Chapter 12
When Seymour Birkoff stepped hurriedly over the Samuelle Investigations threshold, he couldn't decide if he was more relieved or surprised to see the offices empty, except for the discreet presence of their official secretary, Miss Gerard. At last, relief won out over surprise, and the young American computer and technology expert sank in his seat, carelessly smoothing his wrinkled shirt as he tried to remember where he had hidden his private store of Oreos.
It was impossible facing a day, as the one he had ahead, without a constant supply, especially when he needed to come to terms with what he did last night. In a daze, he watched as one of the keys to his desk slowly disappeared from his fingers and began falling. He quickly reached out to grab it before it hit the floor.
''Coffee?''
The sweet melodious voice of the only other occupant startled Birkoff, making him squirm and hit the corner of his desk.
''OUCH!''
''Oh Seymour, are you alright?'' Scratching his shorthaired head, Birkoff frowned instinctively at the use of his first name, which he disliked intensely, as his brown-eyed gaze narrowed on the saccharinely sweet sounding woman. If any other individual had talked him in that tone, he would probably resort to a sarcastic comment, assuming he or she was being phony.
''No'' he answered. If there was one thing absolutely clear to him just like when he had initially met Sarah Gerard, it was the fact she was exactly as she appeared: a young woman who saw the world through rose- tinted glasses and harbored a deep rejection complex. Having blue eyes that were crystal clear, chestnut shoulder-length hair, pale skin and frail, fine features, Sarah could be considered beautiful. It wasn't the oversized, nondescript clothing she habitually wore to keep men away, but rather the bashfulness of her character, the transparency of her fear to live. Sarah was also one of the few beautiful women who wouldn't fall for Michael. Conversely, the reason Michael never made a play for Sarah, even jokingly, went well beyond Michael's unwritten rule that he would not get involved with Nikita's friends or the discretion he usually applied by not mixing business and pleasure. There was an ever-present childlike air about Sarah Gerard, an innocent quality in her desperate need to feel safe and a silent plea to go easy on her in her introverted looks, which made it a natural reaction for her employers to feel protective towards her. Sarah returned their kindness with being dearly devoted to her daily tasks, preparing coffee, arranging appointments with potential clients and answering the telephone, and it gave Birkoff reason to think that this was her whole life. He also thought that leaving her mundane job at the local library to come work with them was the most courageous choice Sarah ever made. But today, Birkoff didn't feel like he could or should look at her with an air of superiority; his life now felt almost as empty, if not more.
''It's nothing. Did Michael call?'' he grumbled. Michael was late. Moreover, Michael always called when he was late even if the cause of his temporary absence was as commonplace as the morning traffic. Meticulous, systematic but yet often unpredictable, Michael Samuelle excelled in anything he did and it showed. His efficiency was etched in the restrained use of gestures and words, and the secret of his success was in his strict pragmatism and his surprisingly detached observation of the things around him. Working with him, straining to keep up with Michael's way of thinking was exhausting yet exhilarating and Birkoff wouldn't exchange his position with anyone else.
''No, at least not yet. ''
Michael hadn't called that morning. In fact, he made his entrance almost twenty minutes later and held the door open for his blond companion, as he acknowledged Sarah's welcoming smile and returned her greeting with a formal verbal welcome.
Sarah immediately sensed the somberness of the couple but chose to ignore it. She had no right to interfere in their business and, as usual with Michael and Nikita things were hardly as they appeared regardless of what any of them thought. Sometimes Sarah wondered if their endless tiptoeing around each other would ever stop. It was extremely rare seeing one without the other, but watching them together never ceased to amaze her: They moved in perfect unison as if they were one.
Nikita looked bothered when she asked Sarah if Mrs. Markali had called to cancel. Apparently her problem, if you could call it that, was so urgent that she couldn't afford the luxury of coming back. But Nikita's worried expression must have not been linked to this, because Sarah's confirmation of the appointment didn't ease the creases around her mouth. In turn, Birkoff was rather curious to notice that Michael was not only strangely unresponsive to his report of required research, but he was also contemplatively watching a sleepy looking Nikita.
This was the uneasy and odd atmosphere that greeted Corinne Markali upon her arrival, although she seemed too distracted to take note of any of it. She was a woman in her 50's, bearing the vestiges of past beauty, consumed too soon by an insecure temperament. It was the classical case of the rich, worried wife who dedicates her life to her husband and is afraid of admitting a potential betrayal on his part. Corinne Markali was adamant in her defense of her marriage and all she demanded was knowing where her husband was when he was supposed to be working and why he looked so on edge and nervous lately. This was a run-of-the mill investigation but one that would help their finances.
