Declan’s leather booted feet thudded loudly up the outside stairway to the third floor of the Samuelle home. Fitting his key into the door, he burst over the threshold like a field op in search of someone to kill. He threw his sodden T-shirt onto the kitchen counter, narrowly missing Sey, who finally managed to catch up with him.

“Hey!”

Declan leaned on his hands, almost panting. He was almost overwhelmed by the emotions clamoring for release. Anger. Frustration. Compassion. Sadness.

Anger he could certainly explain. Anger at finding his sister cowering against the wall like a victim. Anger at himself for not protecting her. Anger at Davenport for being the seeming conduit for all that pain. Anger for all the old feelings, long buried, surging to the surface to be resurrected.

Frustration? Frustration because he longed to put his fist through something very like a wall right now, an act he would never allow himself to commit in Sey’s presence.

Compassion for the girl that Derry was and would never be again. Compassion for Sey, who proved again and again why he was the best thing that ever happened to Declan.

Sadness because Declan couldn’t make those roiling emotions fit neatly back into the box they had escaped from. Sadness because he was very much afraid that he could end up hurting Sey. If not physically…some other way. Far worse.

Fine tremors ran down Declan’s arms, betraying the depth of emotion he both felt and held back. Sey slowly reached out to touch Declan’s back, and Declan whirled, his eyes blazing. “Don’t!”

“Dec, please don’t shut me out like this. Please. You know how it feels,” Sey pleaded.

Declan’s hand reached out, then froze in mid-air before dropping suddenly to his side. “I dunno how safe it’ll be for you to stay here, baby.”

Sey indicated his nose, which, oddly enough, remained unbroken, despite the amount of blood that seemed to be smeared around his face. “Does this look like I care? Dec, it was an accident! I got in the way!”

Declan seemed transfixed by the sight of the blood. “You didn’t deserve that, baby. I’m sorry.”

Sey felt Declan pushing him away again. It was a subtle thing, but Sey was well used to Declan now. Sey tugged on Declan’s hands until his arms were wrapped around Sey’s waist. Declan looked down, a soft huff of breath escaping him, and Sey knew that if he could only break through the wall that surrounded Declan, they would both be able to get past this.

Sey frowned, his otherwise smooth skin creasing. “Declan, let me take care of you.”

Declan looked up then, suddenly, blindingly, pain written across his almost-beautiful features. “Of me? Sey, what about you? Oh, my God, your face!”

Sey reached up and pulled Declan’s face down to his. Lightly caressing Declan’s cheeks with his long, well-shaped fingers, Sey whispered, “I know you, I feel your pain, Dec. You don’t ever have to hide that from me.”

Declan’s breath hitched as he bit his lip. Sey’s fingers played restlessly with Declan’s hair, stroking and twining and pulling it behind his ears. “You think you have to be strong all the time, Dec. But you can lean on me. I won’t break. I love you.” He kissed Declan, noting how cool his lips felt, wondering not for the first time if Declan was truly all right.

“I won’t ever let you fall, Dec. I swear,” Sey continued in an anxious whisper.

“But—“

Sey put a finger to Declan’s mouth, gently telling him to stop protesting. “Come with me. You can wash my face and reassure yourself that nothing’s broken, okay?”

Declan’s eyes burned with the need to shed tears, but he refused to give in. “O-kay,” he agreed albeit shakily.

***

Once they were in the bathroom, Sey proceeded to take charge. He wet a cloth, handed it to his lover, and then he proceeded to endure Declan’s careful poking at his nose. All in the name of love. Granted, it was a little bit swollen, but there was no break in the skin, and even Declan could see that nothing was out of alignment.

“See? I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Declan almost smiled, but he felt so vulnerable yet. Sey kissed Declan’s shoulder, and Declan grimaced. “Don’t, baby. I’m a grungy mess.”

Sey lay his head against Declan’s chest, his tongue flicking out to taste his salty skin. “Mmm, no, you smell great to me.”

Declan looked skeptical. “Sweat turns you on?”

Sey nuzzled the base of Declan’s neck, taking care not to bump his nose. “Mmm, you turn me on.”

All at once, Sey reached past the taller man, twisting the shower taps to make a stinging spray that surprised Declan. “Hey! You’re getting us wet!”

