The Power to Hurt III By Michelle Fields Copyright October 2000

This story takes place during the LFN episodes "Playing With Fire" and "On Borrowed Ground."

Part One

As Mahleah chopped vegetables for a salad, swaying and singing to the music from her stereo, Michael looked at her askance.

I made it through the wilderness Somehow I made it through Didn't know how lost I was Until I found you.

"'Like a Virgin'?" he raised an eyebrow.

She smiled, "Pipe down, Musashi. I'm reliving my evil youth."

"Evil?"

She chuckled, "Not really evil, but this song does bring back memories of the only squeamish lecture I ever got about music. It wasn't from my father, though. He just looked at the album cover, shook his head and made some comment about her looking like a prom queen in heat - not an original thought I grant you."

"He didn't mind you listening to such bawdy lyrics?"

She shrugged, "I was a teenager. He thought she was pretty harmless. I mean, we're talking about a guy who let me watch him perform in a pretty run-down roadhouse while I was growing up. He knew I'd heard a lot worse."

"So, who gave you the lecture?"

"Well, I was visiting my best friend Diana, and had brought a bunch of records with me. We were jamming in her room, when her father stormed in breathing fire and brimstone. He proceeded to instruct us on the impropriety of young ladies singing about...what did he call it...our virtue. I had a hard time keeping a straight face."

"I'll bet," he replied wryly.

"I always thought people like Madonna were good for Diana. She needed more assertive role models in her life - her mom was completely under the thumb of Mr. High and Mighty Morals who wasn't above using his fists to solve arguments with his family."

He was watching her knife skillfully cut up a cucumber as he said, "So what about your mother?"

The knife paused in mid-air for a full second, then continued to slice, "I don't really remember her that well. She died when I was two."

Not entirely certain why, he persisted, "Was she musical like you and your dad?"

She got a curious half-smile on her lips, "In a way. She left a huge record collection - mostly R & B and Soul but there was other stuff as well. One album was a recording of Faust and I can still hear the voice of the soprano playing Marguerite. My mom was a singer too, you know, but she sang with an opera company several years before I was born. When I listened to Faust I always imagined Marguerite's voice to be my mother's. To this day, 'Ange pur, ange radieux' gives me chills because hearing it, I always feel a connection to her even if she's been dead for over twenty years."

He studied her, "When was the last time you heard it?"

Her gaze grew even more wistful, "Earlier this year when I was walking on the wild side, I was lucky enough to have a friend who made every effort to reach me..."

"It wasn't MacLeod?" he interrupted, surprised.

She shook her head, "No, it wasn't." She laughed, "No, it was my guardian angel. Later, when I was recovering from the horrors of the things that I had done, he took me to see Faust and I wept at the ending. I think it was the most beautiful catharsis I've ever experienced."

"It's good to have a friend that cares that much," he said softly.

She walked around the counter, carrying two salad bowls, "Yes, it is." She sat one in front of him. "In that spirit of friendship, I hope you're not letting Section win."

"What do you mean?"

"They've managed to take so much away from you. I hope you're not going to let Nikita be another casualty."

He shook his head firmly, "There'll be no more casualties in this war if I can help it."

"Good," she sat down next to him. "If you need any help, let me know."

He saw the weariness in her eyes and thought that he couldn't ask any more of her. Something within him understood that one of the reasons she had given up the love of her life was to protect the other people she cared about from the wrath of Operations and Madeline. It hurt him that she had made such a sacrifice and there was nothing he could do to repay it -- nothing that is, but see that it was not in vain and that any future fallout would land as far from his friend as possible.

Part Two

At the bar of "The Copperhead", Tony watched with Teresa as Mahleah poured out her heart in a ballad.

Little girl Don't run away so fast I think you forgot to kiss...kiss her goodbye

He wasn't sure what had brought on this sudden bittersweet remembrance of her mother, Catriona. Was it the recent loss of MacLeod, or merely the periodic upwelling of a lifelong sorrow? He glanced at his teenage daughter and saw that her eyes were glistening: another victim of the vagaries of fate. It was odd to think that one Immortal could have taken everything away from them, and another touch them so much. Mahleah could never replace all they had lost when Jacob killed his wife, but her presence and her personality had eased his remaining resentment at her kind.

Will she see me cry when I stumble and fall? Does she hear my voice in the night when I call? Wipe away all your tears it's gonna be all right.

I fought to be so strong I guess you knew I was afraid You'd go away too

Still, it wasn't entirely reassuring having her here for several reasons. As an Immortal she tended to be a danger magnet, and being Duncan MacLeod's most prominent student she tended to inherit his luck as well. She never looked for trouble, but it always found her. Then, of course, there was her motivation for gracing his little club. He knew her cover story was as phony as a three-dollar bill.

Little girl You've got to forget the past And learn to forgive me I promise to try...but it feels like a lie.

Lies were indeed swirling around this intensely honest woman. From the facts she'd never been told about Catriona to the organization she now worked for, Mahleah's life was full of deceptions, manipulations, and half-truths. Tony wasn't sure exactly who the group giving her orders was, but they were obviously after Shawn. He sighed. What had the boy done now?

Don't let memory play games with your mind She's a faded smile frozen in time I'm still hanging on...but I'm doing it wrong.

Can't kiss her goodbye...but I promise to try.

The audience applauded enthusiastically. He had to give her credit, despite the disreputable location their business doubled or tripled on the nights when she sang. Mahleah stepped down from the small raised area they called a stage and walked toward him. Teresa, catching sight of a thirsty patron waving frantically to her, squeezed the singer's arm as she walked by, and then hurried to refill some glasses.

Mahleah was rather parched as well, and took a large gulp from her water bottle. Since the incident with Walter, she preferred to break the seal on her bottles personally. He gathered she'd said a few things she regretted after a couple of his "specials" and was ensuring her drinks had no active ingredients that would cause trouble.

"That was rather gut-wrenching," he commented.

She shrugged, smiling, "I got a little sentimental tonight." Her smile faded, and she looked at him closely, "I hope I didn't hit too close to home."

"We're fine," he lied convincingly. He cleared his throat. "I've been more worried about you lately."

"Me, why?" she asked with surprise.

"It's just with Duncan gone..." he began but she quickly interrupted.

"My God, not you too! I'm tired of people walking on eggshells around me. Despite what you guys think I'm not that fragile. I'm not going to break because he and I aren't together."

"I'm well aware of that," he said with a bit irony. "I've just noticed that you've brooded a bit more than usual. Maybe you've been hanging with the wrong men these past few years."

She laughed, "Yikes, have I been that morbid? I've known some moody, Byronic types in my time. Well, I promise I'll try to be more cheerful. Things aren't that bad."

He regarded her intently, "I'll never get used to that."

"What?"

"That alien concept of thinking of life in terms of centuries."

"How do you mean?" she was puzzled.

"I mean, you can rationalize most of the mistakes or sorrows in your life by thinking how much time you'll have to fix or get over them. We poor mortals don't have that luxury."

