After dinner Nikita kissed Jax's forehead and sighed as she handed the baby over to the nanny's tender care. "Thank you, Sandi."

Sandi smiled and gave a quick nod, then left Nikita and Sylvia alone.

"Do you eat like this every night?" Sylvia asked, leaning back, her eyes slightly glazed. "I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach."

"No way. Tonight is special. Christopher usually leaves me something in the fridge, and I warm it up whenever I have time." Nikita stood up. "Let's go into the living room and get comfortable. This will probably be the only chance we have to catch up."

After rehashing everything from being Gelmanized to taking over Section One, Nikita paused. "I've seen your file; your performance has been stellar. So, tell me what else you've been up to? Is there someone special?"

"There was . . . someone," Sylvia began, then paused as if uncertain.

"So what happened?" Nikita probed. If Sylvia's personal relationships were in a state of chaos, then it would be best to know, right up front. She watched, puzzled at Sylvia's reaction.

Sylvia looked down at the back of her hands and chewed her bottom lip before finally answering, "You happened."

More confused than ever, Nikita felt her mouth drop open. "Me?" Surely Sylvia hadn't developed feelings beyond friendship for-- No, it just wasn't possible. Was it?

Sylvia giggled. "Nikita, if you could just see your face," she started, then broke down into all-out laughter.

"I've always been told my face is an open book," Nikita admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed. "So spare my wildest imaginings, and tell me what the hell you mean I happened."

Sylvia's shoulders shook with her unrestrained laughter. "I just meant the offer from Section One, although I guess offer probably isn't the right term, either. The opportunity to be at One came at an inopportune time."

"Go on."

"I'm very involved with someone, or at least I was until I was informed you wanted me here. Don't get me wrong, even if I could've turned it down, I wouldn't have."

"So you left someone behind," Nikita murmured, her throat closing with the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Blinking back the tears, she confessed, "I know how she must feel."

"I'm realistic," Sylvia said with a shrug. "Life in the Sections was never meant to be convenient. We're not here as a reward for good behavior."

"I'm trying to change some of that, but it isn't easy, and you'd be surprised at how unwelcome it is."

"Really?"

"From some of the comments I've heard, you'd think I was trying to turn the cold ops into an old ladies sewing circle."

Sylvia crossed her eyes and cringed. "That's a powerful image."

"I don't think I'm really cut out for this position, but as long as I'm here I'm determined to make a difference in the lives of the people here."

"Does that mean you think you'll finally get out?"

"It means what it means," she hedged. She'd given up on anyone allowing her to leave, but somehow, someway she would be free of Section and Center. She just didn't have a plan, yet.

"What about Michael?" Sylvia asked, apparently deciding a change in the topic of conversation wouldn't hurt.

Shaking her head, Nikita allowed, "He's somewhere safe, making a new life for himself and Adam. I hope."

"You truly have no idea where he is?"

"Not at all. With his facility with languages, he could be anywhere." That wasn't quite the truth. Nikita did have an idea where he might be, or at least the country. French was his native language, and she always thought he'd pick a French-speaking country.

"Well, you're right about that. I've never seen anyone as gifted. Even people who speak several languages are only fluent in three or four at most. I gave up trying to stump Michael. He has at least seven or eight languages, I'm certain."

Anxious to change the subject, Nikita nodded. "That's about right. Well, enough about Michael. Tell me about your special someone."

A dreamy expression flitted over Sylvia's attractive face. "We've been close for quite a while. She's a profiler, so she's quite intelligent, beautiful too. I really miss her," she sighed, then hastened to add, "Don't think I'm ungrateful. I'm content to be at One."

Nikita considered her options. Why not transfer Sylvia's significant other to Section One? Why should two operatives be as miserable as she was? It was time for a change in policy. If Operations and Madeline hadn't been so determined to keep Michael and her apart, they might both be still alive and in charge. And she and Michael would be together, even it if was in Section.

"Would you like to have her transferred to Section One? I can make it happen."

Sylvia's jaw dropped; her eyes widened. "Are you serious? You'd really do that?"

"I said it was time some changes were made. I'm very serious.

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

No matter how much he tried to avoid it, Michael had broken his long-standing rule: that of not monitoring Nikita's quarters for more than two point five minutes. But he couldn't help it; his curiosity had gotten the better of him. As soon as Nikita and Sylvia left the baby's room, he switched to the dining room security camera.

While Nikita and Sylvia gossiped over dinner, he surrendered once more to the lure of his former lover. Motherhood hadn't changed her body, except for her pert breasts; they were heavier. Had she breast-fed Jacqueline? Was the fullness from milk? There was so much about her life he couldn't know.

Instinctively he moistened his lips, as he savored the memory of tasting one of her taut nipples as it budded in response to his teasing.

Sheer foolishness torturing himself this way. Nothing to be gained by it. He tried to turn away.

But at the sight of her lean body draped in flowing, black lounging pajamas, the yearning to hold her in his arms overwhelmed him.

Silk, the pajamas had to be silk the way the material eddied and shimmered in the low light of the tower quarters.

Mesmerized, he sighed as Nikita ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. He remembered the silkiness of her blonde mane, the unbelievably softness of her skin the first time he touched her.

The first time he lost control and cast caution to the winds.

Caressed her and sampled her sweet warmth. Left his brand on her, as she had undeniably left hers on him.

A mirage, shimmering in the night. Was it truly Nikita? He'd turned his head and she was gone. Back in Section, once again he had entered the message: Nikita, are you there?

Seeing her answer: Yes. Knowing the mirage was real had brought him such peace. Yet, what would he have done, if he had known the future? Would the knowledge have strengthened his resolve to keep her at arms length? He'd tried. Lord, but he'd tried. But there was no denying their bond.

Nikita was part of him, blood and bone, heart and soul.

And now, the mother of his child.

Michael looked over at Adam's picture, prominently positioned by a small ormolu clock. Merde! He'd spent ten minutes staring at the monitor--five minutes too long for safety's sake. Birkoff had warned him long ago, never to stay in the system more than five minutes.

After one last glance at his love, he forced his hands to perform the keystrokes which would erase any traces of his incursion into Section One's data base.

He would have to beef up security, just in case. And prepare to move at a moment's notice.

