

"I supposed she'll want me to try all four of them on, to see how they fit," Mahleah's voice could have cut a diamond.

"Probably," Nikita agreed.

"Then I'd better get started," she replied grimly. "It's not going to get any easier."

She looked at Nikita, "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while. Could you come back in half an hour? I'll have made my choice by then."

"Sure," Nikita agreed. She hadn't relished the thought of having to watch Mahleah agonize over the decision.

After Nikita left, Mahleah sat down in a chair, lost in thought. It didn't matter what choice she made, she would be revealing something to Madeleine. She couldn't win that part of the game. Maybe she could minimize the impact, though. If she chose the gown that brought her the most pain, then she could sell the idea that Madeleine was mistaken in her evaluation of its importance in her life. The trouble was with so much emotion lying before her, which bit of silk or velvet caused her the most agony?

She examined them closely. She thought she could eliminate the blue. The evening in question had been a balm to her troubled soul and she associated mostly positive feelings toward her escort that evening. She'd known that what they'd had, no matter how heart-felt on either side, could never last. They both had walked into the situation with open eyes and her memories were more sweet than bitter.

Well, what about the wine colored velvet? Mark had proposed to her that Christmas, and though she'd said that she had to think about her answer it had been a happy evening. The ache it caused her had more to do with later events, such as when he'd broken off their engagement. She'd never seen him again. After he'd left, she'd gone through the darkest period of her life, which she still shuddered to think about. Yet she'd moved past that thanks to the help of good friends, including Mr. Pale Blue. She dismissed this as a choice.

That left her with the prom dress and the red evening gown. The memory of a dead love versus the happiest evening she'd ever spent with the man she knew would be in her last thought this side of the grave - which would it be?

***********

In thirty minutes Nikita returned and knocked hesitantly on the double doors. Mahleah strode out.

"How do I look?" she asked with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Wow," was all Nikita could manage. Mahleah had chosen the red dress, and it complemented both her figure and her height. She had pulled her hair into an elegant chignon and applied makeup with a professional hand.

"I hope Walter and Birkoff don't get a look at you like that. We'll be scraping their chins off the floor the rest of the day," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I suppose the Christian is ready to meet the lion," Mahleah announced. "Lead the way."

Nikita had found that phrase a little odd considering the "Christian" in question had cut someone's head off. She thought about following Michael's advice and asking Mahleah about her past, but decided it was not the time. The elegantly dressed woman walking beside her had a full plate to deal with right now.

They arrived at Madeleine's office, and after gaining admittance she smiled at them. "You may go, Nikita," she said.

Nikita left thinking that she wouldn't trade places with Mahleah right now for a week of downtime.

Madeleine stood up and examined the tall figure before her. "That's an interesting choice," she observed.

"The color catches the eye and would both hold the attention of the target and make me easier for our team to keep track of," Mahleah observed coolly.

"True," Madeleine conceded. "I notice you found a pair of low-heeled shoes to wear."

"Since I was given no other details, I tried to plan generically. The planned target may be shorter than I am, and be self-conscious if I towered over him even more. Also, depending on the mission profile I could have to run or fight in these shoes. Overall, I felt the lower heels to be more practical."

"Excellent," Madeleine commented, "but still there's something lacking don't you think?"

Mahleah just stared straight ahead and waited for the trap to be sprung.

"She reminds me of Michael," Madeleine thought. "Always cautious before speaking."

She walked over to her desk and removed a box from a drawer. "I believe that the right jewelry would enhance that dress's appeal." She opened the box and took out a small object. "A ring for instance would not be inappropriate."

She handed Mahleah a gold ring with a large cameo. Mahleah recognized it instantly but maintained her composure. It was the engagement ring she had returned to Mark when he broke up with her. The woman was going to have to do better than that. Mark had probably sold or pawned the ring. She slid the cameo onto her finger without a comment or a second look.

Madeleine's smile widened a little. Her subject's emotional control was indeed formidable, but there was still one last card to be played. Her hand pulled out another item from the box. "Very nice, but the right arm is too bare. I think a bracelet is in order."