“That was the general idea, Dec,” Sey said softly, pushing his lover back until he was in the shower. “But we still have our clothes on! Or at least, some of them, Sey!” Declan admitted, remembering his bare chest.

“I can fix that.”

***

If cognitive dissonance were an aphrodisiac, Declan was clearly reaping the rewards. “Christ, Sey! I hope you bloody well locked the door!”

Sey grinned rapaciously. “Would I let a little detail like that slip by me?”

“What about the kids?”

“Sasha’s a big boy now, Dec. He can take care of himself.”

“At the moment, I think I’m more worried about me,” Declan laughed. Water sluiced down Declan’s well-muscled body, lovingly caressing every inch of him. Not unlike Sey.

Sey’s hands moved up and down the insides of Declan’s thighs, and Declan lay back against the tile wall of the shower for support. There was only one thing better than the feel of Sey’s hands on him, and that was his mouth on him.

He looked down to see Sey kneeling between his legs. His hand tangled in Sey’s wet hair, he smiled as his lover gently spread his legs apart. “God, you taste good, Dec.”

Declan’s hand tightened in Sey’s hair as Sey’s mouth found what it was searching for. Ever conscious of his lover, Declan restrained himself from thrusting into Sey’s face, afraid of hurting him. But the silken feel of him, on him and around him, produced a throbbing ache that could only be assuaged one way.

Groaning his completion, he poured himself, hot and wet, into the waiting vessel that was his lover’s mouth. Immediately afterwards, Declan pulled Sey flush against his body, kissing him with a heat that belied his recent climax. “God, I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too,” Sey confessed, his eyes all misty. “Wherever you go, I go.”

Declan let go of the pain then. It simply took more energy than he had left to hold it back. His tears mingled with the water, and together, they washed down the drain.

Gone. For now.

Sey snuggled close enough to Declan to push his long red hair aside and kiss the back of his neck. “I love you,” he whispered. With a sigh, he rose and stood next to the bed, looking down at his lover. He grasped the edge of the blanket and settled it over Declan’s shoulders.

He quickly exited the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Declan never stirred.

***

When Sey entered the living room, his son Sasha lay sprawled across a chair, the remote dangling precariously from his hand. “You hungry, Sasha?”

“Nah, we’ve been eating off and on all day, Dad.” Sasha clicked the remote, turning the TV off. “Can we catch a movie in town?”

Sey shook his head. “It’ll be way too crowded, Sash. It’s the weekend.”

“I could practice my guitar,” Sasha chirped brightly, earning a black look from Sey.

“Your father’s asleep. Try not to wake him, okay?”

“Da’s asleep? What for?” Sasha removed his feet from the arm of the chair and sat up straight. “Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine.”

Sasha’s face clouded over. “Aunt Derry said she used to kill people.”

Giving his son a thoughtful look, Sey sat down on the arm of the chair. Sasha got up and patted the seat, indicating that he wanted his father to sit down. Sey traded places with his son, and when he was seated, Sasha sat on his lap. Something he didn’t do all that often anymore.

Sey waited patiently for Sasha to say something more. Sasha looked conflicted, pain and hope warring with each other inside him. All at once Sasha buried his face against Sey’s shoulder, and Sey, looking for all the world as if he had expected this, wrapped his arms around his son.

“You…you came fr-from the bad pl-place, too, Daddy,” Sasha sobbed, squeezing his dark eyes shut against the bad memories that threatened. His tears trickled down his cheeks where they saturated Sey’s neck and shoulder. “Did you kill anyone?” he whispered, so low that Sey nearly didn’t hear him.

“No, Sasha. That wasn’t my job,” Sey said softly. The kind of a place Section had been was not something he could easily forget. But as the years went by, it sometimes took on a curious dreamlike quality. Like it never really happened. Then something like today came along and, well, shot that theory to pieces.

“Was it…was it Da’s job?” Sasha asked shakily. “It was, wasn’t it?” he blurted out, not waiting for Sey’s reply.

Sey’s arms tightened around his son. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his breath ruffling Sasha’s hair. It came as a surprise to him just how easily the truth fell out of his mouth. After all these years of being careful, after all these years of denying what was so painfully obvious. But he could no more lie to Sasha than to Declan. You can’t lie to the people you love. It destroys the love and eventually, them.