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

Nikita observed genuine pleasure on her dinner partner's gamine face. Transferring Sylvia's significant other wouldn't be the first change in policy, for she'd initiated a certain relaxation of the dogmatic rules, first with Jasmine then with a selective group of others. So far, Nikita hadn't been disappointed, nor was she unaware of the depth of loyalty her actions had wrought--loyalty to Section One's agenda and personal loyalty to the head of Section One. A cadre of operatives she could trust to do the job . . . and leave behind, if she ever left.

And she would have to leave at some point. Though it might dishonor her promise to her father, she'd already made up her mind to spirit her daughter far away from the influence of Section One and Center. Never would she allow her and Michael's daughter to be used as a pawn in the game of geopolitical dominance. Somewhere there was a place she could raise Jax in peace and quiet. She hoped Michael had found such a place for him and Adam. She must do, as well.

"Earth to Nikita."

Nikita jerked herself back to reality. Sylvia was staring, her black eyebrows arched in puzzlement as she waited for an answer. "I was drifting, wasn't I?"

"Only for a second or two. You seemed about a thousand miles away."

"Sorry." More like ten thousand, she thought. Chagrined by losing her train of thought, she chewed her bottom lip before continuing. "I start to run out of energy this time of night. Tell me your friend's name, and I'll see that she's brought over. A profiler, you said?"

"Yes, Evanna Scio, she's head strategist." Sylvia shook her head. "But I don't know if she would want to come. I mean, I know it's not her choice, but she's first in line for Executive Strategist in Section Three. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I would hate for her to lose her chance at the position, for purely personal reasons."

Leaning back against her chair, Nikita found the coincidence startling. "She's one of the people I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I'm looking for my own Executive Strategist, but it will be difficult to get rid of Sidney. Oversight picked him, and as much as I want to send him on his way, I'll need an excellent reason. Evanna would be first in line for his position, should he, shall we say, fail in some way? She won't lose anything by the transfer. You have my word on that."

Sylvia's face lit up. "That's wonderful. I-I'm speechless, almost," she said laughing.

"Ma'am," Jason's voice interjected from the intercom.

More than a little annoyed by the interruption, Nikita barked, "What is it?"

"I've found an anomaly in the data base."

"What kind of an anomaly, Jason?"

"I think I'd better tell you face-to-face."

"Is it absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, it's about the matter we discussed, a while ago."

The realization of what he was trying not to say dawned on her. "A security issue?"

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled.

"I'll be right down." Turning to Sylvia, she apologized, "I'm afraid this is something I need to handle personally." Nikita stood up. "It's been marvelous seeing you again."

Sylvia jumped up from the sofa and hugged Nikita. "Nikita, thank you for everything. I've had a wonderful dinner and wonderful news."

***

Nikita found Jason sprawled in his chair in comm. "All right, spill," she ordered, not wasting any time with pleasantries.

After glancing around the area, Jason leaned forward and whispered. "I found an incursion. One lasting ten minutes. The target--your quarters."

A tingling sensation skittered its way down her spine. "What time?" she asked, the memory of her earlier suspicion of being watched foremost in her mind.

"Twenty-thirteen to twenty-twenty-three."

Nikita's mind buzzed with the implications.

"We have to report it, ma'am."

"No. No one else is to know." She turned to leave then stopped dead in her tracks. "Were you able to trace the origin?"

"Only part of the way. Whoever it was is pretty good. He piggy-backed the ISP's. I traced two of them."

"And?" Nikita leaned forward her hands on Jason's desk.

"One outside Paris and the other outside a small village in Belgium," he said with a shrug. "But I can tell that wasn't the point of origination."

"You're sure?" Belgium? The farmhouse?

"Positive." Jason removed his glasses and huffed on them.

Nikita got down in Jason's face. "No record of this, whatsoever. Understand?"

"Like you'll kill me, if I betray you?" he replied with a smirk, casually cleaning his glasses with the tail of his shirt.

"Exactly."

"Yes, ma'am. What're you doing down here this time of night, anyway?" he asked with a look of total innocence.

"G'night, Jason."

"Night, ma'am."

Nikita went back to her quarters, her mind full of questions. Was it Michael? Had he found a way to access the Section computers? Was he watching her?

It had to be Michael. The Belgium connection was too much of a coincidence. How often was he monitoring her and the baby? If it was, he knew about her. Oh, Lord. What next?

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

Nearly a month had passed since Nikita's diner with Sylvia, and Section one had been busy. The entanglement in China with the downed airplane had been the first incident requiring her attention. The China debacle had quickly been followed by renewed civil war in Chechnya, with additional trouble spots heating up in Macedonia. Section One had mounted covert missions in those areas, not to mention the normal, everyday ridding the world of troublesome terrorists.

In other words, she'd been busier than hell, and meetings at Oversight and Center had been called with greater frequency than she could ever have imagined. And here she was again at Center. The last place in the world she ever wanted to be. And there she was: sister Michelle, the glorified, champagne-swilling receptionist. Daddy's little girl who'd never once risked life or limb on field operations for seven long years.

Michelle looked up from her computer monitor. "Nice to see you, Nikita," she said with a smile that was patently false to Nikita's practiced eye.

"Yeah, right. Are the others here?" Nikita asked as she strode past Michelle's desk to her father's old office. "I don't have any time to waste." Unlike you, bimbo, I have work to do.

"Yes, they're here and they appear to be tickled to death." Michelle stood up and followed Nikita into her office. "Maybe you would if you took over here as father intended. You spend too much time at Section One."

"How I spend my time and where is my decision. I don't expect you to understand, but Section One is seriously undermanned and still hasn't recovered from the loss of Michael Samuelle. I can't leave One until there is a full complement of leaders comparable to what we used to have."

"Maybe I could help you with that. I used to help father with personnel matters."

"Me?" Nikita slammed her briefcase down on the desk. "Let you make personnel decisions with the lives of operatives at stake? Someone who has no vested interest beyond where her next bottle of champagne is coming from?"

Michelle stood her ground, crossing her arms across her chest. "Maybe you need someone who can be objective. You're too close to the situation. You've totally lost your objectivity, if you ever had any."

Give me strength, Nikita prayed. "The day I'm objective about human lives, whether those of operatives or innocents, is the day I quit. Mr. Jones, our father, accepted my sense of compassion as one of my strengths. That's the reason I'm here now."

"Not everyone agreed with him, you know," Michelle replied with a smirk.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Nikita sat down, trying to count to ten and breathe at the same time. Look, Michelle, I do things my own way. I always have, no matter the consequences. What have you done lately? Besides take a dip in the pool or answer the telephone, I mean?"

