Elena sat at the small oak desk. Her back was stiff, and her eyes were tired from working at Michael's laptop computer. She stretched and looked out the window of the small cottage at the ever-present rain, then back at the blue screen. "Access Denied" blinked at her. The man who'd never denied her anything had left files that she was unable to access. She'd tried for days, employing every password she thought he might have used. Nothing had worked.

Elena closed the laptop. She'd kept it, knowing she would need it for school. She'd even ordered the books for her new classes from an on-line book store. It had come in very handy, but there were those damn files that she couldn't access–-files that were taking up precious space on the hard drive. Files that Michael felt important enough to hide from her. She'd often wished she were computer literate enough to delete them, but apparently, Michael had safe-guarded the files to prevent that as well.

What could those files contain? Michael had always been a quiet and reserved man, but she'd known that he felt things passionately and deeply. Most of the time, he'd been a tender and considerate lover, but there had been other times when the intense desperation of his passion had almost frightened her. He'd never hurt her physically, but he'd had depths that she'd never been able to plumb. Still, she'd loved him and had hoped to spend the rest of her life unlocking his secret self.

The birth of their son Adam had helped him partially shed the dark cloak of reserve he'd worn since their first meeting. There were still his long absences for business, his occasional injuries–oh, always explained with glib reassurances that never quite satisfied her. She'd been too afraid of losing him to complain.

She'd fallen in love with him that day in the park---head over heels. Her dog Watson had bowled him over and nearly licked him to death. Watson had always been very protective of her. He couldn't have made a mistake in judging Michael, could he? Could she?

Now, she wondered. She didn't love Michael any less for his seeming deceptions. The overwhelming grief of his loss had begun to ebb, and she stood on the verge of a new chapter in her life.

Could she turn the page without understanding what had happened before?

It had been six months since his death . . . and her father's. The explanations offered by the police were unsatisfactory to say the least. She could understand that her father had been a terrorist with a multitude of enemies. She was supposed to believe that Michael had been an innocent bystander, but if that were the case, why was she still alive? Why hadn't the shooter shot her, too? He'd taken an enormous risk by leaving her alive.

Nothing about the entire situation made sense. There were too many coincidences: her sudden illness, her father contacting her after so many years, her rapid recovery, then seeing Michael and her father executed before her very eyes. She'd often wished for amnesia. People often blocked out traumatic experiences like that. Why couldn't she?

She had too many unanswered questions . . . and too much time. Classes would not begin for another month. Perhaps, she could locate someone who knew more about computers than she did. Perhaps, she would at least see part of what Michael had hidden from her.

Michael strode through the steel gray halls of Section One. The profiler had given him the East Timor mission profile, and it needed an intensive review. He much preferred to do his own profiling, but his other responsibilities didn't permit it.

As he passed Systems, he saw Nikita leaning over Birkoff's shoulder. Unable to hear them, he knew that she was pestering the young computer expert about something that, more likely than not, was totally inappropriate. Birkoff was shaking his head, and Nikita was nodding hers, cajoling him with her luminous wide smile. Whatever she wanted from Birkoff, she'd have. A point of fact, Nikita could wheedle about anything from anybody. It was part of her charm.

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. The sight of her made him want to smile, but he reined the impulse. It wouldn't serve if he walked around looking happy or even pleased. Madeline and Operations would suspect ulterior motives. Given the high level of surveillance Section One maintained on its operatives, he was sure they were aware that his and Nikita's relationship had taken a new direction.

Frankly, he didn't care if they had a new camera mounted in the ceiling of Nikita's bedroom. He'd determined that he would no longer be deterred from making love to Nikita . . . or from loving her. He'd given Section One enough of his life and soul.

Their dinners together had been gut wrenching when it'd come time for him to leave. Eventually, the passion between them had been impossible to deny. After Nikita's return from seeing Elena and Adam in Beauvais, they'd finally made love again–for the first time in over a year. It had been a release born of desperate need... need for one another...need to forget the past.

Frantic.

Tender.

Overwhelming.

They were together now, for as long as Section One would allow it. His desire and need for Nikita still unnerved him. It was as if he were anemic and she the blood transfusion. He'd been in Section long enough to know a need was a weakness to be exploited. He waited. He'd know soon enough. Likely, too soon.

The Saturday afternoon crowd of parents and children had thinned. Mary Raney breathed a sigh of relief as she watched an exuberant family consisting of one mother and five children between the ages of four and ten, exit the front door. Their purchase of twenty-five pounds worth of children's books made Mary's cash register happy, but it had been a great wear on her nerves.

The old-fashioned bell jangled once more, and another mother and son in tow entered. The new arrivals appeared to be of Indian ancestry. Of course, that wasn't unusual in a university city like Oxford. The little boy rushed to the back of the store to the children's section as if magnetized. His mother approached Mary's desk.

"Excuse me, do you have the latest Harry Potter book?"

Mary noted that her accent was English public school and melodious.

"I've been trying to find it. Even the Internet bookstores are out. My son thinks he must have it immediately," she said deliberately, but with a beautiful smile that showed her white even teeth. "You know how little boys are when they can't have the very thing they think they must?"

Mary smiled and replied. "Of course, they're impossible. They never outgrow it, either. And you're in luck because our new shipment of the latest Harry Potter book was delivered an hour ago. The delivery is still in the back, but I'd be happy to find it for you."

"Would you? Thank you so much. We've only been in Oxford for a month. It will keep Adam occupied while he is waiting for his term to start, as am I."

"You're a student as well?"

"Yes, I'm going to complete my degree in education. My studies were interrupted by marriage and the birth of my son. I suppose I've left it a little late."

The sadness of her self-deprecating smile told Mary that there was more to the story of her new customer. "Not at all. By the way, I'm Mary Raney. I hope you'll return to us often."

"Elena Samuels," the woman replied, extending her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mary."

Mary watched as a concerned look crossed Elena's face as she turned in the direction of the children's area. "He'll be fine, Elena. I'll find that book for you. I'll be right back."

"Thank you, I suppose I am a little over-protective."

Mary left Elena while she searched for the Harry Potter shipment. The much-desired book was quickly located, and Mary brought it, along with an armful of others meant for display, to Elena.

"Shall I put you on the customer list for the next one? We generally send a notice when a new one is about to be released."

"That would be so thoughtful. Yes, please." Elena turned once more in the direction of the children's section. "Adam, are you ready? We have the Harry Potter book."

Zoom. Adam arrived and hugged his mother about her thighs. "Thanks, Mommy."

Together Elena and Mary laughed. He was a beautiful boy with dark shining hair, sparkling brown eyes and a light honey complexion.

Elena looked around the bookstore. "I bought my text books on the web, but there's nothing like coming to the bookstore and being able to touch them and browse away an afternoon, is there?"

"I have to agree," Mary replied. "What do you like to read when you're not studying?" After all, it was her job to sell books.

Elena's dark honeyed skin flushed. "I have a terrible vice," she admitted. "I love mysteries . . . and books on gardening. I'm afraid the garden where I live has been sadly neglected. I need to do something about it before I start classes."

Mary nodded. "We have some wonderful gardening books and thrillers, as one of my other customers calls them."

Elena appeared to think for a moment. "All right. Do you have anything new by Anne Perry? Either series will do."

"I have A Breach of Promise. Have you read that one?"