Nikita's hangover was still too painful for she could not help becoming increasingly irritated with the woman's uncooperative attitude, while Sarah was moved and Birkoff was looking totally uninterested with what was happening inside Michael's office. Michael, for his part, felt no real emotion or interest regarding the case and was equally determined to resolve it seeing the business potential of being known to the Markali's important friends, if only for solving such a simple mystery. Every one of them was fully committed to meeting their client's request with professional encouragement.
Rolling up their sleeves and getting down to work seemed a good way to escape the uneasiness plaguing the office that morning. Any unresolved questions for Michael, Nikita or Birkoff as to their individual activities of the previous night would have to wait.
Chapter 13
''It's sad really'' Nikita Wolfe said, absently looking out the fifth floor apartment window.
''Quite, but it happens rather frequently." Michael Samuelle answered, his voice echoing as a whisper in the completely empty space around them. It was one of those times when Nikita knew he was replying purely by instinct because his words were said without any emotion. Although he was standing beside her, his total concentration was on the scene he was observing through his binoculars. Or, more specifically, on Nikolai Markali 's office, whose wide window was well viewed from their point of observation. Bless Birkoff and his diligent approach to their work; finding this place had been ingenious rather than lucky.
''In truth, I was talking about us not about Corinne Markali. I thought we were making progress; missing people, kidnappings, lost relatives, threats, stolen valuables to be recovered and now we are back to the basics with nothing better to sink our teeth into.''
Nikita liked looking at Michael when he couldn't turn and see that she was staring at him; it gave her a glimmer of wicked satisfaction for all the times he had caught her doing just that.
''You don't always have to like the job, Nikita. Sometimes you just have to do it.''
Still, he didn't acknowledge her physical presence at his side with any reaction other than looking slightly annoyed at being forced to talk when he was otherwise occupied. His apparent apathy toward her left Nikita feeling deeply dejected without valid reasons. It was as if the kiss she gave him four nights ago in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness never happened. He never mentioned it and she simply pretended that she didn't remember so as not to push the issue. At the beginning she had felt almost victorious, but now she wasn't so sure he had really kissed her back. Maybe she had only imagined or dreamt the whole thing. Who could say? She was not in the habit of ever drinking enough to get tipsy.
Although Nikita hated second-guessing herself, it was becoming shockingly clear that around Michael her confidence seemed to fall like dominoes stacked one behind the other. Her feelings for him were like an earthquake that left no part of her already complicated inner universe intact. In some way, even when she was in a position of advantage like now, Michael succeeded in making her feel like she had been stripped naked in a room full of strangers. The worst part of it was that some days she would just shrug it off, let him do it, but today was not one of those days and nothing could offend her self-esteem more than his treatment of her as if she was a capricious child; however, she took no steps to make him aware of this.
''You should put a flashing neon sign over your head when you aren't in a conversational mood Michael. It would help all of us.''
She saw Michael lift the corners of his mouth for a fraction of a second in response and was rebuffed by his indecisiveness.
''What do you know about the woman?''
''Her name is Eliza Parker and she is an assistant. She hit it off with Markali during her first week there because of a common art interest. She is passionate about politics. Her addition to the staff goes back five months. Wonder of wonders, it coincides with the beginning of the Nikolai Markali disappearing acts.''
''More or less. Birkoff is working on her?''
''Yes. He says he could have something by this afternoon.''
Michael nodded and again became silent. He put down his binoculars and with a fluid movement shrugged off the tension centered in his back. He was doing his best to forget just how much he had desired his partner four nights ago but it was difficult, and this caused him to impose unfamiliar self-restraint on his actions toward her. He had not expected that this decision would sorely limit the spontaneity they shared. On the other hand, if he ignored this new concept to look at her in a different light, things between them would soon return to the way they had been all along. As soon he ceased trying to rationalize why that kiss had been so good, he would then stop with the complex conjectures on why she had kissed him and why he had kissed her back. Truthfully, he needed to just stop thinking about last night!
Michael was about to invite her out for coffee when her cell phone rang, cutting him off and capturing her immediate and complete attention. It always seemed to him as if Nikita's mind was constantly running in new and mysterious directions at a speed that other people could never contemplate.
''Excuse me'' she said in an accent that was gently mocking, and then dismissed him with a smile and brought the phone to her ear.
