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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Nikita was stunned at she listened to Operations speak. She found it hard to believe that four operatives had been brutally murdered in the past two weeks. Two male, two female. It was believed to be an inside job. A fellow operative gone...mad. At least that was the profile that Madeline had worked up, and it made sense to Nikita. The directory had been rewritten, the old one was now useless, if it still existed, so it seemed likely that one of their own was the killer. But Nikita found herself unable to understand...why?
Operations was perched on the corner of the table, and he locked eyes with Michael. "I want you to understand that only six people know about this. The four of us," he was including Madeline, who was seated beside Nikita, "And two others from higher up. We don't want to cause a panic within the ranks. So you and Nikita will be on your own. It has to be this way. Especially given that we don't know who the killer is."
Michael nodded. He agreed with Operations' reasoning. "Do we know where to start?" he asked.
"New Orleans," Madeline replied. She smiled at the look of surprise on Nikita's face. "Two of the operatives died there. You'll need to use your contacts, Michael. Be discreet."
"Of course," he replied. "How close to the vest are we playing this?"
Operations sighed. "Maintain radio silence. We don't know who might be monitoring you. Or us. I'll contact you, via cell phone, every seventy-two hours. Report in to me only once you have found the killer."
Nikita had a question. "Do we bring him in?"
Madeline nodded. "It would be helpful, if you can. But first priority is to stop the murders." She looked at Michael. "Do you have contacts in New Orleans?"
He nodded. "One....maybe two. Whereabouts in New Orleans did the murders take place?"
Operations handed Michael a file. He was using hard copy for it was harder to trace and easier to dispose of. "French quarter....Cajun territory. Your French background should prove useful, Michael. I understand that the Cajun don't like strangers, but you should fit right in."
"I'll do my best," Michael replied. His background would give him an advantage. Then he looked at Nikita. She, however, would stick out like a sore thumb. Not that he cared. Michael was glad that she was going with him. That way he would be able to keep an eye on her. They had no clue as to the killer's identity, which meant it could be anyone. That two of the murder's had taken place in New Orlean's meant nothing. One had occurred in Canada, the other in New Mexico. He didn't want her exposed. "When do we leave?" Michael asked.
"One hour," Madeline replied. "A commercial flight. I've packed bags for the both of you." She smile at Michael. "It'll be too warm for the basic black that you're used to. But I think you'll like what I've chosen. I'm sure Nikita will," Madeline teased.
Nikita grinned. "Bermuda shorts and t-shirts?" she questioned, jokingly. At least she hoped it was a joke. Bermuda shorts should be illegal, as far as she was concerned. Along with polyester, golf pants.
Madeline's eyes glimmered. "Not quite," she countered, her eyes still locked on Michael's face. He simply blinked at her, handling the teasing as he did most things, without reacting. It was an effective, if irritating, method. Madeline had taught him well. Too well. Michael knew it was one of his strengths and he used it to unnerve people. It worked very well on Nikita.
"Do we have a window?" she asked, glaring at Michael.
Operations pushed away from the table. "Nothing specific but, obviously, the sooner the better." He locked eyes with Nikita, then Michael. "Be careful," he warned them. And he meant it. Michael was their best chance to catch this killer, and Operation's wanted him nabbed. And fast. But he also wanted Michael safely back at Section After all, he was the best cold op they had. He didn't have the same feelings towards Nikita, but he didn't wish her ill, neccessarily. Besides which, Operations knew that Michael would protect Nikita. Of that he had no doubt. He retrieved the copies of his files and nodded. "Dismissed."
Nkita ran to catch up with Michael as he strode out of the conference room. "What's your rush?" she asked, trying to keep up to his long-legged stride.
"I have some calls to make before we leave," he replied, his eyes locking on her face, but only for a moment.
"You're worried, aren't you?" Nikita grabbed Michael's arm, making him stop and face her. She could see shadows in his silver-green gaze.
Michael didn't bother to deny it. What was the point? Nikita was always looking past the surface and seeing too much. "This is bad," he told her. "So, yes, I'm worried."
Nikita nodded. "Me too. But we're going to catch this guy," she declared, with more assurance that she actually felt. But they both needed to believe that.
"I know we will," Michael replied. He had no intention of failing. "Get ready," he ordered, then he turned away and headed towards his office. Time was running out.
New Orleans was lush and beautiful, but very hot, and Nikita resented that fact that the heat didn't seem to be affecting Michael. He looked calm, cool and collected in beige, linen, trousers and a white, cotton shirt. Nikita kept staring at him. She couldn't get over how different Michael looked in light colors. And his hair wasn't combed back in it's usual style as well. Michael left it soft and curly. He was playing a part.
So was she. The part of his girlfriend. Nikita sighed. How original, but neccessary, she knew. At least Madeline hadn't decided they were to be *married* again. Being the *girlfriend* gave Nikita a little more leeway in the fun department. And all at Michael's expense. Not that they had time for fun, nor the inclination. They certainly weren't having any yet. But at least they had a lead.
Michael had contacted one of his sources and had met with them within hours of stepping off the plane. He had not taken Nikita with him, so she had no idea who he met, or where, but she trusted him. In this regard, anyway. Not with her heart...or soul. He would manipulate and betray the one, and the other....Nikita guarded her soul from anyone connected to Section. It was all she had left that they couldn't touch.
So now they were in the heart of the French quarter, and Nikita stood beside Michael, smiling as he spoke French to a street vendor, asking for directions. The language was beautiful and from MIchael it was like listening to a sweet melody. "Did you get it?" she asked, when he turned back to her. Meaning the address of the club they were looking for.
"Yes," Michael replied, taking Nikita's arm. They needed to keep up appearances as a young couple. But he was adding a twist. "I think it's best if we play it that we've come to New Orleans to stay. We're a bit desperate and we need to find jobs." Michael gave Nikita a quick once over. She looked lovely in an ice-blue crop top and white cotton skirt, that reached her ankles but had a slit in it to her thigh. "When we get to the club, we'll ask about jobs. My contact insists that the Club is the place to be to find out about our killer."
"Did he say why?" Nikita prompted.
Michael shook his head. "No. He was terrified." Remembering back, Michael could still see his contact, breaking out into a sweat and shaking like a leaf. "I was lucky to get anything out of him."
Nikita grinned. "Well...I'm sure you were your usual, charming self, Michael. You do have a way with words, you know." Nikita was remembering Rabat, and Garsha. Michael's gun pressed to the man's throat, his questions terse and to the point. And Garsha had practically started singing.
"Keep your focus, NIkita," Michael replied, even as he put a smile on his face. Time to play his part, for they had reached the club.
Smoke was a jazz-blues club. It offered drinks, food and entertainment six days a week. The owner was big, very big, and black. He had a voice that boomed like thunder, and his name was Jo Jo. He didn't like foreigners, so he kept one eye on Nikita as they talked. She stood out like a beacon in the night. Pretty woman, but Jo Jo didn't want her in her club. Her boyfriend he could warm up too. He was French-Canadian, so he was Cajun material. In fact, his grandmother came from Bocoloa, old Cajun territory. Jo Jo had relatives from there to.
Nikita smiled at the big man, finding it irritating the way he seemed to keep just one eye upon her at all times. "So....we need jobs," she said bluntly, laying their cards down on the table. "Got any, or not?" She had decided to play her part by sticking close to her own personality. It was best not to step too far out of charactar, less risk of getting caught out in a lie. Course, Michael never seemed to have that problem. He slipped in and out of character with enviable ease.
Jo Jo pointed to the sign above the bar. "I need me a singer," he declared, both eyes boring into Nikita now. He smiled at her, then chomped on a handful of peanuts. After swallowing he said, "Why don't you sing me a pretty tune, lady? Show Jo Jo what you got."
"I don't sing," Nikita declared, her eyes flashing. "I'm a good waitress though."
"Don't need no waitress," Jo Jo countered, waving them off with one hand. "Guess there's nothing for you here."
Michael spoke up. "I sing," he said, quietly.
