"Push!" Doc exhorted. "The baby's crowning. Again!"

Walter supported Nikita's shoulders while she grasped the handles of the birthing table and struggled to bring her child into the world. He felt honored; she'd insisted he be there. Other than Doc, no one else would witness her child's birth.

"Aaaghh!" A sound primal--almost animal--issued. Then another. "Aaaggghhh!" Nikita's face grew dark red, congested with blood, from the effort.

"Great job, Nikita. Your daughter's almost here. You can stop pushing."

Nikita collapsed back against the table as the Doc eased the baby from her body. "You done good, Sugar. She's beautiful, just like her momma." Walter told her as he wiped the perspiration from Nikita's forehead.

"She's all right?" Nikita asked, her blue eyes anxious.

Doc held the vernix-covered infant in the air. "Perfect, as far as I can see."

"Just like her momma," Walter said in agreement.

Nikita tried to sit up. "Why isn't she crying?"

"Just need to clear her airway a bit--" Before Doc could complete her sentence, a loud angry squall commenced.

Walter grinned down at Nikita. "What did I say? Just like her momma."

"May I hold her?"

Doc looked up with a wide smile at Walter and waggled a pair of scissors. "Want to cut the cord, old man?"

"Do what?" Walter shook his head in disbelief. Doc actually wanted him to­­

"I guess that's a 'no,'" Doc said with an evil grin. "Okay. I guess I can handle the procedure by myself."

Walter strained his neck, wanting to see the baby, but knowing Nikita would kill him later, if he saw too much.

Doc wrapped the baby in a blanket "One little gal coming to meet her momma," she said, passing the newborn to her anxious mother.

Tears filled Walter's eyes as he watched Nikita hold her baby for the first time, opening the blanket, counting fingers and toes.

Nikita looked up at Walter, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Isn't she the most beautiful baby you've ever seen?"

"J-just like," Walter replied, so choked up he couldn't finish. Finally, he managed, "her momma."

Life and death.

Damn! Walter thought he'd seen it all, but this beat everything. "She's got a great set of genes," he blustered, then amended as the baby's wails grew louder, "and a great set of lungs."

"That she does," Doc agreed. "Have you picked out a name yet?"

Nikita's lips curved into a smile. "Yes, her name's Jacqueline."

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

Nikita gazed down at her new daughter, stroking the baby-fuzz hair, then turned to Walter. "I think her hair is going to be dark."

"Yeah but her eyes are blue like yours."

"Doc says all babies have blue eyes."

"Well I guess doc oughta know. I sure don't know anything about birthing babies."

"Walter, you made a great labor coach. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Hell, sugar you were amazing. I never saw anything like it. All natural, I mean, you could have had one of those epi- whatchamacallits."

"Epidural," Nikita told him with a smile. There was no one like Walter. He'd been more of a father to her than Mr. Jones ever had. "I couldn't run the risk of being incapacitated-- even for a few hours."

Walter looked down at the baby; his eyes narrowed. "Have you decided what to do about telling Michael?"

Nikita set her mouth in a firm line. Practicing Michael's face of stone, she replied, "Who says its Michael's baby?"

Walter gave a short bark of laughter. "I may not know much about babies, but I can count to nine, Sugar. And so can everyone else around this place."

"I don't know where Michael is."

Shaking his head in apparent disbelief, Walter looked her straight in the eyes. "You mean to tell me you really don't know."

"It's better than way," Nikita replied, stopping to kiss the top of baby Jacqueline's head. "We decided there would be no contact."

"Stupid if you ask me." Walter folded his arms across his chest, still shaking his head.

"Walter, I didn't ask you," she told him as kindly as possible.

"Then what are you going to do with your baby? Raise her here in Section, adopt her out?"

"Adopt her out! My baby's not leaving my side. I don't have to decide right now. I have some time."

"The longer you wait, the worse it will get. You gonna groom her to take over? Like you were? Is that the life you want for your baby?"

"Walter," Nikita began, tamping down the emotions that threatened her cool facade. "She's twelve hours old. No one can take her from me."

"You know you can't keep her don't you."

"I can do any damn thing I want. And right now I want to raise my daughter."

A smile played about Walter's lips. "Well, I guess your sister Michelle could be her nanny."

"Michelle? That champagne-sipping twit. No bloody way!"

"Then you need to find Michael, and let him help you find a way out of here."

"I don't' think there's a way out of here, Walter. Not out of this life. I surrendered that idea the day I accepted my father's bargain. I owe him that much."

"Your loyalties are all screwed up, Sugar. What about your loyalty to Michael and your baby?"

Nikita took a deep breath. "Please understand. As long as I stay, I can make a difference."

"You still believe that?"

"I have to, Walter. I don't have a choice anymore."

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

Michael checked the date on the monitor. It had been ten months since he'd seen Nikita. Time enough for her to contact him, if she were going to.

If she had a reason.

He'd gambled on fate. But had he won or lost?

Be patient.

He'd counseled Nikita often enough, why was it so difficult to take his own advice? It was more than missing her presence. She was as much a part of him as blood and bone. The emptiness within him, a deep well of longing, no other woman could hope to fill.

Dreams.

Still they haunted him. Was he mad to believe in the recurring dreams of a solemn, little girl with green eyes and curling hair like his? Or in the dreams of a crying child. Nikita inhabited his landscape of dreams as well. Calling his name, again and again. Had she called his name? Or had she cursed him when the labor pangs overtook her?

So many questions. So much time. A waste of time?

He heard Adam before he saw him. Footsteps running. A door slammed. The library door burst open.

