SERAPH

Part 6

Linda Ryner

I had blood beneath my fingernails.

I sat before the graves of my mother and father at Woodlawn Cemetery in West Des Moines, Iowa on that mid-October day, looking down at the half-moon wounds I'd dug into my palms as I waited for Daltrey to arrive for our business meeting. I had picked the meeting place. The hell of it was, I didn't even know why I'd insisted on this particular spot.

Back in L.A., before I made the trip out here, Michael had not been keen on my conducting this piece of business at all. He had wanted to do it. He wanted me out of it now that the evidence had been gathered and we basically had Daltrey where we wanted him. He tried everything to dissuade me from taking this on myself. The day I threw a dog leash with a collar on his desk was the day he stopped giving me a hard time, but he had been angry -- about one inch away from having my ass bounced into a detention cell until it was all over. But he relented. What his reason was I'll probably never know.

However, Michael was never one to let an operative get the last word in, so he made me compromise. I would be tailed, I would be watched and I would wear a wire so my safety could be monitored at all times. Knowing this was the only way Michael would allow me to take it on, I agreed. I didn't fuss, I didn't argue, I just agreed.

And I think that ticked him off even more.

I stared at the dates carved into my parents' tombstones. In my memory, I would always remember how my nostrils were assaulted by smoky fall air full of dead leaves and cold morning dew. Fall is my favorite time of year. The colors, the crunching leaves, the robin's egg blue sky contrasting sharply with the oranges, yellows and reds of the trees. As I sat there, my eyes closed for a moment, I yearned for simpler times, doubting that I would ever have them again.

"He's coming up the walk behind you," came Gabrielle's voice in the audio device wedged in my ear, virtually undetectable. "And he looks madder than hell."

"Thanks for the warning." My voice was barely audible.

Finally, I saw Daltrey out of the corner of my eye, coming toward my bench as he made his way up another short expanse of walkway. His overcoat was open and he wore a grey suit that offset his white hair. He looked a lot like an aged Errol Flynn, I thought to myself. For a moment, the image of a pirate swinging from the mast of a ship flashed across my brain. He stopped before me, the wind whipping his coat every which way. His eyes penetrated mine as he stared down at me. I'm sure he meant to intimidate me, but I wasn't having any.

"I want assurance that my son is safe," he told me without preamble. "And I want it now."

I maintained my calm. "Your son is in a safehouse with some agents of ours, Mr. Daltrey, watching the Hawkeyes, and right now, he's a lot more safe than you are."

Daltrey started a bit, looking around. There was a funeral a ways off and people walked about here and there, visiting the graves of departed family and friends. It was a typical fall day at Woodland Cemetery. Our agents could have been anywhere. Even I didn't know which of the people milling about were Firm personnel.

"If my son is harmed in any way . . . "

"You'll do what? Call the police?" I looked into his stormy eyes with a hard look of my own. "Your son will be perfectly fine as long as I obtain the information I need and receive your full cooperation."

"Do you have any comprehension, Ms. Sands, as to who you're dealing with?" The fury in his voice was barely controlled.

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with," I answered darkly. "It's you, apparently, who doesn't have a clue. Do you think it's me you're dealing with?" I shook my head. "No. You're dealing with a man, Mr. Daltrey, who's head of an elite unit of the CIA. And he's mighty pissed off you tried to kill him." I indicated the empty space beside me. "Sit down, please. You're becoming agitated, and it shows. You don't want one of my people mistaking your agitation for aggression."

This seemed to give him pause and after a few seconds' hesitation, he complied. "What is it you think you have on me, Ms. Sands?"

"We have all we need to connect you to a certain party at The Firm," I told him evenly. "What we have could be considered mostly circumstantial, if we were dealing with a court of law. But we aren't dealing with the legal system, as you probably already know."

I had to give the man credit. Daltrey was a master of control. The fury was bubbling just underneath the surface, but his restraint was amazing. "What is it you want from me?" he finally demanded.

"As I indicated, assuming I obtain everything I need from you, you have nothing to worry about in the way of retaliation by Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs. He's willing to let bygones be bygones."

"And what about my problem with the IRS?" he persisted darkly.

"Will be eliminated under the same terms." My eyes bored into his. "Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs had nothing to do with the IRS making life miserable for you. Neither did I."

"So you say. Can you prove it?"

"Of course we can. If you'd like to view the evidence we've compiled, I'd be happy to show it to you."

"How do I know it wasn't fabricated?" the ex-Senator demanded hotly. "Why should I believe you about anything?"

"First of all, if Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs wanted to make life miserable for you, he would have done a hell of a lot more than unleash the IRS," I answered. "He would have set you up in a situation where there was no way out and you'd be sitting in a jail cell right at this moment serving a very long sentence for tax evasion and a few other things." I paused, looking around casually. In reality, I was looking for my backup. "Besides, I was given to understand that you and Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs had a contract that as long as you stayed away from me, he would do nothing further to cause you grief."

"We had such a verbal contract," Daltrey acknowledged. "But when it all comes down to it, your Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs can do whatever he wants to and say whatever he wants to, to suit his own ends." He scrutinized me carefully. "And then there's you, Ms. Sands. You could have had something to do with this."

I smiled faintly. "I could have, but I didn't. For me to point the IRS in your direction, I would have to get written orders to that effect from Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs and since he didn't do it, how could I? My talents at forgery, especially of his signature, are pitiful. And no one in his department -- with the possible exception of your contact -- would dare. My boss is furious about this. We've nailed down who's responsible for putting this chain of events in motion. We just need your confirmation as to the identity of your contact."

After almost a full minute Daltrey leaned back "What guarantee do I have you won't come after me anyway, even if I do cooperate?"

"We're pretty sure that the only reason you set up the hit in the first place was because you believed Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs broke his word with you. Is that correct?" I remembered four years ago when Michael had told me that I would be dealing with people like Daltrey on a regular basis, and that if I didn't have the stomach for it, it was best I found out right away. Well, guess I'd come a long way, baby.

His nostrils flared. "That's an accurate assessment, Ms. Sands."

"What happened after you were targeted by the IRS?"

He heaved a breath. "We're being recorded, aren't we?"

"I won't lie to you," I answered. "Yes, we are."

A wind stirred up the dead leaves, swirling them about us. Daltrey contemplated the gently rolling hills of the cemetery before him. Finally, he spoke.

"Three days after I received word I was being investigated, I got a phone call from The Firm. It was Melissa Hiatt wanting to meet with me to discuss my troubles." He crossed his long legs. "She sympathized with me that some of the Powers That Be in the Firm saw fit to mess me up and indicated that if I did a favor for her, she could get the IRS off my back. She didn't exactly mention names about who was responsible, and she must have assumed that I thought it was you."

"And the favor she asked for?"

"To whack you. I was sure that Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs probably had this set up to begin with. So when I talked to Ms. Hiatt, I demanded to know why she wanted you dead before I agreed to anything. She reluctantly told me she wanted you out of the way so she could pursue Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs. She also hinted strongly you were solely to blame for my current situation. I somehow doubted it, but I told her I'd think about her offer and hung up."

"And then called her back two days later," I reminded him. He looked up, staring at me oddly. "Yes. But when I agreed to do it, it wasn't you I intended to kill. It was your boss. If you got in the way at the time of the hit, I wasn't going to cry any tears of regret. But Briggs was my mark. And since you worked closely with him, it only stood to reason why I wanted to know his every move. Melissa was more than happy to keep me abreast of Mr. Coldmith-Briggs' itinerary. Stupid woman." He paused, looking up at the sky. "She had no idea it was your boss who was my intended target until Grace messed up."

"You hired Grace to make the hit."

"He had some gambling debts he needed to pay off. Ms. Hiatt funneled some of her department's money into some of my businesses the IRS hadn't caught onto as yet. I wondered why Ms. Hiatt didn't just take care of you herself. She told me she couldn't afford to do so because everyone knew she had it in for you, that she'd become an immediate suspect."

"She's right, she would have." I was, admittedly impressed. Melissa had been very thorough. But she'd underestimated Daltrey. "She gets you to pull off the hit. Once I'm out of the way and Grace is out of the country and can't be linked to you, she calls the IRS hounds off. Everybody gets what they want. But you went after Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs. That changed things. And Grace wasn't counting on Hawke seeing him hook the bomb on the car and getting my boss out in time."

"Exactly."

And Melissa had Grace eliminated because, since he had been caught, she could not afford to have him spilling his guts and naming names. So she'd probably coerced some poor schmuck from the kitchen staff to lace the waterglass of Grace's supper tray with cyanide to keep him from talking. That much was obvious, and something that could be established later, if it hadn't been already.