"I wasn't," she began, but this time he interrupted her.

"Are you trying to tell me that it's never occurred to you that your latest tempest with MacLeod doesn't really matter because in the long run, you'll have eternity to patch up things with him?"

"If we're lucky we'll have time, but we have no more promises than you do that we'll see tomorrow, Tony. There's a little something called The Game to worry about, remember?"

He leaned in toward her, his face intent, "Yes there is, I agree, but then I could also walk out of here tonight and get hit by a taxi. It's not the same thing, Mahleah. Even if a Mortal is lucky enough to avoid a fatal accident, disease, homicide, or other foul play: how likely is that person to see a complete century? If we die of natural causes, we normally only have 70 or 80 years to get everything right. If you manage to avoid the only means of your death, you have the promise of untold years before you. Whether you realize it or not it shapes your decisions."

She swallowed another drink of water, pondering his words. Catching sight of Seth waving to her, she put the cap back on the bottle and pushed it to Tony.

"Keep this cold for me, huh? We'll have to finish this discussion later."

He watched as she rejoined the group of guys on stage. It was remarkable the influence she'd had in such a short time. They were sounding better than ever, and Seth was even growing more comfortable with singing the occasional solo. After she glanced at the set list taped to the top of one of the amps, she grabbed a guitar. Listening to the first notes, Tony recalled a conversation he'd had once with Joe who had warned him that when Mahleah went for a Springsteen song it was generally an indication of strong internal emotions that were being suppressed.

We met out on open streets when we had no place to go I remember how my heart beat when you said I love you so Then little by little we choked out all the life that our love could hold Oh no

It's like we had a noose and baby without check We pulled until it grew tighter around our necks Each one waiting for the other, darlin' to say when Well baby you can meet me tonight on the loose end

Teresa came bounding back from the kitchen, where she'd been busily filling food orders.

"Dad," she said with excitement. "Come back here. You need to see something."

He frowned, but taking stock of his customers decided they were more interested in the stage than refills at the moment. He followed his eager child back into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. His only son grinned at him with the lovable, crooked smile that was engraved on Tony's heart.

Tony was speechless for a long moment, as Shawn's brown eyes twinkled at him, "So, don't I even rate a hug?"

Silently, he held out his arms and the prodigal son returned his embrace.

We didn't count tomorrows, we took what we could and baby we ran There was no time for sorrow, every place we went I held your hand And when the night closed in I was sure your kisses told me all I had to know But oh no

The words floated in and recalled Tony to the present with considerable alarm. Mahleah was outside. While he knew she would regret causing his family any more sorrow, her hands would be tied. There was only one reason her particular organization would have sent her here and the only way to avoid catastrophe for them all was to get Shawn out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.

Unfortunately, the sound of the sultry chanteuse caught Shawn's attention as well. He went to the kitchen door and peered out of its round window.

"Wow, who's that?" he asked, eyeing Mahleah appreciatively.

"No one you'd be interested in," Tony said hastily. That path could only lead to disaster for all concerned. He seriously doubted Shawn had moved passed his nearly obsessional hatred of Immortals yet. Shawn did not need to meet Mahleah and vice versa.

"Well Dad, even if you're going blind in your old age, surely you're not quite deaf yet. She's really good."

"Shawn, you have to get out of here," he said insistently. "It's not safe."

"Yeah," Shawn took a last regretful glance at Mahleah and turned back to his family. "You're right. In fact, I can't stay. I just dropped by to see if you guys were doing okay. I'll be back in the area in about six months and I thought we could have a proper family reunion then."

"Yes," Tony agreed. Six months - hopefully in that time, Mahleah's bosses would tire of the search and transfer her someplace else. If not, he would still have time to think of some plans to keep the two out of each other's way.

Our love has fallen around us like we said it never could We saw it happen to all the others but to us it never would Well how could something so bad, darling, come from something that was so good I don't know

It's like we had a noose and baby without check We pulled until it grew tighter around our necks Each one waiting for the other, darlin' to say when Well baby you can meet me tonight on the loose end

Part Three

The next day Mahleah sat with Walter, Birkoff, Michael and Nikita as Operations and Madeline explained the current mission profile.

"The target's name is Vladimir Drakov, a liaison between the Russian mafia and Red Cell. He believes in living a luxurious jet-set existence with beautiful women, lots of champagne and designer drugs. His current mistress is Lolita, a model who will be busy this week on the runways as new fall fashions are unveiled. Drakov will be arriving in the next 24 hours and we believe will be attending at least one of the shows," Operations told them.

"Nikita, we have arranged for you to join the models on the catwalk," Madeline smiled. "Mahleah, you will be working behind the scenes, and Michael will be posing as a buyer."

"This should be a simple profile," Operations said firmly. "I expect results. Further details will be on your panels."

As they started to leave, Madeline stopped Mahleah, "Please drop by my office before you leave. We have something to discuss."

She strolled away leaving Mahleah startled and a little apprehensive about what such a discussion might entail. Logic would dictate that Section should have no problems with her conduct of late. She had given up Duncan and applied herself strictly to her mission at the club. She had already submitted her weekly report concerning her activities there, so what else was there to talk about?

Beside her, Walter whistled through his teeth, "That doesn't sound good," he said forebodingly.

"Tell me about it," she muttered.

"Hey," he changed the subject, nudging her in the ribs, "I had the most intense game of chess the other day. Too bad you missed it."

She smiled, putting her worries about Madeline aside for the moment, "Really? Who was this with?"

"You remember Beth, don't you?" he grinned.

"Of course, I do. Is she a good player?" She recalled her advice to the young woman and inwardly chuckled at the result. Strip-chess seemed to have been a big hit with Walter. She wasn't surprised.

"Oh yeah," he smirked, "fabulous."

"So, who won?"

His grin stretched from ear to ear, "We both did. I'm kind of glad that I never tried that with you though."

She raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"I'd have been stripped down to my skin in no time flat and you'd have been fully dressed - now how much fun would that have been?" He walked off with a spring in his step.

Mahleah shook her head, grinning. It was nice that someone was having some fun.

A quarter of an hour later she was sitting once again in Madeline's office awaiting whatever mind game Section had decided to initiate with her.

Madeline regarded her serenely for a long moment before speaking, "Your role at the fashion shows will be a dual one. You should not only be alert for any sign of Drakov, you should also make the acquaintance of this gentleman, Alexander Coffey." She tilted her computer screen so Mahleah could see the image of a handsome blonde man in his early twenties.

"Coffey comes from a wealthy Tennessee family. He's received the best education, goes to the best places, and is seen with the best people. Unfortunately some of his companions away from the spotlight are much less pleasant. He's been using his wealth and connections to sponsor and recruit for a terrorist group called Blue Dusk."

"Why would he come to a fashion show?" Mahleah asked.

