Elena sat at the small oak desk.  Her her back was stiff and her eyes were tired from working at Michael's lap top computer.  She stretched and looked out the window of the small cottage at the ever-present rain, then back at the blue screen.  "Access Denied" blinked at her.  The man who'd never denied her anything had left files that she was unable to access.  She'd tried for days, employing every password she thought he might have used.  Nothing worked.

        Elena closed the lap top.  She'd kept it, knowing she would need it for school.  She'd even ordered the books for her new classes from an on-line book store.  It had come in very handy, but there were those damn files that she couldn't access–files that were taking up precious space on the hard drive.  Files that Michael felt important enough to hide from her.  She'd often wished she were computer literate enough to delete them, but apparently, Michael had safe-guarded the files to prevent that as well.

        What could those files contain?  Michael had always been a quiet and reserved man, but she'd known that he felt things passionately and deeply.  Most of the time, he'd been a tender and considerate lover, but there'd been other times when the intense desperation of his passion had almost frightened her.  He'd never hurt her physically, but he'd had depths that she'd never been able to plumb.  Still, she had loved him and had hoped to spend the rest of her life unlocking his secret self.

        The birth of their son Adam had helped him shed the dark cloak of reserve he'd worn since their first meeting.  His long absences for business, his occasional injuries–oh, always explained with glib reassurances that had never quite satisfied her.  She'd been too afraid of losing him to complain.

        She'd fallen head over heels in love with him that day in the park.  Her dog Watson had bowled him over and nearly licked him to death.  Watson had always been very protective of her.  He couldn't have made a mistake in judging Michael, could he?  Could she?
 
        Now, she wondered.  She didn't love Michael any less for his seeming deceptions.  The overwhelming grief of his loss had begum to ebb, and she stood on the verge of a new chapter in her life.  Could she turn the page without understanding what had happened before?

        It had been six months since Michael's death . . . and her father's.  The explanations offered by the police were unsatisfactory to say the least.  She could understand that her father had been a terrorist with a multitude of enemies.  She was supposed to believe that Michael had been an innocent bystander, but if that were the case, why was she still alive?  Why hadn't the shooter shot her, too?  He'd taken a risk by leaving her alive.

        Nothing about the entire situation made sense.  There were too many coincidences: her sudden illness, her father contacting her after so many years, her rapid recovery, then seeing Michael and her father executed before her very eyes.  She'd often wished for amnesia.  People often blocked out traumatic experiences like that.  Why couldn't she?

        She had too many unanswered questions . . . and too much time.  Classes would not begin for another month.   Perhaps, she could locate someone who knew more about computers than she did.  Perhaps, she could at least see part of what Michael had hidden from her.
 

        Michael strode the steel gray halls of Section One.  The profiler had given him the Tanzania mission profile, and it needed an intensive review.  He much preferred to do his own profiling, but his other responsibilities didn't permit it.

        As he passed Systems he saw Nikita leaning over Birkoff's shoulder.  Unable to hear them, he knew that she was pestering the young computer expert about something totally inappropriate.  Birkoff was shaking his head, and Nikita was nodding hers, cajoling him with her luminous wide smile.  Whatever she wanted from Birkoff, she'd have.  A point of fact, Nikita could wheedle about anything from anybody.  It was part of her charm.

        He felt his mouth attempt a smile, but he reigned the impulse. It wouldn't serve if he walked around looking happy or even pleased.  Madeline and Operations would suspect ulterior motives.  He was sure that they knew that his and Nikita's relationship had taken a new direction.

        In fact, he assumed they were under surveillance.  Exactly how much observation, he wasn't sure. Frankly, he didn't care if they had a new camera mounted in the ceiling of Nikita's bedroom.  He'd determined that he would no longer be deterred from making love to Nikita . . . or from loving her.  He'd given Section One enough of his life and soul.