"Did you know," I said quietly, "that the driver killed in that limo was a friend of mine?" He looked at me then, a hard look, but said nothing. "If my boss gets the IRS off your back and has the media exonerate you and turn you into a hero, will you cease any attempts at assassination of Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs or myself?"

"You can do that? You aren't just blowing smoke?"

"My boss can."

"And my son?"

"Back into the loving bosom of his family as soon as you agree to the aforementioned terms."

"What guarantee do I have you'll hold to the agreement?"

"The same guarantee we have with you. We'll have to trust each other. You agree to leave us alone. We'll get the IRS off your back, exonerate you and let your son go unharmed. However if you should decide to go back on your word . . ."

"I don't like being threatened, Ms. Sands."

"I'm not threatening you, Mr. Daltrey. I am telling you unequivocally that if you should decide to go back on your word, that your family's whereabouts is always available to The Firm, no matter where you decide to try and hide them. There is, quite literally, no where you can hide." I paused. "Have we reached a mutual understanding?"

Daltrey's mouth fixed in a grim line. "Agreed." He stopped, looking at me a long time. "Just tell me one thing."

"If I can."

"Your Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs championed your cause four or five years ago. He came on like a junk-yard dog, vicious and slathering at the mouth." How well I remembered that terrible evening when we confronted three of the most powerful men in the Midwest. I was just a spectator, letting Michael handle the whole thing. But I had been there, been witness to Michael's utter coldness. "Why is it he sent you to face me alone this time instead of coming himself?"

"He didn't. He didn't want me anywhere near you. But this was my problem to take care of."

Daltrey cocked his head. "Your problem?"

"You tried to kill somebody I care about very much. That made it my problem."

Daltrey nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. "I guess it does, at that." He rose to his feet, facing me. "Do you remember Washington four years ago? At the hotel?"

I nodded. "How could I forget?"

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"About swimming with the sharks? About being used as a pawn?"

"Exactly. You may feel you're a veteran now, Ms. Sands, but I'm here to tell you -- and I'll bet Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs will tell you the same thing if you asked him. You aren't any safer now than you were four years ago. In fact, you're probably worse off."

"I'm not that naïve kid I was four years ago."

"No, I don't expect you are. And when I was your age, I was ready to take on the world, too." He paused, eyes never wavering from mine. "You think you're in control. You think you've got it all figured out. Maybe you're even starting to feel safe again." He shook his head. "You haven't even uncovered the tip of the iceburg yet. In your business, my dear, you're going to find one day that you've got no way out -- and no one to help you. And then . . ." He dropped off his sentence.

"Then what?" I asked, bristling at this man who sought to give me advice. "I become like you? Are you saying I'm on my way to becoming like you?"

"It's amazing what you can live with," he said quietly, "when you convince yourself you can justify it." His eyes caught mine. "Tell me, Ms. Sands. In the course of your covert operations, how many people have you killed? Or caused to be killed? How many lives have you affected based on decisions you've had to make in the field or based on the orders you were given?"

"And how many lives have you affected and how many people have you caused to die by remaining apathetic and indecisive?" I countered with much more calm than I felt. "How many pieces of legislation could you have helped pass instead of hinder to help people -- to help the country? Don't you dare pass judgment on me. I'm no one's marionette." I rose stiffly, silently raging inside. "Based on the assurances you've given us, you can expect the IRS to desist within the next couple of days. We'll take care of the press. And your son will be returned to you on Friday morning. We'll be in touch."

"Ms. Sands." His voice stopped me. I turned my gaze to this man who I absolutely despised. "Mark my words. There will come a day when you will be alone. You will have nobody. You will have nothing. And when that day comes, a piece of you will die. And after awhile, when you're able, when you work yourself out of that place of despair, you will do something about it." He paused. "And what you decide to do about it forever changes the course of your life. Or ends it."

Who the hell did he think he was? My stomach soured and I caught myself before I reached inside my purse for a Rolaids. I was not about to let this man know he'd done anything but mildly annoy me.

"Sell it to the news media tabloids," I answered impassively. "I'm not buying."

I watched him go, back up the walkway to the curb where his Mercedes awaited him. I had never been so filled up with hate in my entire life. But I had done my job. I had given the terms I was authorized to give. I had obtained the former Senator's cooperation, confession and confirmation. Yes, I had done my job.

But I was far from satisfied. And Ricki was still dead.

//. . . if you fuck with my friends . . .//

I felt the raindrops as they splattered to the ground. All I wanted to do was get back to the hotel. I watched Daltrey's car pull away before making my way swiftly to the Lincoln Town Car a few hundred yards down the street. I finally felt Gabrielle at my elbow.

"Slow down! I had to practically run after you!" she told me, a little out of breath.

"Sorry," I muttered, getting into the car.

"What?" Gabrielle prodded as our driver started the ignition and drove us out of the cemetery. "What is it, Rach? Something he said?"

My heart was thudding in my chest. How dare that son-of-a-bitch judge me! How dare he! How dare he imply that we weren't so different!

//Can you wake up in the morning, look yourself in the eye and still feel good about yourself?//

"Yes. Yes I can." I hadn't realized I spoke out loud until Gabrielle gave me a confused look. Nor had I realized right away how desperate my voice sounded.

"Yes you can what?" she queried, frowning. "Rachel, you're . . . what did he say to you? I didn't listen to the whole conversation. I was watching to make sure you were going to be all right."

My jaw flexed. "He said a lot of things."

"But what did he say to upset you so much?" Gabrielle was nothing if not dogged in her questions.

"Fuck him," I whispered, my heart in my throat. "Fuck him. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know anything about me. He doesn't know jack-shit about me." Stonefaced, I sat back in the leather seat.

"Rachel!" I looked up at Gabrielle's commanding tone. "Rachel." I felt her hand on my shoulder and my instinct to burst into tears was screaming. But I couldn't let myself. I couldn't. "Rachel, you've got to talk about it. What did he say to you?" She looked at me and was taken aback. I even heard her gasp. "Your face . . . Rachel, I've never seen you look like this . . . what did he say?"

My rage was tightly controlled. Barely. But it was controlled. I felt my face relax and I turned my eyes to Gabrielle's worried gaze.

"Nothing I can't handle," I replied evenly.

When we got to the hotel and into the lobby, I told her, "I'll be in my suite if you need me."

It was dark in the room with the hunter green curtains pulled and I didn't turn the lights on. I had no desire to. I kicked off my shoes and flounced on the bed.

//This job can kick the life of you.//

Only now was I beginning to even understand that.

"I'm better than he is," I raged furiously. "I am! I'm better . . ."

Suddenly, I stopped, catching myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall directly across from the bed. The room was almost pitch-black, but I could see myself, sitting there, staring at my image. I could see fury. Hatred. Rage. I dropped my line of sight from the figure that stared back. It was then that I realized it.

I couldn't look at myself in the mirror anymore. Not even in the dark.

I laid back and stared up at the ceiling for a very long time. I was numb. Emotionally wrung out. And then a restless sleep overtook me.

Much, much later, a gentle hand woke me and I knew immediately from the scent that it was Michael. Instinctively I reached up and drew him down into a kiss that I wanted to have last forever. He was breathing hard when he lifted his mouth from mine. Even in the dimness, I saw the concern in his face. I knew he had questions and I didn't want to answer them. Not then. To avoid Michael's typical game of Twenty Questions, I pushed him away suddenly and rolled from beneath him.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded with a growl. "I thought we agreed I could handle this on my own."

"I let you handle it on your own," he returned, getting to his feet to follow me over to the curtained window. "I flew out here because time allowed. I wanted to be with you."

"You wanted to check up on me." He moved to the nightstand to turn on a light. "Don't!"

My half-shout caused him to arrest the action. There was a lengthy pause as he pulled his hand back and straightened.

"Why?" The question was soft.

"Because I don't want the damn light on, that's why." I returned to the bed to sit on the edge of it, my emotions running rampant.

"What is it you don't want me to see?"

My head snapped up at the question and I saw Michael making his way over to me in the dark. He seated himself beside me. His arms slipped around me and he knew I couldn't resist him for very long.

"Tell me," he whispered in my ear, kissing the lobe.

I was quiet for long moments. "I know you've already listened to the recording between myself and Daltrey. I can't tell you anything you haven't already heard."

"You scared Gabrielle and now you're scaring me. Gabrielle's never seen you like this. What are you feeling right now? What are you thinking?"

I was silent again for almost a full minute. "Michael, just answer me one thing. One thing and I'll never ask it again."