"Bonjour Papa!" Adam jumped up into Michael's lap. "I saw two fawns and their mother, right in the field behind the house. I tried to feed them some dried corn, but they ran away. Very fast!"

"Tres bon, mon fil." As it always did, the sight of his son filled Michael's heart with joy. For a few minutes he would be able to put aside his worries and concentrate on his reason for living. "If you do not approach them, in time they will learn not to fear you."

"I try, Papa," Adam replied, his dark eyes sparkling. "But I get so excited when I see them."

"I know. When I finish my work, I will go with you into the woods and teach you how to walk in the forest without making a sound."

"Like an Indian? Matilde says the Indians were here long before we came."

"This is true. You must learn to respect the land like the Native Americans did."

"Why are the leaves all so red, Papa? I've never seen them before."

"It is the fall season, and in the fall the maple leaves turn red. It is part of nature's way. They are beautiful, n'est-ce pas?"

"Oui, Papa." Adam fidgeted and slid to the floor. "How much more working?" he asked his brow furrowed.

Michael glanced down at his watch. "An hour." Why don't you see if Matilde has your lunch ready? We'll go out afterwards."

"Oui, Papa."

He watched as his son gave an energetic spin, then ran from the room in search of the housekeeper. His hands hovered over the keyboard, while he deliberated: Was it time to contact her, or should he wait a little longer?

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

Nikita clicked off the holoscreen. "That's it. Away Team, be ready to leave in thirty minutes." Turning to her second-in-command, she ordered, "My office, now." Without waiting for Sidney's response, she turned and left the briefing area."

"Of course, Operations," came the lilting, but ironic, reply, "whatever you say."

Not hesitating in her stride, she ignored his insolence, but only for the moment. She climbed the steel stairway to the perch. Leaning against the ledge, she folded her arms across her chest and waited for Sidney to make his appearance. If she were any judge of character, he would wait a minute longer than he should.

Now meant now.

But not to Sidney. Her second-in-command, newly assigned from Oversight, was flexing his muscle, testing her.

A full ninety seconds later, Sidney drifted in. "Delayed by something important, were you?" she asked.

A wry smile quirked up the corner of his mouth. "Of course, Jason had a question in Comm." He stood in front of her, his hands clasped in front.

His graceful walk, his half smile--she'd seen them before and done by the original. Sidney was doing his damned best to imitate Michael. Why? It pissed her off no end. "Jason had a question in Comm? How unusual. I thought Jason was of the opinion that he knew everything."

Sidney shrugged. "He's arrogant, but harmless."

"That's your assessment of Jason Birkoff?"

"You disagree?"

"I do. However, I'm not here to discuss Jason Birkoff. Your behavior during the briefing verged on insubordination. If you disagree with my assessment of a situation, discuss it with me first and privately."

Taking a step forward, Sidney murmured, "There are many things I'd like to discuss with you privately. Just say where and when."

Nikita snapped, "Back off!"

He took a step backward. "I thought you liked aggressive men. Michael--"

"My personal likes or dislikes are none of your concern. Is that understood?"

Her second-in-command nodded and backed up another step. "Yes."

Nikita checked the wall monitor. "There are three missions pending. Familiarize yourself with the profiles. I'll review the final scenarios in forty-five minutes." That should keep the jerk out of her hair for a while. She enjoyed the brief moment of panic that flared in Sidney's eyes. "That's all."

Sidney nodded, turned and left the perch in a greater hurry than he'd entered.

Walking over to the monitor, she keyed up the videocam display for the baby's nursery. Jacqueline was down for her afternoon nap. Good Lord, her daughter was three months old already.

How the time had flown. It had been a year since she'd seen Michael and Adam off at the train station. For the thousandth time she wondered, where they were? Were they safe? How was Michael adjusting to freedom? What was he doing? Did he miss her one-tenth as much as she missed him?

She needed him in so many ways. As lover and friend. And Section needed him, too. Michael was irreplaceable in so many ways. Sidney tried, but he didn't have what it took to fill Madeline's high-heeled pumps. Even Madeline herself would've been preferable to the annoying, pale-imitation that Oversight had contrived to send her.

Trapped by duty.

Ensnared by honor.

Nikita turned and looked down from the perch. It should've been Michael's place, not hers.

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

"Fermez la bouche!" Matilde stopped in the middle of her daily chore of making bread. She would put an end to the girl's idle gossip. " M'sieur's business is none of ours. He pays you a good wage. See you give him a good day's work," Matilde scolded, giving an emphatic nod, then returned to kneading the dough.

"But Matilde, I only ask the same questions everyone in the village asks. Who is he? What is his business? Why is such a handsome man without a woman at his side?" the girl asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Ça suffit! M. Girard is a gentleman of means. His business and personal life have nothing to do with you, you stupid girl." True, Matilde had asked herself the same questions, but she valued her income and knew how to mind her own business and that of her employer.

"Hmph! Well at least he's too young for an old cow like you to get ideas about."

"Out of my kitchen!" Matilde grabbed up a rolling pin and brandished it. "Finish folding the laundry, then leave. Do not bother to come back unless you can keep your nose on your face and out of matters that do not concern you. Am I clear?"

"Oui, Madame! Tréés clair!" she replied with a huff, leaving the kitchen for the laundry room.

Matilde went back to the kneading of the dough. Nothing else was so gratifying and provided such a calming of the nerves. In her mind, she imagined the M'sieur was a widower. Such a gentleman--no, a gentle man. Yet a man in mourning, he was. It was evident in his grave expression that the only joy in his life was his small son. So kind and loving his was to the child, it brought her great joy just to see the two of them walking about the countryside.