        Their dinners together had been gut wrenching when it'd come time for him to leave.  Eventually, the passion between them had been impossible to deny.  After Nikita's return from seeing Elena and Adam in Beauvais, they'd finally made love again–for the first time in over a year.  It had been a release born of desperate need... need for one another...need to forget the past.
 
        Frantic.

        Tender.

        Overwhelming.

        They were together now, for as long as Section One would allow it.  His need for Nikita still unnerved him.  It was as if he were anemic and she the blood transfusion.  He'd been in Section long enough to know a need was a weakness to be exploited.  He waited.  He'd know soon enough.  Likely, too soon.
 
 

        The Saturday afternoon crowd of parents and children had thinned.  Mary Raney breathed a sigh of relief as she watched an exuberant family of one mother and five children between the ages of four and ten exit the front door.  Their purchase of twenty-five pounds worth of children's books made Mary's cash register happy, but it had been a great wear on her nerves.

        The old-fashioned bell jangled once more, and another mother and little boy entered.  The new arrivals appeared to be of Indian ancestry.  Of course, that was not unusual for a university city like Oxford.  The little boy rushed to the back of the store to the children's section as if magnetized.  His mother approached Mary's desk.

        "Excuse me, do you have the latest Harry Potter book?"

        Mary noted that her accent was English public school, and perfect.
 
        "I've been trying to find it.  Even the Internet bookstores are out.  My son thinks he must have it immediately," she said deliberately, but with a beautiful smile that showed her white teeth.  "You know how little boys are when they can't have the very thing they think they must?"

        Mary smiled in reply.  "Of course, they're impossible.  They never outgrow it, either.  And you're in luck because our new shipment of the latest Harry Potter book was delivered an hour ago.  The delivery is still in the back, but I'd be happy to find  it for you."

        "Would you?  Thank you so much.  We've only been in Oxford for a month.  It will keep Adam occupied while he is waiting for his term to start, as am I."

        "You're a student as well?"

        "Yes, I'm going to complete my degree in education.  My studies were interrupted by marriage and the birth of my son.  I suppose I've left it a little late."

        The sadness of her self-deprecating smile told Mary that there was more to the story of her new customer.  "Not at all.  By the way, I'm Mary Raney.  I hope you will return to us often."

        "Elena Samuels," the woman replied, extending her hand.  "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mary."

        Mary watched as a concerned look crossed Elena's face as she turned in the direction of the children's area.  "He'll be fine, Elena.  I'll find that book for you.  Be right back."
 
        "Thank you, Mary.  I suppose I am a little over-protective."

        Mary left Elena while she searched for the Harry Potter shipment.  The much-desired book was quickly located, and Mary brought it, along with an armful of others meant for display, to Elena.

        "Shall I put you on the customer list for the next one?  We generally send a notice when a new one is about to be released."

        "That would be so thoughtful.  Yes, please."  Elena turned once more in the direction of the children's section.  "Adam, are you ready?  We have the Harry Potter book."

        Zoom.  Adam arrived and hugged his mother about her thighs.  "Thanks, Mommy."

        Together Elena and Mary laughed.  He was a beautiful boy with dark shining hair, sparkling brown eyes and a light honeyed complexion.

        Elena looked around the bookstore.  "I bought my text books of the web, but there's nothing like coming to the bookstore and being able to touch them and browse away an afternoon, is there?"

        "I have to agree," Mary replied.  "What do you like to read when you're not studying?"  After all, it was her job to sell books.

        Elena's dark honey skin flushed.  "I have a terrible vice," she admitted.  "I love mysteries . . . and books on gardening.  I'm afraid the garden where I live has been sadly neglected.  I need to do something about it before I start classes."

        Mary nodded.  "We have some wonderful gardening books and thrillers, as one of my other customers calls them."
 
        Elena appeared to think for a moment.  "All right.  Do you have anything new by Anne Perry?  Either series will do."

        "I have A Breach of Promise.  Have you read that one?"

