Penance

By Michelle Fields

Revised August 2004

Chapter One

"What’s so special about this one?" Operations inquired.

Madeline smiled at his skepticism. She knew that after all his time in Section, getting a new recruit was hardly a matter to get his pulse racing. She turned his attention to the recording she had queued up on the monitor.

He could see a long figure, dressed in the traditional white Section garments given to new arrivals, lying across the floor. As he watched, the figure stirred, recovering from the effects of the sedative that had been administered prior to removal from prison.

"This took place within ten minutes of arrival," Madeline informed him.

He raised an eyebrow. That was an extraordinarily quick recovery. Most people remained unconscious for several hours after their initial arrival at Section One. He would have been impressed but perhaps proper procedures weren’t followed or the prescribed dosage not administered.

Madeline shook her head, reading his mind. "An extremely high dose had to be given before transportation. In fact, after the standard amount in food had little effect, they were forced to utilize tranquilizer darts normally reserved for the use of large animals. It appears our new recruit has a natural resistance."

Operations looked back at the monitor, his interest growing. The recruit had shaken off the remaining symptoms of the medication and was now walking, no, prowling, around the room. He recognized the gesture: looking for an escape route or other weaknesses. The cameras were noted, as was the absence of door handles or windows. Satisfied that there was no way out except through the door which had to be opened from the outside, the recruit went to the wall farthest from the door and in very fluid movements sat down in what Operations recognized as the seiza position: sitting on the heels with knees about two fists apart.

She was quite beautiful, he thought. This was not surprising. Section frequently sought attractive operatives: Michael and Nikita rapidly came to mind. Yet, there was something different about this woman. Perhaps it was in the way she carried herself: she had a dancer’s lithe grace with a warrior’s lethal precision. He was reminded suddenly of his best operative’s dangerous feline qualities.

Suddenly, the woman tore a small strip of cloth from the side of her pants. As the leaders of Section watched, she braided her nearly waist-length hair into a tight plait and tied it off with the scrap of material. Tossing the braid over her shoulder, her posture began to relax and she closed her eyes.

"She went back to sleep?" Operations was incredulous.

Madeline disagreed. "She’s meditating. She realized that nothing could be done for the moment, so she decided to conserve her energy. She appears to be completely at ease, but I suspect she’s aware of everything around her."

"All right, Madeline, who is this woman?"

"Her name is Mahleah Brennan, and if used properly she could become a very valuable Section asset. I suspect, though, that she may prove difficult at first. It seems that she suffered a slight breakdown in the aftermath of her actions."

"Understandable," he nodded, "but unfortunate. Can we still use her? She may be unstable."

"I think not," Madeline replied calmly. "She is in the process of recovering her mental equilibrium, but that could be to our advantage. We can mold her to our standards while she’s off-balance."

"Fine," he agreed with her assessment. "How do you recommend proceeding?"

"I suspect unusual measures will be required. I suggest we give her dual trainers – operatives who will approach this assignment in very different ways."

"Ah," he was quick to take her hint. "Michael and Nikita. It’s an interesting idea, but do you think that Nikita will be able to work closely with Michael after their last mission? As I recall, Nikita slugged Michael and called him our favorite pet."

"Errand boy," Madeline corrected. "I think they need to be able to focus on the work and not let their personal animosities get in the way of their Section duties. It will be a good lesson."

"Indeed," his smile broadened. "Let’s just hope they learn it."

Chapter Two

Nikita gave an exasperated sigh, and leaned over Birkoff’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure why she had been asked to help train a new recruit. She still shuddered when she thought about her last such assignment. She had only been in charge of Karen for a short time, but the idea of being responsible for deciding if the woman lived or died had been terrifying. Learning that Karen was a sociopath who loved pulling the trigger had helped with her decision, but it wasn’t a duty she looked forward to performing again. At least, this time she would be able to judge a person from the beginning of her training and the burden of decision would not rest upon her alone. Of course, that brought up the other uncomfortable situation: she would have to work with Michael on this assignment.

It wasn’t like she could avoid him forever, she knew, but to be forced to work on such a delicate project together was pure sadism on someone’s part – Madeline she suspected. No doubt, Section’s foremost strategist understood what Nikita’s feelings about Michael were but for her own amusement, and the good of Section of course, they would be required to spend inordinate amounts of time together. Well, she refused to provide entertainment. She would treat Michael with complete professionalism, but only when the assignment demanded that she actually speak to him. After his contemptible actions on the Peruze mission, she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him…which, depending on her mood and his willingness to be thrown could be farther than that simile usually implied. She smiled, and put a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

"So, what else do you have for me?" she asked.

They had been observing Mahleah Brennan as she sat motionless in the sterile white room. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular. She was astonishingly reposed for someone whose world had just turned upside down. Nikita almost envied her new charge’s calm. She certainly had not entered Section life in such a tranquil manner.

Birkoff brought up the footage that Madeline had shown Operations earlier. Nikita watched as the woman awoke and searched the room for any avenue of escape. Suddenly, the two young operatives heard a familiar voice behind them.

"Hey sugar, what’s going on?"

"I’ve been assigned material," Nikita told him.

"You have your own recruit to train, huh?" The older man looked at the monitor, where the woman in question was braiding her hair. "Is that her? Wow," he whistled. "If you need any help, any help at all, just let me know, sugar."

"I’ve got all the help I need," Nikita said dryly. "I’m not her only instructor. I’m sharing that pleasure with Michael."

Walter’s eyebrows raised. "You’re both training her? That’s odd."

"Why, hasn’t it been done before?" Nikita was growing curious.

"Yes, but not very often. It usually means that the material needs some sort of special attention." He glanced at Nikita, wondering what sort of skills were being planned that would require both Nikita and her former mentor.

"Birkoff, can you get a closer look at her? I’d like to know if she’s really as relaxed as she looks."

"Sure Nikita," the computer wizard tapped a few keys, and they were treated to a close up of Mahleah’s face.

This time Birkoff whistled. "Oh my God, she’s…."

"Very pretty," Nikita finished with amusement.

"Don’t damn her with faint praise, Nikita. That’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen."

Nikita looked at the screen with interest. It was true that the newcomer was quite comely. A heart-shaped face with high-cheekbones was graced with luminous, impossibly perfect skin. A sculpted but almost lush mouth was set under eyelashes that were thick and dark as soot without mascara. Actually, the woman wasn’t wearing any makeup at all, which was natural Nikita realize since she’d come straight from prison, which made her flawless skin all the more impressive. As for that long mane of hair that had been pulled back out of the way, well it was…

"Honey," Walter announced.

"What?"

"Her hair – it’s the exact color of a jar of honey held up to the sunlight." Walter now had his own suspicions about Michael’s part in Mahleah Brennan’s "training" but didn’t think Nikita would like it. This woman had Valentine op written all over her.

Nikita decided to change the subject before her two male friends drooled themselves into idiocy. Addressing the younger of the two, she asked, "So, why is she here?"

Birkoff frowned and turned toward Nikita, "I haven’t had a chance to look over her entire file, but apparently she was convicted for murdering the man who raped and killed one of her students."

Nikita nodded, feeling better about the woman already. While most Section operatives were killers before they were recruited, she had quickly learned to look beyond the action to the motive. Killing a rapist ranked low on her list of heinous crimes. "So, she’s a teacher, then?"

"She’s been many things," her friend replied. "A teacher, an actress, even a nightclub singer. I’m not sure how one goes from performing to teaching but that was the last job she had. She was an instructor at a small college in California – she taught history I think."

Interesting, she thought, an academic and an entertainer. "What…" she began to ask.

Birkoff interrupted, "Nikita all the information you need to know will be on your panel." He hit a button and the screen returned to the current view of the new guest.

"Hey, her eyes are open," Walter noticed.

Her eyes were indeed open. She was staring forward intently and the three friends saw the door was swinging inward and a dark-clad figure came into view.

"Well, I guess Michael got the job of welcoming her to her new home," Walter observed.

Chapter Three

As Michael suspected when he entered the room, his new protégé’s eyes were wide open. He was a little surprised that was the only change in her posture. She remained sitting, her hands in a relaxed posture on her thighs. Calm brown eyes met cool green ones. The door closed behind him, but she held his gaze, not looking away. He waited for her to ask where she was, what had happened to her—all the usual questions that new arrivals asked. She remained mute. He studied her closely. She wasn’t old, records indicated she was in her late twenties, but she appeared at least five years younger.

Madeline had made a point of noting in Mahleah’s file that she had traveled extensively. She had specifically requested that Michael discover exactly how many languages the woman spoke. He stepped forward and said, "This isn’t your prison cell." He spoke in French. She did not respond, but he saw a small gleam in her eye and thought she understood. "You’re now in Section One. We are a covert anti-terrorist organization and you have been selected to join us. To the outside world, you are dead."

He waited for a response, when none was forthcoming, he repeated his statement in German, Spanish, and Italian. She stared at him, but said nothing. He tried Russian, Vietnamese, and Arabic, but was met with complete silence. Finally, in English, he said, "We know you speak English. Do you need me to translate what I just said?"

She tilted her head to one side, still examining him. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Finally, she responded by saying placidly, "Sorry, I was just wondering how many more languages you were going to try. What was next, Urdu?"

"Do you speak Urdu?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

She just looked at him. He was beginning to understand Nikita’s irritation with his own blank stare. Well, at least, this trainee wouldn’t require many lessons in emotional control. "Did you need a translation?" he repeated.

She blinked. "No. I’ve been recruited into a top secret government agency that fights terrorists and everyone else thinks I’m dead. Does that sum it up?"

He nodded.

She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "So if I have no desire to become Jane Bond, I assume fiction becomes fact – you’ll kill me."

It wasn’t really a question. He nodded again, and held out a photograph. "This is a picture of your funeral."

She stiffened. It was the first sign of emotion she’d shown. She rose gracefully from the floor, walked toward him, and accepted the picture. She gazed at it for a moment, but her mask was back in place.

"So," she commented. "Do all your visitors receive such a cheerful present?"

"Just the ones who are staying," he responded.

She nodded. "I see. Do I have a choice? I mean, am I allowed the option of dying instead of joining?"

"Yes," he assented. "If you would prefer to die that can be arranged. Which would you prefer: to die or to save innocent people from the same fate?"

Her head jerked slightly. "Do I have to give you my decision now?"

"No, I’ll return in one hour if you wish."

She nodded. "I wish."

He knocked on the door, indicating he was ready to leave. He rather expected her to rush him, but she stayed in the middle of the room watching him leave.

Chapter Four

After the strange man had left, Mahleah stared at the picture of her fake funeral. The hair on her arms tried to stand up when she spotted her father. Someone whose face was turned away from the camera was holding him, and her stepmother was standing close to him or her. Belinda was weeping.

"I didn’t know you cared," she mentally told the woman.

She couldn’t bear to see her father’s grief and so studied the person who was with him. The figure was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair. She would have known his back anywhere.

She swallowed hard and sat down on the floor again before she fell. What was he doing there? Surely, he, of all people, hadn’t bought into her phony death? Wouldn’t he know she was still alive? Couldn’t he feel it in his heart?

"Oh, mo saighdear-bàrd, my poor warrior-poet, I’m so sorry," she thought.

Anyone observing her through the cameras that she knew were there would think she remained uncannily serene, but inwardly she was seething. There was no way, though, that she would give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Thus far, she had held together by using meditation and slipping into the patterns of behavior that had ensured her survival as a warrior. Now she used all of her training as an actress to supplement this control. She must seem calm and rational – otherwise, they would have an advantage over her.

The man who had just left was proof of that. He remained unruffled even when she taunted him with silence. Yet, she had gotten his attention with the Urdu quip. She allowed her lips to curl up ever so slightly. She did speak Urdu, as well as all the languages he had tested her with. She wasn’t sure how many she could speak these days; it had been a while since she’d tried to count them. In the beginning, they had only been part of the bizarre education she’d received. By the time that she’d started school, she’d known the basics of at least four languages other than English. She had a natural talent for other tongues – a true polyglot. Of course, it helped when your first lessons began at age three. Reading English, speaking French, and learning martial arts: she’d started it all early. She stifled a laugh. No wonder they wanted to make her a spy!

That thought led her to the decision she had to make. Should she join Austin Powers and his bosses? Now that was an unfair description. Section One did not feel like a comedic place and the man she had spoken to certainly neither looked or acted anything like Mike Myers’ creation. In fact, he made 007 (excluding Sean Connery, of course), look like a kitten. This man in black radiated danger she thought. It was subtle but definitely detectable. Mahleah had studied him closely and decided it was no act. The fluidity and economy of his movements told her that he would be a formidable opponent. It was possible she could overcome him, but she would reserve judgement until she saw him in action.