Nikita blinked at him, as surprised as Jo Jo. The big man broke into a smile. He had been watching Michael. The young man had a sense of desperation about him. He and his girlfriend were stranded in New Orleans and nearly out of money. They needed work, but Jo Jo felt that Michael was simply shining him on. So he called him on it. "Lonny is at the piano," Jo Jo said. "You tell him to play for you, then you show me."
"All right," Michael replied. He stood up, then bent to steal a kiss from Nikita.
Her eyes were huge as she watched Michael walk over to the piano man. He whispered something to him, then walked over to the microphone at the center of the small stage. There was a stool there as well, and Michael sat down upon it. It was a full house at Jo Jo's, even though it was early, and Michael put on a smile as he began to sing. It was a Bonnie Raitt song.
"Turn down the lights....turn down the bed. Turn down these voices....inside my head. Lay down with me....and tell me no lies. Just hold me close....and don't patronize. Don't patronize me. Cause I can't make you love me if you don't. You can't make your heart feel, something it won't. Hear in the dark,...in these final hours. I will lay down my heart...and I feel. But you won't...no you won't. And I can't make you love me...if you don't.
I close my eyes....then I won't see. The love you don't feel...when you're holding me. Morning will come...and I'll do what's right. Just give me till then...to give up this fight. And I will give up this fight. Cause I can't make you love me if you don't. You can't make your heart feel...something it won't. Here in the dark...in these final hours. I will lay down my heart. I feel the power. But you won't. No....you won't. And I can't make you love me.....if you don't."
Michael sang the words with intense passion, unaware that his innate sensuality was echoed in his voice. His eyes were locked on Nikita the entire time, but he felt the eyes of everyone in the club watching him. One gaze in particular seemed to burn into him, and Michael tracked the room as the music faded away. In the corner of the room, in the back, sat a woman. There were too many shadows to see her clearly, but Michael was certain she was beautiful. Then he had no time for other thoughts, for the place was filled with applause and cheering and Jo Jo had bustled over to Michael and was pulling him to his feet.
"You've got the job, Mon ami. You start tomorrow night. Oui?" Jo Jo asked, as he shook Michael's hand.
"Oui," MIchael whispered, his eyes moving to lock with Nikita's. She was smiling at him, yet couldn't hide her surprise. Michael knew she hadn't expected that he could sing, and it amused him. Since he was playing a part, he allowed a smile to curve his own lips as he said, "I guess you're still learning things about me, sweetheart."
Nikita nodded, and played along. "Oh yes, and I must say, you're never...dull or boring." She extracted Michael's hand from Jo Jo's grip. Turning to the club owner she said, "Michael and I wil be back here, tomorrow, then you and I will negotiate his...contract."
Jo Jo was stunned for a moment, but then he laughed and his big belly shook. "We'll talk," he allowed. "For now, come." He put his arms around both their shoulders. "Let me feed you. You're part of Jo Jo's family now. And he always takes care of his own."
From the corner table the woman who had been watching Michael smiled as she watched him and the blond led off by Jo Jo. "Beautiful..." she whispered. Then she lit a match and lifted it to the tip of the cigarette held between her sensual lips.
************
By the time Michael and Nikita returned to the rooms they were renting, it was nearing midnight. Jo Jo had fed them, then he wanted to work out a song list for Michael, then he and Nikita had negotiated payment, and so on. Nikita was tired as she plopped down onto the double bed. She leaned back on her elbows and watched Michael, who went straight to the closet. He removed a black duffle bag and from it withdrew a laptop computer and a cellular phone. Nikita sighed as he hooked them together with a multitude of cables. "So...." she drawled after a long moment of silence had stretched out between them. "Michael....you never told me you could sing."
He didn't look up from what he was doing. "You never asked," Michael replied.
"Ahhh...." Nikita countered, smirking. "So that's how it is. Only problem being that if I did ask, you still wouldn't tell me. Would you?"
"Maybe you're asking the wrong questions," Michael said softly, bending his head to his task so that Nikita wouldn't see the smile that curved his lips.
Nikita slid off the bed and walked over to Michael. She leaned down so that they were face to face. "How about this question? What do we do now?"
Michael locked eyes with Nikita. He knew it was a double-edged question, but he wasn't about to play that game with her. Too much was at risk to lose focus. Too many lives were at stake, and it would be too easy to be side-tracked. "We wait," Michael replied, purposely stepping away from Nikita. "Tomorrow we walk around town, ask some innocent questions. We can't reveal our purpose here, Nikita. We have to be careful."
"I know," she replied, returning to the bed. The subtle scent of Michael's aftershave lingered in her nostrils, and brought a smile to Nikita's face. He always smelled so damn good. And why did he have to be so beautiful? It wasn't fair. Madeline had told her early on that her femininity was a weapon, obvious Michael had the same training in regards to his masculinity, and he had learned well. Nikita sighed. Then a smile lit up her face. "You coming to bed?" she asked, patting the space beside her.
"Later," Michael said, his eyes locking on Nikita's face for a moment. She was more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. She was also a distraction he could not afford. "Good night," he whispered, before turning away to sit down at the desk and devote his attention to the task at hand. Michael couldn't contact Section. But he and Birkhoff had devised a plan to meet in IRC without leaving a tracable trail back to either one of them. Birkhoff's doing. That way, Michael could still keep in contact with Section, only he would do so without Operation's knowledge. Just to be on the safe side. Birkhoff could keep Michael updated and do some tracking for him.Michael would also use the computer to check on other contacts or leads.
Nikita heaved a sigh, realizing that baiting Michael was a waste of time, so she left the bed and headed for the bathroom. After a quick shower, she pulled on panties and an oversized t-shirt, then returned to the bedroom. Michael's fingers were dancing over the keyboard and Nikita moved to stand behind him. She noticed that she was in IRC. "Who are you talking to?" she queried.
Michael typed for a moment, then answered. "Birkhoff."
"I thought we weren't supposed to contact Section?" Nikita countered, a frown marring her brow.
"We're not," Michael allowed. He felt Nikita's hands fall onto his shoulders and it took all his willpower not to react. But then her fingers slid inside the collar of his shirt and began to knead his muscles. It was a sensual massage and Michael knew that it was deliberate on Nikita's part. So he decided to play along with her game. He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm.
Nikita shivered as Michael's lips moved from her palm to the inside of her wrist. Then he was turning in his chair so that he could draw her down to sit on his lap, facing him. "What are you doing?" Nikita whispered, as Michael's lips now moved to her throat.
He pressed his mouth to her ear, letting the tip of his tongue run over the curve of it. "I'm....kissing you," Michael said, softly. And then he claimed her lips.
A long moment passed before Nikita pulled away. She had buried her fingers in Michael's hair, deepening the kiss, and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He tasted like peppermint and it stayed with her as she glared at him. "This is just a game to you, isn't it, Michael? You're just...playing your part!" Nikita hissed.
"I kissed you because I wanted to," Michael whispered, as Nikita slid off his lap. He was surprised she would doubt that. That she didn't *feel* the truth of his words. His reaction to her was proof of his desire for her. Michael didn't pretend otherwise.
"I.....I guess I'll go to bed now," Nikita murmmured, as she suddenly realized the truth of what Michael was saying. But sometimes she wondered just how good an actor he was. After all, he had seduced Lisa easily enough, and never wanted her. Michael had just been doing his job. But Nikita saw heat in his gaze and decided it would be best to retreat. She wasn't ready for this. Not now...and not here. There was too much at stake.
Morning came and Nikita opened her eyes and rolled over to discover that she hadn't slept alone. The pillow beside her was indented, and the blankets shoved back. She grimaced. Nikita had shared a bed with Michael and had missed it. Just then he walked into the bedroom, dressed in cream, linen trousers and a cream shirt with teal stripes. He was carrying two bakery bags. "What's that?" Nikita questioned, sitting up and sliding out of bed. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.
"Breakfast," Michael replied, removing coffee and croissants from the bags and setting them out on the desk. "Dig in." He ignored the pastry and settled for the coffee.
