"Do you need to get in?" Nikita asked.

"Is that an invitation?" He asked softly, with a tired smile.

"How about it, Anna? Can Daddy come in and play too?" Nikita asked her daughter.

On cue Anna smiled and reached out to her father.

Michael flipped the lever on the tub to let out a little water, then replaced its volume with his body. Facing Nikita, he pulled her legs over his own and drew her closer. Then he took Anna in his arms and placed her against his shoulder so that he could lean over and kiss her mother.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Morning," Nikita returned with a tender smile.

Michael turned and kissed his daughter too, relishing her clean baby smell and velvety soft cheek.

"So what are your plans for today?" Nikita asked, watching him shift Anna and cradle her against his chest with one arm.

"I'll need to speak with David and tell him I'm concerned about retribution from whoever made the attack. I think his offer to send me to the Far East is still viable, although, after all that's happened, he probably needs me here more."

"He'll want you to testify, won't he? So will the police."

"I know. If I can, I'll work around it. If not, then we'll just disappear." He said unhappily.

Nikita nodded regretfully. Leaving meant starting over again and it meant leaving the friends she loved—Walter and Brigitte.

"Whatever we need to do, Michael, I'm ready."

His hazel eyes lowered and he took her hand in his. "I know," he returned gratefully, kissing her palm.

"Take Anna shopping. Buy some clothes for you both. If I think it's safe, I'll go by the house and pick up a few things. Keep the car. I'll rent a car for the week." Michael continued.

"Do you think Section's been able to ferret out who did the hit or why?"

He shrugged. "We'll see. I still have my password into the FBI files. Anything the local police have uncovered will have been turned over to the Feds by now. I'll check before I leave this morning. Then I'll call Birkoff and we'll compare data."

"What about Brigitte and Walter? Should I let them know where we are?"

"Once I know it's safe, I'll go by and tell them what's going on. They could be in just as much danger as we are, if the worst happens. Guilt by association." He added soberly.

Suddenly all seriousness was lost. With wide-eyed surprise Michael looked down at his daughter, who had decided that it was past time for breakfast and wanted to know if Daddy tasted as good as Mommy did.

Nikita crowed with laughter as a red-faced Michael quickly handed Anna back to her.

"I think she's hungry," he said, crossing his arms across his chest self-consciously. Nikita bit her lip to curb her mirth and casually put Anna to her breast.

A moment later, Michael let an embarrassed chuckle escape.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?" He asked wryly.

Nikita giggled, "Oh, absolutely not!" She leaned close and kissed him.

* * *

"You want a what?" Walter nearly choked on his coffee.

"A bomb. Small yield, very home-made." Michael continued.

"Why?" Walter returned agog at the very idea.

"To blow up my house."

"What the hell for?"

"To convince the police that my family and I are in danger, so I can force them to protect my identity. Think about it Walter. The Phoenix assault is in the headlines of every major paper worldwide, with myself as the unwitting hero. If anyone gets a photograph of my face . . ."

"Oh shit!" Walter exclaimed as the proverbial light came on.

"You perceive the problem."

"Okay—uh, when do you need it?"

"Is today too soon?"

"Let me raid the kitchen—I should pretty much have everything we need here at the house, with the exception of the timer."

"Make it so generic as to be untraceable." Michael warned.

"Michael—how long have I been making bombs?" Walter raised a semi-insulted eyebrow.

"I stand corrected. I'm sorry." Michael smiled ruefully.

"Fine. Come back this afternoon. I'll have it ready. I assume you're planting it?"

"Yes."

"Does Sugar know?"

"Not yet."

"Better ask her what she wants to save, first."

"Other than Anna's baby pictures which we have on her computer's hard drive, everything is replaceable." Michael replied. "Besides, if we take anything, it will engender suspicion in our direction."

"True." Walter nodded, then added, "Sorry all this is happening Michael. You two kids just can't seem to get a break."

"As long as we are together, it doesn't matter." Michael said firmly.

Walter nodded again.

"I'm sorry to have to ask, Walter." Michael said softly. "I could build it myself, but I've got—"

"—a lot of other things to do, I know. It's almost like old times," the older man said, shaking his head. "Funny how you can get nostalgic about things. Some days I almost miss—well, you know, the job."

"Thank you, Walter."

"You just take care of Sugar and Sugar Doll. Leave this to me. It's a piece of cake."

* * *

"Michael! I've been trying to call your house." David said, as Michael arrived at his employer's home.

"Considering what's happened, I decided it might be safer not to go home. I took my family out of town, at least until we know more about what happened yesterday. If it's in-house, and it's a larger conspiracy than those four men, my family and I could end up as being targets because of my involvement."

"Not a bad idea at that," David began. "The FBI paid me a visit this morning. Your first instincts were right on. It looks like a simple theft by a few gung-ho amateurs. The prototype of the new band-width encoder was taken. The FBI suspects industrial espionage."

Michael frowned and David smiled bitterly.

"Yeah, I'm not buying that either. Industrial espionage is rarely violent. My guess there is something else going on that they aren't telling us."

"Are they sure that's all that was taken?"

"That's all they reported to me. Why?"

Michael shook his head. "No reason. It just doesn't make any sense."

"You ready for the rest of it?"

"There's more?"

David nodded grimly. "The reason we had no security—someone informed the Brown Security Company that morning that the Phoenix Corporation no longer needed their services as of noon that day. They were told we were unhappy with their service and were replacing them with our own people."

"Didn't they question that?"

"No. Evidently, someone posing as a Phoenix Corporation representative, who showed proper credentials, did the firing in person."

"And that's how the hit team entered the building—posing as our own security team." Michael added.

"You got it. The Brown Security team simply left the company in charge of the hit men. The FBI found four sets of coveralls, with the Phoenix Corporation logos on them, stuffed into the trash in the fourth floor men's room."

"That's a low traffic floor." Michael commented.

"Right. Mostly file and equipment storage."

"Which means they either infiltrated the company long enough to scout it out, or it's an inside job." Michael concluded.

"If it's an inside job, God help them when I find out who's responsible!" David said angrily.

"Would you mind if I did a little investigating on my own?" Michael asked.

David smiled. "You're always one jump ahead of me. That's why I was trying to call you this morning."

"Did the FBI say they got anything out of Treadwell?"

David shook his head. "That's the last thing I needed to tell you. Treadwell's dead."

"How?" Michael asked, inwardly alarmed.

David gave a disgusted little laugh. "Would you believe of an apparent heart attack?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Well, that's what the coroner's report says."

* * *

"Madeline?"

"Yes?" Madeline raised her eyebrow at her young male assistant.

"We just got confirmation. He's in the United States."

"Do we have an address?"

"Not yet. But we have confirmed his arrival in New York."

Madeline folded her arms and nodded.

"Let me know the moment we have a firm address."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

"Michael, none of this makes any sense at all." Nikita said as she diapered Anna.

"It does if you take the situation and put it in a new context. I may have been wrong about it not being Section—or at least, about it being a purely amateur attack."

"Why do you think that?" Nikita asked, giving her full attention to her husband.

"Treadwell's death. At most he was only 29 or 30 years old. I logged into the coroner's report. He had no signs of early heart disease, and yet supposedly died of a heart attack. Even the coroner is puzzled. He initially ordered a drug screen thinking that might have caused the same symptoms, but ruled them out when the toxicology screen came back negative."