Could she trust him? Mentally, she frowned and allowed herself to paint a mental image of what she wanted to do right now, which was pace the room. She wouldn’t allow herself to actually do this, because it was a dead giveaway of her mental condition. So, in her imagination she walked every inch of the floor. Her instincts were usually trustworthy (if you ignored that one incident in grad school when the man she was dating tried to attack her, and after all she was mourning the death of a close friend then), but were now giving her mixed signals. Part of her said to trust him and the other said no. After said incident with psycho boyfriend, she was cautious whenever she felt ambivalence.

More to the point, however, would she join Section One? The last month of her life had been utter chaos. The arrest, the trial, and the sentence were quickly followed by her arrival in this strange place. Did she really want to become an anti-terrorist operative? The imaginary Mahleah pacing the room bit her lower lip. Fighting terrorists didn’t disturb her. She had always tried to protect the innocent. Unfortunately, she wasn’t always successful.

She closed her eyes trying to blot out the picture of Savannah’s lifeless, broken body sprawled on the floor outside the school dojo. She didn’t regret one thing she had done to the monster that had killed her student. If the authorities wanted to hold her responsible for that act, fine. She could accept it. It still disturbed her sleep, though, because she hadn’t been able to save the girl.

The acts that gnawed at her and pricked her conscience everyday, were considered lesser crimes by the authorities, but not by her. She had used her skills to taunt and provoke violence so she could feel justified in retaliating. How did that make her any different from the men she had targeted? She hadn’t killed any of them, but she had come extremely close.

So, she could let Section One kill her -- little did they know the escape that would prove for her – or she could join them. She had no illusions about their benevolence. Any organization that recruited criminals and maintained the illusion that they were dead was not a Sunday school picnic. Showing her the photograph of her funeral and tombstone was a tactic to break her spirit, not the last she suspected. Well, they would have a hell of a fight on their hands, she decided.

The imaginary Mahleah looked down at the picture she’d been clutching and told it softly, "I’m sorry, cariad, there’s something I must do. Be patient, because I swear I will come back to you." One lonely tear fell on the picture as she raised it to her lips.

The real Mahleah opened her eyes, and slowly tore the picture in half and laid it on the floor before her. The decision was made.

Chapter Five

When Michael returned to his office, he found Nikita waiting for him. He paused for a moment at the door, his eyes closing briefly in pain. After scanning Mahleah's file, he understood why Madeline wanted Nikita involved, but that wouldn't save him from the icy silences and pointed quips she would aim at him. He hoped this assignment would allow him to mend the rift between them. He had known that Section was using drugs to make her assignment with Peruze easier, but it wasn't until she had hit him that he'd learned the full extent of their manipulation of her emotions.

He walked through the door. She was lounging in her usual chair studying a pda intently. He walked over to his side of the desk. She waited until he'd sat down and lifted her eyes from the screen.

"Well, Michael, how'd it feel to look into a mirror?"

He blinked. Apparently, Nikita had seen his irritation, but he asked anyway, "What do you mean?"

She'd been amused to see Michael, for once, losing a staring contest. "Why, didn't you see your own face staring back at you?"

In truth, the only other attribute they'd had in common was height. Even in her bare feet, Mahleah had looked Michael straight in the eye. In fact, Nikita had thought they were probably the same height. She had noticed this after listening to a couple of lustful comments from her closest male friends about the woman's more Amazon-like qualities.

Michael sighed. "Nikita…"

She held up a hand, "Sorry, comment withdrawn." She looked back at her file, "She's certainly had an interesting life. She lost her mother when she was two and her father became an alcoholic. Hmm, must be why Madeline wanted me working with her. It says here that she got into some trouble at school. She was involved in a couple of fights and ignored the teacher."

"She stopped the school bully from picking on her classmates, and she ignored the teacher because he was boring her. Apparently, he was rather un-charismatic and she was discovered reading War and Peace instead of her assignment. When questioned, she proved to have completed all her homework for a week."

"War and Peace in elementary school," Nikita shook her head. "That's hard to believe, but her records indicate that her I.Q. is well within the genius range. She's traveled all over the world. Where was she born again?"

"In the southwestern part of Virginia -- the Appalachian Mountains."

She frowned at him, "She has no accent."

"I'm not surprised considering the number of languages she speaks. Remember she's also been in the theatre and so has trained herself to speak very plainly. I suspect with her ear, though, she can probably adapt any accent she pleases."

Nikita stared. Coming from Michael that was almost a gushy compliment. High praise to give a woman he'd barely exchanged words with. She briefly recalled Viscano's warning that Michael needed a quest and dismissed it. He was just expressing professional admiration for anyone that could beat him at his own game.

"So, how does a girl from Appalachia end up a world traveler?"

"After the death of her mother, a neighbor stepped in to make sure none of her needs were neglected and he obviously made her education a top priority."

She had to agree with that. "But what's she doing here, Michael?"

"You've seen most of the file. She killed a man."

"Yeah, a serial killer and rapist who mutilated one of her students. Why couldn't her lawyer get her off? Surely the jury didn't want to convict her."

Inwardly Michael groaned. Obviously, Madeline had held back a few of the gorier details from Nikita. How the rapist died seemed to be one of them. Apparently she wanted Nikita to like her new student and didn't trust that to happen if his co-trainer knew too much. He would be expected to withhold the information. How would he ever gain Nikita's trust, if he were forced to lie to her repeatedly?

"There were extenuating circumstances," he hedged.

"You mean the men she beat up? Come on, it's not like they were the cream of society. Pimps, drug-dealers, hoodlums -- they all admitted, eventually, that they had thrown the first punch."

"She provoked the attacks," he replied, "and she nearly killed a couple of them. The prosecuting attorney convinced the jury that she was caught in an escalating spiral of violence and was a danger to society."

"When all she was doing was protecting others," Nikita mused. "It's not fair."

"Was it fair that you were recruited into Section?" he asked her.

She was stunned. She'd always thought that he didn't believe her claims of innocence for the crime she'd been convicted of. She felt confused and didn't want to deal with the emotions churning inside her. She rose to go, but turned back at the door.

"Do you think she'll say yes?"

His eyes met hers as he truthfully answered, "I don't know."

Twenty-five minutes later Michael re-entered the bare room to ascertain Mahleah's answer. She looked at him, rose to her feet and said, "Yes, I'll join Section One."

A part of him was relieved. She held a lot of potential and it would have been a shame to cancel her. He nodded and said, "Good. Training will begin at 5 a.m."

He thought he saw her flinch and felt amusement. So, the recruit hated mornings. It made her less perfect and more likable.

"Nikita will show you to your quarters. Then we will both meet you in the morning."

She raised an eyebrow at the way his French accent caressed the three syllables of the woman's name, but refrained from comment.

He turned to the door again, but hesitated before leaving. As he faced her, she saw the question in his eyes, "You're wondering why I haven't attacked you when your back was turned. I imagine many of your students begin their lessons this way."

He nodded.

She smiled for the first time since entering Section. "Maybe I could take you," her grin broadened, "or maybe I couldn't. If I did, there's God-only-knows-what waiting for me beyond that door. Besides," her eyes twinkled at him, "when I was a teacher, if a new student tried to tackle me before the first lesson, I'd have been ticked."

Chapter Six

A few minutes later a tall, blonde woman entered the room. Mahleah looked her over as carefully as she had Michael, then offered a guess, "Are you Ni-ki-ta?"

Nikita froze for a second. Mahleah had given a perfect imitation of Michael's accent. Well, he'd said she probably had the ability and here was the proof.

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Mahleah, but then you already know that."

Nikita held out a pair of soft slippers. "I thought you might like some shoes to put on before we go anywhere." She smiled at her new student.

Mahleah accepted the shoes. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful."

Nikita grinned at her, "Well, I knew that Michael hadn't brought you anything, and it could be uncomfortable walking barefoot in Section. There's too many grates to walk over."

Mahleah sat down and began putting the slippers on her feet. Well, now she had a name for Mr. Tall Dark and Mysterious Frenchman. Nikita seemed quite different from him. For one thing, she actually smiled. She didn't appear to have Michael's mastery of his facial expressions. She could read just about every thought the woman had across her face.

She rose and followed Nikita through the door. Section seemed to be very utilitarian with its drably painted hallways, metal staircases, and not a single decorative motif in sight.

As they walked through the hallways, many male operatives watched the two women pass by. Some nodded to Nikita and she would always offer them a cheery greeting in return, "Hey Mentz, just get back? What have you been doing? You look like something the cat coughed up."

Mahleah noticed that Nikita was well liked and she felt herself warming to her also. Unfortunately, a few of the comments and stares addressed to them were openly lewd. She resisted the desire to slug them, and Nikita herself frowned and told one, "Put your eyes back in their sockets and your tongue back in your mouth before Medical comes along and decides to use them for experiments."

The lascivious comments were generally directed toward Mahleah. The operatives were usually friendly even respectful of Nikita. Mahleah wondered why.

"Does it ever get on your nerves?" she ventured.

"What?" Nikita replied.

"Being stared at. It's always been a pet peeve of mine."

"Well, that's the price you pay for being gorgeous," Nikita told her jokingly.

Mahleah frowned. "Maybe for you, but for me it was because I was different. Everyone knew I had a strange family. I knew stuff that kids usually didn't. I went to strange places and did unknown things. I physically matured at a young age and was always the tallest girl in my class." She glanced at her companion. "You probably have some experience with that. I was stared at a lot until people grew used to me, but whenever I go somewhere new it starts over again."

Nikita was flabbergasted that the woman who could outstare Michael would open up to her. "Yeah, I used to get comments about my legs all the time. It was really annoying and embarrassing as I was growing up."

"Did you have problems fitting into those desks they gave you at school?"

"Oh yeah, they weren't designed for people with long legs."

"Tell me about it. When I started first grade they had to bring me in a desk from one of the third grade classrooms because my knees kept turning over the one I had."

They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed.

Nikita stopped in front of a door. "Here we are -- home sweet home -- at least for the next two years."

"Two years?" Mahleah inquired.

"That's the standard training period," Nikita explained.

Mahleah's dark eyes sparkled, "We'll see."

Chapter Seven

Nikita was pleased with Mahleah’s progress. She seemed to have no problems discerning the people she could be friendly with and those whom it was better to be wary of.

Birkoff had approved of her computer skills, which were nowhere near his own but better than the average person’s. Secretly, Nikita suspected Birkoff would have been enthralled had Mahleah simply spouted names from a phone book. She still chuckled when she recalled their first meeting. Mahleah had walked up to his station, flipped the chair beside him around, and straddled it. Then she’d reached across him and snagged a Twizzler.

"Do you mind?" she’d asked.

"N-no," he’d stammered.

"I’m Mahleah. Nikita tells me you’re the genius around here, so I’m all yours."

"All mine?" his eyes got round as saucers.

She smiled gently at him, "To teach me what I need to know about computers."

Nikita liked the fact that Mahleah had been careful with her young friend. She teased him but treated him with respect. When she left, Seymour Birkoff had stared after her with an expression that Nikita recognized. "Dear lord, he’s twitterpated," she’d thought.

Mahleah had a similar effect on Walter, but the older man was experienced enough to conceal it. Nikita had been worried after Mahleah’s remarks about being leered at that she might resent Walter’s brand of humor. That fear had been groundless. Mahleah and Walter joked and flirted like old friends. He called her "darlin’" and she called him "honey." Today would be Mahleah’s first target practice and Walter would be there. Nikita hoped he would let them get some work done.

As they entered the target range Mahleah asked, "Where’s the spymaster today?"

"Working on the profile for the Cairo mission," Nikita answered without thinking. "What?" she demanded at the amused look the other woman gave her.

"Nothing," Mahleah chuckled. She had noticed that although Nikita seemed angry with Michael about something, she usually kept up with him and the man in question knew without a doubt every movement Nikita made. Despite the fact that Michael tried to keep a wall between his emotions and Section, Mahleah had seen the pain in his eyes whenever Nikita would pull away. It was one of the strangest relationships she’d ever witnessed, but then Mahleah wryly reflected, who was she to judge?

"Ladies," Walter greeted them enthusiastically. He leaned over the table holding ammunition. "Mmm, you two together are quite a sight."

"Walter honey," Mahleah replied looking over the weapons at her disposal, "do you know what a sight is: a gnat’s rear end stretched over a barrel."

Both Nikita and Walter burst out laughing.

"What?" Nikita managed to ask.

Mahleah shrugged amiably, "It’s just a little something handed down from my great-grandfather."

"Yeah, I guess it’s one of those old hillbilly sayings, huh?" Walter chuckled.

Nikita smiled as well but noticed that their new friend hadn’t responded. Instead Mahleah picked up a handgun, slammed in a clip and ratcheted, all in very smooth movements. She raised it and fired from the table. Nikita saw that all three bulls-eyes on the target were hit dead on. Mahleah emptied the gun, popped the clip and reloaded.

Walter whistled, "Not bad, darlin’. Not bad at all."

Mahleah raised the gun again, turned it sideways in her hand and looked at him, "Ah, that’s nothing for us…" pow a bullet hit the target, "hillbillies," pow, "and rednecks," pow.