"Delicious.." Nikita muttered, around a mouthful of croissant. "Don't you eat?"
Michael offered a slight smile. "Later." When you've showered and dressed, we'll head out," he said, reaching for the laptop once more. He had only gotten three hours sleep, but that was normal for him. So Michael was ready to face the day ahead of them.
Nikita took a sip of the aromatic coffee then said, "Whoever our killer is.....why do you think he's doing it?" It was a question that had haunted her dreams.
"I don't why," Michael confessed, even as he established an internet link. "Didn't you read Madeline's profile?"
"Yes." Nikita paused for another bite of food, chewed then swallowed. "I want to know what you think," she persisted. She trusted Michael's instincts. It wasn't that she didn't accept Madeline's profile, for the woman was frighteningly good at what she did. But Nikita wanted a different point of view. The whole affair scared her far more than she wanted to accept.
Michael sensed Nikita's anxiety, and he wished there was some way he could difuse it for her. But their wasn't. Still, it wouldn't hurt to share his thoughts with her. Maybe it would even help. For he wondered *why* himself. "It doesn't feel like payback to me," he said softly, even as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Michael didn't want to look at Nikita, she was too distracting in her t-shirt and long legs, her pale hair touseled about her angel's face. So he distracted himself, even as he answered her. "I don't believe it's revenge," he commented.
"What then?" Nikita countered, more than a little bit curious. Michael's mind worked in mysterious ways, and she doubted that she would ever be able to figure him out, even if she were to live forever.
"A statement, perhaps," Michael allowed. He found himself unable to concentrate on the information on his screen. It seemed important, suddenly, to explain himself to Nikita. Perhaps forewarned was forearmed....for both of them. He turned to face her. "Maybe a symbol."
Nikita frowned. "Why a symbol?" she questioned.
Michael shook his head. "I don't know," he replied, and it was the truth. He was surprised at having said that himself. Something about the killings screamed *ritualistic* at him. Perhaps an old memory that he couldn't quite snag. "Go get ready," Michael ordered. Time was running out for them all.
They strolled through Raven's Square. A place in the heart of the French quarter and filled with booths and swarms of people. The scent of jasmine mingled with hickory and there was food and flowers and goods of all kind to be seen. Shops were aplenty and owners were hawking their wares.
Nikita and Michael walked hand in hand. Both wore sunglasses and Nikita had dressed in a sleeveless, flowered sundress that fell to her ankles. A smile curved her lips as she watched children play and listened to laughter. There were other couples strolling about, yet not all was bliss. There were arguments to be heard, as well as music. A saxophone player filled the air with the blues. But Nikita's heart felt surprisingly light as she watched Michael work...magic.
He stopped often to admire handiwork and to chat with storeowners, or to buy a trinket at a booth, which he would then present to Nikita. What touched her most was when he bought a balloon for a tiny, dusky-skinned little girl. It made the child's face light up. Then the little one giggled as Michael spoke to her in French. He was squatting so that they were on eye level, and Nikita bit her lip as she watched the little girl press a kiss to Michael's cheek, then skip away, in hand. She then watched his face as he rose to his feet. There was a haunted look in Michael's silver-green eyes, and Nikita wondered if he was thinking of his dead son. Wondered if he had been old enough to buy balloons for. But she didn't ask. She simply took Michael's hand and brought it to her lips.
"Are you hungry?" Michael asked, wanting to break the mood between them. The feel of Nikita's lips was like an imprint in his skin and he untangled his fingers then shoved his hands in his pockets. Nikita was moving into dangerous waters.
"A little," she allowed. Nikita understood why Michael had pulled away. She was finally beginning to read him...a little. It was best, anyway. They both needed to be able to focus on the mission, no each other. But it wasn't easy. Michael was like a sensual magnet, drawing her to him, in spite of herself. And it wasn't only a sexual thing, Nikita realized. She was drawn to the soul of the man, as well. To the ember of humanity that glowed deep within Michael, in spite of his best efforts to extinguish it.
Michael pointed to a small cafe. "How about some lunch?"
Nikita smiled at him. "Love too." She was about to step forward when she spotted a small curio shop. There was something in the window that caught her eye. She patted Michael's arm. "Stay here. I'll be right back." And so saying, she dashed off, leaving Michael in the center of the street.
"What now, Nikita?" Michael muttered to himself, but he remained as she had bid. His eyes were tracking the people who swarmed about him, searching for the face of the one who followed them. For the past two hours, Michael was aware of being watched, but he hadn't mentioned it to Nikita. He didn't know why not. But Michael was distracted at the sound of a woman's scream. A tourist, by the looks of her, was pointing to a man.
"He stole my purse!" she shouted.
The thief was heading in Michael's direction. A young man, tall and thin. As he reached him, Michael stepped in his path and slammed the heel of his palm into the other man's face. The thief hit the pavement, screaming. His nose was broken. Michael ignored his cries, reaching down to grab the stolen purse, only to hiss in pain as the blade of a knife sliced over his forearm. His eyes flashed as he delivered another heel strike. This time the thief went limp. He wasn't dead, but would wish he was when he woke up. Michael turned to search out the woman who had been robbed, but saw before him a dusky-skinned beauty. She seemed familiar...somehow.
She didn't say a word. Her eyes were tawny gold and they moved over Michael slowly, with a sensual heat. A smile curved her full lips, then she reached out with one finger, that was tipped by a long, crimson-colored, nail, and pressed it to the wound on Michael's forearm. Her eyes never leaving his, she then brought her finger to her lips and licked the blood off it.
A part of Michael felt mesmerized, but even as he was about to ask her name, he heard Nikita's voice. He turned to see her making her way towards him, her eyes mirroring concern. She touched his bloodied arm. "I'm all right," Michael told her. Then he looked back around, but the mysterious woman was gone, and with her went the feeling of being watched. She must have been the one following them. Michael wondered why. If she was somehow connected to the murders.
"What happened?" Nikita asked, drawing Michael's attention back to her. She saw the purse in his hand, then a heavyset woman approached them.
She had heard Nikita's question. "Your husband stopped a thief," the woman declared, her eyes on Michael's face. "Thank you so much," she said, reaching for both her purse, and his hand.
Michael smiled at her. "I'm glad I could help," he assured her. Gallantly he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, leaving the woman stammering her thanks once more.
"Goodbye," Nikita said to her, the she took Michael's good arm. His other one was bleeding heavily. "We need to tend to your wound," Nikita said firmly, even as she rummaged in her purse for something to bind it with. She found a white scarf she had bought and thought nothing of wrapping it around the injury.
"Yes," Michael said softly. "Let's go." He cared nothing about the cut, but he wanted to return to the room to get on the computer. He had just thought of another contact and he felt certain it was important.
From the shadows the woman smiled as she lit a cigarette. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, then whispered, "Soon...very soon. We will be together, my dark angel."
************
Back in their rooms, Nikita tended to the cut on Michael's arm. In her opinion it needed stitches. He simply glanced at it and shook his head. "It will be fine, Nikita," Michael assured her. He attention was focused on his computer screen. Birkhoff had given him some information needed for Michael to contact a new source. But that wasn't what held his focus. He had bad news. "There's been another murder," Michael said softly.
NIkita caught her breath. "When and where?" she questioned, even as she glanced up to look at the screen.
"Last night, in Washington DC," Michael replied. He typed back a response to Birkhoff, then disconnected his link to IRC. Turning to face Nikita he said, "I have to go out for a while."
"I'll come with you," she countered, moving to gather the first aid supplies and dump them back into her duffle bag.
Michael shook his head. "No. Not this time." He trusted Nikita as a partner, and knew she could take care of herself, but he had to go alone. "The person I'm going to see doesn't know you. And he's not very trusting. Besides which, where I'm going, you'll stand out like a neon sign." He was heading into Shantyville, deep in the swamps. Even he would stand out, but at least hespoke the language and was familiar with the customs.