Michelle arched an eyebrow, still smirking. "You'd be surprised, Nikita, but I'll let you find out for yourself."

"Right," Nikita replied, dismissing her sister's remark with a wave. Was it an idle comment or something more along the line of a threat? She looked up from the papers she needed for the meeting with the head of Oversight and two of the other Sections. "Five minutes, and I'll see them."

***

Four hours later, the meeting was history. Tired, frustrated and basically pissed off, Nikita entered Section One, first stopping at Simon's station in Comm. "Anything?" she asked out of habit, setting down her brief case on his desk. If there had been anything, she would have been notified immediately.

"Nothing, ma'am."

"See if you can't keep it that way for the next four hours, okay?"

Simon looked up startled. "Uh, sure, I'll do my best."

Nikita hid the smile she felt tugging at her lips. Simon was always nervous around her, more so now, than ever before. She suspected it had something to do with those old pirated tapes of the Armel mission. "I'm down for four hours. Has Damico's team returned from picking up Hassan ben Adan?"

"Due back anytime. He should be gracing the White Room for quite a while"

"Who's on tonight Sydney or Evanna?"

"The lovely, but oh-so-untouchable, Evanna," Simon quipped.

"Good. I'll want a report on her debrief of Adan on my desk at seven."

"Sure thing."

"G'nite."

"Night, ma'am."

Picking up her briefcase, she turned and headed for her quarters and baby Jax. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she'd seen her daughter. Too damn long!

No matter how late, she always looked in on Jax. It was only two. Jax might even be awake for a bottle. Would she have the feeling tonight? She hadn't felt it since the dinner with Sylvia. She kept hoping, but it hadn't happened again. Someone had been watching. It pleased her to think Michael had found a way, if indeed he had.

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

The last month had passed slowly for Michael. It had been an agonizing exercise in patience and preparedness. Would operatives from Section One descend on his farmhouse, guns at the ready? Had he worried for naught? As the first twenty-four hours passed, then forty- eight, then a week, he began to breathe easier. Perhaps he had not been detected at all, or whoever had detected him had reported it to Nikita alone. Two weeks passed, then three, but still he didn't let his guard down, maintaining the strictest vigilance over his property and son.

The heavy winter snow still blanketed his land with deep drifts with months yet until the spring thaw. Instead of driving Adam to school in the Land Rover, Michael had taken to tutoring his son at home. The risk of their being separated remained too great. Never again would he allow anyone to control his life the way Section One had.

Nor had he attempted accessing Section One. As much as he wanted to see his daughter, he curbed his patience. As for seeing Nikita, visualizing the woman he loved was torture of the most sublime. To gaze on her ethereal beauty and not be able to touch her silken skin. . . .

A month. He could wait no longer. He chose his time, calculating when Section One would be at its lowest level of activity. While it was surely the wrong hour to catch a glimpse of Nikita, but he could gaze on his daughter for two minutes, assuring himself of her continued good health. There had always been a night light in Jacqueline's (he couldn't bring himself to call her Jax) nursery; he expected this time to be no different, or this morning since it was two-thirty in Section One.

Sixty seconds later, he was in. The maneuvers necessary to access the system were complicated but second nature by now. He quickly accessed the video cam. for the nursery. Fluffy white clouds adorned the pale pink room. No doubt Nikita's own decoration, he thought unable to keep from smiling.

But the white-canopied bed was empty! Panic rising, his heart nearly stopping with fear, Michael's shaking fingers performed the necessary keystrokes, directing the camera to scan the room.

What he found devastated him, nearly broke his hide-bound heart: In the far corner of the room Nikita sat in a rocking chair, holding their daughter in her arms, both of them asleep or nearly so. Nikita's head nodded; she jerked awake, smiled and kissed the top of Jacqueline's head. She resumed rocking, then stopped. Looking around the room, she looked directly into the camera, her blue eyes wide awake.

"Michael?" she whispered. "Is it you?"

Mon Dieu, if only he had some way of communicating with her. The camera? Would it move up and down? Of course it would, if strength of will had any thing to do with it. He forced his trembling fingers to comply and give the appropriate command.

Nikita's eyes widened. "Oh my God, it is." She stood up and angled the sleeping baby for a better view. "You have a daughter, but I expect you know that by now," she said with a wide smile. "I know you've been here before. About a month ago, Jason came to me. He traced the transmission to Belgium, but no farther. I knew it had to be you. At least I hoped it was."

Michael held his breath, kept an eye on the clock, while watching the woman and child on his monitor. The baby had grown, already an armful for the beautiful, but very tired-looking, mother who held her. The ache to gather them both in his arms overwhelmed him. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"I miss you so much," she started, then visibly shook herself. "I have to be able to communicate with you. If you can leave something at the cabin, I'll find a way--"

No matter how much he wanted to linger, he strengthened his will, beginning his careful egress from the system. Two and a half minutes. While he'd been lucky the month before, he wouldn't risk someone other than Jason discovering his intrusion. Not that he trusted Jason in the same way he would've trusted Seymour. But Nikita trusted Jason. Not necessarily a good thing, given her propensity for trusting those who didn't always deserve it.

"Careful, my love," he warned the darkened screen. "Careful."

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

Nikita looked over her shoulder. She'd seen no one in the last thirty minutes. This time she didn't have to walk up the long country road to the cabin. She drove. Still winter, she wondered what it would look like in the spring. It had been winter both times she'd visited, the first time with Michael and now alone.

By sheer dint of will she'd managed to claim five hours of downtime. Driving like a bat out of hell, she'd crossed the border to Belgium, then sped to the farmhouse. She opened the door to the rustic two story house. Instinctively she shivered. Unheated, she could see her breath in the air. She glanced over to the window with the broken latch. It had been repaired. Michael had been here some time. Possibly after he'd left section, maybe even while Section had thought him dead.

Memories flooded her mind, a kaleidoscope of images: Michael kneeling before the iron stove building a fire, preparing dinner, chopping vegetables. Telling her she didn't know everything about him. Time she learned.

Unable to keep from smiling, she walked over to the hifi cabinet and squatted down. Same albums. She sorted through them, looking for the one she'd played that night. No, this is different. A child's coloring book, with a skim of dust, she turned it over in her hands, flipped through the pages. Alongside it lay a box of crayons: a box of sixty-four. At least Michael wasn't stingy. She smiled to herself. Surely, he'd been there with Adam, but only for a night or two since, the location was known to Section.