Months earlier, his arrival in the village of Ste. Blanche had created quite a stir. In less than a week, he had bought an old farmhouse and set about remodeling it himself. However, as the M'sieur had eased his way into village life, enrolling his son in the local school and taking him to service each Sunday, the novelty had worn off, but the idle curiosity of the village women had not.

If another woman sidled up to her in the vegetable market with prying questions, Matilde thought she might scream. In fact, she was sure of it.

Matilde flipped the dough with a satisfying thump and continued kneading. The M'sieur had complimented her crusty loaves of bread. She would see he always had the best bread her strong hands could provide.

**********

Michael stared at the monitor, fascinated by the figures scrolling past. His investments had performed extremely well during the last year, providing him and Adam with an excellent income. While he had no need to touch the principal, frequent assessments and tweaking of the fund allocations in his portfolio were necessary to keep ahead of a volatile market. At least it kept his mind occupied.

There were times when he chafed at his self-enforced isolation, but conversely there were others when he welcomed it. Any solitude had always been prized and rare. His level of responsibility at Section One had afforded him little time for such self-indulgence.

Nikita.

Michael shut his eyes. Section One and Nikita were inextricably linked in his mind and in his heart. He missed them both, but he had a duty to the son he brought into the world. And that duty outweighed even his heart's desire.

Adam.

Would there ever be enough therapy to heal the damage done to him? How did one tell a seven-year-old child that his father was a liar . . . worse, a man who could kill without blinking an eye.

How many times had Adam asked, "How long before Mommy comes back like you did?" How did one explain returning from the dead?

Answers? He had none, not yet.

But he had an ally: Thèèrese Dupre, a psychiatrist with whom he'd had contact years before. Madeline had even forcibly recruited the gifted physician into Section One, but Michael had faked her death a second time and masterminded her relocation to another small village outside Montreal. Thèèrese was the only one with whom he could entrust the fragile psyche of his son--and his own secrets as well. She knew his secrets already. She knew of his overriding passion for Nikita.

Nikita.

His thoughts had come full circle. Unable to resist the need any longer, Michael's fingers flew over the keyboard. Six weeks earlier, he'd penetrated Section One's data base. True the codes had changed, but the encrypted cipher-disc Birkoff had given him two years earlier enabled him to overwrite the code changes. Basically, Birkoff had entrusted him with the 'back door' into Section One's system. Always careful to keep a low profile, he'd only used it once. And his discovery had left him conflicted and overwhelmed.

He had accessed Nikita's private quarters in the Tower . . . and verified the birth of his daughter. It was time to have another look. He held his breath as he navigated the treacherous firewalls Birkoff had written into the program.

Finally, he was in, able to see exactly what the video camera in the nursery showed him. The baby's room was lit by a night light. He glanced down at his watch and calculated the time difference. Yes, it was early evening in Paris. He keyed for a change in camera angle. Now that was more like it. He could see his baby's face.

His daughter.

At least, he assumed the baby was a girl. Somehow, he doubted Nikita would have decorated a boy's room with pink flowers. The door to the nursery opened, a ray light spilling in from the other room.

Nikita walked into Michael's line of vision. Unable to believe his good fortune, he stared, drinking in her beauty as she leaned over the crib and spoke softly to the sleeping baby. "Jacqueline, mama is here. Have you been a good girl today?"

Jacqueline. Her name is Jacqueline. Michael's heart filled with emotions long suppressed while he watched the love of his life make a minuscule adjustment to the baby's coverlet. The longing surged and overwhelmed him. He yearned to make his presence known, all the while, knowing he couldn't risk it.

Nikita looks tired, he thought. The strain was apparent around her eyes. How he wished he could take the burden from her shoulders. He reached out and touched the screen, a paltry excuse for the real thing. How he wished things could be different. Still, he had a better life than he deserved. He had his son.

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

A sense of being watched filtered through Nikita's consciousness. Glancing up at the camera, she snorted. Of course, she was being watched. She'd had the camera installed herself in order to keep an eye on her baby. No matter how trustworthy the nanny was supposed to be, Nikita had learned, the hard way, not to trust any one person too far. Even though the nanny had been vetted by every psychological indicator known to science, Section One . . . and Nikita's gut instinct.

Baby Jacqueline was the only thing that kept Nikita going. The distant future when Adam wouldn't need Michael anymore was too tenuous. He could . . . die in a car accident like Elena . . . or have a fatal illness. True, Michael had walked on water while he was in Section, but life carried no guarantees.

And although it broke her heart to think it, he could even fall in love with someone else. The same things could happen to her, except she would never fall in love again. No way. No how. Never.

Yes, Jacqueline had given Nikita a new sense of purpose. A new reason to fight the good fight.

To make the world a better place.

She looked down at her sleeping baby, caressed a silken cheek. "Mama loves you. And if your daddy knew about you, he'd love you, too." A shiver threaded its way down her spine, causing her to look up at the camera again. She frowned. Damn it, someone was watching her. But no one else had the camera code for the baby's nursery. Jason had set up access for level twelve only.

First thing tomorrow, she would have him rake the data base for any unauthorized incursions.

***

Nikita's direct glance into the camera unnerved Michael. He'd been detected although not though any system fault, but by Nikita's uncanny intuition.

Not that he believed in intuition.

The temptation to gaze at Nikita's beautiful face was great. Even greater was the simple desire to watch his daughter sleeping in her crib. But greatest of all was the his need to keep his family safe. He couldn't run the risk of placing his son in the line of fire, again. Nor his daughter, nor Nikita.