"No, I'll take it," Elena agreed, then added, "I"m very fortunate, one of my neighbors was walking by my cottage the other day, and she offered to assist me with my garden. My late husband had a wonderful green thumb, but mine is more of the brown and shriveled variety."

Mary laughed at Elena's description, then realized that her widowed status must be new. She apologized, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to be inconsiderate."

Elena swallowed and attempted a smile. "It's something I've had to become accustomed to. He's been gone for six months, but I don't know if . . . ." she paused, blinking rapidly. "Look, here I am boring you with my life story. I'm so sorry."

Mary reached her hand toward Elena, "No, really. I'm sorry for your loss. I know that this is very forward in British terms, but would you like to have lunch sometime? You'd really be doing me a favor, since I haven't been in Oxford very long, either. I could use a friend. We could work on your garden together. I've already seen to mine."

Elena gave Mary a heartbreaking smile, "Yes, that would be lovely."

"Mommy, let's go. I want to go home and read my new book," Adam insisted, yanking on his mother's jeans.

"All right, Adam. One more minute," she insisted firmly.

Mary took a bookstore business card from the counter and wrote her number on the back. "Call me anytime, Elena. We'll have lunch, go for a walk, talk, whatever."

"All right, I will, soon, I promise. Good-bye, Mary." Then turning to her impatient son, Elena said, "Now, we'll go.

"Bye, Elena." Mary watched Elena as she ushered her son out the door. She didn't envy the young widow with a small child to raise alone, but at least Elena had someone with whom to share her life. Mary reached under the counter and opened her purse. She removed a creased brochure that advertised a seminar on French poetry. Michael's picture was still clear in her mind. Nevertheless, she hadn't been able to discard the brochure. It remained tangible evidence that he had existed, however briefly, in her life.

Nikita gave a light tap on Michael's office door, then breezed in without waiting for a response. Michael sat in quiet contemplation with a frown across his handsome face and stared at his laptop screen. "Michael? Have a minute?" she asked.

The look on his face softened, or at least Nikita thought it did. It was difficult to tell with Michael. Normally, he permitted himself no expression of emotion while in Section One. On the other hand, she'd observed his face so closely and so often, that she was confident that she detected a minuscule elevation of the left side of his mouth . . . his soft tender mouth that ravaged hers when they were alone. A volume of love poetry could be written about his sensually curved lips . . . should be written, in fact. Unfortunately, she wasn't much of a poet, unless naughty limericks counted as poetry. There once was an operative in France, who ....

"Nikita?" he prompted and, at the same time, reached to activate the security scrambler in his office.

"Uh, sorry, my mind drifted a bit." She leaned over his desk and smiled into his crystal green eyes. "I wondered what time you might be through?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. We may have a briefing soon. East Timor is heating up. This mission was set for next week, but we may have to implement sooner."

Nikita eased into the chair directly across from his desk. "I'll wait then, hang out." She crossed her legs, showing them off to their best advantage. Her short skirt hiked up, barely covering her buttocks. She gave it a nominal tug, hoping Michael would notice. Her new Sergio Rossi stilettos were quite expensive and impractical, but she knew they had that Come Fu#$ Me effect that enticed him. Was he as focused as he pretended?

Michael leaned forward, his mouth twitching. He blinked.

Ah ha! "Like'em?" she asked, unable to keep from grinning.

Michael's eyes narrowed as he gave a brief nod in the affirmative.

Nikita's heart rate kicked up a notch. She chewed her bottom lip and asked with her most innocent air, "Want to try'em on?"

Michael rolled his eyes back and shook his head. "Ni-ki-ta."

"I know. I know. You're busy."

"You should get some rest. It might be your last chance for a while," Michael suggested.

Nikita reached forward and began a light caress across the back of Michael's hand. Her voice dropped a notch, accentuating its throaty timbre. "I just think I could rest better if you were with me."

Michael's hand captured hers with a gentle movement, brushing his fingertips with feathery grace across her knuckles. Nikita felt the reverence in his touch, as if he couldn't quite believe they were together now.

"Not here," he murmured.

Nikita sighed. The spell was broken. They were in Section One, for pity's sake. What was she thinking? "Anything I can do to help?" she asked, still desiring to linger in his office . . . in his presence.

Michael studied the monitor again, then smiled at her. "I'll download the mission parameters into the other laptop. See whatever you think will need alteration, if we go live sooner than expected. Think of it as an exercise." Michael's attention returned to his monitor, his fingers flying over the keys.

"Okay, I'll get right on it." Nikita beamed. Michael's challenge made her feel as if he respected her as an equal and valued her input . . . or maybe he just wanted her close by. That was okay, too.

**********

Mary had been delighted when Elena had called her for a luncheon date merely two days after their first meeting. It was high time that the two of them got on with their lives. A young widow and a divorcee with painful histories, together they made an incomparable pair.

In spite of all the turmoil she'd been through, Mary knew it was nothing compared to Elena's suffering. Still, they were both engaged in reinventing their lives. She admired Elena's determined spirit to continue, and on reflection, she envied her deep devotion to her son.

Mary glanced at her watch and realized she was five minutes late. She'd only worked a half day at the bookstore, but two dawdling browsers made check-out a tedious process. She rushed toward the rendezvous point and spotted Elena and Adam as they walked from the opposite direction. Elena wore a gauzy white blouse tucked into black jeans, with jute sandals.

"Elena," Mary called and waved.

"Hi," Adam cried, tugging on his mother's hand and urging her to hurry. "Mommy, it's the lady from the bookstore."

The distance between them lessened. Mary heard Elena's patient response. "Yes, of course it is, Adam. I told you we were going to meet her for lunch." Elena smiled. "He's been so excited. This is the first time we've met anyone for lunch since we've been here."

Mary smiled. "I'm almost as excited as he is, Elena." Then bending to Adam's level, she said, "Hello, Adam, it's good to see you again."

Adam gave her a tiny grin, then turned suddenly shy toward his mother.

"Adam, say Hello to Ms Raney. Remember your manners. Your father would have wanted you to always be polite." Elena ruffled her son's shining dark hair with affection.

Adam glanced up at Mary with a gleam in his nearly onyx eyes. "Hello, Ms. Raney. I always do what my Daddy said to do. I'm a good boy." Then looking up at his mother asked, "Aren't I, Mommy?"

Elena crouched at his level and hugged her son fiercely. "You're a very good boy, and your Daddy would be very proud of you." Then she drew herself back up to her full height. "All right, shall we go in?"

Mary watched Elena as she blinked back the tears and placed a brave smile on her face. She had to admit, the young mother had courage.

The trio entered the University Terrace Tea Room. There was already a flurry of activity with the usual lunch crowd of students, teachers, tourists and locals, but they were quickly ushered to a newly vacated table by a bright sunny window.

Mary looked around the tea room. The walls were painted a periwinkle blue, and white lace Priscilla curtains graced the windows. Billowy green ferns were placed strategically around the room. Bright yellow linen table cloths covered the white wicker tables. Comfortable cushions were covered in a cheery blue and yellow print. The effect was light and spring-like and a definite mood elevator.

Elena smiled. "It's charming, isn't it? I'm glad we're doing this."

"Me, too."

Mary and Elena began to talk as Adam busied himself with running a small Matchbox truck up and down the window sill.

Elena began, "Tell me about you, Mary. I think I've already bored you with my troubles."

If you only knew, Mary thought. "Well, my husband and I divorced several months ago, and I wanted to get away—from him, from the States. I wanted a big change, so I moved here. Not much to tell really."