"Oh, Michael. Section has at least three drugs that will simulate a heart attack and are untraceable." Nikita whispered, paling at the thought.

"Exactly."

"But any number of other terrorist groups have access to those drugs, as well as other government agencies." Nikita countered doubtfully.

"You're right, Nikita—it still makes no sense. If it was Section, or any other professional organization, why plan a mission that was, for all intents and purposes, an abeyance operation? Nothing was accomplished beyond the death of company personnel; it was doomed to failure from the moment it began."

"So, what do we do next?"

"I asked Walter to build a small bomb. I'm going to set it off later tonight at our house." Michael went on to explain why.

Nikita frowned. "It won't be big enough to hurt anyone, will it?"

"No, just enough to damage the house. It will look like an amateur attempt in keeping with the current theory."

"Then what?"

"David's asked for my help and has put the Phoenix Corporation at my disposal to help discover who's behind all of this."

"You like him, don't you?" Nikita asked softly.

"He's a good man." Michael replied.

Nikita smiled, "And good men are hard to find?"

"Yes." He smiled faintly in remembrance.

Nikita handed Anna to Michael who lay back on the bed to play with her. He kissed her tiny toes and smiled as she laughed and kicked at his chin.

"Is there anything I can do?" Nikita lay down facing him.

"You can forgive me." He replied seriously, reaching out to take her hand.

"For what?"

"For all of this. For not just packing you both in the car and running for the border."

"Michael, it's not your fault."

"Staying here, might make things worse." He replied with a sigh before kissing Anna's belly.

"And so might leaving. At least here, we have some help to deal with this—Walter for one."

Michael nodded, but it was unenthusiastic.

"You don't really think it's Section One, do you? Not Helmut?" Nikita asked softly.

"No. I don't think Helmut is behind any of this. But Section One isn't the only Section."

"Madeline?"

Michael shrugged. "It's possible, but would she risk disobeying George?"

"What if George is behind it?"

"Why would he be? He knows I have a failsafe. And why now? No, that makes no sense either."

"Or maybe the FBI is right and this is all a failed piece of industrial espionage, led by an unhealthy 30-year-old." She said with a sarcastic sigh.

"Come here, "Michael said, tugging on Nikita's arm.

She scooted closer.

"What?" She asked.

"Only this," He leaned over his daughter to kiss her. "I love you."

* * *

"Michael! Have you seen the news?" David's voice was loud over the phone.

"What news?" Michael asked.

"Turn on the television—it's your house!"

"What about it?"

"It's been destroyed."

Michael turned on the television and watched the local news. His home was up in flames.

"I see," Michael said calmly, even as part of him cringed at misleading David on the matter.

"Look, this has gone far enough. I want you to bring your wife and baby out here to the estate. I've got plenty of room, and a state of the art security system."

"Thank you David, but . . "

"No buts, Michael. I insist. Besides, this way we can brainstorm on what to do next. Please, I'll feel better. If someone is after you, you're too exposed out in a motel."

Michael thought about it for a moment and decided David's offer was a good one. He could both work on the problem and have Nikita and Anna close by in case of trouble.

"All right. Thank you. We'll be there in about an hour." He sat the phone back in its cradle.

"Who's that? The police?"

"No. David. He wants me to bring you and Anna to his home for your safety. I think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"David wants my help. I'll be less distracted if I have you and Anna nearby. Okay?"

Nikita slipped her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans. "Sure, if that's what you want. When?"

"Tonight. I told him we'd be there in a hour."

"'K. Better get Anna ready then."

* * *

"You have a beautiful home, David," Nikita said as she carried Anna into the foyer of his house, with Michael trailing behind.

"Thanks. It's a little too big, but there weren't a lot of ranch-style mansions available when I went house hunting. I like to be pretty self-sufficient and those stair lift things scare the hell out of me. I'd always be afraid of a power failure halfway to the next floor." David laughed as he rolled his wheel chair into a huge living area carpeted all in white.

Nikita smiled. "And thank you for your invitation. Things have been rather nerve-wracking lately."

"Please, make yourselves at home."

Michael sat down on the black leather couch and patted a place next to him for Nikita to sit.

"And how's Anna this evening?" David reached up and patted her little hand. "Do you think she'd come to me?"

Nikita smiled, "I don't see why not." She lifted Anna off her shoulder, and handed her to the wheel chair bound man then sat next to Michael on the couch.

David's blue eyes lit up as Anna looked up at him and smiled.

"Oh, Michael. In a few years, you're going to have to beat the boys away from your door with a stick." David chuckled. "She's got your hair and eyes and the rest is all Nikita."

"By that time, Nikita will have taught her martial arts and she'll be quite capable of beating them all herself," Michael said with quiet pride in his eyes as he gazed at his wife.

Nikita gave him a pleased smirk in return.

"I sent my housekeeper, Mrs. Lawrence, out to obtain a crib for Anna and a few other items to make your stay more comfortable. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, thank you. We're fine. We didn't mean for you to go through all this trouble." Nikita began.

"It's no trouble. None at all. I'll be glad for the company in this big, old house. Besides, I need your husband's assistance and this seems to be the most efficient arrangement. By the way, Michael, the police called looking for you, to inform you about your home. I told them I had already spoken with you about it."

"Did you tell them I was coming here to stay?"

"No. Frankly, the fewer people, the police included, that know your whereabouts, the better I'll feel about it, at least until we figure out who's behind all of this. Even Mrs. Lawrence and my household staff—the cook and my driver, don't know who you are. I told them some distant cousins were visiting. So you're family—okay? Just make yourselves at home."

Michael and Nikita wordlessly exchanged glances that agreed David was, indeed, a good man.

"But Mrs. Lawrence knows I work for the company," Michael reminded him.

"Yes. But I told her that when I met your wife, I noticed the resemblance to my sister," he pointed to Paula's photograph on the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, "and we discovered we were distantly related. So of course, not having any family, I was delighted to ask you to come stay here."

Nikita got up to get a closer look at Paula's photograph. She smiled oddly at it. "It's so strange. It's almost like looking in a mirror."

"She was eighteen in that picture and had just graduated from high school. She died a year later in an automobile accident."

"Were you injured in the same accident?" Michael asked quietly.

"No. A separate accident a few years later. Cars and the McAffee clan have never gotten along. I lost my parents and baby brother in a wreck when I was fifteen and Paula was ten. We stayed together in foster homes until I turned sixteen, then I ran away, lied about my age, and joined the Army. Stupid thing to do in the middle of the Vietnam war!" He chuckled and shook his head at Anna.

"What happened to Paula?" Nikita asked, still staring at the photo.

"She was placed with a nice foster family until she graduated from high school. After that, I sent her what little money I had saved, and she started college."

"She didn't marry or have any children?" Michael asked.

"No," David sighed sadly. "But she wanted to. I made the mistake of introducing her to an Army buddy of mine, from Nam, when we were both home on leave. Paula fell head over heels with him. What she didn't know was that he was married—rather unhappily—but I'm a bit old fashioned I guess, and married is married. We argued over the relationship. She insisted he was going to get a divorce, but I knew he wasn't. One thing led to another. She was on her way to California to catch a flight to the Philippines to meet with him when she was killed. Needless to say my buddy and I parted company over it. I never told him she died. I blamed him for her death, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," Nikita said, reseating herself next to Michael.

"Oh, it was a long time ago. So, Nikita, you're my great-aunt's oldest daughter's daughter—if anyone asks." He grinned at her. "Probably makes us cousins twice removed or something."