"All right, angel," he agreed. "Ask me."

"Will you always be there for me? No matter what I do or what I cause to happen. Will you love me? Will you love me . . . in spite of everything?"

"As long as you never betray me I'll always love you and I'll always be there for you. We established this a long time ago, love."

"I just needed to hear it," I answered quietly.

"And this afternoon," he persisted gently. "Are you going to tell me about that?"

I seriously considered it, then decided against. "No," I answered softly. "It doesn't matter anymore. It really doesn't."

"Rachel, you're sure?" Michael's voice was so caressing.

I turned in the circle of his arms and looked him straight in the face. "I'm sure." I stroked his cheek and warmth suffused me. "In fact," I murmured, cuddling into his chest, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." I was getting almost as good at lying as Michael was.

It didn't occur to me until much later that I wasn't lying so much to Michael, but to myself.

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

"Rachel, The Committee's come back with a verdict."

I looked up from my cup of black coffee into Gabrielle's eyes. Now that Melissa had been brought up on charges and was facing the wrath of The Committee, I was reeling from the chain of events and from my part in them.

"I don't want to go back there," I murmured, taking a sip of the strong black liquid.

"You were one of the investigating officers. You have to be there." The look in Gabrielle's face was giving me no choice. "C'mon. They read the verdict, pronounce sentencing and it's done."

I knew I had to show up. Michael would expect it. After a final drink of coffee, I rose, my limbs leaden. "I don't want to do this."

"I know. I don't either." Gabrielle's tone held a hint of sympathy, but not much. Neither one of us liked Melissa much. But she'd still been a part of the 'family'. And to be betrayed by a family member hurt. If it hurt us this way, we could only imagine how it must hurt Michael, even if he would never say anything about it. The outcome of Melissa's fate was inevitable. She was going to be terminated.

The elevator stopped on the top-most floor of Knightsbridge where The Committee met for such events as this. One of the guards positioned outside the conference room door scrutinized our badges, even though he knew who we were, and then let us in. The Committee members were just filing back in to the long table up front. Michael took his place among them. I could see the back of Melissa's head to my left and in front where she sat, alone, at a small table. She had been allowed to defend herself of the charges brought against her, but had done little in the way of doing so. It would be all but pointless. Her actions had been indefensible and the evidence had been overwhelming.

"Ms. Hiatt, you will please rise and face The Committee," came Zeus' no-nonsense voice from the central chair at the long table.

She did so and I could see the defeat in the line of her shoulders. For a moment, I felt a stab of pity. And for a split-second, I remembered the small picture on her mantel of a pixie-like ten-year-old in pink tights and a white tutu.

"Melissa Jane Hiatt," he continued in a steady, unemotional voice, "it is the decision of this Committee to find you guilty of all charges leveled against you. To wit: capital murder, second-degree murder, attempted murder, murder conspiracy, misappropriation of government funds, unauthorized use of government office and equipment . . ." The list seemed endless. The lesser charges hardly seemed to matter, but they all had to be read and recorded. "Ordinarily, you would be immediately terminated. However, it is the decision of this Committee that you be bound over to Archangel, with whom your punishment will be decided and dispensed."

My heart plummeted. The look on Melissa's face was one of slim hope. But all I had to do was look into Michael's eyes and know that her fate at the hands of the Committee would have been infinitely more kind. Michael had definite plans where Melissa was concerned. Gabrielle and I exchanged looks -- and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

"This session is now adjourned," Zeus continued. "Ms. Hiatt, you will be taken to a detention cell to await dispensation of your punishment."

Two burly uniformed security men cuffed her and led her from the room. As she passed us, I saw the almost-dead look in her eyes. It was directed at no one in particular. But that look made me go all cold inside.

Michael came up to us as the meeting broke up, slipping an arm around both Gabrielle and myself, walking out the door with us.

"Michael, what was that all about?" Gabrielle asked, and inwardly I was grateful that she did. "I've never known you to take such an interest in carrying out a death sentence personally."

"That's because no one every tried to assassinate the woman I love before," he replied evenly.

"Michael, it was you that almost got killed, not me," I reminded him.

"I know. But you were the intended target. I take that very personally." He herded us toward the elevator. "Let's go get some lunch at that Japanese restaurant." Amidst the relaxing décor and serene rock fountains, I picked at my California and Philadelphia rolls, not really hungry. Most of the conversation was directed at Gabrielle anyway, having to do with Special Projects. I tried to look interested in my lunch, but ended up sitting back to watch the clientele marching in and out of the restaurant from the semi-privacy of our alcove. Finally, Gabrielle rose.

"I've got some reports coming in on a project," she explained. "I'll see you back at the office, Michael."

"Take the limo and then send it back," Michael told her, grasping a piece of raw salmon with his chopsticks. "Thanks, Gabrielle." He looked over at me. "You're not eating?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Guess I'm not hungry."

He smeared a little wasabe on a piece of my Philadelphia roll, then picked it up and dunked it in my soy sauce. "C'mon. Eat." He held it up to my lips.

Pained, I opened wide and he inserted the rice-and-sesame-seed-covered roll into my mouth. Then, he gently traced my upper lip with a chopstick.

"This morning was upsetting for you." He was making a statement, not asking a question.

I sighed, picking up my own chopsticks and making the sincere attempt to eat. "Yeah."

"You had that look on your face." Michael sipped his tea and sat back, contemplating me.

I frowned, shaking my head as my tongue felt the salty burst of masago. "What look?" I asked, mouth full.

"That look you had on your face four years ago, when we discussed retribution and not being a victim. That same look when we were flying to California after you read the tabloid headlines about Daltrey and the others." He paused. "What's bothering you?"

"What are you going to do about Melissa's sentencing?" I asked softly.

"Ah. So that's it." He started in again on his lunch. "I thought it would be poetic justice if I let you carry out her sentence."

My eyes flew up to his and held them. "You want me to terminate her?"

"I want you to dispense justice in whatever way seems proper to you," he answered carefully.

"You want me to terminate her." There was the sudden urge to scream. //Why are you doing this to me?!// I shouted inwardly.

As I sat there and looked at Michael, I suddenly realized that he honestly believed he was giving me a gift. He was handing over an enemy on a silver platter, allowing me to exact whatever revenge I wanted. The revelation both shocked and stunned me.

I had always known about this side of Michael. I hadn't been oblivious to it and it was, in fact, one of the reasons he was so exciting to me -- this man, who had a dark side. This man, however noble, who dealt with espionage, sabotage and deception every day of his life. How in the world could I ever find myself loving that part of him when glimpses of it absolutely horrified me?

"Whatever Melissa did, for whatever reason she did it, she did it because she loved -- or thought she loved -- you, Michael."

"What she did was still a crime. And two people -- one of them perfectly innocent -- lost their lives because of it."

"I know that." I pushed my plate away. "But you know what, Michael? I want you to think about this." I leaned forward on my elbows. "If things had been just a little bit different, it could be me in that cell and Melissa having this conversation with you over sushi. Did you ever think of that?"

He folded his arms and looked at me hard. "It would never happen that way. But make your point."

"My point . . ." My voice rose and I quickly squelched it, wary of being overheard. "My point is, we all react to outside stimulus. To people, to situations, to things. What happened that made Melissa go as far as she did? There had to be a reason for it."

"Why are you trying to analyze her actions?" Michael demanded hotly. "The fact remains, Rachel, she tried to kill you, she almost killed me, and she did kill Ricki and Alan Grace. It doesn't matter what her reasons or motivations were, she did it."

For a brief moment, I felt the anger boil in my blood. I couldn't stand Melissa. In fact, I hated her. For what she did to Ricki, for what she almost did to Michael and myself. But I felt anger at Michael, too. He had not the least bit of regret over Melissa's impending execution. To be carried out, ironically, by me.

"So you're giving her to me." My voice was quiet.

"You're entitled." He sounded so sure of himself.

My jaw flexed at his pronouncement. Twenty minutes later we were riding back to Knightsbridge within the security of the limo. "If I do this, you can't ever ask me about what I'm going to do about it or what I've done about it after the fact, Michael."

He looked at me oddly for a moment. "All right. I trust you. Agreed."

"I need a month off. Starting right now."

"What?" His eyebrows rose in surprise. "It's mid-October! You know how busy it gets this time of year!"

"I need it. And I need it now."

"At least tell me why."

"No."

I could hear his unvoiced anger. "All right. Agreed."

"I'll carry out Melissa's punishment when I get back."

Again, I could tell he didn't know what to think. "Why after?" Michael queried in a very controlled voice.