Reluctantly he set about exiting Section One's system, taking care to erase any traces of his presence.

**********

Her arms folded across her chest, Nikita waited, somewhat impatiently, as Jason ambled into the perch. While Jason shared the same genetics and computer genius of his twin, he was not the man, his brother was. Still, in every sense of the word, Jason Birkoff was yet another innocent recruited by Section One.

Jason had the gall to give her the once over. If she didn't need his help, she would've slapped him into next week.

"Hi, doll. You sure are lookin' hot in that black leather thong you're wearing. Or at least I hope you're wearing one."

"Ever heard of sexual harassment, Jason?" she asked, purposefully deadening her inflection. Surely he'd clean up his punk attitude--someday.

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms in an exact imitation of her stance. "Yeah, sure, but I figure those rules don't apply here, now do they?"

Taking two long strides, she closed the distance between him. With her forefinger, she jabbed his chest with enough force to upset his balance. She grinned as he reached out groping for something to hold on to. She grabbed him instead. "Leave off the smart mouth when you're around me. I won't hesitate to send you to Data and Research for an indeterminate assignment.

"Oh, Lord, no, Miz Scarlett, anything but that," Jason shrieked in a falsetto, then finished with a giggle.

Closing her eyes, Nikita took a deep breath. Self-control was a necessity when Jason was in one of his playful moods. "Are you through?"

Jason grinned, straightening into a semblance of proper attitude. "Don't you ever have any fun? I just can't see what my brother ever saw in you," he drawled. "He told me how you and he- -"

"That wasn't me," Nikita interrupted, keeping her tone firm. Not an easy task, when all she really wanted to do was bend Jason over her knee. But then he would probably enjoy it.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. He told me that, too."

"Did it ever occur to you that I called you up here for a reason?"

"Well, yeah. Want to play the horizontal mam--"

"You're five seconds from abeyance," she warned.

"All right, what do you need the master for? I'm as your disposal. No double meaning intended, hon. What I mean is, the genius is at your command."

"Damn right, you are," she replied, getting down to business. "I want you to rake the system."

"Looking for what?"

"Any unauthorized incursions, including the Tower security cameras."

"Eww. Someone getting a little paranoid? Afraid one of us is watchin' you step out of the shower all buffy and clean?"

Nikita ignored his impertinence. "Report--my eyes only. No one else is even to know what you're up to. Understood?"

"Yeah, I think you only used one word of more than two syllables. I get your drift."

"Now."

Jason stood at attention, pulled a long face and folded his hands in front of him. "Of course," he intoned, then spun around and left the perch.

Nikita forced herself to relax. Jason was going to push her too far one day. Luckily for them both, it wasn't today.

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

The scarlet leaves had fallen signaling the onset of the long Canadian winter. Only the deep green of the cedars remained, verdant daubs spread about Michael's estate like brush strokes on canvas. As he and Adam walked along the gravel road, he kept a watchful eye on his son who rushed ahead.

Adam stopped to pick up a small broken branch. "See, Papa, I have a walking stick," he shouted, waving it in the air.

Relieved his son could find joy in the simplest of things, Michael smiled. "Yes, I see." Inexplicably, the hair on the back of his neck rose. "Adam," he called after his son. "Let's go back. It's turning colder."

Michael waited while Adam ran to his side. A sound to his right, a rustling in the fallen leaves. He stopped, looked from left to right.

Another sound.

A whimper, followed by a forlorn yowl issued from the ditch. Michael stepped off the road and into the trench beside the road. Shivering beneath a pile of decaying leaves was a puppy. He picked up the half-dead little animal and held him close, wrapping him with the tail of his flannel shirt. As much as he despised those who practiced the dumping of helpless dogs and cats in the country, he was grateful for this one.

"Papa! May we keep him?" the boy pleaded, his dark eyes wide with excitement.

"Of course. He needs a home, no?" The puppy began giving piteous yelps as he warmed in Michael's firm grasp.

A smile of pure happiness transformed his son's face. "He needs a home, yes." Adam held up his hands. "Let me hold him, Papa."

"All right," he agreed. Shrugging off his leather jacket, Michael wrapped the squirming puppy and handed him to his son. "We have to keep him warm until we get him in the house."

In spite of the brisk day, a gratifying warmth stole over Michael and spread throughout his body, as Adam, giggling with obvious delight, took the puppy in his arms.

***

Warm, and his belly fuller than it had probably ever been, the puppy promptly peed and pooped on the oriental rug before he could be taken outside.

"Oh, Papa, the puppy made a puddle and--"

"Sacre bleu!" Matilde huffed. "It is not enough I have two men to look after, you bring a mongrel into the house. It will only be fit for a barn, if le chien keeps this up, n'est-ce pas?" she muttered loud enough that Michael could hear.

He grinned, knowing her protests were only for effect. In the village, Matilde was known for the number of strays she had taken in over the years. "We will be more careful in the future, won't we Adam?" He looked over at his son, whose expression had turned grave.

Adam hugged the puppy to his chest. "Yes, Papa, we'll be careful. Matilde, please let us keep him. He was so cold, and he needs a good home. And we have a good home, no?"

Matilde straightened up, her hands on her hips. "I suppose we can find him a nice box for a bed and some old towels for bedding. And he must have a hot water bottle at night," she declared.

"He won't get cold," Adam protested. "Our house is warm."

"No, no, don't you see. He will miss his brothers and sisters. The hot water bottle will remind him of them. That way he won't cry all night."