"He always accompanies his mother to the Paris shows every year. She is very stylish, but rather trendy. Malcolm Coffey, Alexander's father, married 'beneath' him and she has felt it her duty to uphold her status as a great man's wife ever since."

Mahleah nodded, "What is my profile once contact has been established?"

"You are to get close to him. Invite him to hear you sing...he has an interest in music. We want him to invite you back to visit his family." Madeline stared intently into Mahleah's dark eyes. "Use any and all means necessary to achieve this goal."

"Isn't there a conflict between this profile and my current mission at the club?" Mahleah inquired. "If I'm in Tennessee how can I look for Shawn Williams?"

"We've ascertained from a reliable source that Williams will be out of the country for at least six months." Madeline smiled. "That will give you ample opportunity to complete your assignment with Coffey first."

Mahleah gave a tight smile as acknowledgment. What was being left unsaid was Madeline was testing and punishing her for both her behavior while Michael was in charge and her previous clandestine relationship with Duncan. She'd been warned that non-cooperation on a mission would mean cancellation. It seemed that to drive that message home she was being sent on a Valentine mission. Oh joy.

Part Four

Malcolm Coffey greeted Duncan MacLeod with open arms and a glass of the finest Scotch whiskey.

"How many years has it been?" he asked his old friend.

"Five, I think," Duncan replied. "How is everyone doing?"

"Oh, I couldn't be better," Malcolm said jovially. "Marie graduates from Vanderbilt in the spring - with honors, I think - and Alex donates much of his time to charity work. It's amazing how much vitality the young have, isn't it? He works 8-10 hours a day at an accounting firm, volunteers several hours, then still has the zap to dance the night away with some pretty girl at a club." He shook his head. "I don't think I was that energetic at his age."

Since Duncan hadn't met Malcolm until he was nearly forty, he really didn't know what the man was like in his twenties. "Somehow I bet you were ten times worse than Alex ever dreamed," he grinned. "Where is he anyway?"

"Oh, he's off to Paris with his mother to see the fall fashions," Malcolm laughed. "No doubt he's more interested in the models than what they're wearing. Oh well, it's a great city for falling in love."

"Yeah," Duncan's smile felt tight and forced as an image of Mahleah immediately sprang into his head. He blinked her picture away, to add casually, "I just came from Paris not long ago."

"Small world," Malcolm brandished the whiskey decanter, "Refill?"

"Please," Duncan replied gratefully.

"So, how long are you planning to stay?" Malcolm inquired. "We've got a lot of catching up to do, you know."

The Immortal gazed into his glass thoughtfully, letting the liquor swirl around in hypnotizing waves, "I'm not sure," he said finally.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like. Alex should be back next week some time and he'd love to see you again. Marie will be in for the weekend - she'll have to rummage through her mother's new stash of designer clothes. Promise you'll stay until then."

"Fine," Duncan agreed. He couldn't stay in one place terribly long, but a couple of weeks with old friends would do him some good. It might even manage to take his mind off of a certain honey-haired woman whose voice haunted him in his dreams.

"Great," his host beamed. "Then you'll have plenty of time to confess the secrets of your youthful looks. My God, man, do you ever age? Come on, admit it - it's all those beautiful women, right, that keep you forever young?"

Duncan shook his head ruefully, "Malcolm, nothing in the world ages you faster than a beautiful woman."

Especially when you may never see her again, his mind finished.

Part Five

Michael felt that of the three profiles on this assignment, his was probably the least annoying. As a buyer for a fictitious chain of department stores he flirted with the models, chatted with the designers, answered questions from rich women about clothes they should never be seen in, and kept his eyes open for Vladimir Drakov. The female operatives endured a very different experience, he knew.

Nikita had to contend with twits who thought that collecting models was an acceptable extracurricular activity, colleagues who were wary and jealous of a newcomer, and the lifestyle to which she was expected to conform. She actively complained when given the chance about how much she'd like to see Madeline put through such degrading treatment.

Mahleah was rather silent about her ordeal, which actually worried Michael more. He'd seen the dangerous gleam in her eyes as he wandered backstage. Not that he could blame her actually. A beautiful woman, she didn't even have the glamour of Nikita's cover to keep away some of the predators who saw her as lower class goods there for the taking. On one occasion, she had just finished sewing a model into her dress (he could imagine her thoughts on the subject), when a man reached out and grabbed one of her breasts from behind. Fondling it, he starting crooning about making her a star brighter than any in the heavens.

Michael had quickly stepped in between the two before the red-faced woman literally tore him to shreds. Mahleah understood the danger of breaking her cover, but there was no way that she could let someone by with treating her with such disrespect. She slapped him hard....so hard in fact, that Michael, who had long thought he was inured to violence, winced. The creep had nearly fallen over, being saved by the nearby wall, as she stormed away.

Muttering curses with every breath, the injured man stood there with a perfect imprint of her hand across his cheek. There was no doubt in Michael's mind that if he'd needed her fingerprints, a copy could easily be made from this creep's face. He stared coldly at the man, who threatened to sue and get her fired and everything in between to make himself feel better.

"Be glad her hand was open," he advised, before walking off.

The models didn't really treat her much better. There were a couple who were downright vicious in their contempt. It was understandable. They worked in a cutthroat business where the Next Big Thing could knock you off your superstar pedestal at any time. They saw her as a potential rival, and she had no protection against them.

Yet it was an unfair assumption that all the women were catty bitches. As he watched two long-legged beauties begin their strut down the catwalk, he spotted both Nikita and Mahleah's favorite of the bunch: Rebecca. Sixteen years old, with glossy black hair, sapphire eyes, and a dimple in her chin, she was new to the business and completely refreshing. As she strutted past his position, she broke the normally dead-serious look of her colleagues and winked at him. When he smiled back, she gave him a little grin, turned on her heel and sauntered back.

He was watching her make her return trip when his eye fell on the next set of models and he caught his breath. Nikita was clad in a barely there blue dress that matched her eyes and made his heart beat faster. Unlike Rebecca, she kept her composure when she saw him, but her eyes danced merrily in silent laughter. All the way down, and all the way back up the runway, his gaze was fixed on her until she was out of sight. He exhaled, knowing she'd enjoyed his reaction very much.

Looking to the side, he saw someone else was amused as well - Mahleah was peeking at him from the shadows and grinning outrageously. Grinning that is, until one of the girls came off the runway and said something to her sharply. He shook his head. These poor, underfed females had no idea that they were starved alleycats to her sleek, shining tigress. She could claw them up with one hand, kick their tiny butts across the English Channel and make them go crying back to mama. That she hadn't was a testament to her self-control.

It was an interesting contrast certainly. Nikita was slim, but she was also muscular and very healthy. It was probably why Madeline chose her to do the modeling and Mahleah to work behind the scenes. Nikita fit the current image of what a runway model should be much better than Mahleah who was certainly curvier than the standard. It was why she drew so much attention from the backstage prowlers who certainly didn't care about her sparkling wit, fierce intelligence, or burning talent. No, her appeal to them was as old as cavemen: T & A, simple as that. It was why some of the "stars" resented her so fiercely.