Nikita sighed. She didn't like it, but accepted it. She was learning. She plopped down into the chair Michael vacated and watched him collect new clothes. Black jeans and a black, longsleeved t-shirt. Onto the bed he tossed a light, black leather jacket and his gun. "You're going into dangerous territory, aren't you?" Nikita called out, as Michael headed into the bathroom, clothes in hand. She heard the shower come on.
"When is it not dangerous, Nikita?" Michael countered, coming to stand in the bathroom doorway. "I'll be all right." This he offered in response to the concern he saw shimmering in her beautiful eyes.
"Of course you will be," Nikita drawled as she curled a lock of pale hair around her fingers. "You're like the Terminator, Michael. You're unstoppable."
He offered a grim smile, but didn't deny her words. Michael often felt more machine-like than human. It was only around Nikita that the distinction blurred. "I'll be out in a minute," he told her, then he shut the bathroom door.
It was near dusk when Michael returned. Nikita had been sitting in a chair by the window and she breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the room. She noticed that he looked a bit gritty, and there was mud on his clothes, but otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. "How did it go?" she inquired, offering a smile of greeting.
"Well enough," Michael replied, diffidently. He felt Nikita's gaze upon him, but that didn't deter him from stripping off his shirt. It felt itchy and smelled like pot. It was time for another shower.
"Did you learn anything helpful?" Nikita prompted, her eyes locked on Michael's bare chest and arms. He was all smooth skin over sculptured muscle. Beautiful....and Nikita felt a rush of heat. She hoped Michael didn't notice the effect he was having on her. Needing a distraction, she got up and fussed with the curtains at the window.
Michael stared at her back, then turned away to pull a clean shirt off a hanger in the closet. He had learned something of interest, but couldn't be sure it was related. Now he debated on whether or not to tell Nikita. The information could be dangerous, to both of them. But Michael decided she should at least know the facts. Forewarned was forearmed. "There was something different about the latest killing," he said, as he added black pants to the royal-blue shirt on the bed.
Nikita was surprised by the new and whirled around to face Michael. "What was it?" she asked, her eyes glittering. A part of Nikita was angry that Michael hadn't shared this tidbit of information sooner, but she knew better than to argue the point with him.
"A Raven's feather was left on the body," Michael replied.
"Why?" Nikita prompted.
Michael shrugged. "A message to us," he allowed.
Nikita remembered what he had said last night. "Symbolic of something?" she guessed.
"I think so." Michael gathered up his clothes and once again headed for the bathroom. "My contact had some ideas of what it might mean."
"And?" Nikita was becoming frustrated at having to drag the information out of Michael. She crossed the room to confront him at the bathroom door.
He turned to face her, his expression grim. "Nikita, this area is steeped in the tradition and culture of the black arts." Seeing the frown on her beautiful face, he expounded. "Voodoo."
Nikita laughed at that. "You think the killings are related to Voodoo? Come on, Michael. We didn't find any chicken heads....or whatever those people use." Nikita was making light of his words, but her smile faded as she looked into his silver-green eyes. Michael was not amused, and the thought frightened. "You don't believe in Voodoo, do you?" she asked, even as she repressed a shiver.
"No," Michael said softly. He let his eyes flicker over Nikita for a moment. She looked so angelic in white pants with a white halter top, her hair haloing her face in loose curls. "But I do believe in the power that the mind has over the body, Nikita," he whispered, in further response to her question. Michael was living proof of the ability to exert mind over matter. That was how he was able to do his *job* so effectively. And how he was able to endure physical pain and stress, such as gunshot wounds or torture, and still get the job done. Mind over matter. That was Voodoo's power.
"So...how does Voodoo fit in to the killings?" Nikita questioned, even as she moved away from Michael. His expression troubled her more than his words.
He swallowed a sigh. "Maybe it doesn't," Michael replied. "It's just a possibilty, Nikita." He turned back to the bathroom. "I'm going to shower then we'll head off to the club." Michael didn't wait for a response, he simply closed the door behind him.
Nikita nodded, even though she knew he wasn't there. Michael was scheduled to perform at Smoke tonight. A smile curved her lips. She was looking forward to hearing him sing again.
Michael sang three songs and mesmerized the patrons at he club. Nikita mused that it was as if he had hypnotized them. They were completely entranced, herself included. Michael was truly gifted as a singer. And she told him so when he rejoined her at the table.
"I just fool around with it a little," he replied, brushing aside Nikita's compliment. It pleased him, but embarrassed him as well. Not that he let it show.
Jo Jo had joined them in time to hear Michael's last statement and he clapped the younger man on the back. "Nonsense!" he boomed. "You have the *gift*, Michael," he insisted. His dark eyes gazed into silver-green and his attitude shifted. There was something about the young man that intrigued him. He was *gifted* in many ways. He was a mixture of darkness and light. Jo Jo believed that to truly be *good* one had to understand *evil*. Michael was a mixture of both. He knew evil, but it was not apart of him. He was not the light, yet it was deep within him. Michael walked in the shadows, silent as a spirit. A shiver rippled through Jo Jo, but he didn't lose his smile. "You're a hit, my friend," he declared, even as he waved over a waitress who delivered a plate of crawfish. "Dinner is on the house. Enjoy." Jo Jo then left, to continue making his rounds.
Nikita laughed softly as she stared at the steaming pile of food. "There's enough here for five people," she remarked. Only problem was, she wasn't hungry. Glancing over at Michael, she guessed that he wasn't either. On the way to the club they had stopped at a cafe for hamburgers, since Nikita had declared a craving for them. She had watched Michael down a huge cheeseburger with Fries and a milk shake. Nikita had eaten the same.
Michael was about to comment, but he sensed a presence and turned to find the woman from Raven's square, standing behind him. She was smiling at him, a cigarette held between slender fingers. "Yes?" Michael whispered.
She held out her other hand, in it was a bottle of wine. An expensive burgandy. "I wanted to give you this, to thank you," she said, and her voice was whiskey smooth and sultry.
"For what?" Michael countered, but he accepted the bottle.
"For entertaining me," She replied. "You have a beautiful voice."
Michael offered a smile. "Thank you." In that moment he remembered his manners and rose to his feet to offer her a chair. "Would you care to join us?" Michael ignored the glare he could sense coming from Nikita. This woman had been watching him for the past two days, for Michael believed she had been the *eyes* that had watched him last night, here at the club, as well as on the street in the square today. He wanted to know why.
Nikita schooled her expression and smiled at the newcomer. "I'm Nikita, and this is Michael," she said, introducing them properly. "And you are?" It was a pointed question.
"I'm Lillith," the other woman replied. She locked eyes with Nikita for a moment, then her gaze flickered over to Michael, where it remained. He was a beautiful man, and sensual. The heat of his sexuality touched Lillith and ignited her passion. She let it show in her tawny eyes as she appraised Michael. He didn't respond to it, but Lillith knew he was aware. "Open the wine," she invited. "We'll make a toast."
"All right," Michael replied, doing as she bid. As if reading their minds, a waitress appeared with three, crystal, wine glasses. Michael was certain that Lillith had arranged it. She had planned on introducing herself to them tonight. He poured the dark-red liquid into the glasses, then said, "What shall we toast to?"
Lillith raised her glass to him. "How about to....new friends?" she whispered.
Nikita rolled her eyes. It was obvious that Lillith had the hots for Michael. It was also understandable. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Still, she played along, clinking her glass against Lillith's. Then she took a long swallow of the wine. It was delicious. "So...Lillith. You live here?" Nikita asked.
"All my life," the dusky-skinned woman replied. But she was still staring at Michael. Suddenly she took his hand then rose to her feet. "Dance with me," she requested.
"Of course," Michael replied. He stood up, shooting a glance over at Nikita. She was frowning, but he was certain that she realized he was simply playing a part. Lillith had a purpose for being there, and Michael was going to find out what it was. So he led her over to the center of the tiny dance floor and took her into his arms.
Lillith rested one hand on Michael's shoulder, the other was busy. Her crimson-tipped nails danced across his jawline, then her fingers tangled in his hair.
Michael didn't respond to her caresses. His eyes were blank as he locked gazes with her. "What do you want from me?" he asked bluntly. No sense in playing games.