When Seymour Birkoff stepped hurriedly over the Samuelle Investigations threshold, he couldn't decide if he was more relieved or surprised to see the offices empty, except for the discreet presence of their official secretary, Miss Gerard. At last, relief won out over surprise, and the young American computer and technology expert sank in his seat, carelessly smoothing his wrinkled shirt as he tried to remember where he had hidden his private store of Oreos.
It was impossible facing a day, as the one he had ahead, without a constant supply, especially when he needed to come to terms with what he did last night. In a daze, he watched as one of the keys to his desk slowly disappeared from his fingers and began falling. He quickly reached out to grab it before it hit the floor.
''Coffee?''
The sweet melodious voice of the only other occupant startled Birkoff, making him squirm and hit the corner of his desk.
''OUCH!''
''Oh Seymour, are you alright?'' Scratching his shorthaired head, Birkoff frowned instinctively at the use of his first name, which he disliked intensely, as his brown-eyed gaze narrowed on the saccharinely sweet sounding woman. If any other individual had talked him in that tone, he would probably resort to a sarcastic comment, assuming he or she was being phony.
''No'' he answered. If there was one thing absolutely clear to him just like when he had initially met Sarah Gerard, it was the fact she was exactly as she appeared: a young woman who saw the world through rose- tinted glasses and harbored a deep rejection complex. Having blue eyes that were crystal clear, chestnut shoulder-length hair, pale skin and frail, fine features, Sarah could be considered beautiful. It wasn't the oversized, nondescript clothing she habitually wore to keep men away, but rather the bashfulness of her character, the transparency of her fear to live. Sarah was also one of the few beautiful women who wouldn't fall for Michael. Conversely, the reason Michael never made a play for Sarah, even jokingly, went well beyond Michael's unwritten rule that he would not get involved with Nikita's friends or the discretion he usually applied by not mixing business and pleasure. There was an ever-present childlike air about Sarah Gerard, an innocent quality in her desperate need to feel safe and a silent plea to go easy on her in her introverted looks, which made it a natural reaction for her employers to feel protective towards her. Sarah returned their kindness with being dearly devoted to her daily tasks, preparing coffee, arranging appointments with potential clients and answering the telephone, and it gave Birkoff reason to think that this was her whole life. He also thought that leaving her mundane job at the local library to come work with them was the most courageous choice Sarah ever made. But today, Birkoff didn't feel like he could or should look at her with an air of superiority; his life now felt almost as empty, if not more.
''It's nothing. Did Michael call?'' he grumbled. Michael was late. Moreover, Michael always called when he was late even if the cause of his temporary absence was as commonplace as the morning traffic. Meticulous, systematic but yet often unpredictable, Michael Samuelle excelled in anything he did and it showed. His efficiency was etched in the restrained use of gestures and words, and the secret of his success was in his strict pragmatism and his surprisingly detached observation of the things around him. Working with him, straining to keep up with Michael's way of thinking was exhausting yet exhilarating and Birkoff wouldn't exchange his position with anyone else.
''No, at least not yet. ''
Michael hadn't called that morning. In fact, he made his entrance almost twenty minutes later and held the door open for his blond companion, as he acknowledged Sarah's welcoming smile and returned her greeting with a formal verbal welcome.
Sarah immediately sensed the somberness of the couple but chose to ignore it. She had no right to interfere in their business and, as usual with Michael and Nikita things were hardly as they appeared regardless of what any of them thought. Sometimes Sarah wondered if their endless tiptoeing around each other would ever stop. It was extremely rare seeing one without the other, but watching them together never ceased to amaze her: They moved in perfect unison as if they were one.
Nikita looked bothered when she asked Sarah if Mrs. Markali had called to cancel. Apparently her problem, if you could call it that, was so urgent that she couldn't afford the luxury of coming back. But Nikita's worried expression must have not been linked to this, because Sarah's confirmation of the appointment didn't ease the creases around her mouth. In turn, Birkoff was rather curious to notice that Michael was not only strangely unresponsive to his report of required research, but he was also contemplatively watching a sleepy looking Nikita.
This was the uneasy and odd atmosphere that greeted Corinne Markali upon her arrival, although she seemed too distracted to take note of any of it. She was a woman in her 50's, bearing the vestiges of past beauty, consumed too soon by an insecure temperament. It was the classical case of the rich, worried wife who dedicates her life to her husband and is afraid of admitting a potential betrayal on his part. Corinne Markali was adamant in her defense of her marriage and all she demanded was knowing where her husband was when he was supposed to be working and why he looked so on edge and nervous lately. This was a run-of-the mill investigation but one that would help their finances.