Sasha drew on the maturity that life had given him and looked sympathetically at his father. “That’s why Da has nightmares, huh?”

Sey nodded. He waited for Sasha to come to his own conclusions about that, and Sasha didn’t disappoint him.

“He’s a good man, Dad. If he wasn’t, he couldn’t care about the people who died…or about us.” Sincerity rang out in every note. “Especially us.”

“I know,” Sey agreed.

Sasha abruptly dropped his eyes, as if maintaining eye contact suddenly became painful. “Ummm…Emmy knows, too, Dad.”

Sey opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Sasha hurriedly filled the silence. “I didn’t mean to tell her what I knew, Dad. It just—slipped out. I dream about that place sometimes. The stuff I saw….” Sasha’s dark brown eyes looked tragic. “Stuff I heard,” he added, thinking of the screams that echoed down into the most remote areas of the sub-basements.

“Oh, Sasha,” Sey whispered, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “We hoped that you were young enough that you wouldn’t remember. I prayed that your memory of those things wouldn’t come back. I’m so sorry.”

Sasha regarded his father tearfully. “I wish it didn’t, too, Dad.” Pause. “But sometimes…I hope this doesn’t sound stupid, Dad, but…it makes me feel closer to you and Da. Like I know what you went through. Does that make any sense?”

“Aye, it does,” called Declan softly.

Two heads turned as one to face the man who leaned against the wall, the remnants of sleep still evident in his pale eyes. Even half-dressed, Declan had a certain style that drew the eye. Faded blue jeans had the sense to cling to his muscular legs, while his chest was still bare. His hair still wet from their impromptu shower, long, curling tendrils of scarlet cascaded down his back.

“I thought you were asleep,” Sey said.

“I was. But I must have sensed that you weren’t there.” A distinct shudder wracked Declan’s frame. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“You’re never alone, Da. You’ve got us,” Sasha vowed, his outstretched arms inviting his other father to join them.

“I don’t want to interrupt—“

“Come here, you.” Sey nudged Sasha with his knee, and the boy vacated his lap, waiting patiently for his father to rearrange things to his satisfaction. Within moments, Sasha was again sitting in the chair, while Sey sat on the floor with Declan in his arms.

Resting his chin on the top of Declan’s head, Sey said, “Try to go back to sleep, Dec.”

Declan leaned back against Sey’s chest. “You won’t leave me?” he asked almost anxiously.

“I’ll never leave you, Dec,” Sey’s ardent whisper reassured. His fingers stroked his lover’s hair back from his face. Declan found the stroking soothing and closed his eyes with a soft exhalation.

Sasha watched Declan until he was sure the older man was asleep once more. Inclining his head towards Sey, Sasha pressed his hands into his father’s shoulders. “Thanks for taking care of Da, Dad. He just needed to feel safe so he could sleep.”

“I’m glad you understand. I only wish it wasn’t because you feel the same way,” Sey whispered, referring to their shared past.

Sasha nodded. “Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me and Skye to be apart so much. I dunno how to explain it, but it’s like—when she’s out of my sight, she doesn’t exist. And it makes me feel all…funny inside.”

Sey smiled for the first time in minutes. “She makes you feel safe?”

“Oh, yeah.” He couldn’t tell his father right now, but Skye made him feel a lot of different things. Sometimes all at once.

Was that love? It must be. Love seemed to be the saving grace in this family.

Everyone heard the scream.

Followed by a crash. Sounded like glass. Dropping from a suddenly nerveless hand.

Footsteps. Loud and thundering. Echoing throughout the house. Despite his age, it was Walter who made it to the landing first.

“Sugar?”

He waved the others back with one weathered hand, willing his booted feet to be silent as he crept closer to the young woman he adopted as his daughter.

Nikita stood before the medicine cabinet in the bathroom of the master bedroom. She was staring at something that Walter could not see. The cabinet itself? The mirror? What?

“Sugar? You okay, honey?” Walter asked softly, taking care not to spook her.

His still-bright blue eyes surveyed the damage to the room, noting the tiny pieces of what used to be a plain glass tumbler, the type someone would use when they brushed their teeth, on the ceramic tile floor. Nikita seemed to be trembling. Her eyes were open, fixed on a piece of paper taped to the mirror directly in front of her.