Nikita nodded, then noticed Anna was making a face.

"Uh, I think I'd better go find a place to change her," Nikita said, holding out her arms.

"Here you go." David said, giving Anna a peck on the cheek before relinquishing her to her mother. "I'll show you to your rooms then. There's a bedroom and a connecting sitting room, which will make a nice nursery for Anna." David explained as he rolled across the room heading for the hallway. Nikita and Michael followed.

* * *

"I think we've been adopted," Nikita whispered with a smile, as she and Michael lay in bed together.

Michael nodded.

"What do you remember of your father?" He asked casually, playing with her hair.

"My father?" She frowned, then shrugged. "Nothing. He died before I was born. I've never even seen a photo of him."

"You were never curious about him?"

"Well, sure I was, but I learned early that it upset my mother to talk about him, so I stopped asking."

"Didn't your mother tell you anything about him?"

"Just that he was an American like she was. I think he might have been in the military or something, because she did say something about meeting his ship once, or something like that. Mother was rarely coherent when she spoke of him. She used to sit and cry and tell me she was sorry—I think he must have died in a war or something."

"What was his name?"

"Scott—rather, Mom called him Scotty. Why all the questions?"

"Just wanted to know a little more about my daughter's relatives. Making sure there were no ax murderers in the family and such." He smiled with his eyes.

"Well, while we're on the subject, what about your side of the family?" She asked playfully continuing the game.

The smile in his eyes faded suddenly.

"It's late. Don't you think we ought to go to sleep?" He tried to keep his tone casual, but saw that

Nikita wasn't buying it.

"Fair's fair, Michael. Tell me." She said more seriously.

He gave out a small sigh and turned his head away. Nikita reached out and physically drew him back.

"I want to know everything about you, Michael. The only thing I know about your family is that your parents were killed and you have a sister. I don't even know her name."

"Monique. Monique is her name."

"And your mother's name was Anna Marie. What was your father's name?"

"Tomas," he replied softly.

"Anna Marie, Tomas, Michael and Monique," Nikita repeated.

"And Etienne," Michael added in a whisper.

"Etienne? I thought that was your son's name."

"It was. I named him for my brother."

"You have a brother? Younger or older?"

"I had a brother—younger. He's dead."

"I'm sorry. How did he die?" Nikita asked gently.

Michael closed his eyes. He didn't want to answer. Not here. Not now.

"Please, Nikita, I don't want to talk about it." He said bluntly.

"All right," she answered softly. She laid her head against his chest and listened as his heart raced. He was upset and she longed to know why. It hurt that he didn't feel he could tell her.

Sometimes Michael remained a stranger to her, even in her arms.

* * *

"Did the police get a description from the Brown Security Company of the person who posed as a Phoenix Corporation representative?" Michael asked, as he faced David at the breakfast table.

"If they did, they didn't say anything to me about it. Why?"

"It might not be a bad place to start our own investigation." Michael returned, then paused as Nikita came in with Anna in her arms. Mrs. Lawrence followed with Anna's car seat, which she placed on the dining table.

"Good morning!" David exclaimed cheerfully.

"Morning," Nikita replied politely. She glanced over at Michael whose eyes seemed to beg her forgiveness for what passed between them the previous night. As a gesture of forgiveness, she bent down and kissed his forehead.

"Tell Daddy good morning," she told her daughter.

Anna looked over at Michael and cooed, "Da da."

"Did I just hear her talk?" David inquired with an excited laugh.

Nikita beamed at Michael then encouraged Anna to do it again. "Say Dad-dy!"

Anna looked up at her mother puzzled, "Da da?"

"Michael! She's talking!" Nikita said delighted.

Michael smiled at her and took Anna from her arms.

"No, say Ma-ma," He encouraged. Anna decided to kick her feet and blow spit bubbles at her father instead.

David roared with laughter, grabbed a napkin and wiped away tears. "First word, I take it?" He asked.

"She's only six months old; I didn't know babies could start talking this early," Nikita said, amazed at her own child's progress. She turned to Michael and almost blurted out, "How old was Adam when he said his first word?" before she caught herself.

Somehow, it seemed Michael had read her thoughts because he commented: "I understand girls talk much earlier than boys." Smiling, he gave Anna's belly a noisy kiss and handed her back to Nikita.

"What are your plans for today?" Michael asked.

"I need to run over to Walter and Brigitte's. I have some calls to make to clients, and thought Brigitte could watch Anna for a bit."

"Okay. I'll drive you," Michael said. "I have a few errands to run myself," he added, looking over at David.

"Call me." His employer said with a nod.

* * *

"Where's Walter?" Nikita asked, handing Anna to Brigitte's waiting arms.

"Downstairs piddling with the water heater. Hi darling!" Brigitte kissed Anna and gave her a cuddle.

"I'm going down to say hi!" Nikita said to Michael as she went downstairs.

"Michael, would you like some coffee?" Brigitte asked.

"No, but I do need a favor." Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. "Do you think you'd have time to run two DNA samples?"

Brigitte took the small bag and looked at the contents—two strands of hair.

"Sure. I'll squeeze it in at the lab. I'm scheduled to work tomorrow. This have something to do with the hit?" "No. And please, don't mention it to Nikita."

"What is it I'm looking for?" She asked curiously.

"Two strands—two people. Can you tell me if they are biologically related?"

"Wish you weren't so secretive. I take it has something to do with Nikita?"

"Yes."

"Okay. "I'll let you know."

"Thank you. Tell Nikita, I'll be back later this afternoon. I have to go."

Brigitte watched him leave and shrugged.

"Oh, hi Sugar. What's cookin'?" Walter lay on his back on the basement floor with a wrench in one hand and a beer in another.

Nikita seated herself on the second to last basement step, looked up the stairs to see that they were alone then looked back at Walter.

Clasping her hands in her lap, she asked, "Walter, you've known Michael a long time, haven't you?"

"Since he came to Section, why?" He gave the water heater a tiny tap with the edge of the wrench.

"What can you tell me about his past?"

Walter looked at her wide-eyed and sat up.

"Ohhh, I don't know about that, Sugar." He gave his head a little shake. "You know talking about our previous lives is a Section no-no."

"We're not in Section anymore, Walter. I need to know."

"Then ask Michael!" He said with emphasis. "Look Sugar, Michael's a very, private person. If he wants you to know . . . things . . . he'll tell you himself."

"What happened to Etienne, and I'm not talking about his son. What happened to his brother?"

"Nikita!" He scooted towards her and peeked up the steps.

"Please Walter. Whatever it is that's bothering Michael, I need to find out. He brought up his brother last night, then got too upset to talk about it. I want to know why."

"You're not going to give me any peace until I tell you, are you?"

"Nope." She replied, hugging her knees.

Walter let out a deep sigh. "Oh, all right, but you didn't hear it from me—Michael finds out, I'm probably a breathing corpse as we speak."

"So, what happened to his brother?"

"He was killed in an explosion—the one that Michael was sent to Section for." Walter said softly.

"Oh my God," Nikita said slowly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"The bomb was set off at the university where Michael was a student. Evidently, Etienne had gone looking for Michael to tell him some news and was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Personally, I think something went wrong with the planning. There were reports that Michael was seen running across campus screaming to warn people away from the building. He was running to the building when it blew, not away from it."