Mahleah dutifully held out her wrist and Madeleine wrapped an object around it. It took every ounce of self-control the younger woman possessed not to scream. How the hell had Section obtained this little bauble?

The piece in question was a beautiful diamond bracelet with a double heart setting: one in ruby and the other in sapphire. Before Mahleah's arrest and supposed death, the bracelet had been among her private possessions. Had a Section operative stolen it from her house? She prayed that was so. The alternative was too horrible to imagine.

"There," Madeleine snapped the clap. "I think that complements the dress perfectly."

She held her wrist up to the light, watching the jewels sparkle. "Very pretty," she noted with outward detachment. "You're right, the ruby does match the dress." She lowered her arm. "But wouldn't it seem a little suspicious to the target to wear such a costly piece that looks like a gift from another lover? Or should I simply explain that it was a family heirloom bought for my grandmother by my grandfather?"

"Very plausible," Madeleine approved. "You've done an excellent job with this little test. You may go change now."

Mahleah began pulling off the ring in order to return the jewelry. The brunette stopped her, "No, you may keep those. After all, they are yours, aren't they?"

Ah, there it was, the final twist of the knife. Mahleah allowed herself to look at the ring and bracelet closely. "Why, I believe they are," she agreed matter-of-factly. "Thank you for returning them to me."

She started to leave, but hesitated for a second when she heard Madeleine say, "We went to a great deal of trouble to retrieve that bracelet for you. It was no longer among your property."

Mahleah nodded, "I'm surprised you took the trouble over a silly little trinket. Goodbye, Madeleine."

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

Mahleah walked out of Madeline's office with her head held high. She wandered through the corridors of Section, her mind buzzing with a million thoughts. Foremost in her mind though was a nagging worry: who had kept her bracelet? Her father? Diana? Probably not, her logical mind answered. Her father would have returned the present to its original giver.

Oh God, she wanted to run out of here and find out what had happened but she couldn't. She turned a corner and ran straight into Walter.

He staggered back and then let out an earsplitting wolf whistle, "Mahleah darlin', I didn't say the picnic was formal."

She linked her arm with his, grateful for the physical contact. "I never said I was ready for the picnic." She smiled at him, "Are you terribly busy?"

"Not at the moment," he reassured her. "What did you have in mind?"

"Just wanted to spend some time alone with you," she responded gaily.

"Well, that's easily managed, come with me."

He led her to a deserted spot with an alcove. She sat down at one end, and he perched at the other. "Now we can do whatever we want," he grinned. "No surveillance here."

She let the happy mask she'd been wearing drop. Walter looked at her in alarm, "Mahleah, what's wrong?"

"I'm just tired," she told him. "I've just come from playing mind games with Madeline."

"No wonder you're depressed," he exclaimed. "What did she do this time?"

She sighed and decided to trust him. She told him about the dresses and then the jewelry.

He examined the cameo, "So, this was your engagement ring?"

"Yes, the key word in that sentence being was." She chewed on her upper lip thoughtfully. "The interesting thing Walter, is that Madeline was pretty accurate in her assessment, just out of date. A few months ago seeing this ring again would have upset me, but now," she shrugged.

"How about the bracelet?"

"Ah, now there she got me," Mahleah admitted. She fingered it wistfully, "This was specially designed for me. My boyfriend picked the stones himself. The sapphire represents September which is when I barely survived being attacked by Kenneth, the man I was dating at the time. His heart, he claimed, nearly stopped beating until he knew I was out of danger." She frowned. "I didn't mean Kenneth."

"I gathered that," he said dryly. "You keep saying 'he,' darlin'. Doesn't this guy have a name?"

She smiled. "His name is Duncan. Anyway, he says that September he realized I was irreplaceable in his life. The diamonds stand for April which was when we realized that we were attracted to each other."

"And the ruby?"

"The ruby is July - the month we became lovers," her voice had grown husky.

"Are you sure this is the real thing?" he asked. "It could be a copy."

She frowned, "I think it's genuine."