Elena glanced up from the menu. Mary thought she saw a slight look of skepticism flash across her luncheon partner's face. "But why Oxford? Do you have family here?"

Mary sighed. She knew she would have to come up with a better story. "The details are a little sordid," she began in a hushed tone, glancing at Adam. "I chose Oxford because I saw some University catalogues in my attorney's office. I think he was considering sending his son here. It was a whim, but it's so lovely, I've fallen in love with the town."

Elena flashed a radiant smile. "That's an excellent reason for staying here." She looked down at the menu and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to bare your soul to me. We've only just met."

Guilt smacked Mary in the face. She hoped it didn't show. "I'm pretty boring, except for the tawdry circumstances, of course. They weren't my doing. No my husband," Mary glanced at Adam again, who was patently ignoring them in favor of a Matchbox truck derby on the window ledge. "Well, you know."

Elena smiled ruefully, "I understand."

Mary, wishing to change the subject quickly, asked, "What shall we have for lunch?" She quickly looked at her menu for the first time.

"Well, I know what I don't want, boiled mutton," Elena offered with a grimace and a shiver.

"Sounds ghastly."

"It is. Two years ago, my husband and I brought Adam to London. He insisted that we try some of the local dishes. It was horrid."

Adam's attention must have been piqued by the mention of his father. He piped, "Yes, Daddy took us to the zoo. I saw all the animals, even tigers." His eyes grew round as he curled his fingers into claws and growled at Mary. "Grrr."

"Adam," Elena remonstrated, but Mary saw the smile she attempted to hide behind her napkin.

A young waitress interrupted the trio. "Tea?" she asked in a bored tone.

"Yes, please," Mary and Elena answered simultaneously. "And a glass of milk," Elena added. "A small one."

"Anything else?" the waitress prompted.

"Salad with vinegar and oil," Elena replied, "and the child's special for my son."

"The roast beef special with Yorkshire pudding," Mary ordered, wondering if she'd made a mistake. She shrugged, as if to say. It might be good.

After the waitress left, Mary said, "I should be ordering the salad, and you the roast beef. You're awfully thin." Then realizing how rude she'd been, apologized, "Sorry, I have the unfortunate American habit of saying exactly what I'm thinking."

"No, it's all right. I've had trouble maintaining my weight since Michael died."

"Michael? Your husband's name was Michael?" A chill went through Mary. Michael's must all be memorable men. She wasn't sure she'd ever forget the one she'd met, either.

"Yes, that's right. He was a wonderful man," Elena murmured.

Again they were interrupted by the waitress who served them quite efficiently, in spite of her nonchalant attitude.

Mary wanted to hear more about Elena's Michael. She certainly couldn't share any details about her particular Michael. "Tell me about your husband. Maybe it would help to talk?"

Elena picked at her salad with the tines of her fork before answering. "He was very handsome, intelligent, talented. He was an architect, and he was away a great deal on project sites. The firm he worked for dealt with large projects in far away places," she sighed. "When we married, I never dreamt how much he would be away from home, but I finally grew accustomed to it. I learned to be very self-sufficient while he was away, but when he was at home, it was wonderful. He spent as much time with Adam as he was able. Adam adored him. I adored him." Elena swallowed, unable to continue.

"I'm sorry. Maybe it wasn't a good idea at all," Mary said. "At least he was a good man, and you were happy."

"Yes." Elena applied herself to the salad, and Mary did the same to her roast beef. It was tender and delicious, with an aroma like no other.

Adam spoke without warning and began digging in the pocket of his jeans. "I have a picture of my Daddy. Want to see?"

**********

"Of course, Adam. I'd love to see your Daddy's picture." Mary couldn't resist taking another a bite of the succulent roast beef before she leaned toward Adam's outstretched hand. It proved to be a picture taken in the fall. Adam and Elena were being hugged by...."

Stunned, Mary gasped . . . and aspirated a chunk of roast beef. She couldn't breathe . . . or cough. She kept trying to clear the obstruction, but couldn't. She felt her face grow red with the effort. She grabbed her throat and heaved unsuccessfully

"Mary? Can you speak, cough?" Elena asked.

"Mommy! Do the ‘imlick,' Do the ‘imlick.' Like Daddy said, when somebody is choking," Adam squealed and then jumped up into the seat of his chair.

I'm going to die. Everybody is looking at me and I'm going to die, right here, right now. Heimlich, anyone? Listen to the kid! Mary attempted the maneuver herself, but consciousness was fading.

Elena sprang from her chair and rushed to Mary's side of the table. She gave a sharp blow to the middle of Mary's back. "Mary?"

Mary's head swayed. She felt Elena grab her about the ribs and thrust inward with her fists. Once. Twice.

A clump of roast beef exploded from her trachea, flew across the tea room and landed . . . somewhere.

Mary gasped for air. She filled her lungs, though nothing had ever felt so sweet as to breathe. The fact that at least thirty staid, stiff-upper-lipped Brits were staring at her in amazement didn't matter. She could breathe!

"T–Thank you," she managed.

"Are you all right now?" Elena asked, then reached for a glass of water. "Here."

Adam hopped down from his seat and walked over and stood by Mary. His small hand patted hers, as he watched her with big brown eyes. "Mary's okay, Mommy. You saved her" he announced in his small piping voice.

"I–I think so." Mary took the glass, held it to her lips and sipped. Michael. Oh Lord, what am I going to tell her? Nothing. At least, not until I've had time to think this through. She took another sip. With any luck at all, Elena wouldn't connect Michael's picture with her choking.

"Excuse me." Mary heard the British voice behind her and turned. Her neighbor Mina Griswald stood there, offering her a napkin. Elena had a puzzled expression.

"I have one, thank you."

Mina smiled. "No dear, you don't understand. Your projectile landed in my lap. It's yours."

Mary felt her face flush again with the heat of embarrassment. "Oh, I am so sorry. How gross! I'll pay for having your dress cleaned. I could just die."

Mina gave her a rueful smile. "Well, my dear, you almost did. If it hadn't been for the swift intervention of your companion, you surely would have."

"Oh, how rude of me. Mina, this is a friend of mine, Elena Samuels and her son Adam. Elena, this is my neighbor Mina Griswald."

"I met Elena and her lovely son Adam recently while I was having my afternoon walk. How nice to see you again, my dear." Mina extended her hand in greeting.

"Of course I remember. You promised to make some suggestions for my garden," Elena responded. "I'm afraid I haven't had time to take advantage of your kind offer."

"Wonderful! We could work on it together," Mary announced with excitement. Mina's arrival had distracted Elena from the real reason she'd choked.

"Won't you join us, Mina?" Elena asked.

"No thank you. I was preparing to leave when Mary started choking. Don't worry, I'll be around, and we'll sort out those bewildered begonias. Goodbye dears. Goodbye young man."

The trio made their farewells, and Mina departed the tea room. Mary took a deep breath and exhaled. "Well, what should I do for an encore?"

Elena gasped, "An encore?"

"For the rest of the entertainment? What do you think I should do? I shouldn't stop now. I'm obviously on a roll here." Mary glanced around at the other tea room patrons. Now that the emergency was over, they either appeared embarrassed for her or oblivious that anything had occurred.

A snicker erupted from Elena. She'd tried to hide it behind her napkin, but failed.

Mary leaned forward and added in a stage whisper, "I'm sure that the rest of their lunch will pale in comparison."