"Because that's the way it has to be."

"Give me a reason for your terms."

"They're personal."

"Too personal to tell even me?"

"Yes."

"Will you at least tell me what you need the month off for?"

I suddenly felt very small and unsure. I wondered if he'd laugh. "I need to do some heavy-duty soul-searching, Michael."

A pregnant silence hung between us. Michael's face was unreadable and I could only guess what was going on behind his eyes. Finally, he leaned forward, taking my hands in his.

"You know how much I love you." His eyes gripped mine and I felt his presence surround me like a protective cloak. "You know that won't ever change, no matter what happens."

"I know. You know how much I return that love." I squeezed his hands tightly. "That's why I feel secure enough to ask you for this time. And I don't want to be monitored, Michael. No monitoring. No checking up. Promise me."

"Check in with me once a week and I'll promise you."

"Done."

"And done." He paused. "Are you making preparations to leave immediately?"

I nodded. "Yes. I have to stop by the beach house to pack up a few things."

"You're leaving L.A.?"

"I'm probably leaving California."

"To go where? To do . . ." My look cut him off. "All right," he acquiesced. "At least put off leaving until tomorrow morning. Let me spend a little time with you before you go."

I wasn't keen on the idea, but I gave in on that point. When we made love that night, it was with an urgency, but also with a gentleness. As we lay back afterward, I felt a shiver go through him. I pulled the covers up about us securely.

"Don't leave me." His quiet voice cut through the darkness and I felt his hold about me tighten perceptibly.

I frowned. Leaving Michael had been the farthest thing from my mind. "I'm not going to leave you," I told him, making my tone strong. "I'm going to be gone for a month. I've been gone longer than that sometimes, when we haven't seen each other."

"Please. Stay with me. I can't lose you."

His words shook me to the core. Why did Michael think he was going to lose me? I loved everything about him -- yes, even his dark side. Somehow, inexplicably, I loved even that. His words imported fear.

I had never known Michael to be afraid.

"You're not going to lose me." I turned in his arms, molding myself into him. "You will never lose me."

"Promise me." His voice was hushed.

Leaning up, I looked down at him, my finger tracing his lips. "I promise," I whispered against his mouth before kissing him.

I left before the sun came up, when the moon was still shining on the ocean, and morning was just hinting at the horizon. When Michael was comfortably curled up in the Aztec-design comforter on the king-size bed and the outcroppings of rock on the shore were still undefined by the darkness, I left the beach house and didn't look back.

Or more precisely, I couldn't.

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

I didn't even leave California until a few days later. I spent a day and a half at Melissa's penthouse, absorbing everything I could. I looked through photo albums. I went through personal momentos -- letters, yearbooks, diaries. I began to build a picture of a woman I would never come to know otherwise. About mid-afternoon that second day, I packed up Melissa's remaining diaries to take with me. Then, when I knew Lillian would be off work, I dropped by her condo unannounced. She was surprised to see me.

"I thought you were long gone!" she exclaimed, letting me in.

"Yeah? What's the scuttlebutt in the office?"

"You mean about why you're gone?" she queried, leading me into the living room. "That you needed a break. That you're on a leave of absence. No one's surprised. You want some coffee?"

"Love some."

She returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs and curled up on the loveseat across from me. "So what's going on? Michael's been moping around like he's got the flu or something."

I was quiet a moment. "Lillian, you told me a long time ago that if I had any questions, to ask you. Well, I've got some questions."

Her look was one of genuine concern. "Fire away, Rachel. I'll help you if I can."

"You know that Melissa's been sentenced for termination," I said softly. "And you know why."

She nodded and her face fell. "Yes. I was sorry to hear about that. I warned you."

"Yes, you did. That's why I'm here now. You knew something then. I need to know what it is." I traced the rim of my coffee mug with my finger. "What would make Michael hand Melissa over to me for execution?"

I heard her low gasp. "Oh, my God. You aren't serious." I looked up at her. Lillian's eyes were wide. "He did that? He wants you to kill her?"

"He said I was entitled since I was her target."

"Oh, God. Michael's been in this business for too long." She shook her head, eyes sad. "He's been in it for way too long. Have you terminated her yet?"

I shook my head negatively. "No. Lillian, I'm not even sure I can. I mean . . . I wanted to. Initially. I could have killed her with my bare hands for what she's done. But now . . ." I paused. "Tell me about Melissa. I've read some of what she's written in her diaries. She speaks of you in the beginning, the first year she was here. September 1973?"

"I took Melissa under my wing when she first got here," Lillian confirmed. "She was a nice kid. Totally awed by the new job and by Michael. She loved working for him. The two of them went out on some dates and got to know each other. Michael cared about her, like he cares about all his operatives. Maybe he was even a little more fond of her than normal. And then . . ." She hesitated.

"What?" I prodded.

Lillian sighed. "She went with Michael to Washington -- like you did that first year." She took a drink of coffee contemplatively, then set the mug down on the endtable. "Melissa told me all this in confidence, Rachel."

"I need to know this," I pressed. "I have to try and understand this woman. Especially if I'm being asked to terminate her."

Lillian tangled a finger in a stray lock of her platinum hair. "You've probably already guessed. They slept together. Apparently it meant a lot more to Melissa than it did to Michael. Melissa was obsessed after that. In fact, she got to be a little bit of a problem for him. One day, he called her into his office and basically said that if it didn't stop, he was going to transfer her or let her go. The only reason I know this, Rachel, is because Michael called me into his office at the same time to witness the exchange. He wanted no misinterpretations where Melissa was concerned. That's also when he enacted his unspoken rule."

"Never get involved with an operative." I closed my eyes.

"So when you came along and he broke all the rules, you can imagine what that did to her unrequited passion," Lillian continued. "And then when Michael took her to that symphony to get back at you . . ."

"It added insult to injury when he backed off again." I rubbed my eyes. "Melissa thought she was going to get another shot and then got disappointed when it didn't happen."

"Bingo."

"Oh, man."

"But make no mistake, Rachel. Melissa made her own decisions. What you uncovered at her condo attests to that. She had blackmail material on quite a few Firm employees and that was completely uncalled for. She premeditated your murder. She was swimming with the sharks and thought she was one of the predators and then found out she was only just so much chum on the water."

"What does that make me?" My heart was beating rapidly. "I've killed more people than I can count. How am I any better than she is?"

"You're a fucking patriot, and don't you forget it!" Lillian's angry voice caused me to jump. "Michael's position is to do what's best for this country and you're under him! There's a big difference between what you do and what Melissa did! And if you can't see the difference, then you better get out of this business before it eats you alive!"

My hand suddenly shook, and I made a conscious effort to stop it. "That's part of the reason I'm taking a month off." Finally I set the mug down on the coffeetable. "Tell me something, Lillian. If you were in my place, would you carry out Melissa's execution?"

"Honestly?" Lillian's voice lowered. "If I were in your position -- I would look at the situation from all sides. And then I'd do what I felt I had to do."

"And Michael? What could have motivated him to ask me to do this?"

"I think Michael was so hurt by the whole thing that it hasn't dawned on him yet exactly what he's asked you to do. In fact, I think you leaving for a month is a good thing. It'll give him time to think about it." She paused, pulling her feet up under her. "There's a lot you don't know about Michael, Rachel, even as much as he's told you. He confides in me sometimes. I don't know everything about him either, but sometimes . . . sometimes I think with some operatives he tends to push the limit because of how hard he was driven by his superiors when he first started out. You know how we say we'll never be like our mothers when we grow up?"

I nodded with a faint smile. Of course, I didn't have much of a clue because my mother had died when I was twelve. But I was familiar with the concept.

"Well, it's sort of the same with Michael. He swore he'd never do things to his operatives that were done to him when he was starting out. But that's exactly what he ends up doing sometimes. This was a bit extreme, I'll admit, but not out of the realm of reality."

"So if I give him time to think about it, he might decide he was a little hasty," I concluded.

"I will bet," Lillian told me, "that by the time you get back, Michael will have taken care of the situation himself. One way or another." She looked over at me thoughtfully. "But take the time off anyway. Go far away from here. Get your head on straight."

We were both silent for a long few moments. Finally, I uncurled from the chair. "You don't think I should have ever gotten involved with Michael, do you?" I queried softly.

"If you want to know the truth, I don't think any woman should get involved with Michael," the older woman replied with a mirthless grin. "I told you that in the beginning. But we can't always tell our heart who to love."

I'd left Lillian's with a lot to think about during my three-day journey to Iowa -- plenty of time to contemplate what Michael had asked me to do concerning Melissa.