"I want....your body," Lillith replied, as her hand glided down to rest over Michael's heart. "And your soul."
"You can't have them," Michael replied, lightly, even as he sensed there was a deeper meaning to Lillith's words. This wasn't a simple flirtation. Michael was thinking that the woman in his arms was aptly named. The origin of Lillith was Arabic, and it meant...of the night....Night Demon. Michael knew about the darkside of one's soul and Lillith's was as black as the darkest night. Tearing his eyes away from her tawny gaze, Michael looked over Lillith's shoulder to where Nikita was sitting. The beautiful blond smiled at him, facetiously, then toasted him with her wine glass. A sudden chill rippled through Michael then. His eyes flickered back to Lillith, and in her eyes he saw....death.
************
As soon as the music ended, Michael walked off the dance floor. Lillith was a beautiful woman with a warm sensualilty, but her soul was dark and her touch left Michael feeling cold. So he returned to Nikita and saw that she was deathly pale. Michael knelt beside her chair. "Nikita...what's wrong?"
She raised a shaky hand to push pale hair off her face. "I don't feel very well, Michael," Nikita confessed. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"I'll take you home," he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders to help her to her feet. They ran into Jo Jo halfway to the door.
The big man eyed Nikita with concern. He pressed his palm to her sweat-sheened face. "No fever," Jo Jo breathed, looking at Michael. "But she need to rest. Sleep is what she need."
Michael nodded, sensing that Jo Jo was trying to send him a message. But he wasn't sure what it was. Still, he would keep a careful eye on Nikita. As it was she was swaying on her feet. "Let's go," Michael whispered, letting her lean her weight on him as they walked out of the club.
Michael hailed a taxi, knowing that Nikita wasn't up to the walk home. Once their, he paid the driver, then lifted Nikita into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, and Michael had had the forethought to hand Nikita the key before picking her up, so she was able to unlock the door for them. She flicked on the light, then sighed as Michael carried her over to the bed. He laid her down gently, reaching for a light blanket that was on the back of a chair, to cover her with. He let one hand touch her cheek and hid his worry when she gave him a weak smile. "I'll get a cool cloth for you," Michael said, turning to head for the bathroom.
He wasn't gone long, but when he returned he was in for a surprise. Nikita was on her feet and, loosely, wrapped in a sheet. It draped low enough to reveal one, perfect, breast. Michael caught his breath then glanced down at the floor. Nikita's clothes lay in a heap. She was naked beneath the sheet. "What are you doing?" Michael asked, the damp washcloth falling from his hand.
Nikita smiled, a sensual curve of her full-lips and glided towards him. He was beautiful and sexy and she wanted to make love to him. Needed too. It felt as if her body was on fire from the inside out. "Come to me, Michael," she whispered. They were about a foot a part. and she waited for him. Her eyes were shining with lust and Nikita licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Don't be afraid," she breathed, when he simply stood there.
"Nikita.." Michael said her name, hoping to reach her. He knew, without a doubt, that she was under the influence of some kind of drug. Perhaps an aphrodisiac with a touch of a hallucinogen. Lillith must have passed it to her. Perhaps it had coated Nikita's wine glass, cause it couldn't have been in the wine. "You need to go to bed," Michael hissed. He was angry. Not at Nikita, but at cirmcumstances. And he was frightened. Nikita was a believer. So Voodoo would find it easy to claim her. But Michael had no intention of letting that happen.
"That's exactly where I intend to go," Nikita drawled as she dropped the sheet and stode before Michael, gloriously naked and unabashed. She was proud of her body, and she smiled as she watched Michael's eyes move over her. He wanted her too. "Kiss me..."she beseeched, moving forward to press her body against his. When he made to step back, Nikita pressed her hands to Michael's chest and shoved him, hard, till he hit the wall behind him. Then she buried her fingers in his thick hair and claimed her kiss.
Michael felt himself tremble as Nikita's tongue slipped into his mouth. She tasted of wine and as her tongue stroked against his in a sensual caress, Michael found himself wanting to give in to his passion for her. But that was forbidden....for so many reasons. So he grabbed her wrists and pulling her hands from his hair, Michael forced Nikita away from him, breaking the kiss.
She was furious and let it show in the flash of her blue eyes. "What's wrong, Michael!" Nikita hissed. "I know that you want me. You can't deny it."
"But you don't really want me," Michael countered, his own eyes cold. "This isn't you, Nikita. It's....voodoo."
"Puhleez!" She spat, yanking free of his grip. "I'm simply giving in to my desires, Michael. I've wanted you from day one." Nikita moved to the bed and stretched out on it, her eyes never leaving his face. "Come on, Michael," she whispered, one finger curving and gesturing for him to come to her. "Give in to the fire in your blood."
Michael shook his head. Then he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, cold water. Perhaps it would help to snap Nikita out of her state. When he turned back into the bedroom, he was surprised to see Nikita standing again and holding a gun in her hand. It was pointed at his heart. "What are you doing, Nikita?" Michael questioned, his voice soft and without inflection.
She scowled at him, even as she shook pale hair out of her face. "You will make love to me, Michael," Nikita drawled, "Or you will die. Your choice." She took a step closer to him, still naked and unconcerned. "So....what's it gonna be?" Nikita's hand shook, but not with fear. She was trembling with desire. The fire in her was white-hot and Michael was the only one who could put it out.
"Kill me," he said softly, without blinking.
"BASTARD!" Nikita screeched, reacting to the insult of his words. She took another step towards him, then another until she was close enough to back hand him across the temple with her gun hand. Nikita felt a sense of satisfaction as Michael's head snapped back and blood marked his smooth skin. But a moment later she felt further inflamed, and it was the sight of his blood that made her wet with desire. She had to have him inside of her, it was the only way to put out the flames. With an animalistic snarl, Nikita threw herself at Michael. She pressed the gun under his chin while her free hand clawed at his shirt. Ripping it open, Nikita let her fingers glided over his warm flesh. Her teeth nipped at his sensual lips then she whispered, "Take me, Michael....do it!" Nikita pressed the gun up harder under his chin, tilting his head back.
Michael lifted his hands to cup Nikita's face. He kissed her, tenderly, then let his fingers tangle in her hair. he responded to her wildness with gentleness and knew that it would distract her. A moment later Michael felt Nikita sag against him, trembling as his hands caressed her. Then he reacted and a moment later she collapsed into his arms. Michael bit his lip as he carried Nikita to the bed then cover her with the blankets. Bending over her, he pressed a kiss to her temple then he turned away. A moment later he was at the computer, sending Birkhoff a message. He wanted the computer genius to be aware of Michael's suspicions. He also ordered Birkhoff to share the information with Operations. Michael knew he would have to answer for his disobedience of the orders not to make contact, but he felt it was for the best. That done, Michael moved to the chair beside the bed and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long night.
Come morning, Nikita was more than a little surprised to find herself naked. She couldn't stop the blush that suffused her skin as she gazed about the room. No sign of Michael. But had he shared the bed with her last night? Nikita couldn't remember. Hell, she didn't even remember leaving the club. As she slid out of bed she saw that her clothes from the night before were laid out over the chair and that the rest of the room was immaculate. So...what the hell had happened. Nikita sighed as she realized she wouldn't get her answers until Michael returned, so she headed for the shower.
Michael returned with breakfast, danish and coffee. He had only coffee and watched as Nikita ate with a healthy appetite. Pacing about the room, he waited, knowing that she had to be curious. But she remained silent, so he broached the subject. "What do you remember about last night?"
"Not much," Nikita confessed, around a mouthful of pastry. She finished chewing, washed it down with a swallow of coffee, then locked eyes with Michael. "The last thing I remember was watching you dance with Lillith. Then I woke up this morning....naked." There was a question in the last word, it was the closest Nikita would get to asking.
"You were drugged," Michael said softly, then he explained what had occurred. A part of him had debated, all night, as to whether or not he should tell Nikita all the details, but Michael felt that Nikita had the right to know everything. It put them on more equal footing.