Nikita knew that Mahleah had gotten herself into the position she’d wanted before firing and was probably using her peripheral vision. Still it was impressive shooting.

"Look," Walter hastened to say. "I’m sorry if I upset you by implying that such a cultured woman as yourself could ever be considered…"

She laid a finger on his lips, "Stop please, before you make it worse."

Nikita noticed that Mahleah’s voice had changed. She now had a distinct accent, partly Southern, partly something else – a mountain dialect, perhaps. Was this the woman’s true speech pattern?

"I may be a well-educated world traveler who speaks dozens of languages, but I was born in the mountains of Appalachia and nothing will ever change that."

"They can take a girl out of the mountains…" Nikita said lightly.

Mahleah glanced at her, flashing a grin, "…or out of Australia for that matter."

"Absolutely," her trainer agreed.

"Look, Mahleah, I didn’t mean to insult your people. I was just making a joke."

"I know, and I’m sorry Walter. I don’t want to jump down your throat. You’d think I’d have grown used to it by now: misconceptions, myths and stereotypes. You know, we’re supposedly the dumb ones, but the ‘outside world’ shows its ignorance of us on a daily basis. Take this gun business, for instance. Supposedly, we’re all given guns in our cradles and can shoot as soon as we can walk. There is a history of firearms in our area: there had to be to protect families and put food on the table. Yet my best friend Diana, a girl I’ve known since we started school has never fired a gun in her life, and I grew up in a household that was gun-free."

"Why was that?" Nikita asked.

"Well, my father was a musician, and didn’t really have any interest in guns. Then, after my mother died and he started drinking it was thought a wise precaution to remove any temptation for him to join her."

"Who taught you to shoot?" Walter was intrigued.

"My grandmother actually. Some people considered her a bit of a terror, but I always thought she was a catbird. She collected guns and taught me how to handle and take care of pistols, rifles, and yes shotguns. Hey, I never said there was no truth to the stories, just that they shouldn’t be used to judge everyone. It’s been a long time since I shot anything, so I didn’t know how well I’d do. Grandma never had any machine guns, though, so I’ll need some help there. Are you game?" she asked Section’s weapons master.

"You bet, darlin’. We’ll have you shooting as well as Nikita in no time. Hell, the way you shoot a .45, we’ll have you as accurate as Michael."

Nikita didn’t think Mahleah had actually gotten as upset as Walter seemed to think. She had sensed no anger from the woman, just a desire to make a point. She’d certainly done that. There was something in that conversation that disturbed Nikita, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She frowned and said, "Well, I think I can leave you in capable hands for a little while," she said.

"Very capable," Walter waggled his eyebrows.

"Behave yourself. I’ll be back in a little while." She left, with questions on her mind.

After Nikita’s departure, Mahleah looked at Walter and said, "So, what’s the deal with Nick and Mick?"

"Oh darlin’, don’t ever let him hear you call him that. Once you meet Mick Schtoppel, you’ll understand. As for Michael and sugar, well, it’s a sad story." He brightened. "Maybe you can help me do something about that."

Chapter Eight

While Walter was giving Mahleah the history of his favorite couple’s tortured past, Nikita was heading for Michael’s office. She had assumed that Mahleah had shot the rapist she’d killed, but a few minutes earlier the recruit had made a comment about being rusty on shooting things. Nikita had re-examined the file she’d been given when Mahleah arrived and discovered that very little information about the murder had been provided. She wondered why.

She ducked her head inside Michael’s door. "Do you have a minute?"

He was typing, but paused, "What is it?"

"It’s probably nothing," she said airily, "just a little detail that got left out of the profile on Mahleah."

He sighed inwardly. He’d been hoping Nikita would never notice the discrepancies in the report but had known it was just a matter of time. He was a little surprised she hadn’t spotted them sooner. "Such as?" he asked softly.

"Her m.o., for instance. How did she kill that man?"

Michael’s reflexes kicked in and he automatically responded the same way that he always had when he needed to conceal information from Nikita: he gave her his "patented" blank stare. She glared back at him, and his better sense kicked in. If he wanted Nikita to be closer to him, he had to lower his barriers.

Nikita was getting angry. Damn the man anyway! She just wanted a simple piece of information not herbicide to kill Madeline’s prized plants. As she stood there fuming, though, an amazing thing happened – Michael’s eyes thawed and began speaking to her.

He said truthfully, "Madeline has decided to withhold that information from you." I can’t really tell you anymore, his gray-green irises told her.

"Why?"

He never spoke, but wordlessly she understood, "Because she didn’t think you’d like the answer, and your cooperation was important for the success of this assignment."

She nodded at him, but for the benefit of the eavesdroppers she said, "Well, thanks for nothing."

She left, chewing her lower lip. Could Mahleah really have committed an act so atrocious that Madeline feared that Nikita would see her as a monster? She would have sworn that her student was a candidate for Walter’s 5% club, but she’d been wrong before. How could she find out the truth? The best information would have to come from Birkoff.

She walked over and sat down beside him. He glanced over at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I just realized that my information on Mahleah is incomplete. Could you pull up the complete file for me?"

He glanced up at the perch. Operations was gone – having a chat with Madeline about abeyance operatives no doubt. He quickly accessed the file. "What do you need to know?"

"The guy she killed," she said slowly, "how did he die?"

Birkoff scanned through the text, and then turned pale.

"What is it?" she asked immediately.

He spoke in a voice that was strained and barely above a whisper, "According to this, she decapitated him."

"She cut his head off?!" Nikita tried not to scream it, but her whisper came out in a shocked hiss.

Birkoff nodded. "It’s the main reason they convicted her. Apparently the jury wouldn’t have minded if she’d walked up and shot him, but they thought chopping his head off a bit extreme."

"A bit extreme?" she repeated. "Birkoff, that’s so…."

"Perhaps you should reserve judgement until you have all the facts," came a soft voice behind her.

She jumped. She’d been so stunned by Birkoff’s bombshell that she hadn’t heard Michael’s approach.

Birkoff had been busy sorting through data. "Yeah, Nikita. From what I can tell, this guy was a world-class psychopath. They believed that he was responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen young women. And he didn’t just kill them, he…oh my God!"

Birkoff had pulled up pictures of the mutilated bodies of the female victims. Nikita swallowed hard to force the gorge rising in her throat back down. To call this man a modern-day Jack the Ripper was no exaggeration. Involuntarily, her mind wondered what she would have done if she had caught Formitz over Danielle’s body.

She looked at Michael. "Okay, Madeline’s not here and neither is Operations. What did you leave out before? You mentioned something about the DA using extenuating circumstances to convince the jury that Mahleah was a danger to society."

He sighed, but Birkoff saved him the trouble. "Do you remember reading about the men she beat up?"

"Yeah, they were scum, what about them?"

"Well, the last one she put into the hospital wasn’t just beat up. She pinned his hands to the floor with knives. He claims she threatened to castrate him, but that couldn’t be verified, since she didn’t actually do it."

Nikita’s mind was whirling. No wonder Madeline had wanted to hide this from her. She was having trouble reconciling the woman she knew with the crimes she had committed.

Michael looked at her sympathetically, understanding her plight. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter if Nikita liked Mahleah, as long as she trained her. Mahleah showed every sign of meeting all of Section’s standards. It was unlikely that she would be canceled before making full operative.

Birkoff spoke first, though. "Nikita, remember that Section Operatives are usually recruited because they committed the crimes they were accused of. It’s rare that we have to go outside the box."

"So?"

"My point is: once someone enters Section, their past is irrelevant unless they can’t let it go. What makes Mahleah any different now than she was before?"

He had a point, Nikita reluctantly conceded. She started to speak when Michael startled her by saying, "If you want to know more, ask Mahleah herself."

At that moment, Nikita’s cell-phone rang. She answered it to discover Madeline on the other end.

"Nikita, when Mahleah is through with her target practice please escort her to wardrobe."

Chapter Nine

As Birkoff suspected, Operations had been meeting with Madeline and they had discussed who to put in abeyance as well as the results of several missions. Standard Section business taken care of, Operations changed the subject.

"So, how’s our new recruit performing?" he inquired.

"Well above average," Madeline said. "I suspect though that she could do much more if she desired to do so."

"Why do you say that?"

"Based on her life experiences before Section, I believe she’s deliberately concealing her true proficiency levels."

"Why?"

"A tactical maneuver. She’s still wary of the Section and so holds back, allowing her to examine our strengths without us doing the same."

"I was surprised your psychological profile on her was so thin. You’re usually quite thorough in this area."

"She is difficult to read," Madeline admitted. "She’s been trained to control her emotions extremely well. Fortunately Nikita’s drawing her out a little more."

"Well that control will be a benefit on Valentine assignments," Operations took a sip of coffee.

"More so I suspect on cold ops. I wouldn’t advise trying to make Mahleah into a Valentine op – not a standard one anyway," Madeline warned.

Operations frowned, "Why not? I would have thought she was the perfect material. She has the looks, the intelligence and the control."

"I suspect that Mahleah would not adapt easily to such profiles," Madeline insisted. "In fact, I think they could very well provoke her to violence."

"It’s not like she hasn’t done anything like that before," he pointed out.

"You’re referring to the men she met in rough neighborhoods and then put in the hospital?"

"Yes, she seduced them. It’s in all their statements."

"Yes and no. She teased them, but she refused to follow through. This provoked their attacks and justified her own response."

"Do we know why she did that?"

"I suspect it was a combination of factors but the main contributor was a lifelong feeling of desertion. Her mother died, her father became a drunk and remarried a woman barely older than Mahleah herself. Her lovers have all left her, and just before the attacks, she had a huge fight with her childhood best friend. Something had to give."

"Do you think she’s recovered from that little escapade?"

"Every indication is that she has, but with her control it’s not easy to ascertain."

"Perhaps we should arrange for a test – it proved effective for Andrea."

Madeline considered this and then responded, "A test is a viable option, but a profile like the one used with Andrea wouldn’t work."

"Why not? Michael has managed to handle all our difficult female operatives over the years except for Nikita."

"No, Mahleah would easily see through that manipulation. Besides," she gave him a small smile, "I already have a small gambit in place."

Chapter Ten

When Nikita went to collect Mahleah for her trip to wardrobe, she found her charge and Walter in animated conversation.

She cleared her throat.

Walter glanced up, "Oh, hi sugar. Back already?"

"Madeline’s ordered me to take Mahleah to wardrobe," Nikita told them.

"Well, I’ll see you later then Walter."

"Absolutely," he agreed with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe we could have dinner together some time: a picnic maybe, with just the two of us in some nice, quiet, deserted part of Section. Or don’t you ever let your hair down?"

Mahleah flipped her braid over her shoulder. "On special occasions, Walter honey, when the mood strikes me," she winked at him and walked off with Nikita.

The blonde operative was still trying to understand this contradictory woman. "So, are you really going to have that picnic with Walter?" she inquired.

"Sure, sounds like fun," Mahleah responded jauntily.

Nikita raised an eyebrow, "And if he wants you for dessert?"

"Depending on his approach and my mood I may let him have me."

Nikita stopped. "Are you serious? You would have an affair with Walter?"

"If you mean a serious affair, no. But a friendship with fringe benefits…why not?"

Nikita started moving forward again. "Well, there is the age difference," she pointed out.

Mahleah chuckled heartily, "I don’t think that will be a problem. I’ve always had a thing for older men." She smiled as if at a private joke. "Look, Nikita, I’m not looking for love right now. I’ve been there and I can’t have that," but I will someday, she inwardly vowed. If he’s still waiting for me, that is.

"I want companionship with no strings. Oh, I’m not saying that I want a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am one-night stand from Walter. He’s the best man I’ve encountered in Section. I want to get to know him better, but I already know he’s not my soul mate. I don’t see myself getting tied to anyone in Section on a permanent basis. I doubt Walter will be the last man I date.”

"How about Birkoff?" Nikita quizzed. He was her "little brother" after all. She had to look out for his best interests.

Mahleah shook her head, "Oh no, not Birkoff."

"What’s wrong with him?" Nikita demanded.

"Not a thing," Mahleah said gently, "except that he’d get hurt. I like Birkoff too well to give him false promises. He already has a crush on me, but I can’t return the feeling."

"Why not?"

Mahleah sighed, "Because I love someone else. Someone I’ll probably never see again."

"Someone from your past," Nikita realized.

"Yes. I passed up an opportunity to reconcile with him, but there will never be anyone that can touch my soul the way he did."

Nikita thought she understood. They arrived at their destination: Madeline’s old domain. They opened the doors and stepped inside where Nikita was surprised to see Madeline sitting in her old chair. She didn’t think Madeline handled petty details like makeup and costumes anymore.

"Ah Mahleah, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you."