My father had a cabin on a piece of land adjacent to the Effigy Mounds National Park in the northeastern corner of Iowa, right across the Mississippi River from Wisconsin. After he died, I couldn't bear to part with it, so I paid for it's upkeep and maintenance and I used it on occasion -- especially on weekends when I wanted to escape the hassles of the city. That's where I was headed. It had no electricity and water was piped in from the natural underground wells through an old-fashioned handpump in the sink and bathroom. If I wanted heated water, I had to do it myself over the big central fireplace. There was no phone, no indoor facilities and one used oil lamps for light. It suited me as far as quiet and solitude, and right at that time, it was exactly what I needed.

I went into the little river town of MacGregor to stock up on canned goods and supplies. Dutifully I called from the Quik-Trip pay phone to let Michael know I was all right. Marella happened to answer the line when I called and pleaded with me to hang on so she could get Michael to come to the phone. Reluctantly, I did so. I didn't really want to talk to Michael then but when his voice came on the line, I realized how much I missed him. I also knew he would check the phone records immediately after to see where I was calling from.

"How are you?" he asked warmly and I could feel his voice go all through me.

"I'm good. What about you?" I asked softly.

"Oh . . . managing. Missing you." There was a pause. "Come home, Rachel."

"I will, Michael. I just can't do it now."

"Will you be home by Thanksgiving? My father wants us to come out to Williamsburg to celebrate," Michael said hopefully.

"I . . . probably, Michael. I just don't know. I'll try to be back by then."

"I want you here with me."

I paused. "That's what I want, too."

"Then come home."

"I will. In awhile."

There was a long pause. Finally, Michael broke it. "Rachel . . ." He broke off.

"Yes, Michael?" I waited.

"Nothing."

I heard the unspoken words and relented a bit. "I love you, too," I half-whispered through the phone. "I'll check in next Saturday."

I hung up the phone, my hand still hanging on the receiver after a full minute, almost as if I'd hoped for a call-back. Licking my chapped lips, I turned back to my Pontiac Phoenix. Yeah, I still had my big old boat. As I turned on the ignition, it roared to life and I headed out the narrow two-lane road from the outskirts of town to the winding backroads in the hills.

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

For the next three days, I pored over Melissa's diaries. She'd numbered them, one through nine -- spanning the years she'd been in the business. I started from the beginning and the story that unfolded could very well have been my own. Melissa hadn't been so different from me. That was the scary part. Between her diaries and her personal file that I'd absconded with, Melissa Hiatt emerged as a wide-eyed innocent who quickly became absorbed in her work, and her main hobby was obsessing on Michael. She'd been an overachiever in school -- abandoned at fourteen by her father and raised by an alcoholic mother. She had a pattern of hitching up with older -- and mostly married -- men when she went to college to study law enforcement. During a routine recruitment, Michael had hand-picked her out and the rest was history.

I didn't want to sympathize with Melissa. I wanted to be able to cold-bloodedly terminate her as she would have had me terminated.

"God, Michael," I whispered in the growing shadows of the evening as I finished the last diary. "Do you have any conception at all of what it is you're asking me to do?"

"Sometimes men . . . dey don't think when they ask a woman to do somethin' for 'em."

I started violently, staring at the chair across from me by the fireplace. There sat Mama Marie . . . my guardian angel of New Orleans. She looked no different than she did the night she saved my life in the cemetery -- in swirls of orange, red, brown and black. It didn't happen often, but when it did, I found that conversing normally with a spirit entity usually put you at ease a lot sooner than running away, screaming into the night, although Ms. Laveau had certainly given me quite a scare.

"God. You scared me to death!" I exclaimed, then laughed at the craziness.

She grinned, showing perfect white teeth. "Mama apologize. I don' want you to expire before yer time, cherie." She cocked her head. "Yer poor mind must be overflowin' with doubt. You'll be startin' yer fast, I 'magine."

I stared at the almost rock-solid entity in surprise. "You know why I came up here, huh?"

"Oh, darlin'. Mama Marie, she practice the Voodoo, but she can pick up on other t'ings." The black woman winked. "Why do yer think I'm here? You need watchin'."

"Thanks, Mama."

Indeed, I'd planned on a vision quest while out here. I needed to know where I was going and what I was up against. I'd done vision quests before -- not often, and always under my father's supervision, once under my grandfather's when we visited him at the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. It could be grueling, especially in the beginning. One had to fast for at least three days -- a week was better -- with nothing but water. Also, one had to purge the system during that time. I used an ancient mixture of herbs to do that. The purge was rough -- your body emptied itself of all toxins. Different people had different reactions during the purge. I never knew how I would react. Sometimes I would go out of my head. Other times, my body would react violently in whatever way it chose. It was difficult, but I could maintain a minimum of control during this time. And when it was over, it was like being reborn.

Afterwards, I would spend several hours sweating in an enclosed hut -- a sweat lodge, as it was called. My father had one constructed in the back a long time ago. This further rid the body of toxins and sometimes produced visions. After that, the vision quest could begin. I would go out into the woods, place myself in a protective area according to Indian tradition and wait for the spirits to work their magic.

That night I began my purge. Every once in awhile I would glimpse Mama Marie. But she pretty much left me on my own, knowing the work I had to do. I had determined a three-day purge would be enough, followed by a one-day sweat, and then my vigil on Saturday.

I had kept Mama Marie's mojo bag with me most of the time. If I didn't wear it, I carried it with me. I also wore a wolf-claw necklace -- a symbol of my clan -- for protection. I had hawk feathers I wound in my hair because the Hawk was my personal totem. On the morning of the third day, I was so weak, I could barely stand. I drank water by the bucketful because the purging dehydrated me. By the time I entered the sweat lodge, I might have weighed 100 pounds soaking wet.

Sweating further dehydrates the body and some people who take the sweats can't endure them. I was proud of the fact I had never left a sweat early, even though they had been few. It was admittedly a test of endurance. But for me, it was also a necessity. I needed purification. I needed the embrace of the womb of Mother Earth.

I needed to know what direction to take.

I placed the stones in the central dug-out space in the hut -- the first one representing Wakan-Tanka, the Creator of all things. The successive stones represented the Four Directions. Softly I sang the Sacred Pipe Song (as it was chronicled in Black Elk Speaks) in English. Then, I splashed water on the hot stones for Grandfather, Father, Grandmother, Mother, Mother Earth and the Sacred Pipe and prayed to the Great Spirit. At some time I passed into a hazy netherworld of waking and sleeping and I could hear the ancient voices of those long dead. But then those voices changed. They were familiar and they didn't come from the far-distant past.

"What the hell . . . ?" I heard a man say.

"Don't go in there," another man was heard to say. "I'll do a quick check. You stay back."

Vaguely I could see through the steam a familiar figure who stepped inside, hesitated, then stepped back out. //Good,// I thought. //At least whoever it is knows better than to disturb me.//

"She's what?!" I heard the first man's voice. "Well, if you're not going to drag her out of there, I am!"

"NO!" The second man's voice was resounding. "She's FINE. We'll wait back at the cabin!"

I had forgotten the incident by the time I stumbled from the sweatlodge in nothing but a loincloth, grabbing up a blanket from the outside to wrap around myself to ward off the late October wind. It was growing dark. My lips were cracked and dry and I was dying for water.

When I opened the door to the cabin, a fire was crackling in the fireplace and two men sat before it, glasses of brandy in hand. It took me a moment before I realized that it was Michael and Stringfellow Hawke. My surprise turned to quick irritation.

"You just couldn't leave me alone, could you?" I hissed, kicking the door shut.

Michael rose, placing his glass on a table and coming toward me. "I couldn't stay away. I had to see you." He reached out a hand.

I backed away. "Don't touch me, Michael. I can't have you touch me."

"I was just telling Michael about the sweating ceremony," Stringfellow Hawke drawled quietly. "My father was a full-blooded Cherokee. I figured when we got here and found the herbal preparations for detoxifying that's what you were doing."

"You're skin and bones," Michael said, concerned, reaching over to pull me into his arms.

"I'm fine." I backed out of his reach. "Michael, I'm serious. I don't want you to touch me. Not until after tomorrow. Maybe not until Monday. We'll have to see."

Rebuffed, Michael's jaw began to work and I could tell he was pretty damn unhappy. "Well, if you're going to insist on doing this . . . vision quest stuff . . . you're at least going to have us here to make sure you don't die of exhaustion or something," he growled.