Nikita found herself unable to hold Michael's gaze as he told her about her behavior. She was grateful for his cool detachment, for once, it made it easier for her to deal with her actions. "So Lillith drugged me," she said, feeling anger wash over her. Then Nikita shook her head. "But....for what purpose? She's made it clear that she wants you, Michael, so why give me an aphrodisiac?"
He shrugged, his hands tucked in his pockets. "I don't know, Nikita," MIchael admitted. "I thought we could ask around town about her today. If you feel up to it."
"I feel fine," Nikita announced. She tossed the rest of the danish in the garbage then stood up to snatch her purse off the bed. "Let's go." She wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Lillith.
Michael and Nikita spent hours combing the streets and asking subtle questions about Lillith. But no one seemed to know her. Michael sensed fear in some of the people the talked to, confirming his belief about the woman. That she was Voodoo queen. No one who did know of her would dare to betray her. So their quest for answers was a dead end.
That evening, Michael sang at Smoke again. He tried to keep an eye on Nikita as he performed, his eyes tracking her even when she headed for the ladies room. Once he had finished two more songs, Michael made to leave the stage, but was sidetracked by admirers. He dealt with them charmingly, hiding his concern. Nikita hadn't come back from the bathroom and Michael sensed that something was wrong. Excusing himself, he went in search of Jo Jo.
The club owner shook his head. He hadn't seen any sign of Nikita. "You think there's trouble?" He questioned, his eyes searching Michael's face. But the young man revealed nothing.
"I have to look for her," Michael said softly. But that was all. At Jo Jo's nod, he quickly left the club. Once out on the street, Michael reached into his jacket pocket and removed a digital scanner. He had put a tracker on Nikita before they had come out to the club. Michael punched a button and was relieved to see a flashing red light. Turning to the east, Michael headed off.
A ripple of laughter echoed from the shadows. Stepping out of them and into the glow of the street light, Lillith stared in the direction Michael had gone. A smile curved her lips, then she took a drag on the cigarette pressed between them. A moment later she exhaled a cloud of silver smoke. When it dispersed she was gone, leaving behind only darkness, The glow of the streetlight had faded.
It after one AM when Michael entered the cemetary. The scanner was beeping and the light flashing madly, so he knew that Nikita was close by. Climbing a small rise, he suddenly saw her, standing near the mausoleum. Michael tucked the scanner back in his pocket and ran towards her. Just as he reached her, Nikita turned. Michael froze. In her hand was a knife, covered with blood. Her hands, face and clothes were stained red and at her feet was the body of a woman. She had been stabbed repeatedly. Michael glanced down and in the pale glow of moonlight, saw the woman's face. Christine. She was an Section operative. Michael had done part of her training. She was beyond his help now. So he turned back to Nikita. The look on her face chilled Michael's blood. She was smiling.
************
Michael knew that he didn't have time to worry about Nikita's mental or physical state right now. First thing he had to do was get her out of there. He did, however, recognize her state of being as what would be called...Zombie. Lillith was at work, Michael could feel it. He moved towards Nikita slowly, but she did not respond to him. She let him take the bloody knife, then he took her by the wrist and headed off. He knew a place where he could hide her. Once Nikita was safely away, Michael would return and remove Christine's body, as well as cover up all the evidence of a murder having taken place, then he would contact Section and let them know about the sixth victim and that he had found the killer.
Two hours passed before Michael could return to the cemetary. Nikita was locked away in a safe place, and Michael had given her a sedative to keep her out till he returned. He couldn't run the risk of her getting out and roaming around town. Next stop had been their rooms. He cleared them out, leaving no traces of their having been there. He had used false names and ID to rent the rooms, so that was untracable as well.
He had also taken the time out to put Nikita in the shower to wash off the blood. Michael had stripped them both and soaped Nikita down, shampooing the blood out of her pale hair. She was beautiful, but he did not allow himself to respond to it. Michael was in *machine Mode* now. Too much was at stake. He had dressed her in simple slacks and a t-shirt, himself in basic black. Then he had disposed of the knife and the bloody clothes. Now he was heading back to the cemetary to take care of Christine's body. But Michael was in for an unpleasant surprise.
Cop cars were all over the place, and there was a crowd of spectators, gaping. Michael cursed silently as he moved close enough to see the markings on the coroner's car. Then he backed into the shadows to make a call on his celluar phone. He spoke to Madeline and requested a team to sanitize the county morgue. She assured him it would be taken care of and Michael was relieved when she didn't take him to task. No doubt he would get counseled once he and Nikita had returned. For now, there was nothing to do but fade away.
Sargeant's Darlene Bishop and Byron Tate were in charge of this investigation. They had studied the body and the surrounding area, and had a team of uniforms searching for the murder weapon. Now they, themselves,were questioning the onlookers. First up was the caretaker, Jimmy La Salle. He was the one who had found the body and called the police.
Darlene Bishop smiled at the man, but her eyes were cold. "Did you see anyone?" she asked. "Anyone near the body?"
The old man nodded. "Sure did. Saw some blond woman. Couldn't see her face though. Just the shine of her hair. And then there was the fellow. Him I seen...well...I recognized him."
"Meaning what?" Darlene questioned, feeling a bit confused. "Did you see him, or not?"
"I saw him enough to recognize him," La Salle replied. He scowled at the detectives. "He didn't kill nobody though."
Tate looked up from his note book. "So...you're saying the blond woman did?"
La Salle shrugged. "I ain't saying nothing. Didn't see her do it, just saw her standing there. That's all." He wiped at his nose with his shirt sleeve then said, "Talk to the singer. He knows her."
Now Darlene was completely confused. "What singer?"
"Ain't you been paying attention?" La Salle shot back, indignantly. "The fellow I saw with her is the singer at Smoke. He's real good. I seen him the other night. Had a blond woman with him. Didn't see her too good though, she was sitting down and I was in the back of the room."
"Is Smoke that club on Baxter Ave in the French quarter?" Tate queried. He was furiously jotting down notes.
La Salle nodded. "That's the one. Can I go now? It's late and I gotta get me some sleep."
Darlene waved him off. "Go ahead. We'll call you if we have any more questions."
"Don't got a phone," La Salle told her. "I hadta walk three blocks to the nearest pay phone to call you all. G'nite." With that he stalked off over the rise to his small cottage in the north end of the cemetary.
"Nice fellow," Tate drawled, watched him go.
Darlene Bishop sighed. "Charming. So....let's finish up here. It's too late to call the club. I think our best bet will be to pay a surprise visit tonight. We'll have enough to keep us busy till then."
Tate nodded. "I'm with you partner." He glanced down at his notebook. "One down about forty to go," he sighed, glancing at the remainder of the onlookers. Most of them hadn't seen a thing, he knew. They were simply being morbidly curious. But they still had to question them, so he wandered off to face the next one.
"I'm right behind you," Darlene declared, following Tate off.
Michael had spent most of the morning and afternoon with Nikita. He administered another sedative, for he also needed time to search for Lillith, but the Voodoo woman eluded him, as before. Michael knew she would show up in her own time, but he would have preferred being in control of the meeting. But that was not to be.
That night he returned to the club. Michael had a feeling that Lillith would confront him there. He sang two songs, then Jo Jo called him over. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeing concern shimmering in the big man's dark eyes.
"There are two detectives who would like to talk to you, Michael," Jo Jo replied, taking the young man by the arm and drawing him off to the side. "I got a bad feeling about this," he confessed. "But I follow your lead."
"Why?" Michael countered. He was grateful, but he didn't understand why Jo Jo would put himself out for him. It was risky for him to do so.
Jo Jo grinned. "You're my friend, Michael," he replied. "That's reason enough."
Michael could have questioned the sanity of such reasoning, but there wasn't time. They had reached the detectives who introduced themselves as Bishop and Tate. Michael sensed that the woman would be tougher to side-track than the man. Still, he shook hands with them and offered a smile. "Is something wrong?" Michael asked.