He paused a moment, then added, "When they found him to arrest him, Michael was holding his brother's headless corpse in his arms, totally hysterical with grief. There was a lot of flying glass from the explosion and—well, that's pretty much it." Walter finished, uncomfortably.

"He blames himself for his brother's death." Nikita said weakly.

"Yep. That and the deaths of over 50 other people. He was the only one prosecuted, even though circumstantial evidence concluded he hadn't acted alone. Michael insisted he was the only one to blame."

"Oh, Michael . . ." Nikita's face screwed up with grief.

"So you see, Sugar, it's not something Michael is comfortable talking about. My advice is to wait until he's ready."

Nikita fought to get control of herself, nodded and wiped away her tears. "Thanks Walter, I will."

"Is it something you can live with?" Walter asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't want to be the cause of you and Michael having problems, because of what I've said."

Nikita came over to him and wrapped her arms around her old friend. "I love him, Walter. With what you've told me, maybe I can understand him better. It certainly explains some of those horrible nightmares he has. Thanks for telling me." She gave him a squeeze.

Walter patted her on the back. "Hope it was the right thing to do," he sighed sadly.

* * *

"If it weren't for Section, none of us would even have a life. What right do I have to feel cheated?"

When Michael had said those words, after he'd lost Simone for the second time, Nikita had been mildly perplexed over them. It was as if Michael felt a sense of obligation to Section for allowing him to live. Now it seemed the final piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place.

It was no wonder now, why he never defended himself! Michael had felt such guilt over his actions that he actually believed anything Section did to him was justified. He had taken years of physical and mental abuse, thinking it just punishment for what he had done. Section had taken Simone from him, and Adam, and to some extent, every moment's happiness, with Michael's complete compliance and in some cases, observable assistance. All in atonement for what he had done.

Nikita paced Brigitte's kitchen slowly, while Brigitte stood outside watering her roses. She thought of how Rene Dion had cared for Michael's sister and saw it for what it really was: guilt on Rene's part for Michael's taking the entire blame for the bombing. In Nikita's opinion, it was the least that Rene could have done! Yet Michael had blamed himself for betraying his friend to Section because of the obligation he felt to his old friend for the care of his sister!

"You okay, Sugar?" Walter asked, wiping his hands after his labor.

Nikita slipped into a chair at the kitchen table.

"I feel so badly, Walter. For all the things I used to think of Michael. For all the times I blamed him for things. I only wish you had told me all of this sooner." With her elbows braced against the table, she leaned her head into her hands. Walter sat down across from her.

"Sugar, there were many times that I almost did. But you know how it was; everyone's past was off-limits for discussion. As for what happened with Michael's brother, well since you knew about Rene Dion, I sorta assumed you knew all of it."

"Rene's file explained that Michael had been the only one caught and prosecuted for the bombing, but it didn't go into any details. There was no mention of his brother's death. Oh, Walter, if you could hear his nightmares!"

Walter frowned, then nodded once. "We all have 'em, Sugar." He said softly. "Those of us that are sorry for we what did, anyway."

Nikita looked up him with dawning wonder.

"Yeah, me too. You think I chose to join Section?" He said bitterly. "I didn't."

"Why—" Nikita began, before stopping herself. Even here, even now, Section's unspoken rule stopped her from asking.

"Revenge." Walter replied to her unasked question. "Revenge earned me a place in Section One. I hunted down and killed my commanding officer and two other men, who I felt were responsible for leading my outfit into ambush and abandoning us to the enemy."

"What happened?"

"We were sixteen miles from the DMZ, surrounded, and cut off from any hope of ground retreat. We radioed for help and three choppers showed up to evacuate us. I saw the choppers land and pick up three men, the captain and two sergeants, then without apparent reason, they took off again, leaving the rest of my company stranded. Nearly everyone left behind was slaughtered. Those that survived, spent the next seven years in a POW camp." Walter took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "You know the average age of the men in my company was 19 years old—not counting myself? I was the "old man" in the group. I was 29."

"Oh, Walter . . ." Nikita said mournfully.

"Yeah, well the captain was all of 26. And it wasn't until after I killed him, and was courts-martialed for it, that I learned the reason he left us behind was he had no choice. He hadn't given the order. In fact, he pleaded with the pilots to take him back to us. Somebody higher up the chain ordered the choppers back to base because the base was under massive enemy attack and the choppers were the closest air support available. It was a good order. My company lost forty-five killed. The base, if had been successfully overrun, would have had losses in the hundreds."

"But you didn't know that," Nikita began.

"Don't make excuses for me, Nikita. I didn't want to know. I was so eat-up with hatred—seeing those boys slaughtered, spending seven years of my life in a lice-infested hellhole—I never stopped to ask questions. Capt Jerrett, was a major by the time I found him, with a wife and three small children. Didn't matter. I killed him feeling completely justified."

Nikita's eyes filled with tears at his obvious pain. She could think of nothing to say. Instead she reached for and took his hand and kissed the back of it.

* * *

"This is the camera view, on that morning?" Michael asked, watching the tape on a small screen.

"Yes sir. But as you can see, the video is useless. For reasons we haven't been able to discover, the camera lost all sound and picture during the time the man visited our offices. Other than this rear head shot that lasts a fraction of a second, we have nothing on video of your imposter." Mr. Edwards, the senior vice-president of the Brown Security Company shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"May I have a hard copy printout of that freeze frame?" Michael pointed at the blurred head shot of the imposter.

"Of course. Joe, print that frame for Mr. Samuelle." Edwards ordered.

"Do the police have a copy of this tape?" Michael inquired.

"Yes, but they doubted it would be of much help."

"Thank you for letting me see it."

"Sir, we can't begin to tell you how sorry we are for what happened. The man was so authentic, his credentials looked real, I just don't know what to say." Edwards explained.

"Everyone makes mistakes and a committed terrorist is the hardest to defend against. The only ones to blame for what happened are the men that committed the act."

The two men shook hands.

"I'm so glad you feel that way, Mr. Samuelle. If there's anything we can do to help solve this case, please let us know."

"Thank you. I'll be in touch."

* * *

"Birkoff. I'm sending you a photograph of the imposter that fired the security team. Tell Volker I don't think he was one of the shooters. If that's true, then this is part of a larger conspiracy."

"It's coming up on my screen now," Birkoff replied, then shook his head. "It's not much to go on, Michael. We might get height, weight and hair color out of it, but probably not much else."

"Let me know."

"Will do."

* * *

"Nikita, are you ready to go?" Michael asked, as he arrived at Walter's house late that afternoon.

Before she answered him, Nikita put her arms around his neck and held him close.

"Is something wrong?" He asked with faint alarm.

"No. Nothing's wrong. Just missed you." Nikita said lightly, lifting her head off his shoulder. "And yeah, we're ready. Did you find out anything?"

I have a blurred video frame of our imposter and relayed it to Birkoff. It's not a lot to go on, but it's a start. Whoever it was, has some very sophisticated jamming equipment." He said, stroking her hair from her brow.

"Sounds like Section again, Michael." Nikita said with a worried frown. "Madeline—it must be!"

"Perhaps," Was all that he would say.

* * *

"Michael! Any luck?" David asked as they arrived back at his home.

"A little." Michael reached into his pocket and retrieved the shadowy photograph, and briefed David on where he got it.

"I assumed the police got an artist's rendering of the man's face from the person he spoke with at the security company," David said.