This had to be the woman Walter had described as the queen of the chessboard. "You must be Madeline," Mahleah said politely. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You may have heard by now that we give our operatives extensive training in manners, poise and diction. It’s been determined that such lessons in your case would be a waste of resources. You’ve even managed to overcome a regional accent, which is a feat that not all of our best agents accomplish."

Nikita smiled tightly, in response. Section had tried its best to rid her of the Australian accent, but she had resisted. It was the one piece of her past she could hang on to, and no matter how many elocution lessons they gave her, it remained. Besides she was not the only one: Michael spoke English with an accent. They probably decided it was a weapon, she thought, as lethal in its seductive power as his gun.

"We know you’ve had extensive training for the stage," Madeline continued, "but we’d like a small demonstration. You are to assume that the profile requires you to escort a target to a formal evening. In the closet behind you, you’ll find four dresses I’ve selected for you to choose from. This room contains all the cosmetics and other accessories you would need. I’ll leave Nikita to show you where to find things. When she’s done, Nikita, please bring her to my office."

Madeline swept out, leaving two perplexed women behind her.

"That’s it," Mahleah said puzzled. "It’s so easy."

Nikita didn’t get it either. "It must have something to do with what sort of dress you choose. She’s probably having trouble reading you and this is her way of getting more data for her files. Whichever dress you pick will have a certain psychological meaning."

"You’re probably right," Mahleah agreed. "I think I can handle that." She gave a wicked grin, "Let the games begin."

"Well, let’s see what you have to choose from," Nikita walked to the closet and opened the doors. She pulled out a rack with four garment bags hanging from it. She unzipped the bags and carefully laid each dress out on a chair for Mahleah to examine.

"That’s it," she said cheerfully. "I have to say that Madeline went for taste over flash this time. Can’t see that I understand this test any better though." She looked up at Mahleah who was standing in the center of the floor, pale as a ghost, frozen in place.

"Mahleah," Nikita came to her, worried. "What is it?"

The stricken woman didn’t even hear her. She understood Madeline’s game all too well. She had been prepared for something more direct, but the first blow in this attack had been a sly stiletto cut right over the heart.

Chapter Eleven

Mahleah stared at the clothes lying on the chairs feeling dazed.

Nikita touched her arm, "What is it, Mahleah? What’s going on?"

Mahleah licked her lips and found her voice, "She has managed to find four of my old dresses. Four, in fact, that were worn on very special occasions." She was surprised that her voice sounded steady -- good, a point for her.

Nikita understood now with sickening clarity. Leave it to Madeline to root around not only in someone’s old closet but her most precious memories as well, she thought grimly.

Mahleah walked closer to the chairs. She raised her hand and pointed to the first one: a pale pink silk sheath with an abstract blue flower pattern. The top was ruched and the material gathered to the side in a floppy bow whose ends flowed to the hem of the dress and covered a thigh-high slit. It was a dress made for dancing.

"I meant to wear that dress to my junior prom," Mahleah said as calmly as she could.

"You were going to wear that to a prom?" Nikita was a little surprised. This looked more sophisticated than your normal teenage prom dress.

Mahleah smiled in response. "I didn’t want to go looking like a bad copy of Scarlet O’Hara. I spent a whole day in New York with an old friend looking for the perfect look."

"But you didn’t make it to the dance?"

"No, the night before the prom, my boyfriend was killed."

"Oh," Nikita was beginning to see the method behind Madeline’s madness. "What about this one?" she pointed to a two-piece wine-colored outfit. The top was short-sleeved and fitted, made of soft velvet. The skirt was short and made of lace with a scalloped hemline.

"I wore that one on Christmas. The man I was dating proposed to me."

Nikita winced, "And the third?" It was a full-length, sleeveless evening gown of pastel blue and had a hand-beaded bodice with a scooped front.

"I wore it to the opera not long ago with the man that saved me from myself and restored my soul," Mahleah’s voice was getting softer.

The other woman swallowed hard, "And the last one?"

Mahleah smiled a little bitterly, "Ah yes, the best for last." It was long with bright red silk and a wrap-around skirt that permitted a discreet flash of leg. "I wore it on one of the happiest nights of my life." She looked away from the dress at Nikita. "I was with the man I mentioned earlier."

"I see," she rather wished otherwise. Madeline had pulled no punches on this little maneuver. She wondered if these were the actual dresses that had been stolen from Mahleah’s old possessions or if they were reproductions based upon photographs. Either way, she knew they would be perfect. Madeline would have seen to it.

"I suppose she’ll want me to try all four of them on, to see how they fit," Mahleah’s voice could have cut a diamond.

"Probably," Nikita agreed.

"Then I’d better get started," she replied grimly. "It’s not going to get any easier."

She looked at Nikita, "If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while. Could you come back in half an hour? I’ll have made my choice by then."

"Sure," Nikita agreed. She hadn’t relished the thought of having to watch Mahleah agonize over the decision.

After Nikita left, Mahleah sat down in a chair, lost in thought. Whatever choice she made, she would be revealing something to Madeline. She couldn’t win that part of the game. Maybe she could minimize the impact, though. If she chose the gown that brought her the most pain, then she could sell the idea that Madeline was mistaken in her evaluation of its importance in her life. The trouble was with so much emotion lying before her, which bit of silk or velvet caused her the most agony?

She examined them closely. She thought she could eliminate the blue. The evening in question had been a balm to her troubled soul and she associated mostly positive feelings toward her escort that evening. She’d known that what they’d had, no matter how heart-felt on either side, could never last. They both had walked into the situation with open eyes and her memories were more sweet than bitter. Longing went through her as she gazed at the cerulean fabric. Don’t go there, she scolded herself. It’s best just to concentrate on the task at hand.

Well, what about the wine colored velvet? Mark had proposed to her that Christmas, and though she’d said that she had to think about her answer it had been a happy evening. The ache it caused her had more to do with later events, such as when he’d broken off their engagement. After he’d left, she’d gone through the darkest period of her life, which she still shuddered to think about. Yet, she’d moved past that thanks to the help of good friends, including Mr. Pale Blue. She dismissed this as a choice.

That left her with the prom dress and the red evening gown. The memory of a dead love versus the happiest evening she’d ever spent with the man she knew would be in her last thought this side of the grave – what would it be?

Chapter Twelve

In thirty minutes Nikita returned and knocked hesitantly on the double doors. Mahleah strode out.

"How do I look?" she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Wow," was all Nikita could manage. Mahleah had chosen the red dress, and it complemented both her figure and her height. She had pulled her hair into an elegant chignon and applied makeup with a professional hand.

"I hope Walter and Birkoff don’t get a look at you like that. We’ll be scraping their chins off the floor the rest of the day," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I suppose the Christian is ready to meet the lion," Mahleah announced. "Lead the way."

Nikita had found that phrase a little odd considering the "Christian" in question had cut someone’s head off. She thought about following Michael’s advice and asking Mahleah about her past, but decided it was not the time. The elegantly dressed woman walking beside her had a full plate to deal with right now.

They arrived at Madeline’s office, and after gaining admittance she smiled at them. "You may go, Nikita," she said.

Nikita left thinking that she wouldn’t trade places with Mahleah right now for a week of downtime.

Madeline stood up and examined the tall figure before her. "That’s an interesting choice," she observed.

"The color catches the eye and would both hold the attention of the target and make me easier for our team to keep track of," Mahleah observed coolly.

"True," Madeline conceded. "I notice you found a pair of low-heeled shoes to wear."

"Since I was given no other details, I tried to plan generically. The planned target may be shorter than I am, and be self-conscious if I towered over him even more. Also, depending on the mission profile I could have to run or fight in these shoes. Overall, I felt the lower heels to be more practical."

"Excellent," Madeline commented, "but still there’s something lacking don’t you think?"

Mahleah just stared straight ahead and waited for the trap to be sprung.

"She reminds me of Michael," Madeline thought. "Always cautious before speaking."

She walked over to her desk and removed a box from a drawer. "I believe that the right jewelry would enhance that dress’s appeal." She opened the box and took out a small object. "A ring for instance would not be inappropriate."

She handed Mahleah a gold ring with a large cameo. Mahleah recognized it instantly but maintained her composure. She had returned the engagement ring to Mark when he broke up with her. The woman was going to have to do better than that. Mark had probably sold or pawned the ring. She slid the cameo onto her finger without a comment or a second look.

Madeline’s smile widened a little. Her subject’s emotional control was indeed formidable, but there was still one last card to be played. Her hand pulled out another item from the box. "Very nice, but the right arm is too bare. I think a bracelet is in order."

Mahleah dutifully held out her wrist and Madeline wrapped an object around it. It took every ounce of self-control the younger woman possessed not to scream. How in the hell had Section obtained this little bauble?

The piece in question was a beautiful diamond bracelet with a double heart setting: one in ruby and the other in sapphire. Before Mahleah’s arrest and supposed death, the bracelet had been among her private possessions. Had a Section operative stolen it from her house? She prayed that was so. The alternative was too horrible to imagine.

"There," Madeline snapped the clap. "I think that complements the dress perfectly."

She held her wrist up to the light, watching the jewels sparkle. "Very pretty," she noted with outward detachment. "You’re right, the ruby does match the dress." She lowered her arm. "But wouldn’t it seem a little suspicious to the target to wear such a costly piece that looks like a gift from another lover? Or should I simply explain that it was a family heirloom bought for my grandmother by my grandfather?"

"Very plausible," Madeline approved. "You’ve done an excellent job with this little test. You may go change now."

Mahleah began pulling off the ring in order to return the jewelry. The brunette stopped her, "No, you may keep those. After all, they are yours, aren’t they?"

Ah, there it was the final twist of the knife. Mahleah allowed herself to look at the ring and bracelet closely. "Why, I believe they are," she agreed matter-of-factly. "Thank you for returning them to me."

She started to leave, but hesitated for a second when she heard Madeline say, "We went to a great deal of trouble to retrieve that bracelet for you. It was no longer among your property."

Mahleah nodded, "I’m surprised you took the trouble over a silly little trinket. Goodbye, Madeline."

Chapter Thirteen

Mahleah walked out of Madeline’s office with her head held high. She wandered through the corridors of Section, her mind buzzing with a million thoughts. Foremost in her mind though was a nagging worry: who had kept her bracelet? Her father? Diana? Probably not, her logical mind answered. Her father would have returned the present to its original giver.

Oh God, she wanted to run out of here and find out what had happened but she couldn’t. She turned a corner and ran straight into Walter.

He staggered back and then let out an earsplitting wolf whistle, "Mahleah darlin’, I didn’t say the picnic was formal."

She linked her arm with his, grateful for the physical contact. "I never said I was ready for the picnic." She smiled at him, "Are you terribly busy?"

"Not at the moment," he reassured her. "What did you have in mind?"

"Just wanted to spend some time alone with you," she responded gaily.

"Well, that’s easily managed, come with me."

He led her to a deserted spot with an alcove. She sat down at one end, and he perched at the other. "Now we can do whatever we want," he grinned. "No surveillance here."

She let the happy mask she’d been wearing drop. Walter looked at her in alarm, "Mahleah, what’s wrong?"

"I’m tired," she told him. "I’ve just come from playing mind games with Madeline."

"No wonder you’re depressed," he exclaimed. "What did she do this time?"

She sighed and decided to trust him. She told him about the dresses and then the jewelry.

He examined the cameo, "So, this was your engagement ring?"

"Yes, the key word in that sentence being was." She chewed on her upper lip thoughtfully. "The interesting thing Walter, is that Madeline was pretty accurate in her assessment, just out of date. A few months ago seeing this ring again would have upset me, but now," she shrugged.

"How about the bracelet?"

"Ah, now there she got me," Mahleah admitted. She fingered it wistfully, "This was specially designed for me. My boyfriend picked the stones himself. The sapphire represents September which is when I barely survived being attacked by Kenneth, the man I was dating at the time. His heart, he claimed, nearly stopped beating until he knew I was out of danger." She frowned. "I didn’t mean Kenneth."

"I gathered that," he said dryly. "You keep saying ‘he,’ darlin’. Doesn’t this guy have a name?"

She smiled. "His name is Duncan. Anyway, he says that September he realized I was irreplaceable in his life. The diamonds stand for April which was when we realized that we were attracted to each other."

"And the ruby?"

"The ruby is July – the month we became lovers," her voice had grown husky.

"Are you sure this is the real thing?" he asked. "It could be a copy."

She frowned, "I think it’s genuine."

"Is there anyway to tell for sure?"

"Yes," she fumbled with the clasp.

"Here, let me," he said and gently unlatched it.

She stared at him, "I can’t look."

He held the sparkling band in his hands. "What should I look for?"

"Engraving on the back of the hearts," she told him.

He held it up to the light. "There’s a word here, but I can’t pronounce it."

"M’annsachd," she said softly. " ‘My best beloved’…"

He swallowed, "Could someone have faked the inscription?" he asked.

"Duncan added it himself. It was our secret, so if this bracelet isn’t real, then someone’s seen the back of the original."

"You’re worried they’ve done something to him, aren’t you?"