Nikita's hangover was still too painful for she could not help becoming increasingly irritated with the woman's uncooperative attitude, while Sarah was moved and Birkoff was looking totally uninterested with what was happening inside Michael's office. Michael, for his part, felt no real emotion or interest regarding the case and was equally determined to resolve it seeing the business potential of being known to the Markali's important friends, if only for solving such a simple mystery. Every one of them was fully committed to meeting their client's request with professional encouragement.
Rolling up their sleeves and getting down to work seemed a good way to escape the uneasiness plaguing the office that morning. Any unresolved questions for Michael, Nikita or Birkoff as to their individual activities of the previous night would have to wait.
Chapter 13
''It's sad really'' Nikita Wolfe said, absently looking out the fifth floor apartment window.
''Quite, but it happens rather frequently." Michael Samuelle answered, his voice echoing as a whisper in the completely empty space around them. It was one of those times when Nikita knew he was replying purely by instinct because his words were said without any emotion. Although he was standing beside her, his total concentration was on the scene he was observing through his binoculars. Or, more specifically, on Nikolai Markali 's office, whose wide window was well viewed from their point of observation. Bless Birkoff and his diligent approach to their work; finding this place had been ingenious rather than lucky.
''In truth, I was talking about us not about Corinne Markali. I thought we were making progress; missing people, kidnappings, lost relatives, threats, stolen valuables to be recovered and now we are back to the basics with nothing better to sink our teeth into.''
Nikita liked looking at Michael when he couldn't turn and see that she was staring at him; it gave her a glimmer of wicked satisfaction for all the times he had caught her doing just that.
''You don't always have to like the job, Nikita. Sometimes you just have to do it.''
Still, he didn't acknowledge her physical presence at his side with any reaction other than looking slightly annoyed at being forced to talk when he was otherwise occupied. His apparent apathy toward her left Nikita feeling deeply dejected without valid reasons. It was as if the kiss she gave him four nights ago in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness never happened. He never mentioned it and she simply pretended that she didn't remember so as not to push the issue. At the beginning she had felt almost victorious, but now she wasn't so sure he had really kissed her back. Maybe she had only imagined or dreamt the whole thing. Who could say? She was not in the habit of ever drinking enough to get tipsy.
Although Nikita hated second-guessing herself, it was becoming shockingly clear that around Michael her confidence seemed to fall like dominoes stacked one behind the other. Her feelings for him were like an earthquake that left no part of her already complicated inner universe intact. In some way, even when she was in a position of advantage like now, Michael succeeded in making her feel like she had been stripped naked in a room full of strangers. The worst part of it was that some days she would just shrug it off, let him do it, but today was not one of those days and nothing could offend her self-esteem more than his treatment of her as if she was a capricious child; however, she took no steps to make him aware of this.
''You should put a flashing neon sign over your head when you aren't in a conversational mood Michael. It would help all of us.''
She saw Michael lift the corners of his mouth for a fraction of a second in response and was rebuffed by his indecisiveness.
''What do you know about the woman?''
''Her name is Eliza Parker and she is an assistant. She hit it off with Markali during her first week there because of a common art interest. She is passionate about politics. Her addition to the staff goes back five months. Wonder of wonders, it coincides with the beginning of the Nikolai Markali disappearing acts.''
''More or less. Birkoff is working on her?''
''Yes. He says he could have something by this afternoon.''
Michael nodded and again became silent. He put down his binoculars and with a fluid movement shrugged off the tension centered in his back. He was doing his best to forget just how much he had desired his partner four nights ago but it was difficult, and this caused him to impose unfamiliar self-restraint on his actions toward her. He had not expected that this decision would sorely limit the spontaneity they shared. On the other hand, if he ignored this new concept to look at her in a different light, things between them would soon return to the way they had been all along. As soon he ceased trying to rationalize why that kiss had been so good, he would then stop with the complex conjectures on why she had kissed him and why he had kissed her back. Truthfully, he needed to just stop thinking about last night!
Michael was about to invite her out for coffee when her cell phone rang, cutting him off and capturing her immediate and complete attention. It always seemed to him as if Nikita's mind was constantly running in new and mysterious directions at a speed that other people could never contemplate.
''Excuse me'' she said in an accent that was gently mocking, and then dismissed him with a smile and brought the phone to her ear.