"A good assumption, however, from what I could gather, the only person that actually saw and spoke to the man came up missing from work just when the police had him scheduled to come in to give his deposition. He hasn't been seen since. And, the man that disappeared, had only worked for the company for little over a month."

"You think he was planted?" David looked at the photo as he asked.

"Yes." Michael replied.

"If that's true, Michael, someone's gone to a lot of trouble and planning." David said seriously. "Surely the security company has the man's face and fingerprints on file."

"They did and the file's missing."

"You sure these folks aren't professionals?" David asked.

Michael shook his head. "Whoever planned this is a total professional, but the men he sent in to implement the plan, were amateurs and meant to fail."

"But that makes no sense. Why go through all the planning and maneuvering, for nothing?"

Michael's feet paced silently across the white carpeting, "Perhaps, the hit was only a feint for the real objective."

"Like in chess, when you sacrifice your pawn to take the queen?" Nikita interrupted.

Michael frowned. "It does have the feel of a chess game, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure I've made enemies in this business over the years, but I never thought it would come to this," David said desolately.

"I'm not convinced this has anything to do with you or the Phoenix Corporation, David." Michael commented.

"What do you mean? Why else?"

Michael exchanged covert looks with Nikita, then answered, "Like I said. I think the attack on the company was a feint of some kind. Until we figure out what the real objective is, none of this will make any sense."

"Well," David said with a discouraged sigh. "I rented a new building today. The FBI won't let us back inside our old one until they've finished with the crime scene. I've got to get our people back to work; they have families to feed and I have a business to run. I'd appreciate any help you can give me on setting up our own security. It's obvious I can't go back to Brown for help and I won't put my people in danger."

Michael nodded. "If you can get me blueprints of the new building, I'll have a better idea of how to set up your security. We'll have to advertise and interview. I'll train them myself."

"Thank you. I really don't know what I'd do without you, Michael." David said. "If you two will excuse me, I have a lot more calling to get done."

* * *

Nikita stood, head bowed under the showerhead, letting the hot water knead out the stress induced knots on the back of her neck. More and more, the attack on the Phoenix Corporation looked like a covert Section operation. Since she trusted Helmut, the only other explanation had to be Madeline. But why now? Why after a year's time? And how did she learn that she and Michael were still alive? And worse, how did she know where to find them?

Michael suspected. She knew he did. But he wasn't speaking out loud about his suspicions. He didn't want to worry her—but damn it—she was worried and needed him to be straight with her!

There was a 'click', followed by a faint breeze across her back. Startled, Nikita turned to look over her shoulder.

It was Michael. He closed the shower door behind him, pressed his warm body up against her slick back and kissed the juncture of her neck and right shoulder. His hands slipped around and gently caressed her breasts.

Nikita turned in his arms and leaned against him.

"It is Section, isn't it?"

"Yes. I think so." Michael replied softly, holding her close.

"Then what do we do?"

Michael stroked her hair, as her head lay on his shoulder. "I want you to take Anna and leave the country. I'll make the arrangements."

"No! Michael, I'm not leaving without you!" Nikita said, determinedly, as she lifted her head to face him.

"Listen to me." Michael began, gently. "If it's Section, one of us has to stay here to keep their attention."

"Michael, please. Please don't make me go alone. Whatever is going on, let's face it, here, together."

Michael took her face in his hands and pressed her firmly against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

"Do you know how much I love you? Do you know how much it would tear my soul apart to lose you or Anna? I can't risk it, Nikita. I won't!" Michael said with the intensity in his voice Nikita hadn't seen since she screwed up on her first real Section assignment.

"And what if that's what they want? To divide and conquer? What if they are just waiting for you to send Anna and me away from your protection? What then, Michael?" She replied with the same intensity.

"Nikita, please. . . " Michael's voice pleaded.

"Michael, since I've known you, I've only heard you make one tactical error and that was failing to listen to Simone when she wanted a backup team."

Michael flinched at the memory.

"I know you don't believe in intuition," she said more gently, sorry to have injured him, "so call it gut instinct, or whatever you wish. I just know it's a bad idea to separate. I don't know why, but I know it. Don't send me and Anna away, alone."

"If we all go, and they're watching, they will just continue to follow us," Michael replied.

"I know. Which is why we stand our ground here, . . . together. Let the enemy come to you—remember? Let the enemy come to you, on your own turf, not on his."

Michael gathered her close in surrender. "All right," he said softly.

Nikita smiled through tears of relief. "Told you I was paying attention, in tactics class," she murmured against his ear.

Then, after a moment, she added, "Was that our first fight?"

Michael took her face in his hands again and kissed her lavishly, just in case it was, and amends needed to be made. Nikita closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the cool tile of the shower stall as Michael massaged baby oil all over her body. He made a slow, sensual dance of it, sliding the length of his body down the length of hers. Rubbing and sliding against her back, Michael gradually coaxed her legs apart, then pressed himself inside her from the rear.

Nikita rewarded him with a little moan of pleasure as he began to delve in and out. His hands cupped themselves over her breasts, so that his fingers could toy with their peaks.

She could hear Michael's raspy breath against her ear, and the caressing French he muttered as he lost himself in her, as he always did. And as always, it succeeded in pushing her off the precipice into ultimate pleasure. It was pleasing, to hear him quickly follow after.

* * *

The shriek of death and pain in his shoulders woke Michael with a start. His first conscious realization was of Nikita, kneeling on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed, with her hand clasped over his mouth.

He'd been dreaming again. The nightmares again.

He reached up with one hand and patted Nikita on the butt. She moved off him and he sat up.

"Sorry," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat.

He felt her scoot closer and put her arms around him.

"Michael, tell me about them. Tell me your dreams."

He shook his head. "Telling doesn't help. They still come back."

"It would help me." Nikita said gently. "Please, tell me."

Michael leaned over and buried his face in his hands. He'd only told one living soul about his dreams: Simone. The only reason he had, was she had told him her secret horror first. They traded crimes committed. But Nikita was an innocent. In Michael's eyes, she always would be. Any sin she may have committed for Section was on Section, not Nikita. Could she understand what he'd done? Could she forgive him? Why would she, when he couldn't forgive himself?

Silently he shook his head. He wouldn't risk it. Getting to his feet he headed to the bathroom.

Nikita watched him go and was hurt that he wouldn't tell her. Desperate to help him, she pushed the matter.

"It's about killing Etienne, isn't it?" She blurted out hastily.

Michael stopped in his tracks like someone had shot him in the back and he hadn't yet fallen. Then he dropped to the floor in a cross-legged heap.

Nikita shoved the covers aside, got out of bed, and sat down next to him on the carpet.

"Who told you? Walter?" He asked numbly. He'd drawn his knees up, tight against his chest and looped his arms around them.

"Nope." It was a lie, but she had promised Walter not to involve him. "I read all about Rene Dion and the trial." Well, that was partly true anyway. "That is what you dream about, isn't it? Your brother's death?"

He nodded, and whispered, "Yes."

Nikita reached over, pulled his legs down straight in front of him, then straddled his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, so she could face him and be as close as possible.

"Tell me." She ordered, cupping his sad face in her hands.

"He was only fifteen." As soon as the words were out, Michael began to cry.

Nikita cried too, holding him close and stroking his hair.

"It's okay. Tell me what happened. Tell me all of it."

