Author's note:

Thank you all for being ever so patient and for all your support. I really do apologize for taking ages in coming up with the continuation of this story. This is my first story and as can be observed in this brief chapter, I'm actually having a writer's block. Hehe, this chapter seems rather lame to me and I would really appreciate it if you guys can review and maybe suggest an ending to this depressing bit I call a story. ;P. Thanks!!

Lotsa luv,

Angiebaby

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Nikita left the living room without a backward glance, uneasily aware that it only "seemed" like she'd had the last word. It wasn't until she'd reached the top of the stairs when she felt a cold chill run up her back and which settled at the base of her neck. She put her hand up and rubbed the spot but it didn't go away. She froze midthought when she heard sounds from below.

At first thought, Nikita reasoned that it was probably Michael, returning to give her a long tirade but her years of experience working in the Section took precedence. Her instincts warned her that something wasn't right. She crept down, pondering the thought of an intruder on her property. She'd agreed only to the minimal security setup of alarms at the front and back doors and the first-floor windows with a motion detector pointed from the front door to the end of the long hall. Half the time she didn't even bother to activate the system because she thought that it was an insult to her survival skills. Up till now she'd been perfectly safe.

Nikita didn't realise until she'd arrived at her study door that she'd been turning on lamps along the way, creating a trail of light behind her, as if that could deter the intruder. She stopped in the doorway of the study and gazed across the dark room to the window that overlooked the backyard. Turning on a light would make her visible to anyone standing outside. She pulled her hand from the switch and crossed the room in the dark. At the window she peered out.

A half moon illuminating the yard, bringing some things into focus, casting others in shadow. Did some of the shadows have the outline of human form? She could see the gazebo from this vantage point but could not see into its screened interior. Could someone be lurking inside, peering back at her across the shadows? Her eyes gazed upon her clothesline and she noticed her missing lingerie.

Suddenly she thought she could feel eyes staring at her. She involuntary stepped back until she felt the wall pressing against her back. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and switched her mind to auto-mode. Nikita frowned when she caught the unpleasant edge of a new odor hanging in the air. Cigarette smoke. She sniffed the acrid scent more sharply and braved herself to cross the room and to follow its stench. Nikita scanned the grounds thoroughly. Her eyes connected with a matchbox cover that was stuck at the side of her screen door. She stared at the cover. The Hilton.

She had to think a minute. She hadn't been to any of the Hilton hotels since her last assignment. She picked it up carefully, only to discover that it was in mint condition. Replacing the box in a sterile bag nearby, Nikita did a surveillance on the grounds of her house even thought she knew that the intruder wouldn't be lingering. It took some doing, but Nikita finally manage to climb into bed. There, she lay wake for a long time, her ears straining to catch the slightest noise from below.

As Nikita climbed her stairs, she didn't notice the man creeping along the next aisle of cars.

* * * * * * *

"Give me a rundown on Storm's," Madeline ordered.

"The place does a hell of a business," Nikita began. "Pulls a big crowd, and the crowd varies, though it's heavy on the upwardly mobile. Couples, singles on the prowl, groups. Blackwood's got good security."

Absently Nikita rubbed her eyes, then remembered herself and lowered them. "He's got cameras, and I'm working on getting the security tapes."

"People mill," Michael added. "Especially the younger customers. It's a regular meeting ground for them, and they tend to table hop. Lots of sex vibes. It's a sexy place. People get careless when the blood's hot. There's a ripple when Blackwood comes through," he said as he gave Nikita a hard look.

Nikita didn't seem to have heard him and kept silent after submitting her report much to Michael's annoyance and this piqued Madeline's curiosity. Half an hour later, she was finishing up her morning meeting in the overhead and her fourth cup of coffee. She walked over to Walter, who was bent over a piece of machinery.

"Hey sugar," Walter greeted her warmly.

"Hi Walter. Did you manage to identify any fingerprints on the box?"

Walter looked around and then produced the box, he shook his head. "I already dusted it. Nothing."

Nikita tried not to look disappointed but failed.

"Is this for the assignment--"

"Thanks Walter," Nikita interrupted and walked quickly away.