        "No, I'll take it," Elena agreed, then added, "I"m very fortunate, one of my neighbors was walking by my cottage the other day, and she offered to assist me with my garden.  My late husband had a wonderful green thumb, but mine is more of the brown shriveled variety."

        Mary laughed at Elena's description, then realized that her widowed status must be new.  She apologized, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to be inconsiderate."

        Elena swallowed and attempted a smile.  "It's something I've had to become accustomed to.  He's been gone for six months, but I don't know if . . . ." she paused, blinking rapidly.  "Look, here I am boring you with my life story.  I'm so sorry."

        Mary reached her hand toward Elena, "No, really.  I'm sorry for your loss.  I know that this is very forward in British terms, but would you like to have lunch sometime?  You'd really be doing me a favor, since I haven't been in Oxford very long, either.  I could use a friend.  We could work on your garden together.  I've already seen to mine."

        Elena gave Mary a heartbreaking smile, "Yes, that would be lovely."

        "Mommy, let's go.  I want to go home and read my new book," Adam insisted, yanking on his mother's jeans.

        "All right, Adam.  One more minute," she insisted firmly.
 
        Mary pulled a bookstore business card and wrote her number on the back.  "Call me anytime, Elena.  We'll have lunch, go for a walk, talk, whatever."

        "All right, I will, soon, I promise.  Good-bye, Mary."  Then turning to her impatient son, she said, "now, we'll go.

        "Bye, Elena."  Mary watched Elena as she ushered her son out the door.  She didn't envy the young widow with a small child to raise alone.  But at least Elena had someone with whom to share her life.  Mary reached under the counter and opened her purse.  She pulled out a creased brochure advertising a seminar on French poets.   Michael's picture was still clear in her mind, but she hadn't been able to discard the brochure–tangible evidence that he had existed however briefly in her life.

        Nikita gave a light tap on Michael's office door, then breezed in without waiting for a response.  Michael sat in quiet contemplation with a frown across his handsome face and stared at his laptop screen.  "Michael?  Have a minute?" she asked.

        The look on his face softened, or at least Nikita thought it did.  It was difficult to tell with Michael.  Normally, he permitted himself no expression of emotion.  On the other hand, she'd observed his face so closely and so often, that she was confident that she detected a minuscule elevation of the left side of his mouth . . . his soft tender mouth that ravaged hers when they were alone.  A volume of love poetry could be written about his sensually curved lips . . . should be written, in fact.  Unfortunately, she wasn't much of a poet, unless naughty limericks counted as poetry.  There once was an operative in France, who ....

        "Nikita?" he prompted and, at the same time, reached to activate the security scrambler in his office.

        "Uh, sorry, my mind drifted a bit."  She leaned over his desk and smiled into his crystal green eyes.  "I wondered what time you might be through?"

        Michael shrugged.  "I don't know.  We may have a briefing soon.  East Timor is heating up.  This mission was set for next week, but we may have to implement sooner."

        Nikita eased into the chair directly across from his desk.  "I'll wait then, hang out."  She crossed her legs, showing them off to their best advantage.  Her short skirt hiked up, barely covering her buttocks.  She gave it a nominal tug, hoping Michael would notice.  Her new Sergio Rossi stilettos were quite expensive and impractical, but she knew they had that Come Fu#$ Me effect that enticed him.  Was he as focused as he pretended.

        Michael leaned forward, his mouth quirked.  He blinked.

        Ah ha! "Like'em?" she asked, unable to keep from smiling.

        Michael's eyes narrowed as he gave a brief nod in the affirmative.

        Nikita's heart rate kicked up a notch.  She chewed her bottom lip and asked with her most innocent air, "Want to try'em on?"

        Michael rolled his eyes back and shook his head.  "Ni-ki-ta."

        "I know.  I know.  You're busy."

        "You should get some rest.  It might be your last chance for a while," Michael suggested.

        Nikita reached forward and began a light caress across the back of Michael's hand.  Her voice dropped a notch, accentuating her throaty timbre.  "I just think I could rest better if you were with me."