“I broke a glass,” she said with a total lack of affect, as if that explained everything.

In truth, it explained nothing.

Walter cursed the age that made his eyes, once sharp enough to spot a pair of panties fluttering in the breeze at a pretty fair distance, too weak to read the note before him.

“Honey?” he called to the woman who was never very far from her husband’s side.

Miranda made her way through what now seemed like a small crowd. Standing behind Nikita, she glanced at the message, her eyes widening, her mouth forming a nearly perfect “O” of surprise.

“What? What is it, dammit? Somebody read the freaking thing out loud!”

Miranda started to read the note aloud, but Nikita interrupted her, her tone naked in its vulnerability. “It says…I have to go away. I can’t explain. But please don’t look for me. The kids need you….” She choked on a sob before continuing, “I love you.”

Walter went pale. “Shit.”

“You can say that again,” said Sey, his hand fumbling for Declan’s, as if he could draw strength from him that way.

***

Everyone formed a massive cushion around Nikita, trying to protect her from whatever was yet to come. But in the end, only one thing mattered. Michael was gone. Inexplicably gone. The other half of her soul torn asunder. Leaving her to bleed…to…death.

“There has to be some clue here. Something we’re missing,” Walter said, a frown forming on his time-ravaged forehead.

Declan looked up at the older man from his seat in the living room. “Now how do you figure that? There’s not a whole lot there to go on, Walter. It’s bloody cryptic, if you ask me.”

Davenport shrugged, his well-constructed frame at odds with the minimal gesture. “I think we’re going about this the wrong way.”

“You do?”

“So what do you suggest? Hold a séance?” Walter asked sarcastically.

“We need to work backwards. Start with what we’ve got, which admittedly is not a lot, and go back. Michael left. Apparently voluntarily. Why?”

Declan shook his head, his long red hair swaying back and forth with the movement. “If we knew that, Dav, we wouldn’t be wasting time having this conversation.”

“No, no, you’re missing the point. What would it take to make Michael leave? Huh? Ask yourself that.”

Sey looked thoughtful, and even Nikita began to show an interest in the exchange. “I-I’m not sure,” she said.

“What was the last thing he did?” Davenport interrupted himself to qualify his previous statement. “The last significant thing he did?”

Nikita pondered. “He went to school. He taught class. He—oh, I don’t know, Dav. What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know, Nikita. But I won’t stop till we find out.”

***

It was a simple enough assignment. Just your average, a little bit boring, a little bit contrived assignment. Tell us something about your family. What makes your parents special. What makes your brother or sister different. It didn’t have to be long, but it was supposed to be truthful. Or at least as truthful as a school-age child can make it.

***

“Where did he go yesterday, Nikita?” Davenport continued to question.

“Dav, this is getting us nowhere. He did all the usual things he does. Nothing weird or different or out of the ordinary.”

“How did he seem?”

“Seem?”

“Happy? Unhappy? Unsettled? Angry?” Declan prompted.

Nikita blinked, her blue eyes suddenly tearful. “Are you saying he left me? Is that what you all think? Oh, my God. You think he just went out for the proverbial pack of cigarettes and never came back?” Nikita gritted her teeth, forcing herself back under control. “He wouldn’t do that. Michael…wouldn’t ever do that. Not to me.” The last three words were almost inaudible. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, she thought.

“I thought I knew him. But what you’re suggesting is…that I never really knew him…at all.”

***

The group of adults in the living room was abruptly interrupted by what sounded like an angry crowd of rabble-rousers. Sey looked out the window, then turned to face the others. “Kids are home from school.”

Faith stomped past her mother, completely missing her tear-streaked face, as she headed for the stairs. “Faith!”

“What?” the twelve-year old all but bellowed in response.

Nikita winced. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes! I hate school! It’s a dumb place for even dumber people! Some of whom happen to be dumb teachers!”

“Did something happen at school?” she asked astutely.

“Wow, good guess, Mom.” Faith waved a rumpled piece of paper around, never stopping long enough for anyone to get more than a cursory glance at it.

“Did you fail a test or something?” Nikita asked, ignoring her daughter’s apparent insolence.

“Or something.” Faith looked exasperated. “I mean, come on, they asked us to write about what we know.”

