Neil shooed the last visitor out of Walter's room around midnight. "You've got to go home and get some rest, Nikita. Staying with him around the clock is pointless. I'll call if there is any change whatsoever."

Nikita tried to protest, to no avail. Neil didn't understand. She didn't relish the thought of going home, and she doubted she would ever be able to rest again, if Michael weren't there. She rubbed her reddened eyes and sighed. The problem was, since they had left Section, she had gotten used to having choices again. Now she had absolutely no choice. And this ripping out of her heartstrings was new all over again.

She stood in the hallway, looking down at her sleeping husband. He looked so peaceful. She hated to disturb him. But Neil was adamant that they leave.

She touched Michael's arm and he caught her wrist before he had even fully opened his eyes. When he saw it was her, he released her, gently rubbing at the reddened area on her arm. He stood up and stretched. "I asked Neil about putting a guard on Walter's room. He seems to think hospital security is adequate."

One look at Michael's face told Nikita what he thought of the state of hospital security. "Can we take turns guarding him?"

Michael kissed her gently, his mouth lingering ever so slightly as he drew away. "Thanks, doucette, that's just what I was thinking."

"Can I have first watch?" Nikita asked, certain of Michael's reply.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if he were in pain. He was. He knew she was right. Damn, but she was almost as good as he was in some ways, and he knew they could use her help. But he hated the very thought of putting her life on the line. The thought of losing her was just too great to bear.

When he opened his eyes again, they were the color of dark jade, their brightness muted by the conflict within him. He stared at her, his eyes flitting back and forth as if unable to maintain any sort of sustained contact with hers. "I—"

"Michael, it's all right. I know. I understand." She did. She didn't want to, but she did understand how he felt. It was the same for her.

He kissed her mouth, then her cheek, eventually burying his face in her hair. "I love you, my Kita," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

Then he drew back slowly, looking deeply into her troubled eyes. "But I'm going to let you do this." He ran his fingers lightly over her mouth and cheeks. "Just remember, doucette, you belong to me."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "No, Michael, we belong to each other."

He kissed her more urgently, willing himself to leave her at last. "I'll be back for you in two hours."

"Four."

He smiled against his will. "Three."

"Done."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, finally slipping his hand behind her back, depositing the gun there, under her sweater. "You need a jacket, love, it's going to be cold out here in the hall." His eyes told her that she needed something to conceal her weapon. She nodded imperceptibly and he removed his black leather jacket.

He draped the jacket over her arms and she clung to it, loving the way it smelled, both of leather and of Michael. He leaned close and whispered, "How are you going to explain to Neil what you're still doing here?"

She smiled. "I can take care of Neil."

Michael almost laughed. She was right. She certainly had a distracting effect on most men when she chose to exert it. Thank God, she was his.

One last kiss. Softer than the others. A barely audible whisper. "I love you." And he was gone.

In the end, Miranda spent the night at Neil's house, sleeping in the spare room. Too exhausted to return home to Michael's house, too distraught to be alone, Miranda called Madeline for advice. Her advice was to go home with Neil. All the way home, Neil struggled to reassure Miranda about Walter's condition, but she no longer saw a positive outcome as a possibility. Given her considerable expertise in the field, one might have thought that Miranda would realize how her personal feelings were coloring her perception of events. But sadly, no.

Michael pushed open the front door, pleased to see that his entry into the house had not gone unnoticed. Declan was standing in front of him, gun drawn, but once he saw Michael, he clicked on the safety and re-holstered the gun with seemingly flawless movements. His face expressionless, Declan crossed his arms in front of his chest, prepared to wait for further instruction from Michael.

"Is Birkoff watching the kids?"

Declan nodded slightly. Michael patted him on the arm and started to leave the entryway. But then, thinking better of it, Michael asked, "How are you doing?"

Declan cast startled grey eyes in Michael's direction before carefully assuming his former blank facade. "I'm fine."

"Declan…I just had to leave my wife at the hospital, to guard Walter for the next three hours. None of us is fine." Michael's expression and tone of voice dared Declan to contradict him. He didn't.

Suddenly Declan said, "You left Nikita at the hospital? What if whoever went after Walter goes there next? It's a logical step. And she's an easy target."

Michael winced at Declan's choice of words. "Thanks, Declan, I didn't have enough on my mind as it was."

Michael expertly took out his gun, removed the clip, examined it and reloaded the clip into the gun, almost without looking. "I trust Nikita's judgment. I have faith in her abilities. I trained her well. She can take care of herself." Michael's tone was terse, but there was an underlying current of emotion running throughout.

"I need to believe that…or I can't do what I need to do right now." Michael disappeared upstairs to check on his children before mapping out the night's work for himself and Declan.

Michael removed the gun before he entered the children's room. He saw Birkoff sitting in a chair by the lamp, his laptop on his knees, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He glanced at the sleeping babies before letting his green-eyed gaze fall on Birkoff again. "Everything okay?"

Birkoff looked up. Other than looking tired, Birkoff appeared none the worse for wear. "Yep. I was just crunching some numbers, trying to put together a rough profile for what you want to accomplish before morning."