Another quality that most of the people in this industry could not appreciate, Michael reflected, was her loyalty to her friends. Despite the danger, Mahleah was facilitating a rendezvous between Nikita and himself. After the show was over, he would meet them backstage and Mahleah had volunteered to play lookout and prevent anyone from disturbing their "conversation." He only hoped that she wouldn't have to pay too high a price for her assistance.

Not long after Mahleah's confrontation, the show was over. Michael mingled with the crowd for half an hour before finding his way backstage. Mahleah spotted him with visible relief.

"What took you so long, Musashi?" she asked.

"I had to make sure Drakov wasn't here," he explained.

"Well Nikita's been a nervous wreck. We were about to think you had changed your mind."

He shook his head, "Where is she?"

"One of the fitting rooms - this way," she led him through a hall to a doorway.

"Will anyone need to use this room tonight?"

She grinned, "Only for the same purpose. I'm sure more than a few couples are going to be ticked they didn't get here first. Too bad, losers weepers."

"Mahleah," he hesitated, not sure of the words.

"You're welcome," she told him. "Never let it be said that I failed to do my part for true love. Go on, she's waiting."

He gave her one last grateful look and went inside.

As the door opened, Nikita turned. She was still wearing the skimpy blue outfit.

"I like that dress," he said softly.

Her eyes widened and then she said teasingly, "Maybe I should buy a copy."

"I like you even better without it," his mouth was getting dry looking at her.

She laughed and chills went down his spine, "You just saved me a lot of money."

"Always happy to help you maintain a budget," he said solemnly.

She swallowed, "Look, are you going to come here any time soon, or do I have to come over there and jump you?"

He stepped closer, "Both prospects are appealing."

She met him halfway, "I never thought I'd have to say this Michael, but shut up and kiss me."

For once in his life, Michael Samuelle was happy to obey an order.

Part Six

Mahleah leaned up against the wall outside the fitting room with a smile on her face. At least one good thing had come out of this miserable assignment. It hadn't exactly been the most fun job she'd ever had. Most of the women she worked with treated her professionally, but it was the few who didn't that made her life miserable.

Drakov's mistress Lolita was one of them. Lolita, Mahleah shook her head in disbelief. Who would chose such an image for their stage name? It screamed, Hey I'm an underage nymphomaniac looking for a rich pedophile, but you'll do. This Lolita was considerably older than the fictional version. In her early twenties she still wanted to project a little-girl-gone-bad mystique that Mahleah found incredibly disturbing. It didn't say much for Drakov's taste in women, but then they weren't here because he was Mr. Rogers.

Overall, though, the biggest pain in the posterior had been another one-name wonder, Cressida. From the moment she'd set eyes on Mahleah, the supermodel had made it a point to belittle, degrade, and harass the Immortal at every opportunity. In fact, after exiting the runway at the end of the show when Mahleah had been laughing at Michael's response to Nikita's dress, Cressida had started yelling at her about a pin that had been left in the dress that she was modeling. It had scratched up her delicate skin and so forth. Mahleah refrained from mentioning that the pin would have been fine if it had been left alone. Cressida had moved it so as to flash a little more flesh for the cameras.

She sighed. Fashion had never been one of her favorite things in the first place and this whole experience was rapidly placing it at the bottom of her list. No doubt Madeline was sitting back at Section laughing about the whole thing.

A couple of Cressida's friends walked past deeply engrossed in their conversation. One was congratulating the other because she had just beat Cressida out for a coveted magazine cover. They were laughing about the fact that this was the second cover Cressida had missed out on.

"Well, what can you expect?" Miss Congeniality told Miss Popularity. "Her time is over. I mean, have you seen her without her makeup lately? She's started to get those lines next to her eyes and mouth."

"Maybe she should join that Revlon campaign for older women," Miss Popularity snickered.

They moved out of earshot, leaving Mahleah's ears and mind ringing. She was dazed by the sudden viciousness of the two women who only hours before had been hanging on Cressida's every word. Older women? Wrinkles? Cressida was maybe twenty-five years old. If there were any lines on her face, they were undetectable to the normal human eye -- perhaps they could only be seen with the microscopic lens of petty jealousy.

She'd known had competitive this industry was, but it was chilling to witness it firsthand. Poor Cressida - no wonder she was serving up major helpings of attitude. She had hit her zenith and was about to topple off the other side into a has-been. She had been taught to view the women around her as enemies who would stab her in the back at any moment, and judging from the two lovely ladies who had recently sauntered by it was justifiable paranoia.

With a start, Mahleah realized that she couldn't possibly know what Cressida or others like her were going through. They worked in an atmosphere that punished women for growing old and rewarded youth. In a society where age was considered ugly, and wrinkles didn't mean character and experience but undesirability, Cressida was considered a cast-off.

She had frankly considered the haughty model to be a bitch, but who was she to judge? She might lose her head one day, but she would never grow old...no wrinkles, no gray hairs, no sagging, no varicose veins...nothing. She would remain youthful looking as long as she was alive. Perhaps Cressida unconsciously sensed this about her and it was the basis for her antagonism. Who could blame her?

Deep in thought, Mahleah didn't, at first, notice the man ambling toward her. When he stopped in front of her, she looked up startled. She'd nearly forgotten the other downside of this profile: the lust-filled slime-balls that congregated at these shows looking to add someone to their trophy list.

She'd hoped that she would be spared such tactics since she would do little for bragging rights - she was a nobody in the fashion world, which was the way she liked it. Unfortunately, that hope was dashed. After getting turned down by their choice of model, many kept lurking in search of something else to nail for the evening. Many saw her as the runner-up prize of choice despite the ear-ringing blow she'd given to one presumptuous jerk that'd gotten over-eager with her anatomy.

"Hello, precious," the man said to her.

Inwardly she winced. If that was the best he could do, no wonder all the upper rings of the hierarchy had turned him down.

"Do you know you're the best looking girl here?" he persisted.

She gave him a weak smile, and said, "No I'm not."

"Oh, but you are. My name is Montgomery Hughes and I'm searching for girls just like you for my own agency. You would be perfect."

She tried to remain pleasant while telling him firmly, "No thank you. I'm not interested."

"Oh, but you see there's lot of opportunities out there for fuller-figured girls. You know big is beautiful."

She stared at him incredulously. Did he have any idea how idiotic he sounded?

"Sorry," she repeated. "I have no desire to 'upgrade' my status. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else."

"But..." he began again, when a pleasant male voice cut in, "The lady has told you no three times now, pal. In baseball that would put you back on the bench, so why don't you head out of here and let another batter have a try, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow and looked past the man annoying her to find the owner of the rich, husky, nearly Southern sounding tones. When she caught sight of a pair of friendly gray eyes, her heart sped up. It was Alexander Coffey.