Elena began to giggle and couldn't stop. Adam looked at his mother with a surprised expression. Elena's shoulders started to shake, and still she giggled. Mary couldn't resist. The mirth was infectious. "I think we'd better leave before we're asked to leave," Mary suggested.

Elena could only nod. Mary was gladdened by her new friend's laughter. Heaven only knew how long it had been since she'd felt like laughing. Mary quickly paid the tab, the three of them exiting the tea room with less decorum that other patrons.

Elena stopped and put her arms around Mary. "Thank you for a delightful lunch, M-Mary," she said, before breaking into laughter once more.

"My pleasure, since you saved my life."

"My Mommy's a hero," Adam said, nodding his head for emphasis. "Daddy would be proud of you, Mommy!" Adam gave his mother a tremendous hug.

"Yes, I suppose he would, Adam." Elena sobered briefly, then asked, "Who's for ice cream?"

Three simultaneous "Me's" sounded in the bright summer air. Mary felt the bond of friendship solidify between them. If only she didn't have a decision to make. It could be delayed, but sooner or later . . . . Well, it would just have to be later, because she wasn't spoiling this day for anything or anybody.

***********

Michael had felt torn as he'd completed his portion of the East Timore profile. The possibility for personnel losses remained great. He'd done what he could to lessen the odds, but he never felt it was enough. He'd removed the shiny disc, touching it gingerly, and carried it to Operations.

"This is it?" Operations asked, taking time to divert his attention from George's latest instructions.

Standing with hands folded in front of his body, Michael affirmed, "Yes."

"Loss projections?"

"Twenty percent."

"Personnel recommended?"

"Abeyance operatives in the most vulnerable positions."

‘Mmm." Operations nodded. "Good. Egress?"

"Difficult at best. That's when the team is most exposed."

"Provision?"

"APC escort for incursion and egress."

"That's not foolproof."

"No, but they're superior to the armored van."

"All right, Michael," Operations sighed. "Briefing in thirty minutes."

Michael nodded, spun on his heel and left Operations' office. Swiftly he navigated the steel stairway and went to Nikita's work station. He stopped at the doorway and watched for a moment, as she worked before her monitor. As usual, a confusion of emotions struck him. Fear for her safety on the upcoming mission, the desire to protect her and knowledge that he couldn't offer her special treatment–she wouldn't accept it anyway. Fear and knowledge warred with need, his need to touch her fair hair and caress her ivory skin.

He entered the staging area and leaned over her nearly naked shoulder.

She looked up, her blue eyes widening in surprise. "Profile's done already?"

"Yes. Briefing in thirty minutes," he said, before murmuring softly in her ear, "Follow me in five minutes."

Nikita nodded and checked her watch.

The thought of a few stolen moments with Nikita set anticipation bubbling through Michael's bloodstream like a fine French Champagne. The experience, always heady, couldn't be repeated too often without danger of intoxication. Michael had always known it would be that way with Nikita, once he let the barriers down.

There were no obstacles now. Section One's rule about relationships between operatives was violated every day. That had never been the deterrent that had kept him from enjoying a relationship with Nikita. He hadn't been able to ignore his ties to Adam and Elena, nor could he simply use Nikita in that manner. His ever-growing feelings for Nikita had centered him in a difficult time after Simone's death. Those emotions, so intense, had nearly overwhelmed him, and had been greatly at odds with what he'd come to feel for Elena.

Conflicted . . . split in half . . . . He'd wanted to tell Nikita more than once about his deep cover mission and Elena and Adam. Ultimately, his control and training had held. He'd maintained his cover until Nikita had arrived at his front door.

Mon Dieu, what a shock it'd been.

The click of stiletto heels against the concrete floor snapped Michael to the present. Nikita walked toward him, slowly. He didn't mind. He devoured her image—tall, slender, swaying, dressed in a sinful black dress that would be banned in any other office environment. His Nikita was a rebel. She'd have worn it anyway.

"Michael." His name hung in the air, barely a breath from Nikita's lips.

It was always the same. Michael wanted to enjoy her visually before touching her. He knew it made her impatient, but it was part and parcel of his pleasure. Nikita was more direct. She always had been. She stepped into his personal space, while he fingered a loose tendril of sunshine at her neck. He felt her body's response to his touch. She pressed her pliant torso against his. They were nearly the same height. She was his equal in every way that mattered.

"We're going out soon?" she asked.

"Yes, we don't have much time."

"Then stop wasting it," Nikita demanded as her arms went around his shoulders, she pressed her lips against his. Michael's body responded as it always did to her lips or touch. He grew rigid.

Innate caution and good sense prevented Mary from revealing her troubling knowledge to Elena. The courageous young woman had been through enough pain to last a lifetime. She wasn't about to destroy the little happiness Elena had known with Michael. Just move on when the mission is over . . . . Well, Michael what- ever-the-hell your name really is, if I ever see you again . . . . What would I do? she wondered. Run for cover? That would make the most sense. No conscience, no semblance of decency, he deserved a swift kick in the pants. Actually, Michael deserved worse than that, but she wasn't prepared to take a life, no matter how much he merited that ultimate punishment.

She looked at the music stand in the corner of the room. Michael was something all right. He hadn't lied about playing the cello. As Elena's husband, he'd played the cello so little Adam could sleep at night.

More than anything, Mary wanted to smash something and looked around the room. The room was furnished with mementoes of a life had she'd never experienced. One of them would do quite nicely.

Mary grabbed a porcelain lady in a ruffled blue dress and threw it to the floor with all the force she could muster. Slivers and chunks of ceramic material scattered all over the dark oak floor. It made such a satisfying sound she looked for another. She spotted the companion piece, a gentleman who'd previously bent to kiss the lady's hand. Strangely, the statuette reminded her of Michael. He hit the floor with a resounding crack as she swept him off the walnut side table.

"There! That's much better," Mary said aloud, then headed for the dustpan and broom, her feet crunching in the remnants of her angry tirade.

It was Nikita's first experience inside an armored personnel carrier (APC). It was cramped, hot and smelly. She knew it wasn't polite to comment on the host's housekeeping methods, and she barely managed to keep from wrinkling her nose in disgust. Only Michael's warning look prevented her open criticism.

She'd already protested as to the aim of the mission. They weren't in Indonesia to curtail the massacre of innocents. They were to act as liaison between the Agency and the rebels. Most likely they'd be slaughtered like everyone else that showed their heads.

Their convoy had already been attacked by mortar fire twice, nearly rocking the APC off its treads. She glared at Michael's sleeping form. How the man could sleep in a hellish tin can masquerading as a vehicle, she didn't know. Years of practice, she guessed. She also knew he could and would awaken the instant they arrived at their destination. Not only would he awaken, he would be primed for peak performance.

In truth, Nikita envied his equanimity. In any situation, Michael could be depended upon to react appropriately, never going beyond what was necessary to achieve a target. He was a marvel, and that was only the operative. Marvel as an adjective was an understatement when it came to the man. As a man and lover he was divine.

Another round of mortar fire jarred the APC. Michael's eyes opened. "Are we there yet?" he asked with a half smile.

"No, and if you ask me again, I'll turn this thing around, and we'll go home," Nikita retorted, ignoring the shocked expressions around her. No one dared to tease Michael the way she did.

Michael made no response, but Nikita saw the restrained twinkle in his eye. How like him to diffuse the uncomfortable conditions in which they found themselves. Of course, only Nikita understood Michael's oblique sense of humor.