Nikita looked apprehensively at the others before facing her daughter again. “And what do you know, Faith?”

“They said to be honest, Mom. So I was. I just told the truth. Didn’t you always tell me to tell the truth?”

Faith seemed on the verge of tears herself now. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. “Faith, you’re scaring me. What did you say?”

“I just said that…my Mom and Dad used to kill people. That’s all.” Faith peered anxiously through auburn-colored bangs at her mother.

“That’s all? Bloody hell!” Declan exclaimed. Sey pulled on Declan’s arm, and the physical touch was enough to remind him where he was and who he was with.

Faith set her mouth mutinously. “Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Mom?” she asked, her lower lip quivering, a telltale sign that tears were sure to follow soon.

Nikita’s face crumpled as she started to swoon, but Walter caught her handily, wrapping his arms around the woman he considered his daughter in every way but that of the flesh.

Strangely enough, it was Sey who found his voice first. “It is true, Fee, but…it’s not something that you can tell other people. They wouldn’t understand.”

“*They* wouldn’t understand? I don’t understand, Uncle Sey! Why are there so many secrets in this family? Why?”

“What are you really upset about, Fee?”

“How come you and Daddy never trusted me with your stupid secrets, huh, Mom? Uncle Sey and Uncle Dec trusted Sasha! Even Emmy knows! And I had to find out from her!”

“Faith—“

“I hate you, Mom! And you can just keep your crummy secrets!”

“Faith—“

By now, tears were pouring down both Faith’s and Nikita’s cheeks, and everyone was struck by how much alike they were. Faith had good instincts, but regrettably, she remained impulsive to a fault. “They thought I made it up, Mom! They said I was a liar! And they made me sit in the headmistress’ office for over an hour, waiting for me to tell the real truth! What was I supposed to say, Mom? Huh?”

“Faith—“

“Huh?”

“Your father is missing.”

With a harsh cry, Faith threw herself into Nikita’s arms and sobbed wildly. “It’s all my fault! All my fault!”

“No, baby, it’s not your fault,” Nikita kept repeating, thinking that she might well be saying the same words to herself.

Now if she could only believe them.

It was such a strange message. “Meet me in the park where it all began.” What the hell did that mean? Where it all began? Where what all began? How many parks were there in France anyway?

He vaguely remembered how he came by the message in the first place. The book-signing. Michael was signing autographs for any and all comers the day before yesterday. Prelude to a big tour in the fall. Of course, Michael was the original mystery guest at his own party.

Even though he had been out of Section for almost 13 years, he continued to keep a low profile. Although he signed autographs, he still used a pseudonym on all of his books. His picture never appeared on the back jacket of any of his books, though demand remained high. He had an agreement with his publisher that his photo was not to be taken at any of the bookstores he went to, and since his publisher made a fine living off her percentage of Michael’s work, she enforced that rule any way she could, even if it meant opting for private security.

However, somehow someone had slipped a piece of paper into one of the books to be signed. With that strange message.

Of course, there was more. There was the usual cloak-and-dagger stuff: come alone, we’ll know if you don’t.

But that wasn’t what got him there. That wasn’t what made him break into a sweat. That wasn’t what made him leave his family.

There was only one thing that could make Michael leave his family.

Adam.

Oh, the message wasn’t from Adam. It was from someone anonymous. Someone claiming to be a Mr. Jones. Now that was original.

Whoever Mr. Jones was, and Michael had no clue as yet, Michael could not ignore the potential threat that he posed to his family. It was up to him to protect them. No matter what.

The message implied that Elena and Adam were in danger. Targets of terrorists. Terrorists with an agenda specifically aimed at his Section wife and their son. Just hearing Adam’s name again, after all this time, brought a lump into Michael’s throat. He loved all of his children, the children of his heart, the children that he fathered with Nikita. But Adam was a piece of him that he could never claim. If there was some way to save him….

All he had to do was find the right park. And try not to think about Nikita. Oh, God….

***

When he finally arrived, he was sure it was a mistake. He checked and double-checked his intel, but he came to the same conclusion every single time. How could this be?

This was the park where he had met Ilya Benko. At the time Benko had two henchmen. Both eminently forgettable. Except for one thing. One of them went on to become a low-level Section informant.