"Not really." She smiled – a strange, fierce smile. "He can take care of himself." The smile faded, "But if he and Section ever come into conflict things would get ugly fast."

He saw her look of misery. "Look darlin’, there’s no one around if you want to have a good cry. I promise I won’t tell a soul."

"It would be too hard to conceal later," she replied, then looked at him steadily, "but I would love to be held."

"Then come here."

She curled up against him and he put his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.

Chapter Fourteen

5 am the next morning rolled around and found Mahleah and Nikita on a mat training together.

"Hey, isn’t Musashi going to join us today?" Mahleah inquired.

They were both stretching their muscles before the actual martial arts lesson began.

"Who?" Nikita was puzzled.

Mahleah laughed, "Michael."

"I think he’s planning on dropping by later," Nikita explained. Then frowning, she asked, "Why did you call him Musashi?"

"It was meant as a compliment. Miyamoto Musashi is the sword-saint of Japan. They refer to him as kensei. He was one of the greatest swordsmen to ever live. According to legend, Musashi never lost a fight and he died when he was 60 years old. In the 17^th century, that was a respectable old age. I guess I just wanted to make the point that even though young punks come along every day trying to take the title, a true legend can still die of old age."

Nikita liked this story, still they had to move along.

"All right, let’s try that move I showed you yesterday again."

On a monitor in Madeline’s office, she watched the two women practice. Michael was with her.

"I’m positive Mahleah is holding back," Madeline told him. "I do not believe this is new to her. In fact, one of her boyfriends owned a dojo."

"How would you like me to handle it?" Michael inquired.

"Be sterner with her today. If she doesn’t respond, tomorrow we’ll call her bluff."

"Very well."

Back in the gym, Nikita was working with Mahleah on blocking a right cross and then retaliating. They were both standing with their left foot forward and Mahleah was able to put up her palm to block Nikita’s swing with no trouble. After that, though, she kept screwing up. She was supposed to reach across with her right hand and backfist Nikita’s forearm right below the elbow, aiming for the radial nerve. Then, she could grab Nikita’s arm and pull her forward into a throw.

Unfortunately, she was making silly blunders like reaching across Nikita’s arm instead of going beneath it. Nikita kept showing her the maneuver and explaining why this was a bad idea, but Mahleah still didn’t do it correctly.

Michael strode in. "Rest for a few minutes, ‘Kita," he told her. "I’ll work with Mahleah for a while."

‘Kita swallowed. Michael hadn’t called her that for some time. She stepped to the side of the room to observe.

Michael knew he had to get through to Mahleah. If she didn’t stop stalling, things could get unpleasant. It was time for some tough love.

"Let’s go through it again," he instructed. "Swing at me, hard."

She complied. He parried the punch, caught her a stinging blow to the radial nerve and pulled her forward into his knee. He impacted rather solidly with her stomach. She hadn’t been expecting it and he knocked the breath out of her. She lay on the mat wheezing.

"Michael!" Nikita was coming toward them. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don’t interfere, Nikita," he requested.

She went to the injured woman who was still clutching her gut. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Mahleah had finally managed to catch her breath again. "I’ll live," she winced. "I guess I should’ve seen that coming."

She got to her feet. "The next time you want to tell me something Michael, why don’t you e-mail me?"

"You should sit down," Nikita told her.

"I’ll be fine," Mahleah told her. "I promise. See I’m doing better already. Shall we go again?"

"Are you sure?"

" ‘Kita…" Michael warned. Unhappily, she moved back to her place on the side.

"Who’s receiving this time, me or you?" she inquired.

"I am," he said. "Show me what you’ve learned."

"Okay, I will."

He swung and she blocked. He prepared himself for her backfist. Instead she put her left hand on his arm and hit the back of his right hand with her elbow. His hand bent back and he hissed in pain. When she felt the tension in his wrist, she stepped back with her left leg and twisted her waist. Michael went down to the mat on her left side and she knelt with him, keeping control. She couldn’t help but laugh at the astonished look on his face. It was irresistible, so she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then, she released him and hopped nimbly away.

He got up. It had been a good move on her part, now he wanted to see if she would follow through.

He attempted a right-handed back swing. She stepped to her right, her body angled slightly to his left side. Both hands were slightly above her eye-level. Her right hand stopped his strike and a microsecond later her left hand touched his at the wrist and moved it to her left side. At the same time, her right hand went back over her head and down the right side of her neck as if she were combing her hair. When her left arm was almost completely extended, she rotated counterclockwise, taking a small step with her left leg toward her right. Her right foot pivoted toward Michael and when she finished rotating, she dealt a quick hammer fist to the left side of his neck and then a back fist to the right side. She caught the Brachial Plexus at the origin and he fell to the floor unconscious.

"Michael!" Nikita was nearly hysterical. "Michael talk to me. What did you do to him?" she demanded.

"Relax, Nikita, he’ll be fine. See – he’s already moving around."

Indeed, Michael’s eyes were fluttering open. Nikita was leaning over him, caressing his face. "Michael, can you hear me?"

" ‘Kita," he whispered.

Mahleah decided this was her cue to exit. She bowed to her fallen opponent and left the gym.

Chapter Fifteen

Mahleah made her way to Munitions and looked at Walter shaking her head.

"What is it, darlin’?" he asked, quickly.

"I think we miscalculated, my friend."

"What, she didn’t feel sorry for him, or you couldn’t put him on the floor?"

"Oh, I put him down," she said cheerfully. "He wasn’t expecting it, so it wasn’t that hard. And oh, yes, she was instantly sympathetic. In fact she’ll probably be here any minute demanding to know what I did to her man." She grinned. "Not quite in those words, of course, but that’s what she’ll mean."

"You’re not afraid of Nikita are you?" he chuckled.

"Afraid, no, wary yes. You should never underestimate the ferocity of an alpha female who’s defending her pack. If she’s also defending her mate," she whistled. "It could get wild around here."

"Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten you involved," he sighed. "After all, you are Michael and Nikita’s material. That’s not exactly a relationship you’d want to complicate."

"True," she said softly, "but sometimes risk is worth it."

"You didn’t hurt him too bad, did you?" he hesitated.

"Lord, no, he’s fine. I just rendered him unconscious for a couple of seconds, that’s all."

"That’s all," she amazed him sometimes, "darlin’, do you have any idea how hard that is to do? Michael’s invincibility is practically carved in stone around here."

"Like I said, I caught him off guard. The next time we square off the odds will be more even. In fact, it could get a little crazy if he feels like I’m challenging his authority. Alpha males don’t enjoy having their ears pinned back."

At that moment, Nikita made her way to them. As Mahleah anticipated, she was furious. "We need to have a talk," she said. "Come with me."

Walter and Mahleah exchanged helpless glances, then Mahleah followed Nikita into Michael’s office. Nikita opened his desk drawer and deactivated the surveillance equipment.

"What’s going on, Mahleah? You could have killed Michael!" she demanded.

"Yes, I could have," Mahleah agreed amiably.

Nikita’s blue eyes blazed, but Mahleah refused to cower. "I could have broken his neck, but I didn’t."

"You mean you meant to knock him out?"

"It beats the alternative. Listen, Nikita, I knew what I was doing. I didn’t hit him hard enough to do any real damage. Where is he by the way?"

"I told him to go lie down."

Mahleah smiled, "He could be anywhere then."

"I don’t think this is funny. Why did you knock Michael out? Where did you learn to fight like that, and why have you been hiding it? I want some answers, Mahleah."

"Very well, do you mind if I sit down?" She waited for Nikita’s nod, then eased herself into Nikita’s usual chair. Nikita paced the room, listening.

"You already know that my mother died and my father became an alcoholic. Have you learned that a neighbor stepped in to make sure I wasn’t being neglected?" At Nikita’s assent, she continued, "He gave me an extremely thorough, albeit eccentric, education. I knew how to speak a couple of different languages before I could fully read English. By the time I began public school, I knew the basics of subjects most children my age had never heard of. As it happened, my benefactor was skilled in several forms of martial arts and began training me when I was three."

Nikita stopped pacing for a moment, "Okay, that explains how you were trained, but why conceal it from us?"

Mahleah let out her breath in a noisy whoosh, "Think about. When you’re fighting new opponents for the first time, do you show them everything you have? Not if you’re smart. You hold back, see what they’re willing to show you."

This made sense. Nikita returned to her original question, "So, why did you beat up Michael?"

"First, he wouldn’t thank you for that description. Second, the only thing I really injured was his pride. Last, why did he knock the breath out of me?"

"I don’t know," she admitted.

"I do. He was telling me that the higher ups knew that I was faking my ignorance, and if I continued to play dumb, there would be hell to pay. Besides," she said amusedly, "my pride was sprained a little too. I’ve been letting you guys throw me around like a rag doll and messing up on moves I could have done before I was ten. I had to pay him back a little."

Nikita shook her head in disgust, but she was getting over her anger. Still a couple of questions were left that she wanted answered. "Did you really cut a man’s head off?"

Mahleah’s smile disappeared, "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

Mahleah stood up and walked over to the window. "You don’t know what kind of animal he was. I gave him the only kind of justice he could understand."

"Justice? Shouldn’t the courts have decided that?"

Mahleah raised her eyebrows in disbelief, "How many people have you killed on behalf of Section?"

Nikita looked away, then back, "I’ve only killed to protect the innocent."

The dark-eyed woman stared back at her, "As have I."

"Well, what about those men you attacked?"

"I think you’ve got that one backwards, Nick, they attacked me. Not that I didn’t give them reasons to do so. I pushed with everything in me to make them hurt me."

"Why?"

"So, I could hurt them. I was in a lot of pain, then. My fiancé had broken off our engagement, and I had been feeling strangely at odds with myself for months. The last straw was when I went to visit my friend Diana. I walked in on her being beaten up by her boyfriend. I put a stop to it." She laughed humorlessly. "I put him in the hospital so he would think twice about hitting a woman. She didn’t thank me, though, she told me to mind my own business. If she wanted my help, she’d ask for it. I decided to try my father’s favorite cure: booze. It didn’t help. Then this guy hit on me, but I was so not in the mood. I told him to leave me alone, but he didn’t take rejection very well. He caught me outside and hit me. When that happened, something inside me snapped. I beat the crap out of him, and you know what? I felt better, for a little while at least. So, to fill that emptiness inside me I went looking for men like him, like Diana’s boyfriend, who loved to hurt women. I told myself I was doing the world a favor."

"What happened?" Nikita asked softly.

"I found myself in a sleazy motel room with a half-drunk maniac who brained me with a chair. When my head stopped spinning, I found myself on the floor about to be raped. So, I pulled a couple of knives from my boots and nailed his hands to the floor. I just about made sure he never raped any woman ever again."

"So, why didn’t you?"

"I looked up. There was a mirror in front of me and I saw myself. That one vision scared me more than anything ever has in my entire life. I looked like him. The same rage, the same hate was all over my face – the same will to do violence. I walked away. I was lucky enough to have friends that refused to let me destroy myself and I recovered." She looked at Nikita. "Any more questions?"

"No."

"Good, then let’s go find Walter and Birkoff and drag them off on that picnic." She looked mischievous. "We could even bring Michael. If he cares to fraternize with us lower beings, that is."

Chapter Sixteen

Nikita went to collect Walter and Birkoff while Mahleah went to change clothes. When she rejoined them, she’d washed off her makeup and pulled her hair into pigtails.

"You," Walter announced, "are really trying to make me feel like a dirty old man."

"Age is partly a state of mind, honey," she told him. "Are we all set?"

"Yep, I’ve been keeping a few things squared away, just in case, Birkoff’s donating his cache of snacks and Nikita’s convinced Christopher to give us a thermos of lemonade."

"Wonderful!" Mahleah pronounced. "What about Musashi?"

"I couldn’t find him," Nikita said, "besides he’d never agree to something like this."

"I don’t know," Mahleah said thoughtfully as they started through Section. "That man definitely has layers. Are you sure there’s not one that’s a fun-loving, picnic-crazy fool?"

"I doubt it," Nikita dismissed. Now that Michael was unharmed, her former wariness had returned.

Walter and Mahleah exchanged a dismayed glance. Had all their efforts been for nothing?

Walter led them to the spot he’d picked out: a floor of Section that wasn’t completed. Despite the drop cloths, exposed wires and ladders, it was a perfect spot. Walter had brought a container of fruit, Birkoff all the munchies from his computer and Nikita the lemonade Section’s chef had prepared.

Mahleah realized, "I didn’t bring anything."

"That’s okay, darlin’, you can provide the entertainment."

"What kind of entertainment? Scintillatingly witty conversation, stories of my tortured youth, or should we play a game?"

"Your conversation is always witty," Birkoff told her a little shyly.

She beamed at him, "Why thank you and give that gentleman an apple. But seriously, what do you want to talk about?"

"How about stories of your tortured youth?" Nikita replied.