The words tumbled out. The death of his parents. The strain of attending university, working full time, taking care of his siblings. The worry about clothing and feeding them. The worry about having to quit school when he was so close to graduating. Anger at his parents' deaths because of a train derailment caused by a bridge that hadn't been properly maintained. Anger at lawyers that kept getting richer at the expense of the victims' families who waited in vain for some compensation. Anger at the government who held up his father's pension, because Michael was in university and therefore didn't need his father's money. Oh, they would give it to him if he wasn't in school—but he was so close. Only a few more months. All that work. His perfect grades and for what?

And the guilt. If he wasn't so selfish about the university—the university that he loved so much—maybe he could hold down two jobs and his sister wouldn't cry at night because she didn't have nice clothes like her friends, and maybe Etienne wouldn't be threatening to quit school and get a job. He wanted them to understand that if they were just a little patient, he'd be a degreed engineer and things would get better. But they were kids and they didn't understand.

And Rene. His friend who whispered insurrection in his ears. It's the government's fault—your parents death—your not getting the money rightfully yours. It's the government's fault you can't make a living on the half-wages you're getting paid. They are responsible. Get even.

Even now, Michael couldn't explain how he built a bomb to destroy the one place that made him the happiest. At first it was simply macho rebellion. He built it because he could. He never visualized actually using it. It was the threat of it. The knowledge that he had the power to get even if he wanted to. The reality of what a bomb could do never hit him. He never counted on leveling a building, ripping living people into hamburger. The bomb was simply a symbol of his anger.

But to Rene, it was made to be used. No one listened to threats unless you spilled some blood.

The horror of that moment--when Rene warned Michael not to show his face in the science building that day because he had planted the bomb inside the building the night before.

Michael's heart nearly stopped beating in his chest.

"We agreed not to bomb the building during the day!" He told Rene.

Rene had smiled.

"Of course. It's all right." He said unconcerned. "I set it to go off early tomorrow morning, about three. The building will be empty then."

Michael remembered feeling faint as he looked at his watch. "Three?"

"Oui. What's wrong?" Rene had asked.

"Mon Dieu! Rene! That timer isn't a twenty-four clock! It's five to three--get to a phone!"

Michael never learned whether Rene called anyone or not. The only thing he knew for sure was that people, real people—people he knew—were going inside a building that was going to explode. And he ran. Ran until his heart felt like it would explode as well.

"Get out! Get away! There's a bomb! A bomb!"

In his dreams, no one can hear his warning. He screams as loud as he can, and they still smile and walk unconcerned into the place where death eats them in bloody pieces.

But that's not the worst of it. No. Not the worst. The worst is seeing Etienne running to the building. He can't see the danger and Michael couldn't make him hear.

"Stop! Run away! No! Please no . . .Etienne!" "Michael!" Nikita shook him to get his attention and cupped his face in her hands. "Listen to me. You didn't kill those people. Rene did."

"I built the bomb!"

"I carry a gun. I'm only guilty of murder if I use it against someone who's not threatening me. People die in car accidents—the people that build cars don't go to jail for murder, do they?"

"It's not the same thing." He pulled his face away.

"Yes, it is." She forced him to look at her again.

"Rene was my friend. He took care of my sister."

"Only because he felt guilty over you taking the entire blame for what he had done."

"But I built the bomb to be used. I'm still responsible." He tried to look away again. She wouldn't let him.

"Did you intend to slaughter those people? If you did, why did you run to warn them, Michael? You want to know why? It's because deep down you never—listen to me! You never, ever intended to use it"

Nikita pulled him close, wrapping her arms and legs around him, cocooning him protectively with her body.

"Michael, you didn't kill anyone! Rene did. You were just as innocent as I was, when I came into Section."

"No!" He tried to shake free of her.

"Yes!" She replied more determined than ever, and held him tighter. "Michael, please listen to me. You didn't kill those people. You're a good and gentle man. Yes, you are. Simone saw it. Elena saw it. I see it. Anna sees it. Why can't you?"

"I've killed since then. So many, I've lost count." He countered brokenly.

"For Section, Michael. Just as I have. We've had this discussion before. You can't acquit me of murdering for Section, if you won't take that same acquittal for yourself. I won't let you. Either we're both guilty or we're both innocent, you can't have it both ways."

She relaxed her hold on him and Michael lay back on the floor. "Oh, Ni-ki-ta, it hurts!"

She lay atop him, resting her face against his chest, feeling it shake with sobs.

"I know it does. But you have to let it go, Michael. Let it go . . . please let it go." Her fingers gently stroked his chest as she spoke. She was at a loss at what else she could do to help him and squeezed her eyes shut against her own tears.

After a while he calmed some.

"Ni-ki-ta?" He pulled her up to face him. "S-sorry. Should have told you . . ."

"Shhh." She bent and kissed him. "It's over now. Forget it. Just remember I love you and Anna loves you. And you are worthy of that love, Michael. You are."

She kissed him again, deeply this time—sensually. On some deep level of understanding, she understood how Michael's tears had unmanned him. He'd held them in for so long because that was what men were supposed to do. She wanted to assure him it didn't make him less a man in her eyes.

So she made love to him. With him. For him. So that he wouldn't be alone. So that he would know his worth in her eyes. So that he could begin to heal.

She kissed him with reverence, then passion. Taking nothing for herself, seeking only his pleasure. And when he spent himself inside her, she held him close until he slept.

Her dear, sweet, beautiful, innocent Michael . . .

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, Michael felt reborn, at least in the way he saw himself. The worst had been spoken and not only had Nikita not hated him for it she had pronounced him innocent of all charges.

Innocent? She thought him innocent?

He raised up on one arm and watched her sleep. His beautiful, golden angel. Last night she had surrounded him with her love, like a mother protecting her child, fiercely refusing to give up on him.

It was still hard to forgive himself. Etienne was dead and that would never change. But knowing that she thought him innocent . . . he wasn't sure why or how it made a difference, but it did. There was a lightness to his soul that morning that he hadn't known since he was a boy.

He wanted to tell her . . . what? He wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. That he loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone in his life? He mentally shook his head. That didn't begin to explain what he was feeling.

Michael thought about Etienne, his sister, and his parents. It had been a long, long time since he could bear to think about any of his family. Thanks to Nikita, now he could, and he was amazed at how many pleasant memories he had of them.

His mother would have loved Nikita and adored Anna. Her namesake--his baby girl. He could hear Anna in the next room, fussing, not yet crying. He carefully got out of bed as not to wake Nikita and went to her.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said, leaning down to change her. She kicked her little feet and waved her tiny arms, seeming ecstatic to see him and when he picked her up she cuddled against his shoulder with a contented little sigh.

Michael stroked her curls, as fine as spider-silk, and broke down in tears again. This time the tears were ones of gratitude and for that, he kissed his daughter's velvety cheek and smiled. "Let's go see mama."

* * *

Nikita sat in Michael's lap, on the bed, with Anna nursing in her arms.

Michael watched his daughter happily suckle her breakfast and played peek-a-boo with her over Nikita's shoulder. Each time Daddy would reappear, Anna would stop nursing and smile up at him. Nikita chuckled. "We're going to be here all day at this rate. Anna, quit playing with Daddy and eat."

"That's no fair," Michael said, kissing the words against Nikita neck. "Daddy's wants to play."

She grinned back at him over her shoulder. "Oh yeah? Well, Mommy wants to play too!"

Michael looked down at his daughter and whispered in French, "Mangez rapidement, mon bébé," then nibbled gently on Nikita's earlobe.