Lorrie, an operative with short dark hair, looked at Nikita with wide brown eyes, leaned forward and asked, "Michael made a joke?"

"Yes, he did," Nikita murmured, attempting to keep a straight face.

Lorrie looked askance at her taciturn team leader and shivered. "How could you tell?" she asked in a stage whisper.

Nikita scratched her chin and pretended to consider whether she should clue the young operative about Michael's body language. She leaned toward Lorrie and responded in with her own sotto voce, "You have to watch his eyes. The left one whirls in a circle when he's joking."

"Really?"

Nikita erupted in a belly laugh. Michael's eyes snapped open. "Ni-ki-ta." Three syllables . . . full of meaning, warning actually.

Lorrie gazed at Michael intently, then turned back to Nikita. "He's not joking now, is he?"

Nikita literally wiped the big grin from her face. "No, he's not." She leaned her head back against the wall of the APC, shut her eyes and thought about other times when those three syllables had been uttered with desire and need. God, I hate APC's, she thought.

The early morning sun cast long shadows in the back garden that was overdue for thinning and reorganizing. Elena sat on her haunches before a newly worked patch of soil and took a deep breath. The smell of damp earth filled her nostrils, bringing back memories of happier times. During his limited time at home, Michael had always enjoyed working in their spacious yard. He'd attacked each new project with amazing vigor. Curious even now, to think of him as part of the earth. Fitting, but strange. He'd been such a vibrant and healthy man, at one with the environment with his love of growing things.

Angrily Elena turned the earth with a small hand rake. It wasn't fair. Oh, she knew life wasn't always fair, but experiencing the reality made a mockery of all she'd held dear. All their plans for the future. She'd wanted another child, but Michael had cautioned against rushing. Now, she was glad they hadn't had another.

Adam was quite a handful—energetic, intelligent–like his father, but he still required an enormous amount of supervision. His inquisitive nature meant she could never let her guard down. She'd often tried to imagine what Michael was like as a child. He'd probably been a lot like Adam. In spite of the fact that her son resembled her physically, he was his father's son in every way that mattered. At the moment, her son was engrossed in an important enterprise of his own. He was pulling weeds. At least, she hoped they were weeds.

An encroaching shadow alerted Elena that she was not alone. She looked up and was delighted to see her new friend, Mary. "You're out and about early this morning," she said in way of greeting.

Mary squatted beside Elena. "I'm not the only one, I see."

Elena laughed, "No, I thought I'd try to get a head start on this mess." She made a wide, graceful gesture that encompassed the entire garden, a veritable tangle of overgrown and enthusiastic flowers.

"It's even worse than mine was. Mina put mine to rights very quickly. She supervised, of course," Mary giggled. "She almost had me saluting before I was finished. I wasn't able to move for a week after that gardening session."

"Oh my, I'm not sure I'm up to that much activity," Elena said, frowning. "I don't mean to whine, but my endurance isn't quite what it was."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll do the heavy stuff. I've recovered already."

"No, really, I thought I'd hire someone to do it. I don't want to impose," Elena added hastily. "I don't want you to think I was hinting for help. I can afford it. Michael left us very comfortable."

Mary waved away her objections. "Don't be silly. I need the exercise myself. I've been pretty dormant since moving here. Once I settled in, there hasn't been much to do, except for working a couple of days a week."

Elena realized she'd lost track of Adam. "Adam!" she called. "Excuse me. You can't imagine the things he can find to occupy himself, if I'm not careful." Elena jumped up and glanced around the back garden.

"He must have gone inside," Mary offered and headed toward the back door.

Together they entered the house and found the youngster happily ensconced at his mother's desk, carefully removing the batteries from the laptop computer.

"Adam! What are you doing?" Elena asked sharply.

Adam turned his wide brown eyes toward her and responded, "I wanted to see how it worked. These came out and now it won't work, but if I put them back in, it does. Look!" He proudly demonstrated his dexterity.

Elena shook her head in dismay. "What if you've lost the files?"

"No, Mommy. They're still there. They are saved on the hard drive. See?" Adam pointed proudly to the blue screen and blinking cursor. He hit one more key and a menu popped up. "See, it still works."

Elena gave a sigh of relief. "All right. It still works this time. Promise me you won't do that again."

"Okay, Mommy." Adam hung his head, looking contrite, Elena saw the corner of his mouth twitch–-just like his father.

"I mean it, Adam. It's not a toy," she emphasized.

"I know. I'll be good. I promise." As quickly as he'd restored the computer to functional order, he scampered down from the chair and ran from the room.

"Whew. I wish I had his energy," Mary exclaimed with a laugh.

"Me too." Elena's fingers paused over the keys. "I wonder if Michael's private files are still there." She typed in the command that showed all the files on the hard drive. "They're still there," she said with a sigh of relief. "I haven't been able to access them, but at least they're still there."

Mary leaned over her shoulder. "Files you can't access?"

"No, I've tried everything that Michael might have used for a password, but all I get is ‘Access Denied' blinking at me."

"Try it again. Removing the batteries might have done something."

Elena shrugged. It was worth a try. Her graceful fingers flew over the keys. "It worked. I can't believe it." She scrolled down the short list of files listed alphabetically: Adam, Elena, SuisseB.

Mary backed away. "I'll uh, give you some privacy. Those look pretty personal."

Tears came to Elena's eyes. She was almost afraid to access the ones with her and Adam's names. "I–-I don't know what I expected to find. Actually, I was afraid of what I'd find–maybe something I didn't want to know." Her hands trembled over the keys. "What would you do?"

"I think I'd have a glass of wine, and then I'd read them," Mary offered.

Elena looked at the clock then back at Mary. "It's a little early for wine, don't you think?"

Mary headed for the kitchen and the wine. "Not today," she said over her shoulder.

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

An hour after the APC had jarred to a halt, the Section One operatives milled about in an uneasy semblance of order. Again, Nikita looked at her watch. Michael had been in a private session with the leader of the Indonesian Militia for over forty-five minutes. This didn't appear to be an ordinary operation. Normally, they wouldn't have had contact with any of the local authorities. Twenty operatives, including herself, were standing about with nothing to do. Nikita felt like she and the other operatives were sitting ducks with nowhere to go should there be an attack. United Nation peacekeepers might have calmed things down in the East Timor's capitol city, but this area didn't appear to be anywhere near Dili.

A tent flap was thrown back, and Michael exited the leader's tent. From her vantage point, Nikita could see the disgusted look on Michael's face. It was obvious the meeting hadn't gone well. Michael motioned with a jerk of his chin. Instantly Nikita strode to his side. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"We're cut off. The D.O.D. satellite system has malfunctioned. Until it's operational, we're under the command of General Maubere." Michael's speech was clipped, succinct.

"When did that happen?" Nikita shook her head in disbelief. "I was just talking to Birkoff, not fifteen minutes ago, and what do you mean under General Maubere's command? Can they do that?"

"Yes." Michael sighed, then added. "With luck, it will be brief."

"And if it's not?"

"Then, I hope you like Indonesia, Nikita." Michael lowered his voice further. "It may not be a malfunction. It may have been planned."

"Michael, it doesn't make sense. Operations wouldn't cut off a team of twenty-plus operatives and abandon us in the middle of a mission? In the middle of a war zone?" Nikita protested.

Michael's green eyes narrowed and darkened before he answered. "Anything is possible."