"Oh, but that’s so boring. I know all about me. I want to learn more about you. For instance, I love music. It’s my biggest addiction," she laughed, "well, that and strawberries. What kind of music do you guys like?"

"I listen to a lot of things," Nikita told her. "I suppose you’d classify some of it as dance music."

"Trip hop, that kind of stuff," Mahleah nodded. "I love Massive Attack. ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ is my favorite. How about you Walter?"

"Well, darlin’ I’m a passionate man and that’s the way I like my music. I listen to the blues, jazz, stuff that puts shivers down your spine and a girl in your arms."

She shook her head in amusement, "My father was a guitar player, so I love the blues, too. And you, Birkoff?"

He swallowed, "I don’t really get a chance to listen to a lot of music. I kind of stay pretty busy."

She frowned, "You’re never too busy to enjoy some sort of music."

He shrugged, "I guess I’m just not the music type."

"Or you’ve just not found the flavor that fits you, yet," she said softly. "Don’t worry, there’ll be time."

"What about you, Mahleah?" Nikita asked. "You’ve been a nightclub singer. What are your preferences or your influences?"

"Oh, that’s an eclectic bunch. My mentor always played classical, opera and Celtic stuff – traditional, not New Age," she clarified. "My mom used to love soul music: Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, and Aretha Franklin. She also liked Motown. She had a great collection of records that I used to play just to know her a little better. My dad, as I said, was a guitar player. So from him, I picked up Jimi Hendrix, the Rolling Stones, The Who, Eric Clapton, Chuck Berry, Elvis…. He gave me a good grounding in rock. When I was a teenager, I discovered European dance music. Wow, that used to drive him crazy."

They heard a sound behind them and turning saw Michael coming toward their party.

Chapter Seventeen

"Michael, how did you find us?" Walter asked.

"I have my methods," he replied enigmatically. Truthfully, he had bribed Gail into revealing this little get-together.

Nikita frowned, "So, why are you here? To throw cold water on our fun?"

"No, just to inform you that there’ll be a briefing in half an hour."

"Well, since that’s thirty whole minutes away, why don’t you join us?" Mahleah invited.

He hesitated, but she persisted, "I can’t speak for the others, of course, but I promise I never bite unless the situation calls for it. Sit down."

Looking faintly amused, Michael sat.

"I know what we can do," Walter said with a twinkle in his eye, "play a game of truth or dare."

"That’s a great idea," Mahleah agreed. "All right, Walter. Choose: truth or dare?"

"Truth," he grinned.

"Okay, who was the love of your life?"

He looked sad for a moment and Nikita reached out and squeezed his hand. "Mahleah, you had no way of knowing this, but I was married to an operative here. Her name was Belinda and she was killed during a mission." She started to speak, and he saw the dismay in her eyes. "It’s okay. Other than Belinda, I guess I have the fondest memories of Lita, a girl I knew in Belize a long time ago."

Mahleah gave him a sideways hug. He returned it, and then looked across at Nikita, "How about you, sugar, truth or dare?"

"Truth," she told him.

"Okay, tell us: how did you really feel about your doppelganger, Abbey, taking your place here in Section?"

Nikita turned pale then blushed. Mahleah could see that Walter’s question affected most of the group. Birkoff looked nearly as uncomfortable as Nikita while Michael was acutely interested in her answer.

Nikita finally composed herself and said, "I’m not going to talk about Abbey, so I guess I’ll have to take the dare."

"Okay," Walter and Mahleah exchanged glances, then the older man challenged, "Okay, sugar, if you won’t answer the question, you have to kiss Michael."

Nikita’s sky-blue eyes grew as large as dinner plates. "What?"

"You heard me," he replied with a smile.

"Why can’t I just kiss you instead?" she said with a flirty look.

"Tempting, but no. The dare is: kiss Michael."

Nikita made a face in protest. Michael was stung. He’d been taken aback by Walter’s outrageous demand as well, but Nikita’s response hurt. Was she that repulsed by him now?

Mahleah laughed, "Good grief, he didn’t ask you to seduce Operations! As dares go, this is an easy one. I’ll do it if you don’t want to."

Michael’s eyes met hers briefly with a look of gratitude. She winked at him, and Nikita felt something move in dismay in the pit of her stomach.

"Okay," she grumbled. "I’ll do it." She leaned in and saw with disappointment that his body language indicated he didn’t want this. "Well, too bad," she thought.

She touched her mouth to his and would have left it at that, but his lips were hard and unresponsive. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, as her mouth cajoled his for a reaction. Her tongue teasingly caressed him and her teeth gently pulled on his lower lip. When she began tracing the outline of his mouth, he could take no more. With a sigh, he softened and responded. Like their first kiss for Perry Bauer, it was on command and being watched but these were friends, not a twisted voyeur, who were just trying to assist in an awkward situation. Yet like that first kiss, this one had become hot and lush, tantalizingly ripe with erotic possibility. They separated reluctantly.

Michael took a breath and pulled himself together before he could succumb to the desire to push Nikita onto the floor. They weren’t alone and it hadn’t been her wish to kiss him in the first place.

Nikita saw his withdrawal and took it for rejection. She cursed inwardly. How could he do it? She was still tingling down to her toes, but he was even more closed off than he had been before.

One of the others cleared a throat and she looked up, "Well," Mahleah said, "I’d suggest we refrain from any more dares like that, lest this turn into a completely different kind of picnic than the one I had in mind. Nikita, it’s your turn."

"My turn?" she was still feeling a little dazed.

"Truth or dare?"

"Oh, right. Birkoff," she turned to safety. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Okay, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do, but never have?"

He thought for a moment. Before Abbey’s appearance, he knew how he could have answered that question, but he would never admit that to Nikita. Likewise, he’d love to have Walter’s easy relationship with Mahleah, but that would never happen. He replied wistfully, "I’ve always wanted to learn to dance, but never found the time."

"Probably because you haven’t found the music you like yet," Mahleah replied. "I think Nikita and I could help you."

"Sure," the other woman agreed.

Birkoff smiled, then remembered something he’d read in Mahleah’s file, "Mahleah, truth or dare?"

"Truth," she responded.

"All right, why did you nearly get suspended in high school for doing the dance of the seven veils?"

Everyone looked at her in surprise. She laughed, "Oh God, you would bring that up. Well, it all started because I was told I’d grown too tall for ballet class. I was so upset, you see, because I’d planned to be a ballerina when I grew up. To ease my disappointment, I was enrolled in just about any type of dance class going: tap, jazz, flamenco, and yes, Oriental dancing.

"When I was in high school, they had a big talent show every year, and I decided to dance. This caused some consternation because two years before I had performed a gypsy-style flamenco with a boy in my class. My benefactor, who’d seen real gypsy dancing, had re-choreographed it and so the final product was a little more passionate than the teacher had in mind.

"This time I told them I would dance by myself. When they found out I would be belly dancing, though, they freaked. Suddenly I had restrictions. Originally, I hadn’t intended to do a veil dance, but after they informed me that I could only shed three instead of seven, sorry Birkoff, I decided to change my plans. I would play with the form: give them something traditional, as well as something stereotypical, but in the end, mostly mine. There were veils on my skirt, but I was under the strictest penalties not to touch those. I had one covering my hair, one covering my face, and one covering my navel, as the school informed me that exposing the belly button was strictly against policy.

"I carried a shawl and during the course of the dance I was supposed to discard it, my hair veil and my face veil. Well, everything went according to plan until the end when I left my face veil intact and discarded the one over my abdomen and left it as a souvenir with my boyfriend."

"The school got mad?" They were all laughing.

"Oh, the school authorities were incensed. I think it had something to do with the fact that I left my hair veil with the principal and his wife was sitting beside him! They tried to kick me out, but between my Oriental dance teacher and a good lawyer, they had to back down. Whew, Birkoff, you just picked the most embarrassing episode of my entire high school career."

"It was worth it," he chuckled.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, it’s my turn now. Michael," she turned to face him and he inwardly tensed. "Truth or dare?"

Nikita snorted and said something under her breath about the truth not being in him. Irritated, he picked truth as his option.

"Okay," Mahleah said, "Tell us, what was the happiest moment of your life?"

The happiest moment…oh, he knew well what it was, but to say it in front of all these people. He looked at his watch and saw with relief his way out.

"It’s time to go to the briefing," he said and stood up.

Nikita laughed a harsh bitter sound. Mahleah frowned, "Michael, you have time to answer the question."

He turned away, then stopped and made himself say, "It was in Lyons when I found out Nikita was alive."

He walked off without looking back, not seeing the look of astonishment on Nikita’s face.

Chapter Eighteen

Nikita was becoming severely annoyed. The trouble had begun when she had spotted a familiar face – Jamie. It was inevitable, she supposed that someone from her old neighborhood would also end up in Section One. Too bad, it had to be Jamie, though. She had never liked him or his attitude and neither seemed to have changed.

Right now, though, her anger with Jamie was a present, palpable thing – not a remnant of the past. She had just completed a mission with a small team of Operatives led by Michael and a number of recruits. Jamie had been one of the newcomers and had nearly shot innocent civilians. If that weren’t bad enough, he was clustered with the other recruits now, making unpleasant speculations about Michael.

"I’m telling you, I heard that a green recruit put him flat on his ass," he was telling a woman whose name if Nikita recalled correctly was Marie.

"No way," she insisted. "Not Michael. If you knew all the stories I’ve heard about him, you’d never believe it."

"Yeah," the guy sitting beside her agreed. "Michael’s the best operative Section One has. He wouldn’t let himself be kicked around by some newbie."

Jamie insisted and Nikita gritted her teeth, restraining herself from slugging him. "From what I heard, it wasn’t just a newbie, it was a woman."

"And what did that have to do with anything?" Nikita thought, her irritation growing.

"Dean here saw it go down," Jamie insisted.

They all looked at Dean, a quiet man who looked unlikely to make up tall tales. He shrugged unhappily. "I was getting ready for my own training session this morning when it happened. Michael and a new recruit were sparring. He knocked the breath out of her. She got up and put him on the floor. He got up and she knocked him out."

Marie gave a little gasp; the others looked grim.

"I think they’ve been filling our heads with stories of the ‘great invincible Michael’ so that we won’t make waves," Jamie sneered.

Nikita wanted to reach back and smack that snide little grin right off his disgusting face. What did he know about Michael or Mahleah for that matter? If he thought he stood a snowball’s chance against the level five operative he was crazy. "It’s not like he’s been learning martial arts since he got out of diapers," she thought. In fact, if Mahleah could hear what Jamie was saying she’d probably beat the crap out of him.

Nikita looked up involuntarily to Michael’s position at the front of the van. He briefly met her eyes and looked away. She knew he’d heard every spiteful word that had been said. During the rest of the ride back to Section, she devised vengeful fantasies that involved shutting Jamie up in a room with Michael and Mahleah with her watching and waiting to polish up what was left.

At 4 am, and a restless night, Mahleah gave up on trying to sleep. She dressed in her workout clothes and went to the gym an hour early. It was deserted, just the way she liked it. She began stretching out her muscles to relieve her frustration.

She’d already heard the events of yesterday from four or five different people, none of whom realized that she was the "newbie" in question. Experienced operatives and new recruits alike were stunned by the news that someone had knocked Michael out. She sighed. It didn’t matter that the whole matter had been a means of communication between them. It seemed that she had eroded some of his authority.

She began working through a series of katas, mentally shaking her head. After her little demonstration there was no reason for her not to practice her usual routine. It wouldn’t look strange that anyone who could best the great Michael after all would demonstrate a sophisticated knowledge of fighting skills. Actually, she hoped she wouldn’t be disturbed. She hated the thoughts of causing him morale trouble, but hey, he was still Musashi to Nikita, wasn’t he?

Michael stood outside the gym watching Mahleah as she fought against an imaginary opponent. He understood her impulse to come to the gym before anyone else. He had followed a similar thought, only to find himself beaten to the floor. He knew what was disturbing her. It had already been upsetting Nikita.

What were his feelings? He and Mahleah both knew that he had let her take him. It had been a test and she had aced it. Yet, they both also knew that eventually they would have to spar for real. Ostensibly, she was still his student, although he doubted he could teach her anything in this area. She was obviously an expert in several forms of martial arts. It was entirely possible that she was better than he was.

If she was, though, she needed to be promoted to full-operative status quickly. Anything else would erode morale and discipline. Already recruits like Jamie were beginning to challenge his authority. On a mission, that kind of behavior could cost lives.

He saw Mahleah pause and look his way and quickly hid in the shadows. She frowned. He admired her internal radar. She seemed to know he was there. He quietly stepped away, heading to his office until it was time for their official training to start.

Mahleah froze. She was certain someone was watching her. She looked over at the window, but couldn’t see past the shadows filling the corridors. She shrugged, internally, and continued with her workout. There was still over thirty minutes before she and Michael had to confront each other again.