Anna grinned up at him like a fellow conspirator and decided breakfast was over. Nikita arched an amused eyebrow at her as she tucked away her abandoned breast.

"Collaborator!" She tossed down at her daughter.

"Merci," Michael whispered, kissing Anna as she lay across her mother's shoulder to be burped "Now Daddy gets to play some more."

With his intentions announced, Michael set to work, slowly, sensuously kissing Nikita's neck, down to her unencumbered shoulder and back up again. Then he kissed behind her ear, sending shivers down Nikita's back, and breaking the rhythm of her patting on Anna's back.

"Burp, baby," Michael encouraged Anna between nibbles.

Anna immediately and loudly obliged, which brought chuckles from both parents.

"May she always be so obedient," Michael said against Nikita's ear.

Reaching around, he shifted his wife in his lap so he could kiss her. It was open-mouthed and seductive.

Nikita grinned afterwards, then admonished, "You keep that up and I'm going to drop your daughter on her head."

"I'll take her," Michael, said reaching for Anna. "I'll be right back. Don't. Move."

Nikita raised an eyebrow and stretched out coyly on the bed, "It's that o-bey thing with you again, isn't it?"

She watched him disappear into the adjoining room, heard the clicky-click of Anna's crib toy being wound, and the sounds of a short, father-daughter discussion ensue. A moment or two later, Michael returned.

As he strode across the room, he stripped himself of the bathrobe he'd been wearing, and casually let it fall in a soft heap upon the floor. Then he took a moment to partially open the curtains, letting a beam of morning sunlight illuminate the room.

Nikita studied the momentary play of light over the sculpted planes of his chest and shoulder muscles. Like some magnificent, primal warrior, he stood there with the sunlight reflecting golden against his skin, and highlighting traces of copper in his hair. Then with the dangerous air of a predatory cat, he turned and approached the bed.

Kneeling on the foot of it, Michael crawled slowly towards her on all fours, raking her body with serious, silver-green eyes.

"Did I ever tell you," he asked, straddling her hips, and closing in, "how breathtakingly beautiful you are?"

Nikita looped her arms around his neck and drew him down atop her, luxuriating beneath the weight of him.

"Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the same thing about you." She returned tenderly, lacing her fingers through his hair, and offering up her lips to kiss.

He sampled her mouth, gently, tentatively, then deepened his exploration, tracing her lips with his tongue, then coaxing his way inside.

Moving off her, Michael drew her onto her side to face him. For a long time, he contented himself with worshiping her with his lips and the caress of his hands. Gentle reverence was shown to her cheeks, lips and eyelids, as well as the length and breath of her body.

"Thank you for last night," he whispered against her ear as he kissed that as well.

She smiled somewhat impishly, curled a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Oh, you're always very welcome."

Michael reached down, lifted her thigh and brought it over his hip, pulling her closer still. Stroking her, his fingers found her warm, wet and ready for him. She sighed with contentment and closed her eyes when he entered her the first little bit.

Reaching around, Michael ran his fingers lightly down the shallow depression of Nikita's spine. Her body reacted with goose bumps and contracted muscles that drew his body deeper into hers.

It made him think of Simone suddenly, for it was she that had taught him that little "trick".

How different his two loves were, and yet how alike, he thought.

Simone was the more fragile, more passive of the two, for all her outward spunkiness, while Nikita was his fearless, golden Amazon. Where Simone was content to always let Michael take the lead in bed, Nikita often vied with him for dominance. He understood now the reasons why Simone had not liked taking the lead; as valentine op, it had been her job to seduce and with Michael, she didn't want any reminder of the "job" to taint their marriage bed.

For Simone, being married, had been her salvation. In the world in which she had to function, the love she shared with Michael had been made sacred by the words 'I Do'. Despite the shame she felt over the demands of the "job" they both had to do, marriage somehow sanctified and kept pure the love they shared. And despite Elena, and the many other women Section had thrown in his path, Michael had always remained faithful to Simone emotionally because of the vows they had taken.

Nikita had been spared most of the pain of sharing her body with other men. Michael had been thankful that Madeline had deemed her too emotional, psychologically, to function as a valentine op. The one exception, where Section had used her in that manner, had required drugs to induce Nikita to fall in love. Even then, it was generally held by Madeline that Nikita barely passed muster in that role.

No two women could have been less alike physically—one honey and almonds—one peaches and cream, but both possessed forgiving, loving natures. And both, by some miracle of God, had chosen to love him.

Michael was jarred from his memories as Nikita rolled and pulled him atop her. She wrapped her lovely, long legs around his waist and demanded his undivided attention.

"More," she growled playfully, rolling her 'r's' and gazing up at him with heavy lidded eyes.

And with a soft chuckle at her insistence, Michael indeed gave her more.

* * *

"That's all we got, Michael. I'm sorry. Our best guess is an older man, late forties, perhaps early fifties, based on hair color. Height, approximately five feet ten to six feet, weight, one seventy five, one eighty."

"Thank you." Michael said with a sigh, sitting in his office in the new corporate building. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"I'm sending you all the personnel records from the Phoenix Corporation. Run a sort for those three attributes and let me know how many possibles you come up with."

"You going with the in-house theory?" Birkoff inquired.

"For now. It's a place to start. The shooters did have some knowledge of the company operations. I want to know if that means it was an inside job, or there were plants from outside scouting for weaknesses, like in the security company."

"Do you have any idea yet, what the hit was all about? From the data I've received, the equipment stolen wasn't valuable enough to risk what they did to obtain it."

"I don't think theft was the purpose of the operation. And yet, the building has been swept for bugs and explosives and found to be clean. I honestly don't know why at this point."

Birkoff sighed, "Well, I'll contact you this afternoon with the results."

* * *

When Birkoff followed up with the results later that day, Michael went to David with them.

"I ran our entire personnel files and came up with three people that fit the general description for age, height and weight of the security company visitor and who might have had a motive. Did you know they had criminal records?"

David looked at the personnel folders Michael handed him, then tossed them lightly on the conference table where they were both seated.

"I knew. But trust me on this, none of those men are involved in any way."

"How do you know that?" Michael asked.

"Because I personally hired all three myself. They've been with the company for years and have been model employees. I gave them a hand up when they got out of prison and they have never given me a reason to regret doing so. Besides, if it was one of them, why now? They've all been in situations of trust over the years. If they had wanted to do something to hurt me or the company, they've had plenty of opportunity to do so before now."

"Then the only thing we have left is an attack from without. And we have to surmise that the attack was planned over a long period, in which intel was carefully gathered."

David sighed, "Yes. I can't say I'm not relieved. It hurt to think someone inside was so angry they could do something like this. But it still doesn't seem like industrial espionage. Not murder—not for what was taken. We still haven't solved that mystery."

Michael nodded in agreement. It was a mystery and one that rankled.

"Maybe someone was hoping . . . oh, I don't know, that the families of those killed would sue the company and cause it to go under. Maybe this was some bizarre way of trying to eliminate the competition."

"Your company is too large and well funded for that. You'll weather the storm. The security company is the one that is most in jeopardy." Michael assured him.

"Then, I'm at a loss, Michael. I have no earthly idea why anyone would want to have done this. It's just crazy. Plain crazy."

* * *

"Michael. Here are your test results." Brigitte discretely handed him the lab worksheets from her briefcase.

Michael's hazel eyes questioned Brigitte's blue ones.

"There is a very close kinship relationship between the two." She answered quietly. "Could be father and daughter or uncle and niece. I surmise the blond hair was from Nikita, but who is the other hair from?"