Absentmindedly she rattled the box of crayons before replacing it on the shelf alongside the coloring book.

She stopped.

It sounded as if some crayons were missing. She eased open the container. A mini-cassette lay nestled among the multicolored sticks of wax. She upended the box; the cassette slid into her hand. Looking around she was unable to find a cassette player. "Damn!" Frustrated, she wanted to hear the sound of his soft-accented voice. Was the tape something recent or was it left much earlier? She'd have to wait until she could get her hands on a player, unless he'd left her one somewhere else, remote from the tape.

But where?

Looking around the room, more images came. Michael: a man of few words, he was a great cook and a generous lover. The night they'd spent there had been one of contrasts. Seldom had they spent such an ordinary time together. Damn weird, actually. The week of the Armel mission, they'd been under surveillance the entire time. Then she'd had the unique privilege of seeing him at home with Elena and Adam. But that had been only one facet of his personality. He'd felt the awkwardness too, the hesitant way he'd rested his hand on her shoulder after covering her with the afghan.

Once again she climbed the stairs to the upper level. The same slightly musty odor, of an old house unused, but it brought back more memories. Their awkwardness had never been more apparent than at the moment she'd sat down on the old iron bed, testing the mattress. Again he'd hesitated, allowing her to take the lead, as he had on the Armel mission. Live each day like it's our last, she'd told him.

It could be, he'd replied. Probably trying to dissuade her from jumping his bones, but she'd decided what the hell. She wasn't about to spend a night lying next to the sexiest man on the planet, chaste as a nun.

You know I can't be casual, she'd warned him afterwards. He'd known.

And there had been nothing casual about their coupling that night.

Nikita sat down on the bed again. "Now where would he have left the tape player?" she asked aloud. Reaching under the pillow, she found nothing. All right, think like Michael, trying to think like me. Where would he leave it so I could find it?

Then it came to her. She giggled, remembering . . . .

"Michael," she whispered, nudging him with her elbow.

He breathed a lazy, "What?" in her ear as he pulled her closer into his embrace.

"Where's the loo?"

"Out back."

"Not funny. Where is it?" Maybe it was downstairs, off the garage or something.

"Told you."

She squirmed out of his arms and sat up on the side of the bed.

"Don't go," he said. "It's cold." Moving over to her side of the bed, he snaked his arms around her waist.

"Duh!" Like she didn't know it was cold. Five seconds out of the warmth of his bed, and she'd already turned into a popsicle. "I have to go." She reached down and found the skivvies she'd shucked off the night before, slipped her feet into the openings and pulled them up over her hips.

"Exactly where out back is it? I'm not gonna wander around in the dark all night."

"Go out through the garage. You'll see it."

Lord, how she'd complained about that trip to the out--no, make that the ice--house in the middle of the night. No fair being a female sometimes. But Michael had dressed and gone with her, even stood guard in the frigid, dark night while she emptied her bladder.

That's the last time I'll ever drink that much wine, she'd told him, without checking where the facilities are first. He'd chuckled in her ear, as he bear-hugged her all the way back to bed.

Nikita flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time, out though the garage to the antiquated excuse for a potty. Easing open the door, she ran her hands along the ledge. In the corner, behind cob-webbed roll of T.P., she found the tape player. "Michael Samuelle, you know me so well."

Her hands shaking, she inserted the cassette, then punched the play button. She held her breath.

"Ni-ki-ta . . ."

***********

Nikita caught her breath. Unsure whether she could handle whatever message he had left on the tape, she hit the off button. The very sound of his softly-accented voice breathing her name brought a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. She swiped at them with the back of her sleeve. It had been over a year since they'd said good-bye at the train station, but the thought of being this close to him left her undone. So much had happened. So much she wanted to share with him.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus. Damn it! She didn't have time to waste blubbering in a freeze-ass-cold outhouse. Pulling her coat tighter, she ran back to the farmhouse. At least she'd be out of the biting wind.

Once inside, she sat down on the sofa, took a deep breath and hit rewind.

"Ni-ki-ta, I knew sooner or later you would come back to the farmhouse. We spent a special night here, free of surveillance, although not truly free. Adam and I spent one night here, so that I could leave the tape and the player for you. I can't tell you where I'm going, but when the time comes, and you are truly free, you will find me."

Nikita heard him chuckle, an awesome and strange sound, before he continued, "After all, you found the tape player." Michael paused, then continued. "I miss you. We have been separated many times, but this will be our longest separation. I hope I left a part of me, someone who will keep you company until we can all be together. I love you, my Ni-ki-ta."

Her tears fell unchecked. She punched the rewind button again.

And again.

And again.

***********

Thèrese DuPre sat in Michael's study, her feet tucked beneath her. Warmed by a nicely banked fire in the great stone fireplace, she observed the most enigmatic patient she had ever treated. The sweet smoky scent of apple wood as it burned, made a nice contrast to the fine brandy in her glass. Swirling the last sip of brandy around and around in the snifter, she finally said what was on her mind. "You're troubled. What is it? Is it Adam? He's progressing, don't you think?"

Michael steepled his hands on the desk in front of him, then nodded. "Thèrese, I must ask you a favor."

"Anything, Michael, I owe you my new life."

"You wouldn't need one if not for me."

"Water under the dam, my friend."

"Still . . . ." Michael shrugged.

"Name it. I'll do my best." What on earth could she do for him? Michael seemed invincible to her, always had, ever since the first time he stalked into her office and challenged her to help him.

"I have to return to Europe. I need you to look after Adam for me."

"Michael, is that wise? Returning to Europe, I mean?"

"I must."

"What's happened? Is it Nikita?"

"More than Nikita. We have a daughter."

"Mon Dieu, when?" She straightened up; her feet hit the floor. Damn! The man certainly knew how to get her attention.

"Three months ago."

"How did it happen?" She couldn't imagine Michael making a mistake like fathering a child, and anyway--

Michael's mouth kicked up at the corner. "Pardon?"

"I know how, Michael. I mean I thought that Section implanted their operatives with devices."

"They do. But they have to be renewed. I was on the run for six months.

"Ah, so the medication was no longer effective."

Michael continued, his voice soft and seductive as always--not that he intended it, Thèrese knew. "When I returned to Section, I had planned on freeing Nikita, but her father made her promise to stay and take his place. She chose to honor that promise."