"I'm being looked after. I don't need you here." I didn't mean for it to sound cold or uninviting, but I was going on a four-day fast, was dehydrated, had something akin to a hangover and I really wasn't in the mood for this male-protectiveness bullshit. "Prairie Du Chien is right across the River. I think there's a Four Seasons Hotel that would be adequate for you, Michael. You'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable than roughing it out here with me."

"That's what I told him," Hawke said with a lopsided grin.

"And what made Michael drag you along with him on this escapade, Hawke?" I asked, going over to the water bucket that held crystal clear well water. I plunged the dipper into it and drank deeply. The water was sweet.

"I figured if anyone knew where you'd be, it would be Hawke," Michael replied, plopping back down in the overstuffed chair. "With similar Indian backgrounds, he seemed to be the most likely."

"He flew up to my cabin the day after you left and raked me over the coals," Hawke told me, then took a sip of his brandy. "You called Saturday and of course he had the call traced. He nailed down the cabin's location through real estate records."

"Stool pigeon," I sniped. I secured the blanket around me like a sarong and joined them by the fire. "Look, I don't want to seem inhospitable, but I'm really fine here by myself. I need the solitude."

"I'll make a deal with you," Michael said, as if negotiating with a teenager. "I will go into town for the night. But I want Hawke to stay here with you. When are you going to do this vision thing?"

"Early in the morning," I answered, running a hand through my damp hair. "Before sun-up. There's a clearing I can access on the hind-side of the park. Hardly anyone knows about it. It's a power spot."

"All right. I'll be back here. What, about four a.m.?"

"I'd really rather you wouldn't go with me."

"Well, we don't always get what we want, do we?"

God, his placating tone infuriated me! I got to my feet. "Fuck you, Michael! First you ask me to terminate Melissa and now you think you can just barge in whenever you like and presume to tell me how I can and cannot conduct my spiritual life! You're interfering where you HAVE NO RIGHT! This is private!"

"Why all of a sudden do you need this great spiritual cleansing?" Michael demanded, getting to his feet again to approach me. "Since when can't you get what you need from me?"

I stared at him, speechless. Did he really not understand? When I found my tongue again, my voice was very low and very steady. "Since you asked me to cold-bloodedly murder Melissa Hiatt. With your goddamned blessing."

"That's something we need to talk about."

"You bet we need to talk about it. After I finish what I came here to do."

"Michael, we agreed that you'd let Rachel finish this," Stringfellow reminded him warningly. "So let's go away and let her finish."

"I didn't come all the way out here to get turned away at the door," Michael snapped angrily. "Rachel, I won't interfere with this any further, but before you do go on with this ritual, there are some things we need to talk about. And we need to talk about them now."

"Back off, Michael." Hawke's voice was laced with irritation. "She's not in the right mindset to hear it all now. Wait until afterwards."

"Now." Michael was unrelenting.

I rubbed my eyes. "Fine. We'll talk now. Outside."

String lifted his glass in a salute, then turned around to stare into the fireplace.

With the blanket still wrapped around me, I stepped around Michael to go outside into the quickening shadows. I could feel him behind me, no more than centimeters; his body's warmth tempted me almost beyond what I could stand. I clenched the blanket more tightly.

"Is it this ritual thing that's keeping you from letting me hold you, or something else?" he asked over my shoulder.

"The whole idea behind this is denying the body's cravings and to reach a certain level of mind, Michael," I answered, body aching relentlessly.

"So I can't even put my arms around you."

I stopped walking, bowing my head to my chest. "I want you to." My sentence dropped off there. In the next moment, there was a rock solid body pressed into the back of mine, two arms that encompassed me and a face at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

"You're shivering." His breath was warm against my ear.

I leaned against him, my eyes closed. "Yes." I sighed with a shudder. "Because I am so close to chucking this whole thing just so I can make love with you tonight."

"And that would be bad."

"I need to do this, Michael. Please don't take away my resolve."

I heard his resigned breath. "All right. When will this be finished?"

"Maybe by Sunday morning. Maybe by Monday."

"What if something happens to you?"

"It won't. But if it makes you feel better, I'll leave you with a map that gets you to the clearing if you think I've been gone too long. But you can't interfere. No matter what you see. You can't step inside my circle. You got that?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Sands." He pressed a kiss at my temple. "OK."

"Thank you. Now. You said we had to talk."

"Yes. Let's walk."

We took a trail that led into the fringe of the woods toward the Effigy Mounds. The leaves crunched beneath our feet. Wisps of purple and orange clouds were beginning to stretch their fingers across the perfect blue sky.

"Melissa's still in custody," he finally told me.

"And you still want me to kill her."

"No."

I looked over at his thoughtful profile. "Why not?"

"Because I had no right to ask that of you in the first place. Asking you to go on a mission to assassinate terrorist leaders or drug dealers is one thing. This is quite another."

"I was devastated by her betrayal. It was the perfect retribution." He stopped in the middle of the trail. "Rachel?"

I turned, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. "Yes, Michael?"

"You came here to figure out whether or not you could go through with it, didn't you?" His voice was low. "That's why you took her file and her diaries."

"I was trying to find reasons not to," I admitted, my eyes never wavering from his. "Melissa and I aren't so different, Michael. I know you don't want to believe it, but it's true. If I had done what you asked and killed her, I would have murdered a piece of myself, and I would have hated myself for it." I swallowed and I could feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes. "And then I would have hated you for wanting me to do it. Eventually, I would have found a way to justify it." I turned around, taking a few steps forward. "Maybe I could have even lived with it. One thing I do know for sure. If I had done it, our relationship would have been damaged beyond repair. I can guarantee you that."

"I had no right to ask you. Please forgive me."

The wind picked up, sending a chill through me. "I forgive you, Michael." I felt his body wrap around mine again, pulling me back into his strong frame. "I would follow you to the ends of the Earth . . . into Hell, if I had to. But I could never murder for you. Not like this."

"You'll never have to." He kissed my ear. "I love you."

The wind picked up with a sudden blast. It was a different wind.

//The Spirits, dey be ready for you now, child.// Mama Marie's unmistakable voice sounded in my head.

I smiled faintly. "Well, hell."

Michael's hold loosened. "What?" he asked, as I took his hand in mine and led him back up the trail.

"My vigil is going to start sooner than I thought. I have to leave. Now."

"Now? I thought you weren't going to leave until . . ."

"Now, Michael."

The air crackled with netherworld electricity. Michael couldn't feel it, but in my heightened state, I could. I wouldn't have to worry about sitting on vigil for hours at a time. Nope. The night was gonna jump with spirit activity.

I hoped I was up for it.

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

The night was cold and I was sure that Hawke and Michael would have preferred to be anywhere but where they were -- in a protective circle a few yards away from mine with sleeping bags, some water and some food to snack on. Well, Michael wanted to tag along, I thought to myself. I sat in my own circle, the blanket wrapped around me, naked except for my loincloth. My fire crackled in the stillness, sending a few sparks up at intervals.

One never knows what will happen on such a vigil. But something always happens. Even though it was quiet, the electricity in the air was still present. It was just a matter of waiting.

The faint sound of padded feet sounded. I glanced over at my two companions and saw that Hawke, too, heard something. I closed my eyes, letting the wind wash over me with its cold caress.

When I opened them again a silver-grey wolf, eyes glowing silver flecked with gold, stood at the edge of the clearing, tongue hanging slightly out of it's mouth as it gazed at me. I smiled and stood, shedding my blanket and opening my arms as the wolf padded at a slow trot to the inside of my circle. I knelt, receiving the animal into my embrace -- this my clan totem of the wolf. I knew that my journey was about to unfold. There are no wolves in Iowa, having been driven further north and west. That was how I knew it was spirit. But this spirit had substance, the fur and body warm against me as it brushed about me; the spirit insisted on being petted and scratched, like a big dog. A low laugh rumbled in my chest when the animal planted both paws on my shoulders and gave my face a big lick. Finally, it settled beside me and I sat down next to the fire once more.

There came a high-pitched screech and I looked up. With a flutter of wings, a huge red-winged hawk bore down, lighting by my other side. It's downy brown feathers were soft beneath my fingers as it cocked its head and let out another screech. The hawk, my personal totem, had now manifested and I was surrounded by their protection, safe from whatever chose to make itself known to me.

"Dey bless you, child." I looked up to see Mama Marie sitting at the edge of the clearing, crouched down like an old woman, her hands between her knees. Her eyes were full of knowing.

I smiled again, and then the hawk and wolf disappeared abruptly, but their presence was still with me. For all the punishment I'd put my body through in the last four days, I felt empowered.