"He can sleep with me. He won't get lonesome."

Matilde turned to Michael; her eyebrows rose in horror. "You will allow the child to spoil the animal?"

"Perhaps a compromise? The box may go in your room, Adam, but he must sleep in the box," Michael suggested, knowing full well where the puppy would end up sleeping.

Matilde nodded. "I suppose. But he must have a name. You can't keep calling him the puppy."

Michael shrugged. "Well, Adam? What is his name?"

Adam put his head close to the puppy's ear and whispered, then waited. After a few seconds, he nodded. "His name is Hasard!"

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

Nikita drummed her fingers against the top of her desk. She had a decision to make. She desperately needed a second-in-command, a true counterpart to Madeline.

To hell with that!

What she really needed was another Michael.

Not as a replacement in her bed. To hell with that, too.

No, what she needed was an operative of Michael's caliber. Or near his caliber. Someone she could depend on to carry out missions with a decent probability of success. Red Cell, the Collective, the Foundation for Freedom: all of them smelled fresh blood and had renewed their terrorist activities in the last year.

She couldn't remember the last time she had more than four hours sleep. Between the baby and the responsibilities of Section One, her reserves were stretched to the limit. Without her own Michael and Madeline, she was literally at the mercy of every terrorist and would-be terrorist on the eff-ing planet.

Her recent suspicion that someone was watching her had her rattled. Who else could accomplish it, but someone from Center? Perhaps one of her father's allies, who didn't trust the choice he'd made on the bridge. She'd show them. She had no choice.

She'd gone over the personnel files, psych-op evals, most left over from Madeline's tenure. Other than Walter, there wasn't a single soul she could trust in Section One.

Look farther afield?

She called up a list of level five operatives. Sylvia Damico from Section Three, an old friend of Michael's. Her numbers were high, and according to her latest psych-op eval, her personal relationships were stable. Well-respected, but a bit of a rebel. Well, couldn't fault her for that now, could she?

Not Michael's equal, if such even existed, but solid. Very solid. Someone she could depend on to do the job.

As she keyed in the request for transfer, Nikita smiled. Section Three's Operations wouldn't be pleased at all, but Section One had first dibs on anyone deemed vital. The transfer would go through.

"You wanted to see me?" Jason stood in the doorway, his hair tousled.

"Have you done as I asked?"

"I have, and I'm here to tell you, no one is watching you climb out of the shower. Your quarters are taboo. Level twelve only. "

"You're sure?" she asked, her forefinger twitching on the keyboard. "What about above Level twelve? Could someone from Oversight or Center--"

Jason shook his head. "No, darlin', I've raked this system from the A drive to the Z-cube function. The only person who could get past all those fire walls is my brother, and I guess we both know it's not."

"All right. Thank you, Jason."

Jason snapped a salute. "All in a days work, darlin'. All in a day's work."

"You may go."

"Yes, ma'am."

Nikita didn't mind a little latitude in Jason's behavior, as long as it just between the two of them. In fact she marveled at the similarities between the twins. It was still difficult to believe Seymour was gone. When it came down to it, there were three people she'd ever trusted: Michael, Walter and Seymour Birkoff. Whether or not Jason could be trusted to do anything but see to his own welfare remained to be seen.

Lord, how she missed Michael.

***

One A.M. Nikita sat in the tower, a half glass of Zinfandel sitting on the table beside her bed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed; she wanted one last peek at Jax. Jacqueline seemed like such a mouthful to call her baby, she'd shortened it.

Walking into the nursery, Nikita couldn't resist looking up at the corner camera. She shrugged. No weird feelings tonight, she decided.

She crossed over to the crib. Jax lay asleep on her back, covers kicked off. Covering up her daughter, Nikita placed a light kiss on her damp little forehead, brushing back the wisps of chestnut hair.

"I wish your daddy could see you, sweetheart," she whispered. "He would fall in love with you." Tears tried to form, but she blinked them away.

Lord, how she missed Michael.

**********

Thèrese Dupre watched Adam over the top of her reading glasses. The boy sat cross- legged on the floor of her study crashing toy cars together, in apparent disregard of her presence. Anxious to connect with the child before her, she got up from her comfortable chair and sat down on the floor in front of the boy, her arthritic knees protesting all the way.

"What's going on?" she asked him.

"Car crash," he told her without looking up. One car in each hand he crashed them together with a loud screech.

"Why did they crash?"

"Drunk driver." he said, still not meeting her eye.

"Which one?"

"The blue one hit the red one, see? The blue one--he's drunk."

"What happens now?"

"The red one dies."

"The car dies?"

"No, the lady."

"Tell me about the lady. What's she like?"

"She's beautiful."

"What else?"

For split second, Adam's gaze darted up to hers, then back down at his cars. "She has a little boy."

"Is he in the car?"

"No, he's home sick with the baby-sitter."

"Where's the lady going?"

"To get medicine."

"For the little boy?"

"Yes, but she doesn't come home. The police come to the house with blue lights on the car. The little boy's in bed."

"What happens next?"

"He hears the baby sitter cry."

"Why did the baby sitter cry?"

"Cause she's the lady's friend."

"Then what?"

"The baby-sitter makes the police go away. And she comes upstairs and tells the boy his mother's not coming home."

"How does the boy feel?"

"He's sad. It's his fault."

"No, it wasn't his fault. It was an accident."

"His mommy's dead," Adam replied, setting the cars aside. "Just like his daddy. But Daddy came back."

Thèèrese took a deep breath at Adam's shift from the impersonal to the personal. Progress. "Where was your daddy?"