***********

Mary handed the glass of mèrlot to Elena. The dark-eyed beauty's slender hand shook. Indecision was written over her pretty features. Mary could hear the long case clock in the foyer ticking. The longer Elena hesitated, the louder it seemed to tick.

"I was so curious when I first found the files," Elena said with a weary shrug, "and now I don't know."

"If you want me to, I'll leave," Mary offered, as she stood at Elena's side.

A stricken expression crossed Elena's face. "No, please don't. I know I must seem quite silly, but it's bound to be painful, and I'd rather not be alone."

"All right, I'll stay, but anytime you want me to leave I will, just say so." Mary felt like an absolute creep. Here was a tragic young woman, trying to get her life in order, and now here were these files from the much-loved 'dead' husband, who Mary knew for a fact wasn't really dead. "I'm sure it's not anything dreadful. The files are probably personal letters to you and Adam. It may be painful, but I doubt your Michael had any deep dark secrets to spring on you from the grave." What a crock! What she wouldn't give to have her hands around the handsome Michael's neck at this very moment. How could he have broken this sweet woman's heart and deserted his son? Maybe the jerk made a habit of deserting wives and sons all over the place. It didn't matter if he had, she didn't know them, but she did know Elena and Adam. She'd felt their pain and loss. It was damn personal.

Mary watched as Elena highlighted the "Adam" file and clicked on it. It was dated shortly before Michael had been murdered.

"Do you think he had a premonition of his death?" Fear was written across Elena's face.

Mary gave Elena a rueful smile and murmured, "You won't know until you read it, will you?"

"Where's Adam? Do you see him? " Elena looked around, anxious that he might overhear them. "I don't want him to know about this until I've read it first."

Mary walked down the hall, looking into each room of the small cottage. Adam was sitting in the floor of his bedroom, occupied with a computer game. She returned to Elena's side and reassured her, "He's playing a computer game. He doesn't know we exist right now."

Elena took a deep breath and nodded. "Well, here goes nothing." She scrolled to the body of the text and scanned it, reading aloud, softly under her breath. "Adam, My Son, Tonight I sit here, and my thoughts are filled with memories of you. It occurs to me that I should attempt to organize them in some coherent form, so that you will always know of my love for you. The time since you were born has passed so quickly, much too quickly. One never knows how much time one has left. I would not want to leave you with any uncertainty about my feelings."

Elena paused before continuing, biting her lower lip. "You are the world to me. I see perfection in your bright eyes and engaging smile. From the first moment I held you, you have held my heart prisoner, and I have been your willing captive. I would protect you from all the evil in the world, but I fear that I am not that strong, and I fear that I will not always be here."

Sincerity rang through Michael's words, which made Mary want to cry and scream at the same time. What kind of agency could require that he abandon the son he loved? What agency had that kind of power over its members?

Tears welled in Elena's eyes as she continued to read. "Obey your mother in all things. Grow up to be a good man. in all things. Eschew violence. Violence is never the answer, no matter how worthy the cause may appear. Care for your mother when she is older. This is my charge to you. Find love and honor it. Always remember that you had a father who loved you more than life."

Elena collapsed over the laptop and sobbed, unable to control her grief. "It's as if he knew he was going to die. I can't bear it, Mary. He knew!"

More than anything, Mary wanted to sink through the floor. Which would be worse, allowing Elena to believe her husband was dead or telling her that he was alive but had abandoned them and faked his death as part of some assignment? Neither choice was a good one. Possessing the ability to assuage Elena's tangible grief was a powerful gift, and Mary was tempted to use it. Ultimately the damnable knowledge she possessed would mean exchanging the grief for something far worse--the pain and anger of Michael's betrayal. She could never do it.

Instead Mary stood helpless . . . unable to do more than offer false reassurance. "Elena, he couldn't have known. It was a simple coincidence that Michael wrote that letter to Adam when he did."

"Maybe," Elena assented as she sniffed. "Maybe not."

*********

The hot Indonesian sun beat down on the tent. No air stirred. Michael felt an irresistible urge to pace. General Maubere had sent Nikita and a team of six operatives on reconnaissance. They were two hours overdue. The last communication had been sporadic. Nikita had reported that they were under fire from the East Timorese, then nothing.

Michael also felt an irresistible impulse to deck the General. The General's attitude left something to be desired. Ingiak Maubere was a short, stocky imperious son of a bit#$, a bull of a man, accustomed to command.

"That big blonde of yours, you're worried. She has you by the ba@#s," Maubere remarked, leaning back as if to enjoy Michael's discomfort. "I don't blame you for fu@ing her. I'd do her in a heart beat."

Michael felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. He gritted his teeth, but refused to be baited. "She's an excellent operative," he said softly.

Maubere laughed and spoke in a voice rife with sarcasm, "Well, let's hope for the sake of your mission that she's not lying face down in a swamp somewhere."

Michael barely listened. He'd already volunteered to lead a search mission for the team, but had been refused. He wasn't used to taking orders in the field from anyone but Operations, while Maubere had given his militiamen orders to shoot anyone who left the camp without his authority. It was still daylight. He would bide his time . . . but the waiting was unbearable. The need to act and being deprived of control was even worse.

Logically, Michael knew Nikita could take care of herself and her team, that she wouldn't go down without a fight. He also knew the reality of war. Nikita could very well be lying face down in a swamp, while he sat in silence, listening to a pretentious fool's foul recitation of Nikita's physical traits. Maubere would pay for his arrogance and stupidity. He would see to it personally.

********

A knock sounded at the front door. Elena sniffed and wiped her tears with the tissues that Mary extracted from her jeans pocket.

"Want me to get that for you?" Mary asked.

"No, thank you. I think can manage to answer my own door, although I can't imagine who it might be," Elena responded, rose from the desk chair, and walked gamely to the door.

White-haired Mina Griswold stood on the front step, wearing comfortable khaki trousers, an Oxford University sweat shirt and a broad-brimmed straw hat, holding gardening gloves in her left hand. "I say. I thought we might work on your garden today, if you're not otherwise occupied."

Elena stood aside and motioned for the energetic seventy-year-old woman to enter the cottage. "That's what I was doing until a few minutes ago. Let's have some tea first."

"Yes, well, I think I'd prefer some of that wine you're having," Mina asserted with a twinkle in her eye as she made herself comfortable on the sofa beside Elena. Mary quickly retreated to the kitchen for another glass and handed it to Mina. "Thank you, dear," Mina replied politely while she listened to Elena.

"Of course, I've been accessing some computer files my husband left behind, and I'm afraid I've needed more courage than usual," Elena said with a wistful tone.

"Oh my dear, nothing traumatic, I hope," Mina said looking from Elena to Mary for a cue.

"It was a letter from Michael to our son. It made me cry. It was as if he knew he wasn't going to be around to see Adam grow up." Elena fought the tears that threatened to fall. She'd done enough crying for one day. "I haven't had the nerve to read the one he left for me yet. I think I want to do that when I'm alone."

"Of course, my dear. We understand completely, don't we, Mary?" Mina asked with a knowing smile on her always cheerful face.

"Yes, of course." Mary knelt on the floor by Elena's knees. "But if you need to talk, you know you can call on either one of us, right?"

"Yes, I know. You both are wonderful. I'm so fortunate to have made friends so quickly here in England," Elena said, attempting a smile.

Mina cleared her throat and asked. "Did he leave anything that wasn't personal? Business files or something like that?"