        Michael's hand captured hers with a gentle movement, brushing his fingertips with feathery grace across her knuckles.  Nikita felt the reverence in his touch, as if he couldn't quite believe they were together now.

        "Not here," he murmured.

        Nikita sighed.  The spell was broken.  They were in Section One, for pity's sake.  What was she thinking?  "Anything I can do to help?" she asked, still desiring to linger in his office . . . in his presence.

        Michael studied the monitor again, then smiled at her.  "I'll download the mission parameters into the other laptop.  See what you think will need alteration, if we go live sooner than expected.  Think of it as an exercise."  Michael's attention returned to his monitor, his fingers flying over the keys.

        "Okay, I'll get right on it."  Nikita beamed.  Michael's challenge made her feel as if he respected her as an equal and valued her input . . . or maybe he just wanted her close by.  That was okay, too.
 

        Mary had been delighted when Elena had called her for a luncheon date merely two days after their first meeting.  It was high time that the two of them got on with their lives. A young widow and a divorcee with painful histories, together they made an incomparable pair.

        In spite of all the turmoil she'd been through, Mary knew it was nothing compared to Elena's suffering.  Still, they were both engaged in reinventing their lives.  She admired Elena's determined spirit to continue, and on reflection, she envied her deep devotion to her son.

        Mary glanced at her watch and realized she was five minutes late.  She'd only worked a half day at the bookstore, but two dawdling browsers made check-out a tedious process.  She rushed toward the rendezvous point and spotted Elena and Adam as they walked from the opposite direction.  Elena wore a gauzy white blouse tucked into black jeans, with jute sandals.

        "Elena," Mary called and waved.

        "Hi," Adam cried, tugging on his mother's hand and urging her to hurry.  "Mommy, it's the lady from the bookstore."

        The distance between them lessened.  Mary heard Elena's patient response.   "Yes, of course it is, Adam.  I told you we were going to meet her for lunch."  Elena smiled.  "He's been so excited.  This is the first time we've met anyone for lunch since we've been here."
 
        Mary smiled.  "I'm almost as excited as he is, Elena."  Then bending to Adam's level, she said, "Hello, Adam, it's good to see you again."

        Adam gave her a tiny grin, then turned suddenly shy toward his mother.

        "Adam, say Hello to Ms Raney.  Remember your manners.  Your father would have wanted you to always be polite."  Elena ruffled her son's shining dark hair with affection.

        Adam glanced up at Mary with a gleam in his nearly onyx eyes.  "Hello, Ms. Raney.  I always do what my Daddy said to do.  I'm a good boy."  Then looking up at his mother asked, "Aren't I, Mommy?"
 
        Elena crouched at his level and hugged her son fiercely.  "You're a very good boy, and your Daddy would be very proud of you."  Then she drew herself back up to her full height.  "All right, shall we go in?"

        Mary watched Elena as she blinked back the tears and placed a brave smile on her face.  She had to admit, the young mother had courage.

        The trio entered the University Terrace Tea Room.  There was already a flurry of activity with the usual lunch crowd of students, teachers, tourists and locals, but they were quickly ushered to a newly vacated table by a bright sunny window.

        Mary looked around the tea room.  The walls were painted a periwinkle blue, and white lace Priscilla curtains graced the windows.  Billowy green ferns were placed strategically around the room.  Bright yellow linen table cloths covered the white wicker tables.  Comfortable cushions were covered in a cheery blue and yellow print.  The effect was light and spring-like and a definite mood elevator.

        Elena smiled.  "It's charming, isn't it?  I'm glad we're doing this."

        "Me, too."
 
        Mary and Elena began to talk as Adam busied himself with running a small Matchbox truck up and down the window sill.
 
        Elena began, "Tell me about you, Mary.  I think I've already bored you with my troubles."