Part Seven

The rejected suitor went off grumbling under his breath. Mahleah looked at the man she was expected to seduce and betray with wary interest. This would be a delicate operation. She needed him for more than a simple one-night stand...she had been ordered to accompany him back to the States.

She looked into those charming gray eyes and said, "I'm not feeling very friendly towards men at the moment so you might as well follow his lead and get lost."

He nodded but stayed in his place, "I can see how you'd get a bad impression of the male sex working back here, but please don't blow all of us off because of the stupidity of a few."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze, "I'm warning you that you're wasting your time 'cause I'm sooo not in the mood."

He smiled warmly and as far as she could tell, sincerely, "I count myself as lucky if you'll just talk to me for a while." He raised his hands in mock self-defense. "That's all - just talk."

"Okay," she allowed the word to sound grudgingly bestowed.

"Let's go to a café," he suggested, "for a cup of coffee."

"Sorry," she shook her head. "I can't leave - I'm waiting on a friend. I'm afraid that if you want to talk to me you'll have to pull up a chair and do it here."

"I don't really need a chair," he declared and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. "Join me?"

She hesitated, then followed suit, sitting on the opposite side of the door. He noticed the distance she had put between them, but made no comment.

"So, what part of the States are you from?" he inquired. "Your accent is practically non-existent, but I have a feeling I'm with a fellow Southerner."

She allowed herself to smile, "Born and raised in Virginia, how about you?"

"Tennessee - Chattanooga, actually, and you?"

"Oh, I'm from the Southwestern mountains...you know that part that unofficially doesn't exist since everyone knows that Virginia ends at Roanoke."

"Not that you're bitter about it."

"Oh no, not at all." They smiled companionably.

"So how did you end up in Paris?" he asked curiously.

"I'm always traveling," she told him. "I'm a writer, or I'm trying to be, so I'm knocking around the world in search of experience and inspiration."

"And this job?" he raised an eyebrow.

"This gig has provided plenty of experience, but little inspiration," she admitted. "I think I'll stick to my regular job."

"Which is?"

"I'm a singer at a club called The Copperhead over in the northern part of the city."

He whistled, "Place Stalingrad?" At her nod, he frowned, "That could be a little dangerous - it's a prime spot for drug deals."

"It's not that bad and I can take care of myself," she said firmly. "I haven't had any problems."

He let it go, but she could see him still thinking about it. "The Copperhead, huh?" he finally commented. "Historical reference?"

She shook her head, "Nope, it's just what it sounds like to us Southerners - a really mean snake. The club's owned by a guy from Kentucky."

"Hence the appeal," he guessed. "If you're a singer, how did you end up working the fashion shows?"

She shrugged, "Tony can't afford to pay me much for singing and my neighbor is a model. She thought I could use some extra cash and I thought it might be fun."

"And has it?"

She made a face, "Not really, but if you're a people watcher, it's fascinating."

"I'll bet," he said dryly.

"So, what are you doing in Paris?" she asked.

"Oh, my mom's nuts about designer clothes, so I came over to keep Dad from going bankrupt."

Mahleah laughed, and his eyes sparkled, "Wow, the ice maiden thaws just a little. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She shook her head, "Nope, I have to admit you haven't tried to buy me, bribe me, or fondle me. Keep this up and I might actually ask your name."

He grinned, "It's Alex - Alex Coffey. Can you tell me yours?"

"I'm Mahleah," she took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly, "Mahleah Collins."

"Mahleah," he let it roll off his tongue a few times. "I like it - a pretty name for a pretty lady."

"Ah!" she raised a warning finger. "Watch it with the compliments or I'll relegate you back to the smooth loser pile."

"Check, cancel the compliments," he said in a mock-serious tone. She laughed again.

"Ooh, better and better," he approved. "So, how about those Vols? Who do you think they'll replace Manning with?"

"Oh Lord," she groaned. "You're talking to the wrong person if you want to discuss football. I'm not a sports fan, I'm afraid. If you want to talk about a Shakespearean sonnet, I'm your girl. If you want to dress up in blaze orange and go to a UT game though, I'm definitely not the person to ask."

"Damn!" he said lightly. "I knew there had to be a flaw somewhere. You were just too perfect. Well, I suppose I can overlook this one huge character defect if you'll be kind enough to ignore all of my little ones."

"Which are?"

He scrunched up his face as if deep in thought, "I'm a spoiled rich kid used to getting his way. My parents adore me and I them. I love my baby sister and love aggravating her even more." He looked at her steadily, "I'm tired of meeting women with nothing more on their minds than the latest fashions and/or scandals. When I see something I want, I'm willing to put in overtime to get it."

"Quite a collection," she observed.

"Think you could deal with them?" he asked.

"Hmmmm, one step at a time," she replied. "You're doing all right, but don't try to steal any bases yet."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed smiling, and she had to smile back.

Damn, why did he have to be so likeable?

Part Eight

After a couple of hours of conversation, during which time Alex tried to persuade Mahleah to go somewhere more comfortable and she refused, the door between them opened and Michael and Nikita stepped out. Mahleah and Alex rose and the Immortal made the introductions, concluding with, "I'll see you later, Alex."

"That's it?" he asked in surprise.

She raised an eyebrow, "For tonight it is. I've been waiting to talk to my friends." Seeing a small hurt gleam in his eye, she amended that to, "Okay, I've been waiting to talk to my old friends. I'll see you tomorrow and we can continue discussing our new friendship."

His face lit up, "Where will you be?"

She sighed, "Down the street and behind the scenes as usual. It may be my last night. I'm getting rather tired of this."

"Until tomorrow then," he stretched out his hand. She grasped it with her own for a shake, but he raised it and grazed her knuckles with his lips.

"Can't leave hand-kissing completely up to the Europeans," he winked and walked away.

Mahleah looked at a quizzical Michael and a dubious Nikita. "We need to talk," she told them.

"Obviously," Nikita replied.

They all walked back into the fitting room. After she shut the door, Mahleah began explaining, "I was given an additional profile for this mission. Drakov is really secondary for me - I'm here to back you up if necessary but my primary purpose is to meet Alex Coffey."

"Mission accomplished," Nikita observed.

"To what purpose?" Michael asked softly.

"He has been using his money and connections on behalf of a group called Blue Dusk," Mahleah explained. "I'm to accompany him back to the States and secure as much information about the group as possible before we take him, and hopefully it, out of play."

"It's a Valentine Op," it wasn't a question and she could hear the underlying tension in Michael's voice.

"Yes," she admitted, "but I haven't been given any specific instructions yet about how to handle him."

"You mean Madeline hasn't told you to sleep with him yet?" Nikita interpreted.

"No, she hasn't," Mahleah agreed.

"Be careful," Nikita warned. "This guy reminds me of Alex Chandler and it turned out he was a slaver."

It relieved Mahleah's heart to hear Nikita showing concern for her. Relations between them had been a little frosty lately.

"I'll be on my guard," she promised.