Mick Schtoppel. Now how long had it been since he had heard that name? What was he doing here? And what could he possibly have to do with Adam?

Michael gestured toward the older man. The years had been kind to him. He had less hair, of course, but that winsome smile was the same. “Mi-chael! How are you? Long time no see!” Mick zigged and zagged his portly body, giving the former Section field operative a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows.

Michael frowned. He had a one-track mind right now. He had to find this Mr. Jones. But then again…maybe Mick was the conduit for the meet. Yes, that was more than likely.

“What are you doing here, Mick?” Michael asked in less than friendly tones.

“Well, well, well, no time for small talk, Michael, as usual. Cut right to the bloody chase, you do.”

“Mickkkk…” Michael drawled in a longsuffering whisper.

“Well, see, Michael, it’s like this.” Suddenly Mick’s rough-and-ready Cockney accent smoothed out into an elegant, even refined dialect that any uppercrust Brit would be proud to claim.

“You’ve been out of the loop a long time, Michael. So long, you forgot that there even was a loop.”

Michael blinked impassively as certain bits and pieces abruptly came together in his head. “You’re Jones.”

Mick nodded.

“But you’re Mick Schtoppel—“

“A mere figment of all our imaginations, it would seem, Michael. A useful fiction, if you will.”

“But—“

“I’ll give you another thirty seconds to process what you just found out,” said the older man, impatiently tapping his foot as if that would make the time pass more quickly.

“Who are you?”

“You are, of course, aware of Oversight and its role in overseeing the various Sections, Michael.”

Michael nodded this time.

“Well,” Mick gave Michael an improbably broad grin, “who do you s’pose watches Oversight?”

“You’re from Center?” Michael’s eyebrows flew upwards. He had never met anyone from Center. It was widely believed, at the time that Michael escaped, that Center did not exist.

“That’s right,” Mick said more slowly, as if waiting for Michael to catch up to speed.

“I’ve been watching you, Michael. You and the others.” He paused, wondering just how Michael would take this news.

“You’ve known where we were? But you never—“

“That’s right. I’ve never moved to use that knowledge, have I? What am I, a heartless bastard? I knew there were children’s lives at stake here.” Mick smiled kindly. “Fact is, Michael, one hand washes the other, know what I mean? Your impromptu mission a few years back took out both George and Operations. That shifted the power base enough so that—“

Michael smiled grimly. “So that you were able to move into the job you have now.”

“Carpe diem, Michael. Seize the freaking day.”

“But what’s changed? Suddenly you take advantage of what you know to contact me. For what?”

Mick was reminded of just how dangerous he once considered Michael. That glint in his eye was but a vestige of the man formerly known as Section One’s most lethal operative.

“Now, now, Michael, you’re treating me like an enemy. Not the way I want things to go at all.” Mick struggled to hold onto his smile. “I contacted you because I had certain intel to give you.”

“About Elena and Adam?” The imperceptible break in Michael’s voice was barely detectable. But there.

“Yes. Believe it or not, Michael, I am on your side.” Well, at the present time. That wasn’t exactly a lie.

“You know where they are?”

“I not only know where they are. I want you to go to them,” the smaller man admitted.

“Why?” came Michael’s cool, tight-lipped response.

“Elena’s uncle tried to take over his brother’s position in the terrorist hierarchy. He failed. In fact, he died, as you are well aware. His…successor…if you will…*blames* Elena and Adam. He’s targeted them for…termination.”

Against his will, Michael flinched. His color ashen, Michael asked, “You’re going to let me take him out?”

“With pleasure, Michael. I told you. I’ve been watching you lot for ages. I feel very strongly about keeping your family together.”

“How will I explain my being alive?”

“You’ll think of something. That’s the least of it.”

“Why? What else is there? Tell me.”

Mick smiled, but this time, it was like the arctic wind freezing everything in its path. “We’ll see.”

“There is one other thing, Michael.”

There always is. Michael sighed heavily. “What?”

“You can’t tell anyone about me. I mean, that’s a given, isn’t it?” Mick gave a short harsh laugh. “Fact is, there’s a rumor going around Section that no one has ever seen me….” There was a significant pause. “…and lived.”

Mick smiled, but that wintry frost was still in his deep brown eyes. “It’s not a rumor.”