"How could he ask such a thing of her? Why would she promise?"

"He exchanged his life for mine."

Thèrese groaned. "Such pain for the two of you." Tears welled in her eyes. A true romantic, she couldn't help but feel paid of the star-crossed lovers. "And now another child without both parents."

"For now."

"Nikita has communicated with you?"

"Not directly. I piggybacked multiple relays off a D.O.D. satellite and accessed Section One's communications. Somehow she knew I had her quarters under surveillance."

"Ah, the power of love," she sighed. "You and Nikita have a strong connection, mon ami." The lovely Nikita who had held this man enthralled for years--what a lucky woman, although they had both suffered greatly for their love.

"I planted a tracking device on the tape recorder. It's been moved from the farmhouse."

"What if someone else found and moved it? How can you be sure it was Nikita?"

Michael smiled, again, something Thèrese thought he did seldom enough. Here this tragic man was: He had a new baby daughter, whom he'd never held in his arms. For all his skill as a killer, she knew him to be a loving father. His devotion to Adam was proof enough.

"I know Nikita." Michael leaned forward, his green eyes begging her. "But will you look after Adam?"

"Of course, I'll look after Adam, but what're you going to do in Europe? Bring Nikita and your daughter back here to Quebec?"

"Ultimately." Michael paused, then continued, "If something should go wrong, you may have to look after Adam for a long time."

"You're in danger if you return. I understand."

"I'm not returning to Section. Nikita must come with me of her own free will. If I should fail, or I am taken . . . . "

"I can't imagine you failing at anything. Besides, she has the baby to think of. It will make a difference. And no one could capture Michael Samuelle. I'm sure of it."

Michael gave another expressive shrug. "I have to see Nikita and hold my daughter Jacqueline, at least once."

Thèrese couldn't resist teasing him. "And I suppose you wouldn't mind holding the fair Nikita while you're at it?"

His green eyes narrowed, his expression grew distant. Answer enough for the observant psychiatrist who watched le beau Michel traverse time and space while he remembered his love.

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

After a night alternately tortured by erotic dreams and horrific visions of failure, Michael rolled out of bed at five. Methodically he prepared to leave his sanctuary . . . and his son. Whether or not he would see either again, he didn't know. Had he lost his edge? On the brink of having everything he held dear, would he lose it instead? Most of all, was his plan a horrible, arrogant miscalculation on his part?

Nikita and their child were safe where they were. But for how long? Jacqueline would keep Nikita eternally vulnerable, no matter what level of power she attained. And what kind of life would their child have? Guards, who cared nothing about her. No one could love and protect her the way he could--the way he would.

And Adam? His son had lost so much. How could any father contemplate what he must do next? Leave the boy who'd lost first his father, been uprooted from his home in the dead of night, then lost his mother, been kidnapped, only to be reunited with a father he'd long thought dead?

He sat down at the desk and wrote out instructions for Thèrese . . . and his will. He named her as guardian for Adam and left his estate in trust for Adam--and Jacqueline, should she somehow survive what was likely to be the most dangerous experience of her short life.

As he put pen to paper, he thought of all the causes he'd made with his life. The University and the people he'd murdered. An error of misjudgment had taken the fiery Simone from him. Calculation and deceit had taken the place of the true love that the gentle Elena deserved, before he ruined her life. Did he deserve happiness?

No, but he craved it like any other mortal. And Nikita deserved it. She'd been an innocent before Jones and Section had taken her from the streets. And his daughter whose only misfortune had been her birth into a subterranean world of intrigue and death.

Adam and Jacqueline deserved every second of security and love he could give them. But was he sacrificing the happiness of one to rescue the other?

Michael closed his eyes and prayed.

********

Michael sat at the old oak table in the bright sunny kitchen. He looked out the window at a foot of snow, still on the ground. His coffee had grown cold while he tried to find the words to tell Adam good-bye, maybe forever. "I have to go away for a little while. Dr. Dupre is going to stay with you . . . until I come back."

"Where are you going?" Adam asked, then took another slurping sip of cocoa from his Harry Potter cup.

"I have to take a business trip."

"Like you used to do when Mommy was with us?"

Michael flinched at the memory of those times. "Yes."

Adam dipped his spoon into his bowl of hot cereal, then stopped with the spoon midway to his mouth. He wrinkled his forehead, his little eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. "How long?"

"A week, maybe two." Maybe never. "You'll be all right with Dr. Dupre."

Adam nodded. "I like her, but I want you to hurry."

Michael's heart ached as he watched his son's head dip lower and lower. "Come here," he said holding out his arms. "I need a big hug before I go, if you're not too big for hugs."

Adam jumped up from his chair and ran into Michael's arms. "This time it's okay. Since you're going away, even though it's just for a little while, right?"

"Yes, just for a little while." He prayed it would be so. "You'll be good? You won't cause Dr. Dupre and Matilde any trouble?"

"I'll be good, Daddy. Will you see Nikita?"

"Maybe." His son's prescience stunned him at times.

"I wish she could live here with us. She was fun."

"I'm glad you like her." Maybe the transition wouldn't be so difficult, after all. He wished he could tell Adam about his new sister, but the risks involved negated that impulse. If everything went as planned, Adam would meet his new sister soon enough.

"You like her too, don't you?"

"Yes, I like her." Michael stood up, keeping Adam in his grasp, wishing he never had to leave him. This would be the last time.

"J'aime, mon fil."

"I love you too, Daddy."

"Time to go?" Thèrese asked from the doorway, holding out her hand to Adam.

"Yes, time to go." He turned gazing at the scene, burning it into his memory for all time. An unusually bright winter day, the sun streamed in through the window. And Adam, trying to hide his fears of abandonment behind a brave facade.

*********

Waiting.

Marking time.

Nikita drummed her fingers on the plexi-glass desk top, her level of tension so high she was certain anyone could take one look at her and know she was up to something. Knowing it might be weeks or even months before she could be with Michael didn't help. Yet, she sensed the time was near.

She'd left him an encrypted access code at the farmhouse in Belgium. Just a series of numbers, but he would recognize their significance and know how to use them. Only one colleague at Center had the encrypted code that could locate her anytime, anywhere. As yet, only the threat of nuclear war between China and Taiwan had necessitated the code's being activated, and that had been six months earlier.