"Mommy said he was dead, but he wasn't. Daddy said the gov-ment took him for protection."

"Witness protection?" Plausible for now.

"Yeah, that's it." Adam looked into her eyes again, fixing his gaze on her. "I don't know why they couldn't protect my mommy, but she might still come back. Like daddy did?"

The hopeful expression across his young face broke Thèèrese's heart. "What did your daddy say about that?"

"Daddy says she would come back if she could 'cause she loved me so much. But she can't come back 'cause the guv-ment doesn't have her. God does."

"I'm sorry. I know you miss her."

"What if God takes my daddy to be with mommy"?

"Why would he do that?"

"'Cause she's lonesome. She cried all the time after daddy died. Do you think she's crying up there with God? Will he get mad at her, if she cries a lot?"

"No, he won't get mad."

"What will she do all day?"

"Maybe she'll look after people up there?"

"Are kids up there too?"

Thèrese nodded.

"Will she forget about me, her little boy?"

"No, she'll be like a baby-sitter, " she said, winging it. "She'll never forget about you. She loved you will all her heart."

Tears started rolling down his cheeks. "I miss her so much." He threw himself into Thèrese's arms and sobbed. She kissed the top of his head and held him for a long time. The scent of his shampoo filled her mind with memories of her own children long ago.

***

Michael paced back and forth in the foyer outside Thèrese's sitting room. She lived comfortably, if simply, in a small Victorian house in a village only thirty kilometers from Ste. Blanche.

At first he could hear nothing, then the sounds of Adam crashing cars together. Finally the sounds of play lessened, and all he could hear were the muffle sounds of their talking. Nothing distinguishable, but they seemed to go on forever.

Adam had remained stubbornly silent, refusing to talk about his mother's death. Thèrese had been his only hope.

A new sound from the sitting room--crying. Adam was crying. Guilt gnawed at every fiber of Michael's being.

So much guilt.

He'd caused so much pain, yet he'd been given this second, no a third, chance for atonement. One child perhaps irreparably damaged, another who would never know her father: how could he ever make amends?

***********

"You wanted to see me?" Sidney asked, doing his best Michael impersonation Nikita had seen so far. Why was it every man in Section tried to duplicate her former lover's peerless style? Did any single one of them even come close? Hell no!

"I've come to a decision about my second-in-command." That ought to get his attention, she thought, watching him closely. Sidney merely blinked, but his ears turned red, a sure sign he wasn't pleased.

"What decision? I'm the executive strategist. Are you unhappy with my handling of matters?"

"Not for the time being, but you're Oversight's choice, not mine. I've requisitioned a level five operative from Section Two to take over Michael's responsibilities. She'll be moving into his office as soon as she arrives, which should be," Nikita paused, looking at her watch, "any moment now."

Sidney raised an eyebrow. "She?"

Before Nikita could respond, a voice came over the intercom. "Ma'am, Sylvia Damico's here,"

Nikita smiled. "I'll see her now."

Sylvia sauntered into the perch. Sidney snapped to attention at first sight of the petite olive-skinned beauty, amusing Nikita no end. Sylvia's black hair was worn short and sleek, and spiked on top, but the streaks of silver white at each temple were new since Nikita had last seen her. Silver hoops hung from Sylvia's ears along with a matching heavy chain around her neck. Nikita knew the Italian operative was close to forty, but her unlined face, sparkling dark eyes and toned body made her appear a decade younger.

Nikita managed to keep from laughing as Sidney's gaze traveled up and down the black- clad, mini-skirted operative. Poor Sidney, he didn't have a chance. He was the wrong gender.

Pleased to see the operative had lost none of her style or edge, Nikita stood up to greet her. "Sylvia, I'm so glad you're here," she said, extending her hand.

Sylvia took Nikita's hand and gave it a crisp shake. "I'm glad to be here." She looked around the perch. "I see there have been some changes."

Nikita gave a rueful smile. "A few," she admitted. "First things first. Sylvia Damico, Sidney Tigiere, interim executive strategist." Nikita waited for Sidney to bristle.

She didn't have to wait long. He squared his shoulders; his chin went up. "We've heard good things about you, Damico."

Sylvia shrugged. "I'd be surprised, if you hadn't."

Nikita bit her lip to keep from laughing because the muscles in stiff old Sidney's jaw were jumping at a furious pace. Sylvia's personality was a definite 180 degree change from Michael's. Volatile at times, but always intelligent and controlled when it mattered. She'd been taught by the best--Michael.

"You'll have Michael's old office. Walter's still here. I know he'll want to see you." Nikita glanced down at her watch again. "Sidney and I aren't finished here, but I want you to have dinner with me in the Tower tonight. We'll talk over old times."

"Molto buono," Sylvia said with a nod. "I'll settle in then. Ciao!"

Nikita watched Sylvia walk away, her hips swaying with an extra bit of action. Little devil, she's leading Sidney on. "Now, Sidney, as I said before I'll be choosing my own second- in-command quite soon. I thought it only fair to tell you. I'm sure Oversight misses your valuable input on global issues."

Sidney shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Your reasons? How have I failed you?"

She leveled her gaze at him. "I prefer to make my own choice. As you must surely be aware, the relationship between Operations and Executive Strategist is an important one. For the success of Section One, it's vital I have someone I trust implicitly and who will deal honestly."

"I have failed, if you feel I don't meet those requirements," he replied, the tips of his ears glowing red again. "It's odd, I was told one of your weaknesses was that you always gave people the benefit of the doubt. Why do I not deserve this?"

"It's a luxury I can no longer afford."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"It isn't personal."