Michael’s expression remained blank. Years of practice at keeping his emotions off his face was the only thing that saved him. “Should I be worried?”

“You? Michael, I’ve never seen you worry about a goddamned thing.” Mick chuckled for a few moments, then abruptly stopped. The silence was eerie. “Don’t start now.”

“So you’re doing this…out of the goodness of your heart? Suddenly you can’t stand the suffering and the waste of human life?” Michael’s voice remained as carefully modulated as his expression.

“Here’s the deal, Michael.” Mick’s own face darkened as though somber thoughts had seized him.

“You take out the successor—“

“I assume the man has a name. I’ll need more intel than what you’ve given me.”

“Shit, Michael, you take all the fun out of everything. Oh, all right….” Mick looked both ways before unobtrusively handing over the panel he had with him. “Take him out…*before* he hits Elena and Adam, of course.”

“Of course,” Michael echoed.

What then? Would Mick, er, Mr. Jones, continue to turn a blind eye to the whereabouts of Michael and Nikita? Would his family be safe? And what about Elena and Adam? Was there anywhere he could hide them that would keep them out of Section’s hands?

Out of Mr. Jones’ hands?

“I know what you’re thinking, Michael. Can you trust me? Of course not. You can’t trust anyone, you know that. So if you want to call in your own people to help, I’ll allow it. But you deal with them. Not me. I’m out of here.” For the time being. As long as it suits me. So don’t get any ideas.

Mick unexpectedly smiled, a genuine smile, by the looks of it. “It’s been nice seeing you, Michael. I mean that.” And with a wave of his hand, he was gone. Disappeared into the ebb and flow of the crowd that moved through the park.

Michael pulled out his cell phone and hit autodial. He needed help, and surprisingly, he still had favors he could call in.

***

When the phone rang, Nikita clutched it like a lifeline. “Michael?” she asked hopefully. Her face fell. It wasn’t him. It might never be him again. How could she keep going? How? Then she saw her daughter Faith raging impotently at the fates that conspired to take her father away. That was why she had to go on. For the children.

***

“I need you.”

Declan almost dropped the phone. His hands suddenly cold as ice, Declan forced himself to maintain his grip on the phone. His pale grey eyes darting back and forth, automatically checking the perimeters for eavesdroppers, Declan finally responded to the man on the other end of the line.

“I’m there,” he said, not asking for any more detail than a location to meet.

***

“What do you mean, you’re taking off to Ireland? Now?” Sey demanded almost angrily. “I mean, we’re in the middle of a freaking crisis here, Dec, and you’re leaving? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Like what, acushla?” Declan deliberately softened his voice, knowing that just the act of leaving frightened Sey. What if he never came back?

Sey regarded Declan with accusing brown eyes. At any other time, it would have worked. Declan would have poured his heart out to avoid that look. But he had to be strong.

“I told you, Sey, I’ll be back.” That was an out and out lie. He didn’t know that. He couldn’t promise that. But he had to say it. For both their sakes.

“It’s a chance to see my sisters.”

“They never wanted to see you before.”

“They thought I was dead.”

“And now they don’t?” Sey narrowed his eyes. “You used to lie better than this, Dec. You must be really out of practice.”

“One of them is ill. Desperately ill. I need to see her, Sey. Please understand.” And don’t ask me anything else. I hate lying to you. You must see that.

“I wish I could, Dec. If you were really going to see family, why wouldn’t you take me with you? Us with you? Sasha? Emmy? Remember them? Your kids, Dec.”

“*Our* kids, baby.”

“Don’t you freaking call me that, not when you’re leaving us behind to do God-knows-what!”

Declan couldn’t maintain eye contact with his lover. They had been together a long time, longer than he had any right to, as far as Declan was concerned. “Please.”

Declan watched as Sey struggled to stay angry, knowing that fear was so close behind, it would overwhelm him in a heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around Sey, rocking him gently to and fro, murmuring as much to himself as to Sey. “I love you, I swear I do, y chree.”

“I-I love you, too, Dec,” Sey said, the words seemingly pulled involuntarily from inside him. With a cry, he buried his face in Declan’s long red hair, breathing in the scent of him. “Don’t you d-dare let anything h-happen to you, Declan.”

He knew what Declan could not tell him. He knew what he could not ask.