        If you only knew, Mary thought.  "Well, my husband and I divorced several months ago, and I wanted to get away—from him, from the States.  I wanted a big change, so I moved here.  Not much to tell really."

        Elena glanced up from the menu.  Mary thought she saw a slight look of skepticism flash across her luncheon partner's face.  "But why Oxford?  Do you have family here?"

        Mary sighed.  She knew she would have to come up with a  better story.  "The details are a little sordid," she began in a hushed tone, glancing at Adam.  "I chose Oxford because I saw some University catalogues in my attorney's office.  I think he was considering sending his son here.  It was a whim, but it's so lovely, I've fallen in love with the town."

        Elena flashed a radiant smile.  "That's an excellent reason for staying here."  She looked down at the menu and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I didn't mean to pry.  You don't have to bare your soul to me.  We've only just met."

        Guilt smacked Mary in the face.  She hoped it didn't show. "I'm pretty boring, except for the tawdry circumstances, of course.  They weren't my doing.  No my husband," Mary glanced at Adam again, who was patently ignoring them in favor of a Matchbox truck derby on the window ledge.  "Well, you know."

        Elena smiled ruefully, "I understand."

        Mary, wishing to change the subject quickly, asked, "What shall we have for lunch?"  She quickly looked at her menu for the first time.

        "Well, I know what I don't want, boiled mutton," Elena offered with a grimace and a shiver.

        "Sounds ghastly."
 
        "It is.  Two years ago, my husband and I brought Adam to London.  He insisted that we try some of the local dishes.  It was horrid."

        Adam's attention must have been piqued by the mention of his father.  He piped, "Yes, Daddy took us to the zoo.  I saw all the animals, even tigers."  His eyes grew round as he curled his fingers into claws and growled at Mary.  "Grrr."

        "Adam," Elena remonstrated, but Mary saw the smile she attempted to hide behind her napkin.

        A young waitress interrupted the trio.  "Tea?" she asked in a bored tone.

        "Yes, please," Mary and Elena answered simultaneously.  "And a glass of milk," Elena added.  "A small one."

        "Anything else?" the waitress prompted.

        "Salad with vinegar and oil," Elena replied, "and the child's special for my son."

        "The roast beef special with Yorkshire pudding," Mary ordered, wondering if she'd made a mistake.  She shrugged, as if to say.  It might be good.

        After the waitress left, Mary said, "I should be ordering the salad, and you the roast beef.  You're awfully thin."  Then realizing how rude she'd been, apologized, "Sorry, I have the unfortunate American habit of saying exactly what I'm thinking."

        "No, it's all right.  I've had trouble maintaining my weight since Michael died."

        "Michael? Your husband's name was Michael?"  A chill went through Mary.  Michael's must all be memorable men.  She wasn't sure she'd ever forget the one she'd met, either.

        "Yes, that's right.  He was a wonderful man," Elena murmured.

        Again they were interrupted by the waitress who served them quite efficiently, in spite of her nonchalant attitude.

        Mary wanted to hear more about Elena's Michael.  She certainly couldn't share any details about her particular Michael.  "Tell me about your husband.  Maybe it would help to talk?"

        Elena picked at her salad with the tines of her fork before answering.  "He was very handsome, intelligent, talented.  He was an architect, and he was away a great deal on project sites.  The firm he worked for dealt with large projects in far away places," she sighed.  "When we married, I never dreamt how much he would be away from home, but I finally grew accustomed to it.  I learned to be very self-sufficient while he was away, but when he was at home, it was wonderful.  He spent as much time with Adam as he was able.  Adam adored him.  I adored him."  Elena swallowed, unable to continue.

        "I'm sorry.  Maybe it wasn't a good idea at all," Mary said.  "At least he was a good man, and you were happy."

        "Yes."  Elena applied herself to the salad, and Mary did the same to her roast beef.  It was tender and delicious, with an aroma like no other.

        Adam spoke without warning and began digging in the pocket of his jeans.  "I have a picture of my Daddy.  Want to see?"

Part II