"Only one other file. I don't remember what it was called, but most likely it's business. The other two had Adam's and my name on them," she sighed and then straightened her shoulders. "I think I've had enough computer files for today though," she said, suddenly wanting to be alone. "I'm sorry. I think I'm through with gardening for today, too. I hope you don't mind. You've both been so kind."

Mary and Mina took the hint and rose together. Mina collected her gardening gloves and hat, while Mary gave Elena a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll call you in a day or so, okay?" she asked.

"Yes, that will be fine," Elena replied, relieved that she hadn't offended either of her new friends. She watched them leave, then returned to the computer and opened the ELENA file.

**********

"Madeline," Birkoff's voice sounded over the intercom.

Madeline took a sip of green tea, swallowed and answered, "Yes, what is it, Birkoff?"

"I have an encrypted communication for you."

"Then put it through," Madeline answered with a touch of irritation in her tone. She watched her terminal, and the face of Hermione Griswold appeared. "Mina, how are you?" she asked.

"I have something for you, Madeline. I'm not sure how relevant it is, but Michael left some files on his laptop. Elena has accessed them."

"Michael left files? That's not like him."

"Well, only three, and two of them are obviously personal."

"How do you know that?"

"Elena has already read the one labeled ‘Adam.' There's another labeled ‘Elena,' but she hasn't read it yet. Wants to wait to be alone. Understandable, of course, since the first one made her weep."

"And the third file?" Madeline grew uneasy.

"She didn't remember the name on it and was still rather upset when I arrived. I didn't want to make an issue by pressing her."

"That was wise, but I need those files. I want them all downloaded to me as soon as possible."

"All of them, Madeline, surely . . ."

"All of them," Madeline replied coldly. She couldn't take the risk that a chance comment might lead to Section One. Certainly, Michael might want to leave personal messages to his family, but the exact nature of those communications would provide further insight into his emotional state.

"All right, Madeline. I'll access them tonight, somehow."

"I'm sure your resources are adequate to the task, Mina, or you wouldn't be where you are today. Notify me as soon as you have access to them." Madeline disconnected the communication.

It was too bad that Nikita was out of communication range in East Timor. Operations' idea of cutting the team loose as a test and a form of punishment had been promising. Now, however, they might have to resume communication and pull Nikita from the field entirely. Nikita's relationship with Elena was quite beneficial for keeping an eye on Elena's progress. Nikita could also be a factor in damage control, should Elena ever prove to be a liability. Not that she thought Nikita would ever be able to cancel Elena, if such a scenario had to be undertaken.

Such a scenario was not desirable. Michael himself would have to be eliminated, and that was not desirable, either. For the present, she would keep tabs on the situation herself. If anything damaging was found in the files Michael left behind, then she would advise Operations of the situation. No point in being premature.

**********

Nikita crept through the tall grasses and silently motioned for her team to follow. They were within ten yards of the perimeter of the Indonesian Militia compound, but she wanted to scope the situation. The team had been cut off, purposefully she thought. Two members had nearly been lost, would have been lost if she hadn't insisted on rescuing them from other side of the conflict, more Indonesians–not the East Timorese, who were pawns in their own land. They'd voted for independence from Indonesia, not war.

Operations had sent a team of twenty-two on a fool's errand. There were no peace negotiations between the East Timorese people and the Indonesians. If it hadn't been for the UN Peace Keepers, the Indonesian troops and the anti-independence militia groups would have continued to commit atrocities, depriving an unknown number of East Timorese of their lives and freedom.

Lorrie crept beside Nikita, "Why don't we just go on in?" she whispered.

"Not sure of our reception." Nikita motioned for the remainder of the team to halt. "I'm moving in closer look. If the rest of the team is in sight, we'll enter the compound, otherwise, we wait," she declared, pulling her Glock from it's holster.

Lorrie nodded and checked her own weapon. She ejected the clip, checked the cartridges, them re-chambered the clip.

Nikita began a stealthy crawl through the native grasses. The hot dry spell had made the undergrowth dry . . . and noisy. Each snap sounded like a tree falling to Nikita's alert ears. She stopped when she was within five feet of the perimeter. There were no Section One operatives visible. That wasn't necessarily a bad sign, but it certainly didn't make her day. Okay, fellas, surely someone has to take a leak once in a while. She hadn't seen any Port-o-lets when she'd been in camp. Be patient, she counseled herself.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Patience, be damned, Nikita was nearly ready to waltz into camp and see what the hell was going on, when she heard the crunch of boots in the dry weeds. An Indonesian, not a Section op. She waited until he walked past her, then sprang, taking him down with her Glock digging into his throat.

His eyes bulged in fear, but Nikita kept her hold on him. "Where are the other operatives?" she asked, first in English, then in French, hoping he would understand her.

He shook his head frantically. He didn't understand. Where was Michael when she needed a linguist? This one was a waste of her precious time and energy. She tightened her grip on his neck, placing adequate pressure to his carotid artery to render him unconscious. Then began the laborious process of dragging him back to her team.

"Bind him and gag him," Nikita ordered. "He's no use. Doesn't speak any language that I do." She looked at her team. "I don't suppose ..." All five operatives shook their heads in unison.

"All right, I'm going back. I'll try to enter the compound from the rear."

"Nikita, let one of us go. We need you," Lorrie protested.

"No, I'm the team leader, and I'm not sending anyone to do something I wouldn't do," she said flatly. It'll be dark soon. I'll go then." Nikita rested on her haunches, unscrewed the cap from her canteen and took a long drink. She wiped her mouth, recapped the canteen and settled back to wait.

Thirty minutes passed, and darkness was complete, the moon as yet not visible. Nikita could only make out the light of several scattered camp fires. "No time like the present," she said. "If I don't come back within an hour, try to make your way to the UN PKF lines. They may not recognize your status, but they won't mistake you for Indonesians, either."

Only Lorrie spoke, "Be careful, Nikita."

"Sure," Nikita responded as she began crawling once more through the underbrush.

Fifteen minutes later, Nikita had made her way to the rear of the camp. She crouched in lush growth at the perimeter. Suddenly she was attacked from the rear, her feet swept from beneath her, while the ferocity of the attack knocked the wind from her. Her attacker was strong and proficient. She lost consciousness.

********

Elena took a deep breath. The words "My sweet Elena," made her heart feel like it would stop beating. It was as if Michael spoke to her from the grave. Her hand trembled as she reached for the down arrow.

"My sweet Elena, if you are reading this, I have passed from your life. Do not grieve for me, I am not worth your sorrow. You have given me an oasis of calm and tranquility that I never thought to inhabit. I certainly never deserved the love and devotion that you gave so unstintingly. You gave me my treasured son, Adam, and for that alone you have my undying gratitude. I never thought to have a family like other men, and the brief years we shared have been precious.

"Do not idealize me or attempt to convey sainthood on me. I am all too human with that entails. There are better men than I in this world. Do not allow yourself to believe otherwise. Know that I loved you as much as I was able and that my life has been immeasurably enriched by you and our son. I have said all I can, except my wish is for you to embrace life and never look back. Michael"

Elena stared at the computer screen. Disbelief washed over her... and questions. Undeserved, not worthy? What could Michael have possibly meant? He'd been a loving and devoted husband and father. Had he committed some indiscretion unbeknownst to her. Had guilt weighed on his mind? She would have known if he'd been unfaithful, she was certain. Or would she? He'd had frequent and long absences for business.... No, she wouldn't believe it of him. He had been a good man. She'd stake her life on it.