Chapter Nineteen

At 5 am, a small crowd hung around the gym. Nikita pushed past them grimly. Michael and Mahleah were both, of course, already inside waiting on her. She wasn’t sure why. This had all gone well out of her control yesterday.

She’d spotted Jamie among the spectators and repressed a smirk. At least she’d told Jamie off. Michael’s name had not been mentioned. She had smacked him around a little to remind him of the bad dope he’d sold that had killed a friend of hers. Unfortunately, she still had a little unfinished business with him: he’d mentioned her mother. She seriously doubted he knew anything, but couldn’t afford to take the chance. She sighed, only able to handle one crisis at a time. Right now, they still had to make it through the day’s training.

She eyed the two tall figures. Both seemed perfectly serious. Mahleah had her blank warrior expression on again. They’d make a fine pair of bookends, Nikita thought. They were completely focused on the job at hand; the crowd wasn’t even there for them.

They seemed to reach a silent agreement and took their places on the mat. Nikita found a place on the sidelines and watched nervously, biting her lower lip. They bowed then began circling each other, testing defenses, checking for weaknesses. Suddenly Michael moved, and Mahleah countered. He found his way past her defenses, thinking it was too easy. She was setting him up, he realized, trying to make him look good. He suppressed a surge of anger. That was unacceptable.

He threw her hard. She hit the mat and clutched her side. She was going to be seriously bruised, he thought grimly, if she hadn’t broken a rib. She got to her feet unsteadily. He became a little concerned. She may have cracked a rib. She hadn’t expected him to throw her quite so hard.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She straightened gingerly, pressed her hand to the injury, testing. "I’m okay," she pronounced. Her eyes had gone nearly black.

He’d seen through her, she realized. Fine, she didn’t mind him rejecting her generous gift, but damn, that had hurt!

"Okay, Michael," she told him. "If that’s how you want to do this, so be it."

She approached him and again they circled each other. This time he was the one to fall. He jumped up and the bout resumed. Nikita, by the wall, nearly bit a hole in her lower lip, especially when she saw Michael hit the mat again. She heard the people in the hall muttering.

Mahleah offered him a hand up, "Best three out of five," she suggested.

He nodded, and they continued.

She was good, perhaps better than anyone he’d faced before was. He noticed that she unconsciously favored her hurt side. He hated what he was going to do, but knew he had to do it. In this contest, they were involved in, to treat each other as anything but equals would be disrespectful and punches would no longer be pulled. He got a solid kick into her sore ribs. She gasped, and in that split second, he knocked her feet from under her.

She was slower to get up this time. He offered her a hand and she accepted.

"We should stop," he suggested. He was seriously worried about her. She shook off the suggestion. "No, I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute to catch my breath." She smiled, "It’s not like this is really life or death."

He gave her the minute. He was about to recommend once more that they stop and to offer to escort her to Medical when she announced, "I’m ready."

"Are you certain?" his forehead was creased.

She smiled at him to thank him for his concern. "You’ll see, I’m fine."

He frowned and Nikita bit back a laugh. Apparently, the two had something else in common. One last time they faced off. Attack, counterattack, feint, dodge, kick, and block: the blows seemed endless. The murmuring of the crowd grew louder with astonishment.

"Yeah," Nikita thought with satisfaction. "Take a good look. None of you would last two seconds out there."

Around and around the room they fought with neither gaining an advantage. Nikita just hoped that they wouldn’t get tired and hurt one another accidentally. Just as she thought this, a dark-clad figure strode into the room.

"That’s enough," she announced with finality.

The sparring couple, recognizing Madeline’s presence, obeyed. Their duel ended in a draw and a bow. The people outside the gym had flitted away like frightened pigeons upon seeing Madeline. She, Nikita, Mahleah, Michael and Walter remained.

Madeline examined the two weary figures approvingly. Mahleah was succeeding faster than even she had anticipated. She might have a little project in mind for the woman. She turned and left.

Michael told Mahleah, "You should get those ribs x-rayed."

"I’ll be fine," she dismissed the idea, casually.

His eyes narrowed. Nikita moved in quickly to say, "I’m sure Walter would be glad to help her."

"Absolutely," he agreed and escorted Mahleah through the door.

Halfway through the corridor, she stopped him. "You’re the one that brought Madeline, aren’t you? Thanks, it was getting dicey in there."

"Dicey? Darlin’ he hurt you, I saw it."

"Walter, I promise I have no broken ribs or internal bruising. I’ll just lie down for a couple of hours. I’ll be as good as new before you know it."

"Let me take a look," he started pulling at her shirt. "If I think you’re okay, we can skip the MedLab."

"Walter, stop!" she slapped his hand away. "I’m fine. Now tell me about this date with Lita you’ve been planning. I’m jealous already."

She strode off down the corridor leaving him wondering why he hadn’t even seen a bruise.

Chapter Twenty

Mahleah had taken a short nap, and was now reading a book in her Section quarters feeling quite refreshed. She heard the sound of her door opening. Madeline entered. Mahleah was surprised but suppressed any show of emotion other than polite interest.

"Madeline," she greeted.

"Mahleah," the dark haired woman returned, pleasantly. She looked around the room, curiously. Most recruits added personal touches to their quarters. Mahleah had left them exactly as they were. She saw a stack of books by the bed, the only foreign objects in the room.

"May I?" she requested.

Mahleah shrugged her shoulders. "Be my guest."

Madeline pulled the top book off the stack, The Count of Monte Cristo. Beneath it were The Brothers Karamazov, A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, and The Odyssey. Mahleah was currently reading Crime and Punishment.

"Revisiting the classics?" Madeline inquired. She was well aware of the message being sent. It appeared the recruit had a sense of humor.

"What better way to pass the time?" Mahleah countered.

"I’m getting the impression that you’re rather bored, Mahleah."

Mahleah was cautious. "I’m accustomed to more activity, yes."

Madeline smiled. "We’re quite pleased with your progress. I’m going to recommend that you be granted probationary operative status. You’ll still be under strict supervision, but your activity level will increase. You will continue your training in areas such as computers, but you’ll also be used on missions from time to time."

Mahleah nodded.

"Before I make this suggestion to Operations, though, there is something I would like for you to do."

Mahleah smiled inwardly. Ah, the politics begin already, she thought.

"There is a recruit finishing his first year with us. His name is Jamie. Are you familiar with him?"

"Yes." She didn’t care much for him. His attitude was in need of readjustment. A few months ago, she would have been happy to help him with that problem. Now, she figured that was Madeline or even Michael’s job.

"It appears he has a previous connection to another operative here. I want you to discover what that tie is and if it poses any security risk to the Section."

"A test?" Mahleah replied.

"Yes," Madeline was serene. It was quite irritating.

"Am I allowed to know who the other operative is?"

"No, I want to discover exactly how precise your intelligence gathering skills are."

"Any suggestions or restrictions on how I go about this assignment?"

"No, the details are strictly up to you." This was part of the test. Madeline wanted to see exactly how far Mahleah could or would go to finish a profile.

"I see, and if I fail to complete this little mission to your complete satisfaction?"

"I would have to reevaluate your status."

Mahleah nodded. "You would cancel me." Her posture indicated her indifference to the idea.

Inwardly Madeline applauded. "That’s a possibility, yes. Perhaps we could find other methods of encouraging your best work."

"Such as?" Mahleah had already heard of the White Room. If it ever came down to it, she’d kill herself before she let herself be subjected to the kind of torture it was rumored took place there. If they ever learned how quickly she healed, she’d be the subject of hideous medical experiments.

"We could always pay a visit to the people from your past," Madeline suggested. "Your father and his wife, maybe, or Mark?"

Mahleah steeled herself. "My father is an alcoholic who’s neglected me my whole life. His wife is barely older than I am and we’ve never really liked each other. Mark broke off our engagement and I’ve not heard from him since. Why should I care what you do with any of them?"

Madeline was unruffled. "True, but can you say the same about your old friend Diana, or the man you were dating several months ago? That relationship seemed to be going well. And, in the end, there’s always Duncan, isn’t there?"

Okay, now the woman had gone too far. In her mind, Mahleah ran through all the ways that she could kill this woman with her bare hands, knowing that she couldn’t lay a finger on her.

"Diana told me to stay out of her life. As for the men," she laughed. "I wouldn’t advise trying to take them on if I were you."

"You think Duncan would stand up to our methods of persuasion?"

"I think you should leave Duncan the alone if you don’t have a hell of a death wish."

Madeline stared. The words had been utterly as calmly as a pronouncement about the weather. "Why is that?"

Mahleah cocked her head to one side. "You seem to be impressed by my training. Well, he taught me nearly everything I know. Trust me, it’s in Section’s best interests to stay as far from him as possible. He is the most dangerous man I ever encountered and if you cause him problems, he will eradicate you."

At an impasse, Madeline made a mental note to check into Mahleah’s former mentor a little more closely.

Mahleah turned away for a moment in thought and then turned back to face Madeline, "I have a suggestion."

"Yes?"

"You wish to assure yourself that I will fulfill this assignment to your satisfaction, and there’s something that I want."

"Really," Madeline raised an eyebrow. "Why should I give it to you?"

"Because it’s such a simple thing, really. Besides this assignment is outside the normal parameters, isn’t it? Something tells me that you have a personal interest here. It’s a very simple quid pro quo."

"I’m listening," Madeline responded.

Chapter Twenty One

She couldn’t believe she’d just entrusted her mother’s life to Michael. After all the times he’d seduced her and betrayed her on behalf of Section, all the times he’d "protected" her for her own good, she’d gone to him for help.

The strange thing was, she felt that he wanted to help her, and not just to protect herself or Section from potential exposure. He’d actually asked, "What do you want me to do?"

When she thought about it, he’d been acting very strange lately. He’d told her all he could about Mahleah despite his orders, and he’d actually joined their picnic and their game of Truth or Dare for goodness’ sake! When she’d thought he would walk away from Mahleah without answering, he’d surprised her. In fact, his answer had made her heart turn over. She’d later examined the whole game to analyze his behavior. She would have believed he was up to his old tricks and trying to manipulate her behavior, but so far, he’d not asked anything of her.

Just when she thought the shocks were over, he’d shown concern that he might have broken Mahleah’s ribs. The follow-up had just about knocked her out of her seat: he’d actually suggested they spend the day together. Of course, it was inevitable that he would chose to ask her that when she had to find out about her mother. "Great thought, but rotten timing," she’d told him mentally. "Try again later."

It was all these little things, really, that had lead up to her decision to ask him for help. If he'd been behaving like the old Michael she’d have been leery of putting herself in his debt in that way, but perhaps she could trust him.

"I’m taking a big chance here," she muttered under her breath. "So if you double-cross me this time, Michael, I’ll beat you black and blue if I have to borrow Mahleah to do it." She rather doubted she would.

He couldn’t believe she’d finally decided to ask for his help. Maybe he was finally getting through to her that he was tired of games and manipulation. What he felt for her was real and even if he could have nothing else, he craved her trust. He swore that he would prove worthy of it.

Nikita’s request was not a small one. While he’d known that from the beginning, he realized just how complicated it would become after he met her mother, Roberta. The woman had her daughter’s persistence and determination – some might even call it stubbornness. She would never give up trying to find her missing child.

Roberta had been working with many people with many connections. It was not going to be enough to sever her contact with the private investigator. She would need a solid reason to stop looking. He would have to manufacture one. He hoped Nikita would have enough faith in him to go along with the plan that was forming.

Chapter Twenty Two

Mahleah stopped outside the target range, and took a deep breath. She was about to begin her new profile. She wished she could just grab Jamie, pin an arm behind his back and threaten to break it unless he told her what she wanted to know. She couldn’t do that for many reasons, not the least of which was that she was trying to ignore her more violent impulses these days. Too bad.

She went in. Thank goodness, Walter was off on his date with Lita and not here, taking care of the weapons. He would definitely know something was up when she started hanging around with Mr. Immature Bad Attitude.

She saw Jamie, hanging with his fellow one-years. They eyed her with appreciation. "Well, this might be easier than I thought," she observed to herself, with humor. "If I can’t get the information out of him, maybe one of his little friends knows."

She walked up to the table and picked up a pistol, loaded a clip and began firing. The boys goggled at her marksmanship for a few minutes and then returned their scrutiny of her anatomy. She popped her clip and returned to the ammunition, glancing up ever so briefly at the guys. She met Jamie’s eyes for a split-second, then looked back down at the table. She wondered if it would be enough encouragement. Most men would need to have a few more signs to get over the "who-me?" factor, but with Jamie’s ego she was betting…

"You handle that thing pretty well, but how do you do with the big guns?" he inquired. No doubt, he thought he was smooth.

She repressed a groan. She’d heard better come-ons from the slimiest creeps that frequented the LA clubs she’d once used as her personal hunting ground. Even if Jamie made it through the two years of training he was never going to be a Valentine op. Well, she had his interest, now it was up to her to make the most, or better yet least, of it she could.