"My employer, Mr. McAfee."

"Does Nikita know about this yet?" She asked with raised brows.

"No. Not yet."

"Well, do you know which he is? Brigitte's eyes glowed with curiosity.

"Yes."

Brigitte shook her head with a playful grin. "But you ain't telling, huh?"

He smiled faintly. "I'd like to let Nikita know first. I'm sure you and Walter will be the very next to hear."

"It's good news, though, right?"

"I hope so." He folded the paper and tucked it into his inner breast pocket. That would have to depend on Nikita's reception of the news.

* * *

Michael tugged at his tie as he entered David's house, thinking as he did so, how he missed not having to wear one in Section. It had been one of the perks of being a field op.

He heard David in the living room speaking to someone and surmised that he had company.

"Oh, Michael! There you are." David called to him. "I—you remember me telling you about my friend from Vietnam? Well, he's here and I'd like you two to meet." David waved Michael over.

Michael stepped further into the room to view the guest and felt the world drop away from beneath his feet. Seated on the black leather couch, holding Anna in his lap was . . . mon Dieu!

"Paul Wolfe, . . . Michael Samuelle." David introduced the two with a smile.

"Michael. I've heard a lot about you." Operations smile was crocodile cruel. "Please forgive me if I don't get up." He stroked Anna's curls. "You have a very, lovely little girl."

"Where's Nikita?" Michael's voice barely made it above a whisper as his eyes locked with those of his former nemesis.

"Oh, she's out shopping with Mrs. Lawrence. I begged her to let me baby sit. Anna and I have made quite an afternoon of it, playing the piano." David chuckled, oblivious to the drama unfolding in front of him. "Anna seems to love music, Michael. When she's older, you might consider lessons."

Michael looked to Operations to make the first move. Perhaps he wouldn't act in front of a civilian. Perhaps David's presence would prevent any ugliness, at least openly. And Anna, Oh dear God! Anna!

"I thought I would have heard something from you by this time," Operations said lightly.

Michael's heart nearly exploded with fear. He was going to provoke a confrontation!

David looked instantly puzzled, and yet outwardly, Paul Wolfe was smiling and polite. One look at Michael, however gave instant realization that something was wrong—seriously wrong.

"You two know each other?" David asked hesitantly.

Operations tilted his head at his old friend. "You didn't know your son-in-law was a convicted bomber?"

"My what?" David frowned.

"He doesn't know." Michael interrupted softly. "He's an innocent."

Paul Wolfe's eyes glittered icily.

"Poorly played, Michael. I expected more from you. You've lost your edge since you left Section."

Operations lifted Anna's baby face with one finger, "That's why children aren't allowed, Michael. They're an instant Achilles' heel. Of course, this one has wonderful genes. Perhaps one day, I'll see that she follows in your footsteps."

"What do you want?" Michael asked, thoroughly horrified at the thought. He quickly glanced around the room. As far as he could tell Operations had come alone, but it was a large house and Operations' was no fool.

"You, Michael. Back in Section." Operations answered coldly. "You were hand-picked to succeed me. Do you think I went through all those years of training you just to have you walk away from it?"

There was a sudden disturbance at the front door as Nikita and Mrs. Lawrence came through it chatting happily. When they came far enough into the living room for Nikita to see what was happening, Michael grabbed her quickly about the waist.

"Oh, my God!" Nikita gasped out, in horror.

"Hello Paula." Operations greeted her with bitter cheerfulness.

"Paula?" Nikita looked at Ops then over at Michael.

Michael's eyes slid shut as the final piece fell into place. Operations was insane. Dangerously and completely insane.

"All right," Michael said softly, pressing Nikita to one side behind him. "I'm ready. Let's go back to Section."

"Wait! What the hell is going on?" David interrupted.

"She's a lot like Paula, isn't she, David? Same trouble-making little bitch!" Operations' voice startled Anna, who began to cry.

"Please," Nikita begged, stepping forward. "Let me take me. She's hungry."

"Paul, I don't know what you're talking about, but have a care what you say about my sister!" David shifted forward in his chair to emphasize his words.

Operations snorted. "Your sister was a conniving little slut who wouldn't take no for an answer!"

"What are you talking about?" David barked.

"I have to hand it to you, Michael." Operations suddenly shifting his attention away from David. "I never thought you would have been able to uncover Nikita's past so easily. Did Mr. Birkoff help you?"

"Please!" Nikita pleaded angrily, "I want my daughter!"

Operations grinned, reached into his coat pocket and slid out a small caliber handgun.

"How badly do you want her?" He asked simply, holding Anna with one hand and the weapon in the other.

"I told you, I'll go with you. Give Anna to her mother." Michael took a step in front of Nikita, his arm pressing her to stay behind him.

"Not good enough, Michael. I know you have a fail-safe."

"A fail-safe I won't use as long as my family is safe. Give Anna to Ni-ki-ta!"

"What does any of this have to do with Paula?" David asked, rolling his chair forward.

Operations gave him a mirthless laugh. "Your dear "sweet" sister ruined my marriage!

"How?" David asked emphatically, thoroughly confused.

Michael held Nikita in place, trying to think beyond the terror in his mind and desperate for an opening that would safely separate his daughter from his foe. Operations started bouncing Anna gently on his knee and for the moment she had quieted.

"She called my wife and demanded that she give me a divorce—as if I were going to drop my family and marry her instead! Then I ended up as a POW for seven years, knowing all that time that I had no home to return to, even if I ever got released." Operations growled angrily then turned on Nikita.

"You've always wondered why you ended up in Section. Do you have your answer now?"

Nikita could only shake her head, bewildered. "Because I look like Paula?"

"Because you're her niece and his daughter!" Operations gestured with the pistol at David.

"That's crazy! I've never had any children, and neither did Paula."

"My father was Scott Wirth." Nikita interrupted.

David looked at her and frowned. "W-what was your mother's name?"

"Roberta."

It seemed to take a long time before David could speak again, when he did, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Nikita, is this your mother?" His hand trembled as he held it out to her.

Nikita edged over to David's side, took the photo from his hand and studied it.

"She's blonde." Nikita said slowly.

"She was when we first got married. Her hair started getting darker after we were married about a year. When I came back home from my first tour in Nam, it was so dark that I almost didn't recognize her when my transport ship docked in Sydney."

"But my father's name was Scott, not David," Nikita said with some confusion, handing David back the photo. She turned to Operations and shook her head.. "No. It's just a wild coincidence that I look like his sister."

"Ni-ki-ta," Michael said gently, stepping over to her.

"Wait, Michael . . . " David looked up at Nikita, then handed her his company ID. "Scott, is my middle name. Your mother called me Scotty because she disliked the name David. She's the only person that's ever called me that." He finished softly, watching her face with dawning wonder that she was his child.

"How touching. A family reunion. You never told her, Michael?" Operations taunted.

Nikita turned to look at her husband in shocked expectation. "You knew?"

"No. But I began to suspect. I had a DNA test run on the both of you. I got the results this afternoon. It was confirmed." Michael answered, but kept his eyes on Anna.

"That means Anna is my grandchild," David said, angrily. "You hurt her and I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

Operations laughed at the absurdity of David's threat then waved Mrs. Lawrence over. "Here, take her." He motioned at Anna. "As long as Michael and Nikita return to Section peacefully, she can stay here." He pointed his weapon at Nikita.