"It feels personal."

"My decision is final."

"Of course."

"That's all," Nikita replied, again irritated by his insolent penchant for aping Michael's monosyllabic responses. All she needed were more reminders of Michael. Damn it! All of Section was one big reminder. Everywhere she turned, memories overwhelmed her. And up in her quarters was the biggest reminder of all.

***

Sylvia swished into Munitions, her spike heels tapping against the stone tile floor. The grizzled old, weapons master was bent over his table, hard at work. "La dolce Walter. Comme va?"

Walter looked up, startled for a second, then smiled from ear to ear. "I can't believe my eyes. The hottest woman, who never gave me the time of day, is standing in my workshop in all her Eye-talian glory. How are ya, darlin'?" He rushed to meet her, enveloping her in a bear hug.

"I'm cool. And you? You haven't changed at bit." Always a flirt, always a good warm, man. She'd often wondered how Walter had ended up here, but he was pretty closed about his past.

"Well, I've got a few more wrinkles, but I'm still hot stuff, kid. Not that you'd be interested," he teased with a wide grin.

She smiled in response, then glanced over her shoulder. Dropping her voice, she asked, "Want to fill me in? Some pretty big changes around here."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you know already?"

"Just the main stuff. Operations and Madeline are dead. Michael's gone. Nikita's in charge."

"Don't it beat all? I mean Nikita's old man was Mr. Jones."

"Yeah, with a father like that who needs terrorists? So where is Michael? That seems to be the biggest question floating around the grapevine. First we heard he was dead, then he was back, then gone again."

"Your grapevine's pretty good." Walter glanced around. "Nobody knows where Michael is, just that he's with his son."

Sylvia nodded. "What about Elena?"

Walter looked up, his eyebrows arched in surprise. "Michael told you about Elena?"

"No, Simone did. She was pretty pissed about it, too."

"Yeah, couldn't blame her. Who wouldn't be?"

"How did Nikita take it when she found out?"

"You mean, once she got over the shock?" Walter shrugged. "Sugar took it pretty well, all things considered. She'd been here long enough to know Michael didn't have much choice in the matter."

"So does Nikita have what it takes to do the job?"

"Well, she was trained by Michael. She's done it for a year now and under difficult circumstances, too."

"Oh yeah, I heard about the baby, too."

"You got a damn good grapevine."

Sylvia felt a smile tugging at her lips. "It pays to stay informed."

"I'll say," he agreed. "Where are you off to now?"

"Michael's old office. It doesn't feel right, Section without Michael. I always thought he'd be Operations.

"We all did, but Nikita's made a good choice in picking his replacement. She needs people she can trust, amigo."

"Thanks, Walter. I'll do my best. But there's only one Michael." Taking Michael's place wouldn't be easy. Everyone would be making comparisons, and it would take time and plenty of the right stuff for everyone to trust her judgement and skills.

"Ciao, hon."

"Ciao, Walter." She turned to leave. Might as well get it over with. She definitely had a big pair of boots to fill.

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

Whenever the longing for Nikita threatened to overwhelm him, Michael took to the woods behind his farm. Fifty acres of his own land blanketed by a foot of snow and perfect for cross- country skiing. After three hours, his breath came in ragged, burning gasps, and the sweat poured off his forehead and collected in his ski goggles, fogging with every breath. He stopped, pulled them off and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

Sheer physical exhaustion was the only way he could banish her image, however temporarily. But the need always returned. Her ivory skin, her blue eyes, the silken softness of her skin. "Merde," he wheezed aloud. He couldn't stay out all night. The sky had darkened with low clouds presaging more snow. Matilde was probably waiting dinner for him. And Adam would worry.

Digging his poles into the snow, Michael made his way toward the welcoming light that was now his home, his skis sliding and crunching through the snow.

**********

After leaving his skis and boots in the mud room, Michael ambled into the kitchen. The warmth enveloped him like a sauna, while the aroma of freshly roasted lamb made his mouth water. He hadn't realized it, but he was starving.

Matilde looked up from slicing the lamb. "M'sieur, you were out so long, I had begun to worry."

"I'm fine. Where's Adam?"

"In the study, m'sieur. Shall I call him for dinner?"

"I will." Fatigue dogged his steps.

As he walked toward the study. He met a whirlwind who crashed into him. "Papa!"

He scooped his son up into his arms, noting how long his legs had grown. It wouldn't be long before Adam would be too grownup to allow such displays of affection. "Matilde says dinner is ready. Are you hungry?"

"Oui, Papa. Very hungry. Matilde cut me a bite of lamb, so I wouldn't starve," he said, smacking his lips.

The laughter rumbled in Michael's chest. With Matilde around, Adam's chances of starving were next to nil.

***

After dinner, Michael quizzed Adam over his homework assignments. Finally, after all the work had been accomplished, Michael followed Adam upstairs and tucked him in for the night. He sat on the side of his son's bed, leaned over and kissed him on the brow.

"I wish Mommy were still with us. Like it used to be before you went away."

"I'm sorry, son. I wish she were, too." It wasn't a lie. He had loved Elena. He had loved her for her sweet and genuine innocence. He had loved her because she loved a part of him that didn't exist except in her eyes.

A thing apart from his love for Nikita, who loved him in spite of everything she knew about him.

"Will you play for me, Papa? I don't think I can sleep."

"Of course." Michael stood up. "Up here, or shall I play downstairs?"

"Downstairs. I can hear it up here."

"Bon nuit."

"Bon nuit, papa."