The wind whipped up strongly, sending leaves every which way. Dirt particles battered my body and I shielded my eyes with my arm. When the wind died, I saw the most amazing thing on the far side of my circle.

A man dressed in a Grecian toga crouched down over something with a lightning bolt sizzling with power held tightly in his hand. Beside him was an ethereal creature with huge white wings and a flowing garment of gold, also crouched over the same something. When the two other-worldly creatures looked up, I gasped. The one in ancient Grecian garb was Zeus -- head of The Committee Zeus -- with scrolling hair and beard like the Greek god. And the other -- was Michael. As in Archangel Michael. Both smiled and motioned me over. Dumbfounded, I approached, my eyes falling on the object they were both observing.

The object was me -- lying prone on the ground with my chest neatly stretched open to reveal my beating heart. There was no blood or gore, simply the skin stretched back to show it beating within my ribcage.

"For whom does your heart beat?" Zeus asked me as I stared at my image. "Does it beat for your country, for love or for you and what you are?"

Dumbfounded, I looked to Michael's angel image. He looked up at me with incredibly gentle non-Michael eyes. "Your choice, my child. For whom does your heart beat?"

My mouth had gone dry. "I can't choose," I replied softly. "My heart beats for all three."

"Then divided must it be," the Michael-image said, reaching in to pluck the still-beating heart out. "Divided among we three."

He rended the organ into three equal pieces, parceling them out to Zeus and to me, and then keeping one for himself. "But be aware -- comes a time when you must give up one part of your heart to keep another and in doing so, may well give up that piece left you. Prepared are you to pay this price?"

"Can anyone know until the time comes to pay the debt?" the Zeus-image said. He threw down the lightening bolt so it stuck in the ground, crackling, then raised his hands where two balls of energy -- one gold and one silver -- appeared. "Take these gifts back with you and use them." He threw the gold ball at me and I could feel the hot energy soak into my being. "Strength of mind and spirit are yours, to overcome obstacles in your path." He threw the silver one which had a cooling effect. "Steadiness of spirit and courage are yours, to face the cruel dangers and conflicts in life. These be our gifts to you. Your totems will serve you. All you need to do is call them."

The Michael-image stood and spread his wings, enfolding me in them as his sure arm picked me up, pressing me against his bronzed body. "When you return, your soul will be purified and strengthened for what lies ahead," he told me, eyes incredibly warm and kind. A kiss to my mouth followed, but it was as if our lips never actually touched and a warm, glowing light suffused between us, entering my mouth and surrounding us both. Then I fell to the ground -- my warm Mother earth.

When I awoke, I was dazed. I could hear birds trilling and a flock of ducks were quacking overhead. The ground was cold beneath my back. Slowly, I opened my eyes. My fire was nothing but embers. I was sweating and I was cold. I felt like I'd done a marathon bout of boxing, but my head was clear and didn't hurt. Slowly, I sat up.

"She's awake, Michael." I looked over and saw Michael and Hawke staring over at me. The look on Michael's face was worried and grim.

"Rachel, are you all right?" he called to me.

"Yeah. I think so." I ran a hand through my sweat-damp, earth-smeared hair. I got to my feet, a little unsteady at first, but I finally planted my soles into the dirt and wasn't swaying too badly. I grabbed the blanket and threw it around my cold, almost-naked body.

"We can come out of our circle now?" Hawke asked, shaking out his sleeping bag.

It was daylight. That finally registered. "Yeah. It's done," I confirmed. "What time is it?"

"Almost two in the afternoon," Michael said, walking over to me.

"Day?"

"Saturday," Hawke replied. "Twenty-hour vigil."

"Let's close up the cabin and get the hell out of here to a decent hotel," Michael urged. "Rachel, you scared me to death."

I frowned as we returned to the cabin by the trail. "Why? What happened?"

"There were times it looked like you were having seizures," he supplied, worriedly.

"All part of the ritual, Michael," Hawke told him. "I told you what to expect."

"I still wasn't prepared for it." He looked over at me, one arm securely about my shoulders. "So? Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

I was quiet a moment. "Some. And I have a lot more questions."

I heard him sigh. "Nothing's ever easy with you, is it?"

I good-naturedly goosed him and smiled when he jumped. "Look who's talking."

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

The room was quiet with only the sound of the air circulating from the vents. I was awake but content. Michael's arms were around me and I was pulled back against his warm body, his hot breath spilling over the back of my neck. I stared at the dark night sky between the folds of the blinds, my senses more acute than ever.

When we'd arrived at the Four Seasons that late afternoon, I couldn't get into the shower fast enough, scrubbing the dirt and grime from my body and my hair. I luxuriated in the hot water for over a half hour, letting the sizzling droplets pelt my aching body in a steady thrum of wet massage. I was so exhausted, I didn't even want to eat, though Michael made me choke down a little bland hot cereal and some hot tea. When we crawled into bed, he simply pulled me close and tight, murmured 'I love you' and quietly settled in. His steady breathing was a comfort.

"What's keeping you awake, Rachel?" Michael's voice was soft at my ear. Trust him to know by instinct when I was wide awake.

I was quiet for a long moment. "Just contemplating a couple of things."

"You need to shut your brain down for awhile, angel," he advised me, dropping a kiss on my shoulder.

"I can't."

Michael gently turned me over to face him. His face was so gentle as he caressed my cheek with his long fingers. "It's about Melissa, isn't it?" I dropped my gaze, but he tipped my chin up with his finger. "Isn't it?"

I nodded. "I can't kill her, Michael."

"I've already told you, you won't have to."

"I don't want you to do it, either." I paused. "I want you to give her to me. I'll take care of her. But I want you out of it."

"But I thought you didn't want to kill her."

"I'm not going to."

"Then what are you going to do?"

I licked my dry lips. "You can't ask me, Michael. You can't ever ask me."

"I have to know what you're planning to do," Michael insisted. "Please, Rachel. She's caused two deaths and almost took our lives as well. You have to tell me."

"When you pulled me off the Airwolf project, you told me I had to trust your judgement on your reasons why," I told him quietly. "The same applies to this."

"It isn't the same," Michael told me, his tone dark.

"But it is, Michael. I know why you pulled me off the project." My words hung heavily in the air. "I know Moffett killed those three girls in Reseda. And I know you covered it up. Moffett is walking around free and clear of murder charges because of your intervention -- because you want this Airwolf project to come to fruition."

I could tell Michael hadn't expected this. "How did you find out?"

"Because I'm a damn good operative," I answered evenly.

I could feel the anger in his body and how he was keeping it in careful check. "You don't trust me."

"I trust you. But if I was able to find out about Moffett, someone else could find out about Melissa somewhere down the road and do her damage. Just like I could do Moffett some serious damage if I wanted to right now. And that's why you're going to have to take it on faith."

I felt him relax and he kissed my forehead. "You're not giving me a say in this, are you?"

"You already told me I could punish her as I see fit."

"I did tell you that, didn't I?" He sighed.

"You did, Michael."

"She's a rabid dog, Rachel."

"And Moffett's so much better? Melissa's crime was a crime of passion. Calculated, but still a crime of passion. Moffett is simply a sick son-of-a-bitch."

"Moffett, as sick as he is, is brilliant."

"You hired Moffett from the outside. Melissa's been in your division for nine years. That's deserving of some consideration."

"You're defending a woman who was going to have you killed," Michael said, unbelieving. "You can't expect me to let that go unpunished!"

"You gave her to me. When you did that, you gave up your right to punish her. You can't take back a gift. And that's what it was, Michael. It was a gift I didn't want, but it was a gift you gave me. And now she's mine to do with what I please."

For the longest time, we were both quiet. Then I felt Michael's hold on me tighten and my face was pressed against his throat. "I love you," he told me softly.

"Yes," I acknowledged quietly. "I love you, too."

And at that point, I thought everything was fine. I thought Michael and I had come to an understanding and that everything was going to turn out for the better.

I had never been more wrong.

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

When we arrived back in L.A., I used the remainder of my leave to make "arrangements" for Melissa's disappearance and re-emergence with a new identity in Canada. I got her a job working as a PI with an adequately-sized firm in Thunder Bay. It wasn't the dream job she'd had at the Firm, but she could do very well with it. And I would be having her watched, just in case she decided to revert back to old tricks. It was far more than she deserved, but killing her was not a responsibility I was prepared to take. At least this way she would be geographically distant and out of our hair. And I would be able to sleep nights.

It felt funny when I returned to work. I felt like dozens of eyes were on me and the few subdued hellos I received from fellow operatives was not encouraging. It was as if someone had died or something. The feeling became more pronounced as I made my way over into the securest part of the building. I presented my orders to one of the guards, who scrutinized them carefully.