And she had no doubt he would locate the code she'd left inside the cover of an old LP, the same one she'd played the only night they'd spent in the farmhouse. That first night of freedom had been one of pretense. Michael's lovemaking had been too guarded, too restrained, too unlike the other times they'd shared a bed. So Michael had pretended they were free and, she'd pretended she wasn't suspicious, that she wasn't on to him. It never made sense that Michael would escape Section over a promotion. She had decided to sit back and see what he was up to and enjoy what there was to enjoy.

"Ma'am, Ms. Damico."

Knowing her train of thought was going nowhere fast and grateful for the break, Nikita said, "Send her up."

In seconds, the smartly-dressed Sylvia stood before Nikita. "What's up, boss?"

"Nothing much," Nikita dissembled. She'd actually forgotten she'd asked to see Sylvia. "I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am you're here. You've made your place and earned the respect of your peers."

"Thank you. I don't want you to think I'm a suck up, but I don't know when I've ever been so happy--in Section--well, you know what I mean."

Nikita couldn't help but grin at the level six operative, who was totally original, said exactly what she thought without seeming disrespectful, and was a breath of fresh air. Nikita would miss the operative, but she didn't worry about leaving Section One in Sylvia's more than competent hands. "I do know what you mean. And Evanna, is she happy?"

"On a personal level, yes. Otherwise, she's made it her mission to keep Sidney on his toes. Actually, I think they balance each other quite well. There's only one difficulty."

"And your assessment of that difficulty?"

"They both have very strong personalities, and sometimes they disagree."

Still smiling, Nikita nodded. "I've seen some of their disagreements right here in the perch. But it's working?"

"Yes. I think their differences aren't as great as they think, and they actually balance each other quite well."

"Good! That's all that matters as far as Section goes." Nikita looked down at her watch. "That's all I have. Any questions?"

"No." Sylvia turned, walked toward the door, then stopped. She turned back to Nikita, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.

"Sylvia?" Something was definitely on the operative's mind.

"Never mind." She gave a dismissive wave, then continued, "Just this. In case, I don't get another chance to say it, thank you. You've been the best Operations I've ever worked with."

"Thank you."

"I know. But all the same . . . ." Sylvia shrugged, then waved. "Ciao."

"Ciao." As soon as Sylvia had left the perch, Nikita muttered an expletive under her breath. Sylvia knew something was up. I've got to get out of here before everyone does.

***

In Belgium, Michael kicked opened the door to the farmhouse. The weather had warped the rugged old door, and it had taken some encouragement to open. He turned, surveying the living room. Now, think like Nikita. If she were going to leave me something where would she leave it? The bedroom? Would she leave it where she'd found the tape player? No, she would have brought it back into the house and listened to it out of the elements.

He spied the old stereo system and smiled. Walking over to it, he crouched down and scanned through the albums. Yes, Françoise Hardy. As he pulled out the old vinyl disc, a slip of paper fell between his knees on the floor. When he read the sequence of numbers and symbols, he smiled. Nikita had left him an encrypted access code.

All he had to do was go online and he could communicate with Nikita in real time.

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

Nikita walked down the halls of Section One, making a mental list: diapers, formula, clothes, wipes, bottles, a warmer, carrier. Having Jax complicated everything, but if it weren't for the baby, there wouldn't be any point in leaving Section. As much as she hated her life, and as much as she loved Michael, she never would've agreed to Michael's plan, thus dishonoring her promise to her father.

Having absolutely no clue to what mode made it all the more difficult. Still Michael had the transportation issue under control. She wouldn't worry about that. If she knew Michael--and she did know Michael--he would have multiple routes of egress. He was never one to skimp on contingencies.

Money? No, Michael would have money. She wouldn't have to worry about that, either. A weapon or two? Walter would help her there. She hated the thought of having a gun around the baby, but there was no other way. Protecting her baby was second nature. She couldn't leave everything up to Michael.

At her approach operatives started to speak, but something about her demeanor or expression must have warned them away. In the last year, she'd tried to integrate some humanity into the lives of operatives. Sylvia could almost run Section One on her own, she would make a good Operations. Evanna had Sidney jumping through hoops in Strategy and Psych-Ops. The entire operation was running smoothly for the first time, since she'd taken over. The timing was right. She could leave in good conscience, knowing the changes she'd made would be carried into the next administration.

Or was she rationalizing? Probably.

As she rounded the corner and saw Walter bent over his work table, fiddling with his latest contraption, she felt the muscles in her face relax. God, she would miss him. He'd made her life bearable, always trying to instill a degree of caution in her, always encouraging her to go on, even when it seemed as if she couldn't. He'd lied, gone off profile and protected her and Michael, too. If anyone had been a father to her, Walter had.

At the sound of her arrival, he looked up beaming at her. "Sugar, what brings you around to see this old man?"

"Do I have to have a reason to see my oldest friend?"she asked, leaning her elbows on the work table.

Walter leveled his watery blue gaze at her. "You look like a woman with a mission to me."

"You know me so well." She leaned her head closer to his. "I'm getting out of here."

"'Bout damn time. What can I do to help?"

"Oh, a weapon or two, a small field router?" she suggested, remembering the punishment he took for her the last time she and Michael left Section One.

Walter grinned. "Got something better than a field router."

"Yeah? And what would that be?"

"A little something of my own, not sanctioned by the powers that be, not yet anyway."

"Sounds promising. Tell me more."

He bent his head closer. "Well, this is how it works. First you take . . . ."

********

Michelle reviewed the communication activity log and smiled. So, Michael had discovered a way to contact Nikita. The only way that could have happened was if Nikita had given Michael her direct access code . . . the one accessible only by Center level thirteen.

While she wasn't level thirteen, she had hacked into the Center's data base years earlier and knew simply everything there was to know about Center's business. Her gift with computers was the real reason her father had kept her close by. If it hadn't been for those computer skills, she might have been in the same predicament as Nikita. And perhaps Michael would have become enamored of herself instead of that flighty blonde limbo whose propensity for compassion knew no bounds.

So now, after more than a year of silence, Michael Samuelle had contacted Nikita and the ditz had actually responded--multiple times. It didn't take a nuclear physicist to understand the two were up to something. Like freeing Nikita and her albatross.

Of course that one baby possessed what had to be the most superior set of genes in existence--at least as far as the world of covert anti-terrorism was concerned. Michael's intelligence and physical prowess coupled with Nikita's physical skills and uncanny ability to do everything wrong and still come out smelling like a damned rose.