"Is there anyway to tell for sure?"

"Yes," she fumbled with the clasp.

"Here, let me," he said and gently unlatched it.

She stared at him, "I can't look."

He held the sparkling band in his hands. "What should I look for?"

"Engraving on the back of the hearts," she told him.

He held it up to the light. "There's a word here, but I can't pronounce it."

"M'annsachd," she said softly. " 'My best beloved'..."

He swallowed, "Could someone have faked the inscription?" he asked.

"Duncan added it himself. It was our secret, so if this bracelet isn't real, then someone's seen the back of the original."

"You're worried they've done something to him, aren't you?"

"Not really." She smiled - a strange, fierce smile. "He can take care of himself." The smile faded, "But if he and Section ever come into conflict things would get ugly fast."

He saw her look of misery. "Look darlin', there's no one around if you want to have a good cry. I promise I won't tell a soul."

"It would be too hard to conceal later," she replied, then looked at him steadily, "but I would love to be held."

"Then come here."

She curled up against him and he put his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.

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

Mahleah made her way to Munitions and looked at Walter shaking her head.

"What is it, darlin'?" he asked, quickly.

"I think we miscalculated my friend."

"What, she didn't feel sorry for him, or you couldn't put him on the floor?"

"Oh, I put him down," she said cheerfully. "He wasn't expecting it, so it wasn't that hard. And oh, yes, she was instantly sympathetic. In fact she'll probably be here any minute demanding to know what I did to her man." She grinned. "Not quite in those words, of course, but that's what she'll mean."

"You're not afraid of Nikita are you?" he chuckled.

"Afraid, no, wary yes. You should never underestimate the ferocity of an alpha female whose defending her pack. If she's also defending her mate," she whistled. "It could get wild around here."

"Maybe I shouldn't have gotten you involved," he sighed. "After all, you are Michael and Nikita's material. That's not exactly a relationship you'd want to complicate."

"True," she said softly, "but sometimes risk is worth it."

"You didn't hurt him too bad, did you?" he hesitated.

"Lord, no, he's fine. I just rendered him unconscious for a couple of seconds, that's all."

"That's all," she amazed him sometimes, "darlin', do you have any idea how hard that is to do? Michael's invincibility is practically carved in stone around here."

"Like I said, I caught him off guard. The next time we square off the odds will be more even. In fact, it could get a little crazy if he feels like I'm challenging his authority. Alpha males don't enjoy having their ears pinned back."

At that moment, Nikita made her way to them. As Mahleah anticipated, she was furious. "We need to have a talk," she said. "Come with me."

Walter and Mahleah exchanged helpless glances, then Mahleah followed Nikita into Michael's office. Nikita opened his desk drawer and deactivated the surveillance equipment.

"What's going on, Mahleah? You could have killed Michael!" she demanded.

"Yes, I could have," Mahleah agreed amiably.

Nikita's blue eyes blazed, but Mahleah refused to cower. "I could have broken his neck, but I didn't."

"You mean you meant to knock him out?"

"It beats the alternative. Listen, Nikita, I knew what I was doing. I didn't hit him hard enough to do any real damage. Where is he by the way?"

"I told him to go lie down."

Mahleah smiled, "He could be anywhere then."

"I don't think this is funny. Why did you knock Michael out? Where did you learn to fight like that, and why have you been hiding it? I want some answers, Mahleah."

"Very well, do you mind if I sit down?" She waited for Nikita's nod, then eased herself into Nikita's usual chair. Nikita paced the room, listening.

"You already know that my mother died and my father became an alcoholic. Have you learned that a neighbor stepped in to make sure I wasn't being neglected?" At Nikita's assent, she continued, "He gave me an extremely thorough, albeit eccentric, education. I knew how to speak a couple of different languages before I could fully read English. By the time I began public school I knew the basics of subjects most children my age had never heard of. As it happened, my benefactor was skilled in several forms of martial arts and began training me when I was three."

Nikita stopped pacing for a moment, "Okay, that explains how you were trained, but why conceal it from us?"