She glanced up at him with a polite expression, "I hold my own."

"Mmm, I bet you do," he tried to look down her blouse, but she subtly shifted position. "You’re the woman who fought Michael this morning, aren’t you?"

"That’s right," she smiled at him. "Have we met?"

"No, but I was watching. My name’s Jamie."

"Mahleah," she offered him her hand. At least he had a firm handshake.

"That was some amazing stuff you did. They say nobody else throws Michael ever."

"He threw me, too." She pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you could throw me anytime," he told her warmly.

Sigh. Had this guy ever had an original thought in his life?

She studied him, letting him watch her do it. "I’ll bet you say that to all the girls," she’d join him in the cliché bin.

"Yeah, but you really could," he laughed.

She laid the ammunition back on the table, and started to leave.

He started to panic and trotted after her like a good little puppy. "Hey, don’t go." He’d lost a little of his swagger.

She turned, smiling. "But I’m starving, getting kicked in the ribs makes a girl work up an appetite."

He swallowed. "Can I join you?"

Oh, of course, he expected her to cook, too. She frowned and said, "I don’t know if I’m up for company tonight. My side’s still a little sore. I’m supposed to take some pain medication and go to bed early."

He looked back over his shoulder and she could tell how much it meant to him to score some points in front of the fellows. "Please, I just want to get to know you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise." He gave her his best innocent, wide-eyed, pleading look.

"Oh, all right," she agreed, "but I meant what I said. I still have to get up and train early in the morning." This was a lie, but she’d already told him one about the medication, so what the heck.

He looked relived. "What time should I come over?"

"About six o’clock, I think," she told him, then pulled the clasp out of her hair and let it trickle down her back. He caught his breath. "I’ll see you, then," she said sweetly and left.

Chapter Twenty Three

Mahleah had requested that Christopher provide dinner. Madeline was cautious.

"Will he not think it strange to have dinner catered?" she had warned.

"No," Mahleah had said, "It will be perfectly plausible."

Now, there was a knock on her door. Mahleah answered it and invited Jamie in. She had not chosen anything special to wear, had added no makeup, and had pulled her hair back up. He looked disappointed.

She smiled, "I hope you like coq au vin. I’m told it’s Christopher’s specialty."

His eyes widened. "Christopher made you dinner?"

"It was a reward for getting knocked around this morning," she explained, filling his glass with wine.

He sat down at the table across from her. "I get thrown around all the time but no one ever makes me a gourmet meal."

She handed him the glass of wine. "Poor boy. I guess it’s because I’m ahead of my training schedule."

"I’d say so," he took a large drink of wine. "Sometimes I wonder if I’ll survive the next few days, much less the next year. I screw up all the time. If it hadn’t been for…" he stopped himself, "well, I don’t know if I’ll make operative."

Unexpectedly, she felt a little pity for him. "Yes," she agreed. "I’ve wondered that myself every day since I woke up here in Section."

"Talk about a rude awakening," he chuckled and finished his wine. She refilled the glass, but only sipped hers.

"And the people here," Mahleah added. "At first they worried me. They all seemed to know what they were doing and I just knew they were looking at me and thinking, ‘what an idiot!’ Especially Michael." She knew about his conversation on the van.

"Yeah, I know. He gives you this icy stare and you think, ‘oh crap, I’m canceled now, for sure.’ And if he sees you talking to Nikita, forget about it."

She poured more wine. "I’ve heard that, but why would he care that you were talking to Nikita?" Surely, he’s not so insecure that he thinks she’d prefer this boy to him?

"Oh, she’s been trying to help me out—keep me from doing dumb things. From what I hear, it doesn’t take much to set off his radar. He probably found out I knew her before."

Mahleah’s fork froze for a split second on its way to her mouth. Nikita?! Damn Madeline anyway. This was probably all a test to see if Mahleah could detach herself from personal ties. Now, what was she going to do?

"Really, how?" she inquired.

Jamie looked worried for a moment and then tossed his concerns behind him. "Well, I’ve seen you two together acting like old friends, so I guess it can’t hurt to tell you. Yeah, we grew up in the same neighborhood together. We weren’t close; in fact, she hated my guts. I guess it says something about her: she’s been trying to keep me alive, although she doesn’t like me."

"Oh, it does indeed," Mahleah agreed heartily, feeling sick at heart.

He finished his third glass of wine. "This food’s really good. Wish I could get a meal like this every night."

Mahleah’s thoughts were churning. Madeline already knew there was a connection between the two and would call her bluff if she tried to name someone other than Nikita. Part of her assignment had been to evaluate the security risk this relationship presented to Section. Frankly, Mahleah saw no risk. Nikita was simply being herself and trying to help him become a better operative. Would Madeline buy this reasoning though?

The more she thought about it, she didn’t see why not. Nikita had no close ties to Jamie. What she was doing for him, she would do for any recruit.

Jamie was beginning to experience the full effects of the wine and the heavy meal. She needed him to leave before he fell asleep on the table.

"Jamie, I really should go to bed soon," she told him.

He smiled sleepily, "Want some company?"

She helped him out of his chair and to the door. "I don’t think that would be a good idea," she said gently.

He stood in the doorway, blinking owlishly. "Yeah, right, sore ribs," he agreed. "Some other time, maybe."

She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "I’m afraid not," she said sadly. "I haven’t been here very long and it’s still hard for me to let go of the past. There was someone out there, someone I love very much, and I can’t stop thinking about him."

She kissed him softly, briefly on the mouth. "I’ve enjoyed your company, though," she said and gave him a hug. "Thank you for dining with me."

"Your welcome," he was becoming a tad unsteady. Well it had been a special wine picked out especially for this occasion. He returned her hug and whispered in her ear, "Don’t tell anyone that Nikita’s mom is looking for her," and then lurched away.

Mahleah swallowed and refrained from glancing at the cameras in her room. How would she handle this last little bombshell? Telling Madeline about a previous, harmless relationship between Nikita and Jamie was one thing, but informing her that Nikita’s mother was looking for her was completely different. She frowned and cleared up the table.

Oh well, she guessed she find out very soon just how skilled an actress she really was.

***

"Come in," Madeline called. Mahleah entered the office.

"Ah, good, sit down." Mahleah took the chair in front of Madeline’s desk.

"Have you discovered the information I requested?"

"Yes, Jamie grew up on the same street as Nikita. Apparently, they were never friends. He was a drug dealer believed to have sold a tainted product that was responsible for killing one of her friends. Since he’s been in Section, she has occasionally attempted to assist him in his training, but she’s treated him no differently than she does any other person in Section. In fact, she’s been friendlier to me than she is to him."

"So, you believe the security risk to be minimal?"

"Yes. Jamie is grateful for the help she’s provided, but mainly she’s just a girl he once knew. Nikita has given no indication that she feels any bond between them."

"And if he was in danger?"

Mahleah shrugged, "She would treat him no differently than any other member of her team. I’m sure you’re already familiar enough with Nikita’s behavior to know the answer to that. If you disliked it you would cancel her."

"I noticed that you didn’t have sex with him. Why?"

Mahleah’s face stayed bland and impersonal. "He told me everything he knew. Once I had the information, I felt seduction would have been unnecessary and possibly even suspicious. He knew that I had sustained some bruises after my match with Michael and it was completely plausible that I would like company for a meal but want to sleep alone."

Madeline nodded. It had been an interesting performance and confirmed her opinion of Mahleah’s Valentine skills. The woman would be thoroughly proficient, but only to a certain level. Nikita had just been in to inform Madeline of the same relationship, so Mahleah’s little excursion had proven intriguing but ultimately a waste of time. But really, who could have predicted Nikita to actually make such an admission?

Madeline sighed. She couldn’t hold such unpredictability against Mahleah who had certainly upheld her end of their bargain. "Your package will be arriving shortly," she told the other woman. "I’ll see that it reaches you."

Mahleah smiled and rose, "Thank you."

Chapter Twenty Four

Nikita walked away from Michael’s office with a lighter heart than she had in a long time. She’d finally gotten some closure with her mother. True, it was not all she had wanted, but if she’d actually spoken to her, Roberta would probably be dead, right now. Michael’s plan had been for the best. She still had trouble believing that he’d actually helped her. She smiled as she remembered his face a few minutes earlier, when she’d both thanked and kissed him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so surprised. Everything considered, it had been a good day.

She walked over to where Walter and Mahleah were chatting.

"Hi, sugar," Walter greeted her, still glowing from the aftermath of his date with Lita.

"So then, everything went well," Mahleah inquired.

"Oh, yeah," his smile widened. "As you said, darlin’, there are risks and then there are risks worth taking."

She kissed his cheek, saying, "I’m glad."

Mahleah was in a good mood herself. Madeline had seemed to accept her information about Nikita and she hadn’t had to mention the more sensitive information Jamie had let slip.

Speaking of Jamie, she’d spotted him a few hours ago, and waved as she walked by. She was very amused to hear him reprimand one of his comrades.

"What are you looking at?"

"Hey, what’s your problem? She’s a hot piece of… Hey, ouch! What’d you hit me for?"

"She’s not like that, okay? Besides," she could hear the smirk in his voice as she left the corridor, "she could kick your ass all the way to Kalamazoo and back."

She grinned at the memory. He was an immature jerk with a bad attitude, but maybe he could be trained.

Birkoff approached the group with a package in his hands. "Hey," Nikita greeted him. "When do you want your first dance lesson?"

He reddened, but responded, "Whenever you two chicks get brave enough to give it to me."

"That’s not hard to arrange," Mahleah responded.

"What have you got for me, kid?" Walter asked, eyeing the parcel.

"Huh, oh no, it’s not for you. Madeline told me to give it to Mahleah," he handed her the package.

She set it down on one of Walter’s tables and asked him quietly, "May I borrow a knife?"

"Sure, darling, but are you sure you don’t want me to scan it first?"

She smiled, "It’ll be all right. Just get me something to cut it open, please."

He handed her a utility tool and she carefully slit the box open and gingerly pulled away the wrapping material. She lifted a Japanese sword in a sheath out of the box.

"Whoa," Birkoff said, impressed.

Mahleah barely knew they were there. She was running her hands across the hilt and down the scabbard.

Nikita noticed that the hilt of the sword was ivory and there was a figure carved into it. She half-expected to see a dragon, but instead realized with surprise it was a tiger in a crouch, about to spring upon its prey.

"Tora," Mahleah whispered.

Ten minutes later they were watching as Mahleah, in the gym, sitting in her favorite seiza position slowly, almost ritualistically, unbound her hair.

She now pushed the tsuba up with her thumb drawing the sword. and stepped out of the seiza into a stand, she laid the scabbard to the side, then held the katana up in front of her. She reverently kissed the tiger with closed eyes, then brought the sword up. Holding it in her right hand, she let it fall through her fingers and caught it, rotating her wrist and stretching the muscles. Its weight was a familiar presence in her hand and she quickly rediscovered the blade’s unique balance and rhythm.

She began a slow series of butterflies, flowing across the floor the katana, an extension of her hand, flashing under the fluorescent lights. She turned at the far end of the room, and began another pass, picking up speed. She paused in the middle of the floor and laughed with her arm spinning, and the katana cutting through the air.

Her friends stared in amazement. She seemed lit from within with a joyous fire. Now she looked more like a dancer than a fighter -- carrying a dangerous prop with lethal grace. She stopped, eyes glowing, knowing that her message had been sent.

She shifted focus, becoming once more the warrior renewing her most important bond.

Epilogue

In Seacouver, Washington, the mood was grimmer in the office of DeSalvo’s dojo. Joe Dawson stood by the desk, while Duncan MacLeod gazed out the window.

"Did you call the police?" Joe asked.

"Yes, but I doubt they discover anything. The thief was completely professional."

"Could it be Amanda?" Joe suggested.

MacLeod looked at him briefly with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the first time it was a bracelet that was stolen. You know how she gets about expensive jewelry."

Mac just looked at him, and he lowered his gaze sheepishly, "Yeah, you’re right. Amanda would never have stolen from you."

"Oh, she has before," the Immortal replied with equanimity, "but she would never have stolen something that belonged to Mahleah. Amanda’s as worried about her as we are. Besides this time they didn’t take jewelry."

"But why would anyone want to steal Tora?" Joe was at a loss.

MacLeod returned his gaze to the window, "Mahleah."

Joe moved closer to the Scot. "Tora belongs to Mahleah, Mac. Why wouldn’t she retrieve the sword herself?"

"Because she can’t for some reason," Duncan told him wearily. "Wherever she’s disappeared to, she obviously can’t contact me by conventional means."

"So, she’s sending you a message, then?"

"Yes," Joe waited, but MacLeod had fallen silent.

It was a message, he knew. She was telling him she was alive and well. She was somewhere out there and in enough trouble, that she couldn’t make any direct contact…with him or any of her other friends. This message was meant to relieve more than just him, and yet for him it had personal undertones.

"I will find you, mhuirnin," he promised.

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