Tate nodded. "A young woman was murdered in Ribeau's Cemetary last night. A witness told us you were there, with a blond woman. Is this true?"
"I don't think so," Michael replied, noncomittaly. He was shaked by the news that he and Nikita had been seen, but he didn't let it show. He was too well trained for that.
Bishop had been studying the young man closely. He was gorgeous, well-dressed, appeared cultured and, judging by his accent, was at home in the French quarter. "What's your name?" she questioned sharply. Darlene wanted to run a background check on him.
Michael knew what she was thinking, also knew that she wouldn't find anything, so he didn't hesitate to answer her. "Michael Lewis," he said softly.
"What do you mean, you don't think so?" Tate countered, referring back to Michael's answer to his question. "Either you were at the cemetary, or you weren't. And, for the record, the witness gave us a positive ID on you."
"Really?" Michael replied. His expression was neutral and he betrayed no anxiety.
Jo Jo, however, was impatient. "And who was your witness?" he demanded. "Michael was here last night, singing."
Darlene didn't believe him. "What about the blond woman, Mr. Lewis. Is she your wife?"
"I should hope not?" interjected a husky, feminine voice. Lillith glided forward and smiled at the detectives as she looped her arm through Michael's. "We're engaged," she informed them. Lillith held out her left hand and a ruby and diamond ring glittered on her finger. "Michael would never cheat on me," she drawled, her eyes flashing.
Tate was entranced with the newcomer, but remembered to ask, "And you are?"
Lillith smiled. "Lillith Chabineuax, detective. And, to answer your next question. Michael was here singing last night, then we left...together....and went home. We made love until dawn." As she spoke, Lillith let her tongue trail wetly down the Michael's jawline. She was pleased when he allowed it.
"So you don't know any blond woman?" Darlene countered, putting the question to all three of the people standing before her.
"Your witness was mistaken," Michael said softly. He felt repulsed by Lillith's touch, but didn't let it show. He would play her game for now. Michael knew he had no choice. Lillith knew it as well. "Is that all, Detectives?" he queried.
It wasn't, but Tate knew they had reached an impasse. "For now," he allowed, closing his notebook and sliding it into his jacket pocket. "But don't leave town anytime soon, Mr. Lewis. I'm sure we'll have more questions for you...and your lovely fiancee." In spite of himself, Tate returned Lillith's seductive smile.
Darlene pushed Tate ahead of her and they made their way out of the club. Once outside she turned to her partner. "I don't trust Michael Lewis. Something isn't right here. Let's call in a background on him, then walk around town. I wanna see if anyone knows about him."
Tate nodded. "Sounds good to me." He leaned against their car while Darlene placed the call.
Inside the club, Jo Jo moved off so that Michael and Lillith could be alone. She wasted no time in getting to the point. "Come with me, Michael," she purred. "I have something to show you."
He stood his ground. "What?" Michael locked eyes with the voodoo queen.
"Nikita..." she whispered. Then she laughed at the look on his face. "You know it's true, Michael. Nikita belongs to me. She's with me now...under my control. Did you really think you could keep her from me?" When he didn't reply, Lillith took his arm. "Come with me now, Michael, or Nikita dies."
"If she dies, then you die," Michael whispered. But he allowed himself to be led out the back door.
Lillith took Michael ten miles outside of town. She had a place in the woods, the ruins of a once magnificent plantation home. She led Michael up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. Lying there was Nikita. She was wearing a white robe.
Michael went to her, checking for a pulse. It was thready, but there. Lifting an eyelid, Michael realized that Nikita was heavily drugged. "What do you want from me?" he asked, turning back around to face Lillith. She was holding all the cards. Michael had done enough research to guess that should he kill Lillith, Nikita would die. The confirmation was in Lillith's tawny gaze.
"I am protected by the darkness, Michael," she whispered. "Kill me and Nikita will die. My...friends...will see to it, no matter where you go."
"You killed the operatives," Michael stated, knowing that it was true. But he had a question. "Why?"
Lillith laughed and it was a ripple of sound without a soul. "I saw you in a dream, Michael. And it was the only way to lure you to me."
He shook his head. "How did you find out about Section?"
"Does that matter now?" she countered, moving to stand before him. Lillith let her fingertips trace the contours of his beautiful face. "You and I belong together, Michael," she whispered. "To answer your question, I want you as my blood mate. My husband...to rule by my side in the realm of darkness."
"And if I refuse?" Michael questioned, curious in spite of himself. He was finding all of this difficult to accept, but he knew that Lillith was deadly serious.
Lillith claimed a kiss then said, "If you refuse me, then Nikita will die. By her own hand."
Michael believed it. The power of Voodoo was real, especially if one believed. Nikita believed. "When?" he asked, hoping to buy some time.
"In four hours," Lillith replied. She smiled to see Michael's reaction. For once, she had surprised him. "I have made all the arrangements." Her fingers slid into Michael's hair as she pressed her body against his. Lillith wanted him, but that would have to wait until after the ceremony, binding them together as husband and wife. Then she could give in to her animal passion. "Do you agree to the marriage?" she whispered against his lips.
"Yes," Michael replied, knowing that he had no choice. If nothing else, he had just bought some time to figure out what to do.
Lillith was pleased. She kissed Michael and he kissed her back. But when the heat became too intense, she pulled away. "You must be prepared for the ceremony," she said. And as she spoke, two dark-skinned men entered the room. "Go with them, Michael," Lillith ordered. "They will do what must be done as I, too, prepare."
Michael glanced over at Nikita on the bed, then he walked out of the room, followed by the two men.
Bishop and Tate returned to their precinct feeling frustrated. They had learned nothing about Michael Lewis. The background check on him was a dead end, Tate reported, as he scanned the report that had been waiting on his desk.
Darlene was about to reply when he phone rang. "Sgt. Bishop," she barked. Then she listened. "What?" she shouted. Then another moment of silence. "How is that possible?" she hissed, then she slammed the phone down. "Dammit!"
"What?" Tate queried. He had never seen her this angry before.
"The body is gone," Darlene spat. "GONE!"
Tate frowned at her. "What are you talking about?"
Darlene glared at him. "The dead woman from the cemetary," she hissed. "The body is gone from the morgue. Along with all the evidence and reports that were done."
"That's not possible!" Tate shot back. He jumped out of his chair. Now he was as angry as his partner was. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.
"I don't know," Darlene snarled. "But I intend to find out. And I know just who to talk to." She yanked on her jacket and shoved her chair in with a *bang*.
Tate was on her heels as Darlene headed for the door. "Michael Lewis," he guessed.
Darlene nodded. "This time the son of a bitch is going to give us some answers!"
************
Michael stood before the alter with Lillith at his side. They, along with about thirty of her followers, were in the woods in a small clearing with a bonfire crackling and incense perfuming the air. It was a heady, sweet and suffocating scent, and Michael sensed that it was meant to mess with his perceptions. Another form of voodoo drug. He exerted his ability to put mind over matter, and counted on his *disbelief* in the powers of voodoo having any control over him, to keep him from sucumbing to Lillith's spells. He needed to concentrate for the fire, the incense, and the pounding of the drums that three men were beating, were powerfully mesmerizing.
Lillith was beside him, wearing a blood-red dress that fit like a second skin. Michael was dressed in white linen pants and a loose, white shirt. He felt it ironic to be dressed thusly, but didn't ask why. Given that it was a voodoo ceremony, Michael was certain it was symbolic of something but felt he was better off not knowing. He studied the alter before him, taking in the gold goblet which was filled with red wine, and the dozens of black candles that burned with flickering flames. There was also a dagger, small but sharp. Michael didn't want to know what it would be used for. He saw it only as a potential weapon. Maybe he could bury it in Lillith's heart.
"It is time," she whispered, her hand reaching out to touch Michael's face. "We are to become one now, Michael." Smiling, Lillith reached for the dagger, then she took his left hand. She drew the edge of the blade over his palm till a line of blood appeared. Then she did the same with her own. A man then stepped forward and after Lillith had clasped Michael's bloody palm in her own, he took the goblet and held it beneath theie hands. There was a moment of silence until a drop of their mingled blood fell into the wine. "Now we drink," Lillith said, her eyes locked on Michael's. "Then we are one."