With thoughts of the intruder on her mind, Nikita walked blindly towards Storm. A man passing threw her an interested glance, but she was too busy to notice. The blare of a car's horn penetrated her thoughts as she was about to cross the street at red light. A warm rush of embarrassment heated her cheeks when she caught a look of admonishment from an elderly lady waiting to cross beside her. She grinned sheepishly and obediently stared up at the walk sign until it lit up. She joined the throng of late lunchers and construction workers.

Halfway across the street a sense of uneasiness penetrated and a chill stirred at the back of her neck again. She halted midstride to look over her shoulder, almost bumping into a woman carrying a baby on her shoulder, and met the eyes of the same elderly woman. The woman shook her head and made a moue of disgust, obviously labeling Nikita as some kind of flake.

But the woman's implied scolding didn't deter her from the sensation that she was being followed. She kept glancing behind her as her pace quickened, never seeing anyone she recognised, never losing the feeling of threat. By the time she reached the entry to Storm she was nearly running.

"Yo, CJ, you okay?" Sloan called to her.

"What?" Nikita turned to the man, but her glance strayed to the entrance where a rush of people was coming into the club. She saw no one suspicious and turned back to Sloan. "Sorry, Sloan, what did you say?"

"You looked like someone was after you," Sloan said, chuckling at he absurdity. "You okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine, Sloan. Just in a hurry." She started towards the lockers and remembered her manners. "Thanks for asking, Sloan," she called with a wave in the man's direction.

He smiled, nodded, and gave her a thumbs-up. He was still smiling in her direction as the door to the locker room closed, shutting off Nikita's view of him and the people moving in all directions behind him. The feeling of unease seemed to fall away and Nikita slumped back against the wall and let out a sigh of relief. Nikita visibly jumped as Stella entered the room and grinned knowingly at her.

"One of those days?"

Nikita agreed with a weak smile. "Yeah," she said, straightened. "One of those days."

As she donned on her apron Nikita was berating herself for "losing it" and letting her imagination run wild. Not like her at all. She could imagine sharing it with Michael and how he would in return scoff at her ridiculous character. But she had no intention of telling anyone. Nikita struggled everyday to keep her professional image intact, she wasn't now about to come across as the weak, frightened damsel in flight.

* * * * * * *

He stood looking over at his closet, thumbing through his considerable wardrobe deciding what to wear. Not the fancy outfits he liked when he went out to his favorite bars, or the police officer's uniform that had come in so handy the other night. Something more subdued. Maybe a khaki shirt and pants for his new persona.

Humming to himself, he slipped on the shirt and admired his image in the mirror. He was a good-looking guy. Tall and muscular, and he could get the better of any woman, but he only wanted Nikita. Desired Nikita. Needed Nikita. While staring at his reflection in the mirror, his mind wandered to a character from Hemmingway's Farewell to Arms, Lieutenant Frederick Henry. An American volunteer in the World War I Italian army. Henry gets shot in the leg and meets an accommodating English nurse in the hospital. He knocks her up, and they run off together to the Swiss Alps or somewhere like that and have a glorious winter together, until she goes into labor. She dies having the baby; the kid dies too, and poor Frederick Henry is left with nothing. Perfect.

As he buttoned the khaki shirt, he felt a jolt of anticipation. Finally, he thinks to himself. Of course, it wasn't necessary to dress up tonight. His lady friend wouldn't care what he looked like until they actually met. His hands stilled as he wonders whether Nikita will recognise him. Probably. He thought about their brief time in the Hilton and his hands clenched in anger at the memory of how she betrayed him. She should pay for her deception but he thought about her hair that had been pale gold, and viewing it back then, rippling down her slender back sleek and shiny, he imagined filling his hands with the glittering strands; fantasized them draped over his bare chest, his thighs...

Hell. He decided the hard way that hunger had claws. It wasn't all that surprising since the last time he'd tangled the sheets with a willing woman had been in Tulsa, which was, he figured, doing some quick mathematics, nearly two months ago. When the woman could not satisfy his lust, he had the pleasure of wrapping his hands around her neck and squeezed the life out of her. He had grown and now no longer at the mercies of women. Now he was his own man, and he could pick any women he wanted. And he only wanted Nikita.

With a growl, he decided that he didn't want to spend the rest of the night using up all the cold water in the holding tanks, he was definitely going to have to see about getting laid.