It was all part of her father's plan. Oh sure, he preached about the good that would come from Nikita's influence, but Michelle was of the mind that the ends justified the means. Might makes right--it always has. And as far as she was concerned, it always would.

She called up the stats from all of Michael's missions: ninety-nine point nine percent. Unheard of and damned uncanny. His image flickered on the monitor. "Well, come on, Michael. You've always had a black-knight/white-knight complex. Some day you'll have to make up your mind and accept what you really are: a genius housed in the body of a superb killing machine. Then we can deal," she told his image. "I'll be waiting."

********

In a deserted and silent park outside Paris, Michael severed his connection to Nikita. Communicating with her had only made his longing for her greater. Soon, he told himself. Soon, he would hold her and his daughter in his arms . . . if all went well.

If not, it wouldn't matter, because they would likely be dead.

However, he hadn't made it this far thinking negatively. Finally, he would achieve his greatest victory, wresting Nikita and his daughter from the insidious hold of Section One and the Center. Yet he remained troubled.

In his research he'd discovered some disturbing facts about Nikita's sister: she wasn't what she seemed and could prove a troublesome adversary unless properly motivated.

During his latest interchange with Nikita, she had given him the location of Center along with directions to the underground tunnel leading to her office in Center, but it was gene-coded and would allow only Nikita to enter. At least it was gene-coded for Nikita, but Jason had overridden the coding, and with an old sample of Michael's genetic material, had re-coded the entry parameters, which would allow him access to Center and their computer system.

He needed certain records as bargaining chips. All right, call it by its rightful name: blackmail. He'd done much worse.

Time to review his preparations and contingencies. He connected to the Internet through a state-of-the-art wireless laptop computer. Its cost was negligible when one factored in the ease with which he was able to arrange rentals for any mode of transportation in existence.

After several minutes of re-verification, he smiled. Everything was as it should be.

***

With Nikita's clear instructions, Michael found Center easily enough. He thought it amusing that Center hid in plain sight. The house, a modern construction, occupied a spacious wooded lot along with similarly designed houses nearby. Even Nikita was unsure if the houses surround Center were inhabited by undercover agents. He assumed they were, and determined he would approach from the rear of the upscale development.

Night had fallen when Michael left the motor cycle at the periphery of the forest behind Center. Pulling on his night-vision goggles, he made his way to the tunnel entrance which had been cleverly disguised as a storm drain. Security was more lax than he'd expected. He'd only discovered two instances of infa-red beams and had easily avoided tripping them.

He entered the storm drain and strode four paces forward. Turning to his left, he ran his hand across the surface, feeling for the irregularity which would indicate the entrance to the tunnel. He found it: a four by six centimeter rectangle. Nikita had said, 'Push left to right, then top to bottom.' When he did as he'd been directed, the bottom slid inside the false wall revealing a digital keypad along with a gene-decoder. He pulled his knife from his belt and pricked the tip of his finger. A drop of crimson blossomed. He placed his finger on the pad and voila: a door opened in the side of the storm drain. After a cautious look from left to right he entered the tunnel. Would it prove five hundred yards to freedom?

Michael quickly covered the distance and located the door at the opposite end. This door required a retinal scan, but Jason had supposedly taken care of that as well. He removed the goggles and positioned himself before the scanner, then held his breath. Miraculously, the door opened with a minuscule rush of air. He glanced through the slit into Nikita's dimly lit office. It was empty.

After closing the tunnel entrance behind him, he rushed to the computer. As soon as he accessed the data base he required, he placed a disc into the drive and waited. The data dump was a large one. He grew impatient, glanced at his watch. The file was taking too long to download. Hurry.

Footsteps outside.

Download complete.

Michael punched the drive button, snatched the disc and slid into the shadows.

The outer door opened. From his hiding place, he watched as Nikita's sister sauntered over to the computer.

Damn! He hadn't had time to shut it down. He observed her frown, then smile. The smile troubled him far more than the frown.

She gave the office a three-sixty then turned off the computer and, without so much as a backward glance, left the office.

Nikita was due any minute. Again, Michael held his breath and waited.

**********

Nikita entered the tunnel which led to her office. Constructed ten years earlier, it enabled the head of Center a means of quick egress, should the need ever arise. Tonight, she employed it for reasons of her own.

She jiggled Jax in the baby carrier on the front her chest. "Just be good for a few minutes longer, then Mommy will take you on a nice long trip with your Daddy," she whispered to the squirming infant. She opened the door to her seldom used office. She'd be in and out in less than two minutes. But where was Michael?

Nikita sat down in her chair, giving a cautious glance from side to side. All she had to do was leave instructions for Sylvia to take over at Section One. Whether or not her instructions would be followed remained to be seen. As for Center, her father's old colleagues could take over Center . . . and leave Michelle in charge for all she cared.

She adjusted Jax's papoose carrier. "Kid, I'm gonna put you on a diet if you get much bigger," she told her daughter, patting the baby's thick padded bottom

"Mma-mma."

It barely registered that her daughter had spoken her first words, Nikita was so intent on the screen in front of her.

"I'd listen to her if I were you."

No! Nikita raged, but leveled her gaze on Michelle who stood in the doorway, gun in hand. "How very inconvenient that you've shown up just now," Nikita murmured, her voice calm, even if calm was the farthest thing from her mind.

Michelle walked toward Nikita, her steps slow and measured. "I think you need to reconsider your departure plans."

Nikita stood up, leaning across the desk. "And how do you think you'll stop me?"

A scowl spread across her sister's normally vapid face. "I don't think you'd be very happy if I shot your brat, now would you?"

Instinctively, Nikita's arms went round Jax's small body. "You wouldn't!"

"I would. Father's plans must go forward. You are the one he chose. You have to stay."

Nikita looked down at Jax. "No, we have to go. I have to get her out of here. She's just a baby. I want to give her a real family. I never had one, neither did you, in spite of the fact that you were here with Father." She hated to beg, but she would. "Please."

"Where's your gallant Michael?" Michelle asked with a smirk, "now that you need him?"

"Here." Michael materialized from the shadows, a vision in black, or a nightmare depending on ones point of view. At the welcome, make that wonderful, sound of his voice, Nikita started to breathe again. She stood up, ready to leave.

Michelle spun around. Michael stood staring her down, his weapon aimed at her heart.

"How did you get past security?" Michelle asked, her eyes wide with surprise, her gun shaking.