Michael didn't react other than to look over Lillith's shoulder. Nikita was there, dressed in white robes, her body swaying to the beat of the drums. She was totally oblivious to what was going on around her. Michael feared that the moment the ceremony was completed, Nikita would be sacrified. He wouldn't let that happen. Even as Lillith was holding out the goblet to him, Michael was eyeing the dagger. But before he could reach for it, there came a loud shout.
"PREISTESS!" The shout rumbled out of Jo Jo, who came striding into the clearing with a following of dozens of people dressed in white robes. He, himself, wore white.
Lillith was furious at being interrupted, yet laughed at him derisively. "What you want, Jo Jo?" she spat, contempt oozing from her.
He came forward till he was but a footstep away from Michael. He carried a white candle in one hand and it's flame seemed to glow excessively bright. In his other hand was a Raven's feather. "I come to destroy you, witch," Jo Jo drawled. He nodded and the man behind him stepped forward and grabbed Michael's wrist, pulling his bloodied hand from Lillith's grasp. Jo Jo then drew the black feather over Michael's blood.
Michael watched Lillith grow ashen and her eyes widened. He realized that she was suddenly terrified, but he did not understand why. He looked Jo Jo and watched as the big man held the raven's feather over the flame of his candle.
"You are the darkness, Lillith," Jo Jo sing songed. "And the darkness can not survive in the light. It will perish, as will your soul in the fires of hell." The feather began to burn and Jo Jo laughed. A sound that echoed eerily in the air.
"NO!" Lillith screamed, even as she began to crumble. She clutched at Michael's leg as she fell to her knees, her eyes pleading. "Save me..." she whispered. But it was already too late. Lillith's heart no longer beat in her chest and she fell over and lay still.
Michael was stunned. He turned to look at Jo Jo. "What happened. What did you do?"
Jo Jo snuffed out the candle's flame. "I defeated her with white magic. My magic, Michael. And yours."
"I don't believe in magic," Michael replied, even as his eyes flickered over Lillith's dead body.
"But you do," Jo Jo insisted. "As did Lillith. She died because she believed. There is another who believes," the big man whispered, his eyes gazing over Michael's shoulder.
Michael turned to see Nikita swaying on her feet. He ran to her and pulled her into his arms. "Are you all right?" he asked, pressing his lips to her ear.
Nikita closed her eyes and allowed herself to sag against Michael's warm, solid strength. "I...I don't know," she admitted, her arms going about his neck. "What happened, Michael? Where are we?"
"It's a long story," he replied. "I'll tell it to you later. We have to go now." Michael led Nikita over to Jo Jo. "You will take of this?" he asked, gesturing about him to the ceremonial site and Lillith's body.
Jo Jo nodded. "It will be taken care of." He looked deep into the young man's eyes. "I ask a favor of you, Michael. I know you must go, but come to see me at the club before you leave."
Michael was curious as to why, but didn't feel that now was the time to ask. He had to take care of Nikita now. "I'll do that," he promised. Then he lifted Nikita into his arms and carried her off. Neither one of them looked back.
It was after midnight when Michael stopped by Smoke to say goodbye to Jo Jo. Nikita was waiting for him in a safe place and in less than an hour they would be flying back to Section. Michael held out his hand to Jo Jo. "I want to thank you, for helping us."
"My pleasure," Jo Jo replied. "But I have a question. What are you going to do about Bishop and Tate? They've been here twice already, looking for you and Nikita."
"They won't find us and, after a time, they'll give up," Michael replied, allowing a slight smile to curve his lips. "After all, there's no body, so they're no murder for them to solve."
Jo Jo nodded. "You are an interesting man, Michael. I am glad to have gotten to know you."
Michael was surprised by those words, for they didn't know each other at all. But he smiled and said, "I'll always be grateful for what you've done. I'll keep watch over you and if you ever need me, I'll be here." It was a promise that Michael intended to keep.
"I know that you will," Jo Jo replied. "I want to tell you something, Michael."
"What is it?" Michael countered, admittedly curious. For Jo Jo's expression had suddenly become serious.
Jo Jo sighed as he studied the young man before him. "You believe in evil. In the darkness of men's souls. You understand it. But Lillith couldn't touch you with her powers and you think that is because you are the darkness, and that you have no soul." Jo Jo could see by the flicker in Michael's silver-green eyes that he had touched a nerve. "But that is not the truth," he continued. Jo Jo raised a hand to cut Michael off when he would have protested. "Let me finish," he beseeched.
Michael nodded. Then he followed Jo Jo outside into the heady-scented night. Stars shimmered in the sky and Michael stared at them as Jo Jo spoke.
"Your soul is not lost, Michael," Jo Jo said softly, his eyes watching the man beside him. He knew that Michael listened, but he hoped that he would hear. "Your soul is where it has always been." Jo Jo reached out to press his palm to Michael's chest. "But you have lost faith in yourself....and so you have lost your way. You see yourself through eyes that are bllinded by smoke and shadows. To see the truth, you need only to clear away the smoke." Jo Jo waved his hand before him and suddenly the image of Nikita shimmered in the air. He saw Michael's eyes widen in wonder, then narrow in disbelief. The image then wavered and faded away. Jo Jo smiled. "Follow the light out of the darkness, Michael," he whispered. "It is there that you will find yourself again."
"You almost make me believe in magic," Michael said softly, as he reached out to shake Jo Jo's hand. "Goodbye." It was time to go.
Jo Jo pulled Michael into a hug. "Au revoir, mon ami," he replied. Then he released the young man and watched as he walked into the shadows of the night.
Nikita knocked on the door to Michael's office, when he called out she entered. "Birkhoff said you wanted to see me," she said, offering a smile. It was three days after they had returned from New Orleans and Michael had filled her in on all that had occurred on the plane ride back.
Michael nodded. He shut down his computer so that he could give Nikita his full attention. "Are you busy tonight?" he asked, rising from behind his desk and coming around to stand before her.
"Not really," Nikita replied, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Michael with a touch of suspicion. "Why?"
"I thought you might like to go out," he countered, his expression solemn. But his eyes were bright. Michael knew that Nikita was wary of his invitation and he didn't blame her.
Nikita bit her lip then said, "Out...where?"
Michael smiled, a genuine curve of his lips. "To a club I know. I thought we could have a drink or two, and go dancing."
"Dancing?" Nikita repeated. A part of her was tempted to press her palm to Michael's forehead. He must have a fever. "Is this a trick?" she challenged.
"No," he whispered. "I just want to spend some time with you," Michael answered, honestly. "I'll understand if you don't want to go. I just figured it couldn't hurt to ask."
Nikita realized that that he was sincere and it stunned her, but pleased her as well. "I would like to go dancing with you," she replied, reaching out to take his hand. Then she led him out the door and they strolled down the corridor. "But, so help me, Michael. If tonight turns out to be another manipulation....you will be sorry," Nikita warned him. And she meant it.
Michael believed her. "It's not a job," he assured her. "Tonight it's just you and me, Nikita. For whatever that's worth."
"You'd be surprised, Michael," she drawled, then she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It means more than you'll ever know." Nikita felt giddy as they headed out of Section one. Michael had changed since their trip to New Orleans. It was a subtle change, mostly unnoticable unless you looked for it. But it was there, and Nikita was going to run with it. "Can we dance until dawn?" she asked, her eyes shining with anticipation.
"We can dance forever," Michael whispered. Suddenly he stopped walking, took Nikita in his arms, and kissed her. That they were standing in the middle of Section where anyone could see them mattered not at all to Michael in this moment.
In New Orleans, Jo Jo was standing outside of his club, smoking a cigar. He took a long drag then exhaled a cloud of silver smoke. It shimmered in the night air and he laughed softly to himself. "Good luck, mon ami," Jo Jo whispered, then he went back inside to find himself a pretty girl and dance the night away.
THE END
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