Michael was silent and she knew he was remembering, as she was, the threat to cancel her if she didn't cooperate fully with the profiles assigned her.

"Don't worry, Musashi," she said to relieve his anxiety. "I'm not planning on getting myself killed. Those two are up to something and I doubt it bodes any of us very well. You and Nikita are going to need all the friends you have."

******

The next evening she was scanning the crowds when she saw Michael's posture stiffen and he nodded in her direction. Swiveling, she saw Drakov. It was time to set this thing in motion. Moving through the throng, she deliberately stumbled into the target.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry," she apologized. Drakov was concentrating so intently on the way her breasts happened to collide with his chest that he never noticed the tracker that she slipped inside his shirt cuff.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go," she apologized again and moved away. His eyes followed her and his body might have joined them except for the baleful glare of his girlfriend Lolita who happened to be coming down the runway.

Mahleah sighed. Her part in this profile was complete. After the show, Nikita would give him a fake message from Lolita to meet outside. Instead of the tender embrace of his mistress, he would meet Michael and a Glock .45. In the unlikely event he slipped away, the device she had just planted on him would allow them to track him down. He was as good as tagged and bagged, which left her free to pursue her other assignment with undivided attention.

She made her way backstage and spotted Alex leaning against the wall next to a fitting room.

"I figured this must be the place," he grinned.

She smiled back. For an alleged terrorist, he certainly was disarmingly friendly. She'd have to keep in mind Nikita's warning about Chandler.

"Shall we go?" she inquired.

He looked surprised, "Can you leave? The show's not finished yet."

She waved a hand airily, "I don't care. I've had all I can take of this stuff. I don't care if I ever see another model again."

The words had no sooner flown from her mouth than she saw Rebecca getting ready for one of her turns down the catwalk. She swallowed, "On second thought, I do need to say goodbye to someone. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he responded.

She walked over to her favorite person from this horrible mission.

"Hey Mahleah, who's the cute guy?" Rebecca asked.

"Just a charmer that I met yesterday. I'm leaving for some dinner with him."

Rebecca frowned, "The show's not over yet. Won't you get into trouble?"

"No," she told the teenager, "because I just quit."

Rebecca was quiet for a long moment before she said, "I can't say I'm too surprised. You've been miserable here. I am going to miss you, though."

"I'll miss you too," Mahleah said, with a heavy heart.

They hugged and Mahleah asked, "Hey, promise me something, huh?"

"What?"

"Promise that you won't let this business change you into something you're not."

"I'm sixteen," Rebecca protested. "I can't help but change."

"Absolutely," Mahleah agreed, "but let the changes reflect your journey to discover who you are and not what others want you to be."

"Okay, I promise," Rebecca said solemnly, then shook her finger, "but you have to do the same. No matter where you go, stay true to yourself."

Mahleah refrained from looking back at Alex. She intended to tell him tonight that she had recently experienced an incredibly painful breakup and so she wanted to take things slow. It might not suit Madeline's timetable, but she needed to work up to the idea of him touching her.

"I'll try," she told her young friend. "I'll certainly do my best."

Part Nine

Something was up and it didn't feel right, Tony thought. Mahleah had been very quiet lately...when she showed up at all. He had put her strange behavior down to her understandable sorrow after losing MacLeod and her strange, damnable bosses who sent her to do their dirty work.

This evening though, she had walked in dressed to the nines. That was odd in and of itself as Mahleah was very much a jeans, boots and jacket kind of girl. Tonight she wore an ankle-length dress, heels, and make-up. Her friend Nikita showed up - she hadn't been around in weeks - without the redoubtable Michael. Trailing behind her was a blond good-looking guy that Tony would have assumed was her newest boyfriend except that the chemistry between them seemed remarkably dull. It was hard to imagine her replacing the visible electricity she'd had with Michael, especially with this fellow. When he'd seen the way the stranger looked at Mahleah, he'd realized that Nikita had merely ridden in with him. His attention was completely riveted on the Copperhead's main attraction.

This was even more bizarre. Mahleah was dating again already? He thought perhaps he should cheer, but he couldn't. Something just wasn't right. The more he studied the situation the more a knot formed in the bottom of his stomach. Mahleah was not being herself. Oh, it wasn't openly obvious, but he had spent a lot of time around her in the past few months. He'd seen the way she acted around a lot of men and she'd never behaved this way before. She was skirting a fine line between being hard to get and being downright seductive. It sent alarm bells throughout Tony's body as he concluded that this wasn't love it was a mission.

Whoever Alexander Coffey was, Mahleah's bosses wanted something from him and she was to see to it. He swallowed, what was it they called this? A valentine mission. He'd never dreamed he'd see Mahleah engaged in such a questionable activity. He felt sorry for the poor guy.

Of course, Alex Coffey seemed to be having the time of his life. He had no clue that she was putting on an act worthy of several awards, but then he'd never had the chance of observing her when she was really in love either. Comparing her now with the way she was with MacLeod was like the difference in seeing a hologram or actually standing next to a real fire. Instead of the beautiful simulation she was putting forth now, all flash and no real heat, in the past she'd been consumed by the intensity of the flames. Love wasn't pretty - it was ugly and beautiful, sane and insane, and above all real. This charade she was putting on now was as lovely as a forged Monet. He shuddered. Is this what she'd been sent to do to his son?

Well, Alex Coffey could never say he hadn't been warned. The band, inspired by her unusual get-up, had given her a brief introduction by playing a few bars of "American Woman" with Seth proclaiming, "American Woman stay away from me...." They'd instinctively known something was wrong too.

Tony had never dreamed that Mahleah could lie in her music - it just never seemed possible that she could. Yet when she sang "Sooner or Later" in a deliberately husky voice to her new beau, he'd thought he could throw up. No, Alex couldn't say she hadn't warned him.

Sooner or later you're going to be mine Sooner or later you're going to be fine Baby it's time that you faced it I always get my man

No, it wasn't the words of the song that made him angry it was her actions. She played the vamp, not with a wink the way she would have before, but with a slightly overdone sensuality that never made it into those dark eyes. Alex was caught hook, line, and sinker. It was written all over his face, and in his body language. Too bad he'll never know he's only getting half a woman until it's too late, Tony thought bitterly.

Even her friend Nikita, who he guessed must have had to perform similar missions in the past, seemed a little taken aback by Mahleah's performance. Oh, it was a classy production. It put her up there with the greats: Mata Hari, Thais, and all the other courtesans who earned their living through seduction and lies.

Just when Tony couldn't bear to look at her any longer, she managed to surprise him with a moment of total honesty. Ignoring her fashionable evening attire, she kicked off the heels, grabbed a guitar and began strumming. Just when I accuse her of being completely fake, he thought, she draws down deep from her soul and shows me the pain she's feeling.

No one knows what it's like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No one knows what's it's like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies

Oh, Mahleah, he thought sadly, what are they doing to you? This is the first moment that you've actually been in the building all night.