***

Michael sat down and positioned the cello between his knees. He drew the bow across the strings and gave himself to the music.

After a quarter of an hour, he stopped. The mournful sound of the cello was more than he could bear. He set the instrument aside, stood up and walked to the bar. He poured brandy into a snifter, swirled it, inhaled the heady fragrance. He took a sip, rolling the fine liquor over his tongue in appreciation of its bouquet.

Nikita.

He carried the snifter over to his desk and turned on the computer. He'd promised himself he wouldn't invade Nikita's privacy too often, but he had to see her, if only for a second. And his daughter? How much had she grown? Was her health good? So many things could go wrong.

The ache of loneliness was physical. His breath came in shallow gasps as he connected to Section One. Again, maneuvering around the fire walls took all his concentration.

Finally, he was in.

**********

Nikita checked the table settings and made a minor adjustment in the flower arrangement. Christopher had outdone himself in creating an elegant dinner for her and the first guest she'd had in the Tower. Having very little free time, she'd left the interior design as it was, except for requisitioning an abundant array of candles and flowers. The Tower apartment didn't feel like home, truthfully it never would, but the flowers and candles made it bearable.

A low reverberating tone signaled the approach of someone at the outer entrance. Nikita glanced up at the security monitor and smiled at Sylvia, right on time and accompanied by a level four security guard. Only guards with level four clearance knew the location of the Tower.

Nikita keyed the authorization code, allowing Sylvia to enter. A second later, she heard the sharp click of Sylvia's heels as she walked down the hall. After a quick look into a wall mirror, she hurried to meet her new level five operative.

"Sylvia, welcome."

The Italian operative smiled, giving Nikita's quarters the once over. "Grazi, Nikita. It's so good to see you, again. Nice digs, too," she said with an approving smile.

"Thank you, but uh--not quite my style. Still too much of the last inhabitant, but it'll have to do." Before Nikita could continue, an angry squall erupted from the nursery.

"Il bambino? May I see her?"

"Sure," Nikita agreed, turning and heading toward the rear of the apartment. "She's supposed to be down for the night, but she's a bit of a night owl, which is okay with me since my hours are pretty erratic. At least she's not always asleep when I finally have some time to myself."

Sylvia followed Nikita down another hall. "You look worn out. How much downtime have you had since taking over?"

"I had about eight hours while I was in labor," Nikita replied. "None since then."

"What?"

"That's one of the things I hope to rectify now that you're here. And after I pick a new Executive Strategist. I have someone in mind. She looks good on paper, but I'd like your input."

"Sure."

Nikita opened the door to the nursery. The nanny Sandi was walking back and forth trying to placate a furious baby. "Problem?"

Sandi smiled, her round face pleasant in spite of Jax's squalling as she patted her charge's diaper-padded bottom. "I think she knows you have company and resents being left out."

Nikita snorted. "Of course, I'm sure that's it." She extended her arms. "Here I'll take her." She cradled her baby and looked down into Jax's red face. "Now, what's the matter with my little girly girl? Your mum has company, and she wants to meet you. But you're going to have to put on your party girl face." Her playful tone seemed to calm the little girl. "Now, that's all better."

Nikita held her baby up for Sylvia's approval. "Sylvia Damico, meet my daughter Jacqueline, better known as Jax."

"Oh my God, she's adorable!" She fingered the dark reddish-brown curls. "Her hair is like Michael's. What about her eyes?"

"It's too soon to tell, but I think they'll be green like his, too. Now, Miss Jax, this is Sylvia. She's an old friend of your Papa and mine."

"Not that old."

"You know what I mean." Nikita held the baby to Sylvia. "Want to hold her?"

"May I? I mean, will she cry? I'm a stranger."

"I think she'll be fine." Nikita replied with a grin. "Here you go."

Sylvia took the baby in her arms, struggling a bit for the proper holding position. "This is so weird. I haven't held a baby in my arms like this, since my sister was small." She walked around the nursery, then cast a mournful look at Nikita. "At least you have this one child."

Nikita nodded. "I know. I'm very fortunate. I still don't know what Section One did with the children of operatives--adopted them out, I guess. That's the best scenario."

"Well, this is okay for now, but what about later? How can you raise her here? And how can you raise her anywhere else?"

Nikita raked her hands back through her hair. "I have no idea what I'm going to do. Not yet anyway." An idea had formed in her mind, but accomplishing it seemed an impossible feat. Without warning, a frisson of unease trickled its way down her spine. She stared at the camera high in the corner of the room. Damn it! There it was, again: the same sensation of someone watching her.

She tried to shake it off. "Why don't we have dinner? Christopher will never forgive me if I make him serve it cold."

"Of course. May Jax join us?"

Nikita looked at the nanny. "What do you think? Has she slept at all?"

"She's in a better mood now that her mama is here. Whatever you think, ma'am."

"Let's try her in the chair, and if she gets restless or sleepy, come get her. Sylvia and I will keep our business until after dinner."

***

Michael heaved a sigh as Nikita and Sylvia took Jacqueline--Jax what kind of name was that, anyway--from the nursery. His connection with Nikita was undeniable. He'd felt her penetrating, blue gaze as surely as if he'd been in the same room with her. She obviously felt it, too. The instant tension in her body, the way she tried to shake it off.

Sylvia's question to Nikita had hit him hard, too. How was Nikita going to raise a child in Section or even in the covert community? Mr. Jones had deserted Nikita, yet kept one daughter at his side. How? Why?

He couldn't wait until Adam didn't need him anymore. His daughter would need him, too. Somehow, he would make it happen. He would bring all of his family together. But how?