Mahleah let out her breath in a noisy whoosh, "Think about. When you're fighting new opponents for the first time, do you show them everything you've got? Not if you're smart. You hold back, see what their willing to show you."

This made sense. Nikita returned to her original question, "So, why did you beat up Michael?"

"First, he wouldn't thank you for that description. Second, the only thing I really injured was his pride. Last, why did he knock the breath out of me?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"I do. He was telling me that the higher ups knew that I was faking my ignorance, and if I continued to play dumb there would be hell to pay. Besides," she said amusedly, "my pride was sprained a little too. I've been letting you guys throw me around like a rag doll and messing up on moves I could have done before I was ten. I had to pay him back a little."

Nikita shook her head in disgust, but she was getting over her anger. There were still a couple of questions she wanted answered though. "Did you really cut a man's head off?"

Mahleah's smile disappeared, "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

Mahleah stood up and walked over to the window. "You don't know what kind of animal he was. I gave him the only kind of justice he could understand."

"Justice? Shouldn't the courts have decided that?"

Mahleah raised her eyebrows in disbelief, "How many people have you killed on behalf of Section?"

Nikita looked away, then back, "I've only killed to protect the innocent."

The dark-eyed woman stared back at her, "As have I."

"Well, what about those men you attacked?"

"I think you've got that one backwards, Nick, they attacked me. Not that I didn't give them reasons to do so. I pushed with everything in me to make them hurt me."

"Why?"

"So, I could hurt them. I was in a lot of pain, then. My fiancé had broken off our engagement, I had been feeling strangely at odds with myself for months. The final straw was when I went to visit my friend Diana. I walked in on her being beaten up by her boyfriend. I put a stop to it." She laughed humorlessly. "I put him in the hospital so he would think twice about hitting a woman. She didn't thank me, though, she told me to mind my own business. If she wanted my help, she'd ask for it. I decided to try my father's favorite cure: booze. It didn't help. Then this guy hit on me, but I was so not in the mood. I told him to leave me alone, but he didn't take rejection very well. He caught me outside and hit me. When that happened, something inside me snapped. I beat the crap out of him, and you know what? I felt better, for a little while at least. So, to fill that emptiness inside me I went looking for men like him, like Diana's boyfriend, who loved to hurt women. I told myself I was doing the world a favor."

"What happened?" Nikita asked softly.

"I found myself in a sleazy motel room with a half-drunk maniac who brained me with a chair. When my head stopped spinning, I found myself on the floor about to be raped. So, I pulled a couple of knives from my boots and nailed his hands to the floor. I just about made sure he never raped any woman ever again."

"So, why didn't you?"

"I looked up. There was a mirror in front of me and I saw myself. That one vision scared me more than anything ever has in my entire life. I looked like him. The same rage, the same hate was all over my face - the same will to do violence. I walked away. I was lucky enough to have friends that refused to let me destroy myself and I recovered." She looked at Nikita. "Any more questions?"

"No."

"Good, then let's go find Walter and Birkoff and drag them off on that picnic." She looked mischievous, "We could even bring Michael. If he cares to fraternize with us lower beings, that is."

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

Nikita went to collect Walter and Birkoff while Mahleah went to change clothes. When she rejoined them, she'd washed off her makeup and pulled her hair into pigtails.

"You," Walter announced, "are really trying to make me feel like a dirty old man."

"Age is partly a state of mind, honey," she told him. "Are we all set?"

"Yep, I've been keeping a few things squared away, just in case, Birkoff's donating his cache of snacks and Nikita's convinced Christopher to give us a thermos of lemonade."

"Wonderful!" Mahleah pronounced. "What about Musashi?"

"I couldn't find him," Nikita said, "besides he'd never agree to something like this."

"I don't know," Mahleah said thoughtfully as they started off through Section. "That man definitely has layers. Are you sure there's not one that's a gun-loving, picnic-crazy fool?"

"I doubt it," Nikita dismissed. Now that Michael was unharmed, her former wariness had returned.

Walter and Mahleah exchanged a dismayed glance. Had all their efforts been for nothing?