But my dreams They aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely My love is vengeance That's never free

The band, reassured by this reversion to the woman they knew, grew comfortable beside her and stopped telegraphing their own playing. Her voice was sad, passionate, angry, and more than a little defiant. Her eyes blazed with the freedom of revealing, if only for a moment, her true self.

No one knows what it's like To feel these feelings Like I do And I blame you

No one bites back as hard On their anger None of my pain and woe Can show through

But my dreams They aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be

He noticed with a start that Nikita's eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. Was this her empathy at work, or rather her own identification with both the lyrics and the performance? What lay behind those blue eyes, he wondered. She seemed to find this song even more painful than Mahleah whose voice conveyed catharsis not agony.

When my fist clenches, crack it open Before I use it and lose my cool When I smile, tell me some bad news Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil Put your finger down my throat If I shiver, please give me a blanket Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it's like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No, he agreed, I don't know what it's like, but I do know you and I hate that you're doing this to yourself. He wondered how lover boy had liked the song, but his heart sank when he saw Alex. Instead of seeing the warning she'd been doing her best to give him, he seemed more smitten than ever. Of course, he does, Tony reflected. He was already toppling down the path and catching a glimpse of the woman behind the mask pushed him firmly down the road. Ironically, in dropping her act, Mahleah had committed an even bigger sin. She'd allowed him a glimpse of something he'd never be able to touch.

He watched as she walked over to Alex's table, all smiles and witty remarks. They laughed together before Alex looked more serious and began talking. Her reactions were masterful. She appeared engrossed in what he had to say, then shook her head and looked over at the bar as if to indicate himself. Alex was insisting on whatever suggestion he had. She looked doubtful, but then nodded and rose.

When she walked over to him, Tony knew she was going to tell him she'd be leaving, and so wasn't surprised when she said, "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with Seth for a while, Tony."

"Why?" he didn't look at her.

"I have to go to Tennessee it seems, with Alex over there." She looked back and smiled at the man in question.

"Enjoying yourself?" Tony asked with a touch of acid in his tone.

She looked at him, startled. "I'm not with Mac any more, so it's not like I'm cheating. What's your problem, Tony?"

"If you were in here with Walter, or Michael or Birkoff, I'd rejoice. If you told me you were going off with one of them, if it were Michael I'd feel sorry for that lady sitting over there, but I'd wish you Bon Voyage. This guy, though....Mahleah, the only thing you feel for him is sympathy because you're setting him up."

She grabbed his arm, "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's seen you with Mac," he told her with regret. "I wish for this guy's sake, he'd had the privilege."

She leaned in and whispered angrily, "I know he looks pretty and he seems awfully nice, Tony, but he's a terrorist. Now, I'll be back when I can."

He grabbed her arm and whispered back, "Fine, but you look pretty and seem awfully nice, too, Mahleah. So tell me, what exactly does that make you?"

She swallowed, and he saw her defenses go up. She raised her chin, looked him coolly in the eye, and said, "I am what I have to be, Tony."

She walked off, leaving his thoughts to run on all the possible disasters that lay in the future.

Part Ten

Malcolm Coffey paused at the door to Duncan's rental car. "Are you certain you don't want to come with me to the airport?" he asked.

MacLeod shook his head, "No, you should spend some time with your family. I'll be back later this evening."

Malcolm pursed his lips, "Well, I must admit to feeling a great deal of curiosity about this girl Alex is bringing with him. It's not often he brings one home to meet his old man. The way he describes her she must be one in a million."

His old friend gave him a knowing smile, "She always is, when a man's in love."

"True," Malcolm agreed. "So hurry back. It will be interesting to see this whirlwind romance. I told you Paris is a great city for falling in love."

Duncan's eyes clouded over for a moment, "It's wonderful for breaking your heart too."

The other man put his hand on Duncan's shoulder, "Whoever she was, she was crazy to let you go, my friend. You obviously loved her very much."

Duncan licked his lips, "You're letting your imagination run away with you again, Malcolm. I'm fine - there's no mysterious woman in my past." His eyes twinkled, "Lately."

Malcolm smiled, "Whatever you say, Mac. Just don't let the sight of two lovebirds drive you away. If we have to we'll take off on a fishing trip or something if they get too nauseating."

"Deal," the Scot climbed into his car, preparing to spend the day in the city.

******

Mahleah sat in the plane, pretending to be asleep. Her thoughts were racing. How could she go through with this? Why couldn't Alex see that she was only going through the motions?

Her particular brand of friendly flirting and reserve had worked with him. She still hadn't slept with him, but she knew that couldn't be much further off. The first time they'd kissed, her mind had gone on a mental vacation and let her mouth act on its own. Surely she could do the same with sex as well. He was an attractive man and she enjoyed his company. Maybe he wasn't the love of her life, but neither was Walter and she'd had a blissful affair with him. What was different here?

An inner voice wouldn't let her buy that logic though. She and Walter had been friends and still were. It made a big difference. She couldn't really be friends with Alex because he didn't know the real her. Nearly every word she spoke to him was a lie if not in content than in intent. Then, of course, there was always the fact that she had to betray him eventually.

How could she manage to get through this?

********

Michael sat in his office looking over the profile of a mission he hoped would provide him with the opportunity to be with Nikita. With Walter's assistance, he would get the details on her panel and they could use Dark Approach to avoid the ever-present eyes of Section.

He nearly hesitated, knowing how big a chance they would be taking. In the end though, life with her, however long he could manage it, was worth the gamble. What right did Madeline or Operations have to arbitrarily decide that they would no longer be allowed to see each other? They risked their lives every day on behalf of Section, surely it wasn't wrong to expect in return, the right to have some semblance of a normal life? Maybe they could never settle down and have 2.5 children and a dog, but they could have each other.

Of course, if Nikita didn't want to take the risk he wouldn't push it. She had to want to be with him as much as he with her for it to make any sort of sense. It wasn't worth putting her life in danger if she wasn't as committed to him as he was to her. He would understand if she wasn't, and accept her decision. If she wanted this as badly as he did, however, then he would move heaven and earth to see that someday, somehow they would have a better solution than meeting on the sly like this.

He absently wondered how Mahleah was doing on her mission. Valentine work was not exactly suited for her temperament. She was too passionate, too honorable...she would hate herself for what she was doing. It was undoubtedly the very reason Madeline had given her the assignment. It was an attempt to eat away at her self-esteem and make her more malleable to the whims of Section. He hoped like hell that they didn't succeed.

Part Eleven

Mahleah's nervousness about meeting the rest of Alex's family vanished after she met Malcolm Coffey. A big man, he loomed over both her and his son who was a couple of inches shorter than Mahleah.

"This is Miss Collins, I assume," he said with a pleasant voice and kissed her hand.

She looked at Alex, "Well, I see where you got that habit."

"Good to know he picked up something I tried to teach him," Malcolm chuckled. "Sit down, my dear, and tell me about yourself."