In fact, his self-doubt was evidence of his goodness. She'd often felt the same. She'd been so fortunate to bask in his love. That had to be it. "I'm sorry, Michael. I would never doubt your memory," she whispered.

"Mommy, who are you talking to?" Adam's hand on her arm brought her back to the present.

"Just myself. Isn't that silly?" Elena said quickly, pulling her son close for a hug. Emotion, love for her son and grief for his father overwhelmed her. She wished she could only keep Adam safe at her side forever, but little boys had a terrible habit of growing up and leaving their mothers.

Adam squirmed in her arms and tried to pull away. "Ouch, Mommy, you're squeezing me."

Elena relaxed her hold on her son and said, "That's just because I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Mommy," he replied and looking up at her with his enormous brown eyes, he asked, "Mommy, do you still miss Daddy? I do."

"Yes, Adam, I still miss Daddy."

**********

When Nikita regained consciousness, in addition to a fierce headache, she was groggily aware of a firm body lying on top of hers. She struggled . . . feebly. A strong hand was placed across her mouth. She looked into a pair of pale eyes . . . .

"Shh, Kita," Michael whispered in her ear.

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Instantly, she relaxed. "Mm," she tried to mumble. Michael released his grip on her.

"Sorry, I couldn't tell it was you. Where's the rest of your team? he asked.

"Far side of the camp, ‘bout twenty yards beyond the perimeter." Nikita shook her head. She still felt woozy. "How long have I been out? I told them to wait an hour, then make their way to the UN PKF lines, if I didn't return."

"Not long, five minutes."

"What about the rest of the ops?"

Michael glanced over his shoulder to the right. "They're confined in cages about thirty yards from here."

"How did you get out, Michael?" His ability to surmount all odds never failed to amaze her.

"I wasn't locked in one of the cages," he replied with a wry expression, then added, "In deference to my leadership status, I was confined to a tent with a couple of guards outside. Maubere didn't seem to think I was much of a threat," Michael deadpanned.

Nikita barely restrained her laughter. General Maubere was a pathetic judge of men, if he misjudged Section One's top field operative. "Guess he was wrong. What are we going to do to get out of here, Michael? Why are we here anyway?"

"We were told to come," he answered flatly.

"Operations has gone too far this time," Nikita began.

"Not now, Nikita. We have the rest of the team to extract."

"I'm glad you said that, Michael. Now we don't have to have an argument," she flashed him her wolfish smile.

It was still dark, no moon, but Nikita thought she saw the corner of Michael's mouth twitch. She was sure of it.

"Lead me back to your team," he said shifting about, "and we'll plan the assault. I've seen a good bit of the compound, and I think I've spotted an area of vulnerability."

Nikita shook her head. Michael was on top of his form—always planning ahead, figuring the contingencies. "What were you doing out here anyway?" she asked.

Michael hesitated, then spoke, "I was going to look for you."

"But I saved you the trouble?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Michael."

Michael rose with stealth, checked his numerous weapons and ammunition stores and said, "Let's go. The moon will be up soon."

Nikita lead the way calmly, knowing the one man in the world she trusted with her life was watching her back.

**********

"Loved you as much as I was able." The words kept returning to haunt Elena's thoughts. After reading Michael's letter to her, she still felt a bit shell-shocked. One moment her mind would be full of doubts, then the memories of their time together would resurface, and once more she would be reassured of his love. The phrase had simply been worded awkwardly. She'd never doubted his love when he'd been alive, therefore, it was foolish and self-destructive to doubt it now.

Elena wiped away the traces of the tears she'd shed, knowing she couldn't allow Adam to see them. Grief was a curious thing. It came at the most unexpected times, never quite leaving her without whispers of recollection. After reading the file, it seemed that Michael called to her from his grave. Dammit, she was starting a new life, one without him. He should've had the decency to remain dead. No! That wasn't how she really felt. She would have given anything, performed any arcane ritual to have him returned to her. Grief and ambivalence walked hand in hand through her heart, and they were not comfortable companions.

She'd already tucked Adam in bed for the night. The child was very much like his father, both in temperament and intelligence . . . and talent. Adam loved music and had progressed rapidly with the cello . . . not that she thought he was a prodigy, but still quite good for his tender age.

She'd delayed reading the last file long enough. Once more she walked with deliberation to the desk, pulled out the chair and sat down. Deliberation was one of her natural tendencies, and her voice showed it when she spoke. "Suisse-b, let's see what deep dark secret you hold," she said in her quiet manner. Her fingers played over the keyboard, and the file appeared. "All right, Michael, my love, let's have it."

A column of numbers appeared. They meant nothing to her, then at the bottom a message blinked. "CLICK HERE" Elena clicked, and an audio player box appeared on the screen. Elena moved the cursor to the play button and clicked again.

Michael's voice, terse as if he'd been in a hurry said, "The numbers are account codes to access my Swiss Bank accounts. Print them out, immediately, then delete this file. Keep the numbers in the safest place you know. Memorize them. I've invested funds and the results have been quite good. There should be enough money for you and Adam to live quite well. The insurance provided by my company may run out sooner than expected. If you ever feel in danger, there are new passports for you and Adam in ...."

The details seemed endless. Elena played the audio file over and over until she had his words memorized. If only memorizing the series of numbers were so easy. She printed the file, then deleted it from the computer. She folded the sheet of paper in quarters, wondering where a safe place might be . . . and why Michael felt that she and Adam might be in danger. Well, of course, her dead father still had enemies that could desire to harm her and Adam. It seemed that Michael had thought of everything, except he hadn't protected himself.

Sighing, Elena turned off the laptop and closed the lid. She took the list of numbers to her bedroom and walked around the room, looking at the many pictures of Michael that displayed their former happy times. "Why, Michael?" she asked. "Why did you have to die?"

Still clutching the list of numbers in her hand, Elena sat on the bed and gave in to the grief that overwhelmed her every night. And like every other night since Michael had died, she lay down and cried herself to sleep.

***********

Michael and Nikita joined the remainder of Nikita's reconnaissance team. They totaled only eight operatives . . . eight highly-trained Section One operatives. Add to that significant fact, General Maubere's camp was low in man-power. Michael quickly detailed a scenario. "One by one we'll pick off the guards, confiscate their weapons and ammunition. After that, the occupants of each tent will be eliminated. Any questions?" He looked at Nikita, Any objections? he asked her with a nonverbal stare.

Nikita nodded, "It's quick, it's dirty, but it should work," she agreed.

Michael continued, "We need access to their communications. Once, we've contained the camp, we'll release the rest of the team. I'll contact Section One."

"Aren't communications still down, Michael?" Nikita asked.

"I doubt it. If ours is still nonfunctional, I'll adapt theirs. We'll get through," Michael added confidently. For hours, he'd craved action. Now, they'd have it.

Silently, he motioned them to deploy around the perimeter of the camp. Michael paired Lorrie with Nikita, directing the two women toward the rear of the camp. The young operative was petite, and her upper body strength was moderate at best. Michael's assessment of her abilities was that she would never make her a top field operative. Technically, Lorrie was in abeyance, not expected to return from the mission. However, if she lived through enough missions, she would probably be rewarded with a less taxing position in Data Retrieval. Partnered with Nikita, Lorrie would be protected and less of a distraction to the rest of the team.