"One moment, Ms. Sands," he said, then turned to knock on the office door of the Chief of Security.

I signed in as I waited and had no more than put the final flourish to my name when a gentleman of about forty-five with a slightly receding silver hair-line came out of the office with my orders in hand.

"Ms. Sands," he acknowledged.

"Mr. Hamilton," I returned, putting the pen down. "Is there a problem?"

"These orders are dated from over a month ago," he informed me.

"Yes, I know." I frowned. "They're still valid orders, Chief. They're signed by Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs. I'll need a two-man armed detachment to assist in the transfer."

The Chief of Security hesitated. "Ms. Hiatt was already transferred, Ms. Sands."

"What?" I frowned. "Under whose orders, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Under Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs'," he replied.

"Where was she transferred to?"

"The medical facility in Hemet, Ms. Sands." He looked plainly uncomfortable.

"She was sick?" Hamilton licked his lips a little nervously at my question and a funny feeling began to gnaw at my insides. "Mr. Hamilton, do you have a copy of those orders I could look at?"

He nodded affirmatively. "If you'll step into my office."

He handed me a copy of the orders. I recognized Michael's signature at once. Melissa had been transferred under armed escort to Galen's Keep in Hemet, California, where she had been put to death by lethal injection. Three days ago. The very day we had returned.

My heart plummeted.

I felt my hand crumple the copy of the order and I turned on my heel, walking out of Hamilton's office and back up to Michael's division. I was reeling. I was angry, sad, and sick to my stomach. Now I understood. Everyone else -- everyone in that fucking office -- had known.

Everyone but me.

Lillian rose as I stormed past her desk and she caught my arm just outside Michael's door.

"Rachel, he's in a meeting . . ."

"I don't give a good goddamn if he's talking to God!" I shouted.

I tore my arm loose from her grasp and simultaneously opened the door to Michael's office and kicked it open. Zeus and Admiral Clayton were sitting across from Michael's desk and they all looked up in surprise at my entrance. I can only imagine what it must have looked like to them. And I didn't give a hoot in hell. I walked up to Michael's desk and threw the order Michael had signed on his desk.

"Explain this!" I demanded furiously.

I saw the deepening fury in Michael's body as he rose and stood in unbelief after only bare seconds ticked by. "How dare you barge into this office!" he shouted, enraged. "Get out!"

"Not until you explain this!" I insisted.

"This is not the time or the place! Lillian!" Lillian appeared at the door, white as a ghost. "Escort Ms. Sands out! I want no interruptions until AFTER this meeting! Understood?"

She nodded emphatically. "Yes, Sir." She looked at me pleadingly. "Rachel . . . please. Don't make me call security."

I had calmed down enough to realize how bad a position Lillian was in. So I backed off. But not because I wanted to. Wordlessly, but with my eyes still locked to his, I left Michael's office, slamming the door with a resounding thud. As I rounded the partition, Lillian caught up with me.

"What were you thinking of?!" she half-whispered in a stunned voice. "Rachel -- I know what you're mad about. But you can't do what you just did! You're up for disciplinary action now for sure!"

I turned to her and suddenly never felt so calm in my life. "Y'know what?" I asked in a very even voice. "It doesn't matter."

Lillian stared at me. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Something like this stays on your record, Rachel!"

"It doesn't matter, Lillian." I dropped my set of keys on her desk. "It doesn't matter anymore because I quit."

I felt like a dog feels when he slips his collar and has the opportunity to run free. I peeled out of the parking garage and tore out onto the street with the wind raging through my hair and a kick-ass rock 'n' roll station blaring with Metallica. And then I heard my mother's voice in my mind.

//People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing.//

I let out a gut-wrenching scream as I roared down the freeway. "Then I'm about to crash and burn!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Crash and burn, baby!! Here I go!!"

When I arrived at the beach house, I ran inside, dropping my purse to the floor. All of a sudden, waves of nausea were hitting me. My stomach overturned and I coughed and spewed up my sparse lunch into the porcelain god. I threw up until I had dry heaves. I threw up until I was exhausted. When I finally flushed the toilet, I dropped to the cool linoleum floor and curled up in a fetal position. I was being torn apart. I didn't know what to do. I fell asleep on the floor, wondering what the whole point of my leave had been now that Melissa had been executed.

I wondered what it had all been for.

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

I awoke to the sound of the ocean waves and a sea-wind coolness that blew through the house mixed with the odor of Columbian Dark coffee. I felt the crispness of sheets beneath me and the warmth of an old-fashioned quilt. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the light spilling in from the partially opened draperies. I was dressed in a silky silver gown that I had not put on myself. In fact, I didn't even remember picking myself up off the floor. So that had to mean that Michael had come home and found me.

My eyes closed and I burrowed down into the comfort of the bed. I didn't want to deal with him. I couldn't deal with him. But it didn't look as though I had the luxury of a choice. Heaving a sigh, I got out of bed and grabbed my silk robe from the chair, making my way out to the kitchen.

I was surprised to find Stringfellow Hawke in the kitchen, reading the paper and drinking a mug of coffee. He looked up at my disheveled appearance and rose to his feet.

"You could use some coffee," he stated calmly. "Sit down."

I let myself be waited on. After I'd taken a few sips of the hot liquid, Hawke pushed the paper aside and leaned toward me a little bit.

"You need to talk about it?"

"How'd you get in?" I queried, sullenly.

"I keep tellin' you -- keep your doors locked when you're here alone. I just walked in." He settled back in the chair. "I just dropped by to see if you wanted to catch a bite to eat last night and I found you on the bathroom floor. I would've called 911 but you were breathing OK and your color was good and your pulse was all right."

"So you took care of little old me, huh?" I smiled in spite of everything. String had always been a good friend the whole time I'd been here, ever since I'd met him.

"Hey, my friends are my friends. I don't have that many." He cocked his head a little. "So tell me. What happened that got you on the floor?"

I explained the entire situation to him and when I was done, I saw the anger in his eyes.

"I knew Michael could be cold. But I didn't know he could be THAT cold," Hawke said, making an effort to keep his voice even.

"I can't do this anymore, String." My heart was close to breaking and it was becoming a supreme effort to keep from crying. "I can't be with someone who's going to turn like a vicious animal. God help me, I love Michael -- I love him more than I could ever tell you. But I cannot accept what he's done. He crossed the line in this case."

"So what are you going to do?" Hawke took my hand.

I closed my eyes for a few moments, then opened them. "I'm going to drop off the face of the earth. So he can never find me. So no one can find me. So I can heal. And then maybe start my life over."

"Someone should at least know where you're at," Hawke countered. "Someone you trust."

"I trust you, Hawke. I can't tell anyone connected with the office because of their loyalty to Michael," I told him grimly. "No one. Not even Lillian. And I'm not even going to tell you, because if Michael ever comes to you, then you can truthfully tell him you have no idea where I'm at. And that will be that."

"Eventually he's going to find you," Hawke told me. "He always manages to find what he's looking for."

"Then I'll disappear again."

"Just promise me you'll drop me a line every once in awhile," Hawke told me.

"That's a promise," I pledged.

That day, I closed out all my accounts, cashed in my bonds and stocks and took care of all my financial considerations. Along with the few meager possessions I'd taken with me, I had several suitcases full of cold hard cash to the tune of almost five million. It was enough to get by on for a long, long time. And I had never needed that much to begin with.

I had always wanted to live in the woods, away from everyone and everything. It would have been preferable with someone I cared about, but it looked as though that was not to be. The first place Michael would start looking for me was Iowa. So I wasn't going back there. Nor would I go to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.

I went to New Orleans. And at midnight on the night I arrived there, I lighted a votive on Marie Laveau's grave, turned around in a circle three times, asked her to appear to me there that night and left an offering of a diamond tennis bracelet on her tombstone. Then, I sat down and waited.

It wasn't five minutes later that a rush of wind went over me and I opened my eyes to stare up into her familiar brown eyes.

"Bless yer heart, child," came her soft caring voice. "Ye've had a long journey. Come follow Mama Marie. We'll get ye settled."

"I'm so tired, Mama," I whispered and my eyes were brimful of tears. "I'm so tired and I didn't know where else to go."

The warmth of her hand in mine felt like flesh on flesh and we walked through the graveyard at a slow pace. Her arm went around me.

"Ye can rest now, cherie," she breathed comfortingly. "Ye're here amongst friends. Don' worry yer head no more tonight." She smiled and looked down at me with fondness. "Mama take care you now."

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

End Part VI

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December 17, 2000