A half smile quirked up the corner of Michael's mouth. "Haven't you heard, I was the best. I still am." He advanced on Michelle, until she backed into a chair and sat down with a thump. He pried the gun from her hand and told her coldly, "Nikita and my daughter go free." He slipped his left hand into his jacket pocket and removed the disc, holding it just out of her reach. "No one from this agency, or any other, will ever trouble us again, or I will destroy you."

Michelle glared at Michael, her hands gripping the sides of the chair. "I wouldn't be so sure of myself, if I were you."

Michael didn't bat an eyelash. "If you betray us, I'll kill you." He produced two pairs of handcuffs from the utility pouch at his waist, tossing them to Nikita, who shackled her sister to the chair, while he kept his weapon trained on Michelle.

Michelle glared up at Michael, then at Nikita. "You won't get away with it. You ought to know we can find you anywhere."

"But you won't. Think about it," Michael suggested, his tone low and even.

Think about it? Nikita wondered. He was just going to leave Michelle sitting there handcuffed to a chair. They might share the same father, but they shared no other bond. Cancel her now, Michael. Saddened, she wondered: had Section changed her so much that she could calmly contemplate murdering her own sister in cold blood?

To protect the life she'd borne?

Yes.

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

Escape first and foremost on his mind, Michael resisted the impulse to hold his daughter or even to take more than a cursory glance at the bundle Nikita carried so carefully and so determinedly. He couldn't risk losing focus, not for a second.

Distance as much as possible . . . as quickly as possible.

After leaving by the hidden tunnel, Michael led them to the motor cycle he'd hidden.

A frown shadowed Nikita's face. "Just for a short distance," he told her, mounting the Harley and revving the engine, "then I have other transport."

Nikita nodded, then swung a long leg over, settling herself on the rear seat, the baby nestled between them out of the wind. Bending himself to the task of saving their lives, he roared off with his precious cargo, taking them to a private airport thirty kilometers outside the city. The Lear Jet he'd chartered stood waiting on the tarmac. He would fly it himself to their next destination.

Before he went through the flight check, he settled Nikita and the baby into their seats, still restraining the paternal impulses that surged through him.

Unnaturally quiet, Nikita asked only two questions. "Are we really free?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you cancel Michelle?"

Her question surprised him, but then she never failed to surprise him. "Your sister won't betray us. She wants your position. With you out of the way, she'll have it."

"You think Michelle will be allowed to take my place?"

"I've researched your sister."

Nikita snorted. "And what did you discover? That she likes her champagne chilled?"

He turned his head and smiled. "Tell you later."

"Michael!"

He refused to answer, instead turned his attention back to the instruments and initiated the routine flight check. "Later."

***

Many hours, an ocean and a half continent later, at a Hampton Inn in Nashville, Tennessee Michael moved from one window to another, closing the draperies and shutting out a brilliant sunset. He wished they could have rested at the farmhouse in Belgium, but it was known that he and Nikita had been there before. If they were hunted, the farmhouse would be the first place Section looked.

Nikita paced. Still holding the baby, she checked out the bathroom. "How much longer? I mean, how far are we from where we're going?"

"Not as far as before," he answered, before sinking down on the side of the bed, nearly overcome by fatigue. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd slept. The last year had made him soft. Before leaving Section One, going twenty-four hours without sleep was routine.

Nikita turned and leveled her fiery blue gaze on him. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"Why not?" his love demanded, sounding to his discerning ears more than a little irritated.

The signs of fatigue were emblazoned on her beautiful face, the dark circles under her eyes, the drawn set of her mouth. He wanted to cradle her in his arms. "Just in case," he told her.

"In case we're caught, they won't be able to find Adam?"

"Yes."

She nodded her agreement. "That's wise." She sat down on the bed beside him, still cradling the baby in her arms. "Your daughter's asleep."

Now that the moment was here, he hesitated, knowing his life would never be the same once he held his new daughter in his arms. "May I?"

A wide grin spread across Nikita's face. "I thought you'd never ask." She set about undoing the baby harness. "Here." she said, extending the baby to him.

He took the baby into his arms. My daughter, he thought amazed that he could actually hold her. Emotions, long held in check, threatened to overcome him. He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. He turned to Nikita and all he could manage to say was, "She's tiny."

Nikita smiled and peeled away the blanket and hood. "You've just forgotten how small new babies are. Besides, she's grown a lot. And I can tell you she felt plenty big when I was having her."

More regret, for not being with her at a sentinel moment in her life--their lives. He reached out and stroked Nikita's cheek. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. Was it very bad?"

"Bad? Let's just say it was not fun. But she was our baby, and I wanted her. She was all I had left of you." Nikita brushed the dark red curls back from the baby's damp forehead. "She's a very stubborn little girl, too. Yes, you are," she cooed.

Michael reached out and touched an auburn curls, winding one around his finger. "Like mine," his whispered, marveling at the silken texture. "She's beautiful like you."

"Nah, she'd her daddy's girl. She's beautiful like you."

Michael shook his head. "Men aren't beautiful," he protested, softly so as not to awaken his daughter.

Nikita's eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks." You're the most beautiful man I've ever known, Michael." She caressed his cheek. Her slightest touch made him shudder with sheer need.

"Her eyes?"

"They're still blue, but I know they'll be green like yours."

"I-I'm in love with her already," he murmured, a knot forming in his throat. The warm bundle stirred in his arms. "She's waking up."

"Let me take her," Nikita suggested. "She's not used to having men around."

Michael didn't want to give her up, not even for a second, but he didn't want to scare her either. His daughter's eyes popped wide open. She stared at him, then her tiny pink lips spread into a wide baby smile. "Mm-mma."

"See, she already can say mama. She's a genius," Nikita declared.

"Of course."

"Je suis ton Papa. . Je t'aime, ma petite Jacqueline," he whispered to his daughter." Finally he could say the words and she could hear them.

"P-p-p-" she replied, blowing spit bubbles at him.

Michael gave a casual shrug, but his heart was so full he could barely breathe. "She is a genius. She knows me already."

Jacqueline frowned, then let out a yowl.

"She's hungry." Nikita pulled a bottle from the carrier and held it out to him. "Think you remember how?"

"Of course," Michael said, taking the bottle in his hand. "Does it need warming?"

"Michael Samuelle," Nikita said, a wide smile spreading across her lips. "I do believe you've a domestic bone or two."

"Later," was his cryptic reply.