She sat and wondered what to say. "What would you like to know?" she asked.

"Anything, everything. I've never seen Alex so happy before and I want to know more about the object of his affection than the fact that she's lovely. Collins, is that an Irish name?"

"Yes," she answered. Going on the old adage that it's best for a liar to stick as closely as possible to the truth, she continued, "My dad comes from an Irish family and my mom was a Scot."

"Hmmm, I guess that makes you doubly Celtic. Tell us about your mom."

She swallowed, "I'm afraid I can't tell you much. She died when I was a little girl."

His blue-gray eyes gazed at her compassionately, "I'm sorry to hear that. What about your father?"

"He fell apart after Mom died. He started drinking and then one day he shot himself."

Alex took her hand and squeezed it. Malcolm's face was concerned.

"How old were you?" he asked.

"Twelve," she answered. "After that I went to live with my grandparents."

Malcolm sighed, "Let's talk about something more pleasant. Alex tells me you're a singer."

"You should hear her, Dad. She's got the best voice I've ever heard."

"As if you're any sort of impartial judge," Malcolm smiled. "So, young lady what kinds of music do you like?"

"Many different kinds," she answered honestly.

"Dad doesn't think it's music if it's not Motown," Alex laughed.

"I like Motown," Mahleah said easily.

"You'll have to sing for me one day," Malcolm declared. "Now, Alex, why don't you take her out and show her around the place until dinner is ready. Make sure you're not terribly late," he added. "I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," he scolded his son. "Now, get out of here. It's much too pretty to stay indoors."

******

As they walked outside, Alex puzzled over his father's big surprise. "I'm guessing he's invited someone special to dinner," he decided. "In fact, I think he had an old friend staying with him while we were in Paris."

"So the old friend could be the surprise," she concluded.

"Unless Marie slipped in a day early," he suggested.

She linked an arm with his, "Tell me more about your sister."

"Well, she's a senior at Vanderbilt majoring in psychology. She works very hard, but when she decides to cut loose she plays hard too. Mom's going to have a tough time keeping her out of her new clothes." He paused. "If the old friend is the person I'm thinking of Marie will have a fit. She's had a crush on him for the longest time." He glanced at Mahleah, "If it's him, I might want to keep an eye on you as well."

She laughed, "Why?"

"Well, as I recall he was a very handsome man - at least that's what I've heard all the females around here say. They were always swooning over him. It's been five years or so since we've seen him, though, maybe he's gotten fat and wrinkled."

She took his hand and squeezed it, "Don't worry Alex," she said lightly. "I'm hunk-proof."

With a start she remembered the long-ago conversation she'd had with Michael about this very topic. It was true that a pretty face was not her downfall - she was more a sucker for complex, broody types, she thought mockingly. In which case poor Alex didn't stand a chance.

"What?" he asked with amusement.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she didn't want to go through the same lines she had with Musashi. It felt too personal, too intimate to get into with a man she had to betray. "I've met a lot of good-looking guys in my life. They have to have more than that going for them."

He raised their joined hands to his lips, "I'm so glad you're picky. To be fair though, this guy always had more going for him than looks - he's genuinely nice. It'll be good to see him again."

"I look forward to meeting him," she said warmly.

*******

When MacLeod returned, he found Malcolm in high spirits.

"Ah, there you are, Mac," he said exuberantly. "My boy has brought home a delightful girl. Easy on the eyes, but with fire and intelligence in her face. Quite tall, I must say."

Wonderful, Duncan thought. Someone to remind him of all he had recently lost.

"Yes, I think Miss Collins will liven this place up. It will be good to have young people around for the weekend."

"Miss Collins, huh? You sound like you have a bit of a yen for her yourself," Mac joked.

Malcolm smiled, "Oh, if I were a few years younger and single, of course, I'd give Alex a run for his money." He scrutinized his old friend. "I'd say Alex will find your presence a little unnerving around his new sweetheart. You've always had the devil's own luck with women."

Duncan laughed, "Alex can rest easy. I have no interest in stealing his new girlfriend."

Malcolm's wife, Laura, came into the room. She was stylishly dressed as befitted a woman who'd just returned from the shows at Paris, but her eyes held only friendly delight not polite reserve when she saw Duncan.

"Mac, I'm glad you returned. It's been so long since we've seen you."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you Laura. You're looking as beautiful as ever."

She gave a little laugh, "And you're as charming as ever even if you need glasses. I'm not so young any more."

"That doesn't mean you're not beautiful," he said warmly.

"I was worried about the wrong woman it seems," Malcolm smiled. "You're going after my wife."

They all laughed as Duncan protested, "I'm not trying to go after anyone."

They heard voices in the hall, and Duncan stiffened as he felt the warning tingle of an approaching Immortal. Alex Coffey came through the door with his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a woman. He was giving her a kiss on the cheek and she was laughing, but her eyes were scanning the room for him. They met his and shock coursed through his nerves down to his toes.

Alex pulled away from her to grab Duncan's hand and slap him on the back.

"Mac, it's so good to see you," he beamed. "Let me introduce you to Mahleah Collins."

Collins? He thought dully, as she masked her surprise and held out her hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr...." She trailed off.

"Mahleah, this is Duncan MacLeod," Alex announced cheerily. "He's a dear old friend of the family. Call him Mac, we all do."

She nodded politely, "It's so good to meet you, Mac. Alex has told me so much about you."

He wanted to laugh or cry or scream, anything but the words that finally came from his lips, "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Collins."

Part Twelve

Mahleah's mind was reeling so much from the shock of seeing Duncan again and preventing him from blowing her cover that she hardly knew what she was saying. When the room finally clicked back into focus, she remembered her comment about Alex saying so much about him. Everything but the most important point, she thought grimly, like his damn name.

Somehow she had managed to pull off the feat of pretending it was the first time they'd met, and after the initial shock he'd played along. She could feel his eyes watching her though - assessing, analyzing, searching for an explanation for her appearance. Without looking at him she could tell he disapproved.

Alex was telling his parents the story of how he had met her when Mac silently glided up beside her.

"Miss Collins?" he asked in a very low voice.

"That's right," she matched his whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I was ordered to leave Paris, remember? Besides I'm an old friend of the family. More to the point, what are you doing here?"

She was saved from replying by the abrupt entry of a small blonde young woman that Mahleah assumed was Marie. She was giving Alex a hug when she spotted MacLeod.

"Duncan!" she cried and flew across the room to embrace him.

"Little Marie," he smiled.

"Oh, I'm all grown up now," she declared with a wink, "and I've been waiting for you."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, upon which he offered Alex's petite sister his arm, "Shall I escort you to dinner then?" he inquired.

"Absolutely."

Alex approached Mahleah, "Not to be a copycat, but shall we?"

She took his arm and they all moved towards the dining room.

"After dinner," he was telling her, "we can dance on the terrace. It's the night before the full moon - should be romantic."

"Sounds wonderful," she agreed, her heart sinking.