"Thanks." Michael walked over to the cradles, running his hands over the smooth, hand-carved wood. Walter's handiwork. Beautiful. Artisan-like. His eyelashes fluttered down as his eyes closed briefly. A labor of love. For his wife. For him. For their babies.

He felt a tightness form in his throat when he looked at the twins. He murmured to them in French, trying not to think about things like never seeing his family again. If he lost them, like he had lost Adam… He closed his eyes tightly. That way lay madness. He had damn near killed himself when Adam was taken away. If he lost any more…there would be no salvaging his humanity.

"Birkoff?"

Birkoff immediately gave Michael his full attention. "Yes?"

"Whatever's wrong between you and Declan? Make it right. Now. You might not get another chance…and that's something you'd always regret."

"Michael, it's his fault that Walter was out there in the first place!" Birkoff couldn't help shouting. Just thinking about Walter lying helpless in that hospital bed made him want to scream at the injustice of it all.

"Maybe it would have happened anyway, Birkoff, did you ever think about that? Only maybe you and Declan would have been with him! Maybe they wouldn't have gotten Walter at all! Maybe they would have killed you instead!" Michael took a deep breath and attempted to regain control.

"Or they could have gotten one of the twins." Michael's voice broke completely.

"Oh, God, Michael. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Birkoff wrapped his arms around himself and rocked gently back and forth, his laptop sliding to the floor unnoticed.

Michael rested his head on his arms. His arms spread along the edge of Chris' cradle, he studied his son as he slept, peacefully unaware of the storm coming.

Birkoff slipped downstairs almost soundlessly, but Declan's senses were too fine-tuned not to notice. He didn't draw his gun on Birkoff, but he lay in wait, attentively.

"Declan?" Birkoff asked tentatively.

Declan closed his eyes as he stood in the dark. The shadows felt friendlier than they had in a long time. Maybe that was because he was using them to hide. From himself.

"Yeah," came the soft whisper.

"I'm sorry I blamed you for what happened to Walter."

"Yeah, me, too," came the sad reply.

"It's just that…damn, I can never say what I want to say to you!" Birkoff cursed under his breath, and Declan was amused despite himself.

"It's just what?" Declan sought out Birkoff in the darkened entryway. "That we love each other? That we promised we would be together forever? In that case, I suppose forever would be an awfully long time to hold a grudge." Declan's wry tone was at odds with the inner turmoil he was feeling.

Birkoff approached Declan. He wasn't able to see him, but he sensed that Declan was nearby. Emotional radar, he thought to himself. He reached out with one hand and connected with something solid. Declan's chest.

"Careful now," Declan warned. "You don't want me getting any funny ideas or anything."

"Shut up, Declan. I mean it. You wouldn't know the right word if it jumped up and bit you."

"Ah, the voice of authority. I bow to your superior knowledge," Declan commented sarcastically.

"Yeah, well, I do know something you don't, Declan."

"What's that?"

"That no matter how hard you push me, you can't make me go. You said you were different, damn you. You said you weren't going to leave me, like everyone else I loved did. But first sign of trouble, you're ready to take off." Birkoff felt numb, all over his body. It was like some sort of emotional paralysis. Maybe it was because he was holding back, keeping all his feelings stuffed inside, like a bomb ready to blow.

Declan sagged against the wall, his gun hand dropping to his side. "Bloody Hell, you know how to coldcock someone, I'll give you that, Sey."

"Declan, I don't want you to go out there at all! But if you have to go, I don't want you to go thinking I don't care anymore!"

Birkoff found Declan's mouth, touching it with his hand. Declan kissed the palm of Birkoff's hand. "I love you, Declan. That's just the way it is. I could hate something you do…but I could never hate you."

"I never wanted anything to come between us like this, Sey. I swear."

Declan found Birkoff's cheek and let his fingers guide him to his mouth. They kissed, more affectionately than passionately, and the strength of their commitment deepened again. "I love you, Sey, and I swear, I'll never stop."

"You don't have to swear, Dec. Just come back to me in one piece, okay?"

"I'll try."

Nikita had no problem staying alert. Adrenaline was coursing fiercely throughout her body, keeping her wired to the max. Later, she would be exhausted, a normal consequence of prolonged stress like this, but that didn't matter. She would have plenty of time to sleep, when they were all safe and secure.

Standing in the hall, her back to the wall, Nikita kept one hand on the gun at all times. She hadn't lost much in the way of weapon skills, despite her lack of practice, and she wanted to keep whatever advantage she had. Whoever Walter's attackers were, it was unlikely they were expecting a woman to guard him. Inasmuch as fieldwork offered equal opportunity employment, sexist customs still prevailed in many instances.

Hearing a noise, Nikita spun around, gun drawn and at chest level. It was Michael. She sagged against the wall weakly. "Michael!" she hissed sharply. "I almost shot you!"

He blinked at her, blank stare carefully in place. He glanced around the surrounding area quickly. "Good."

"Good?" Nikita's eyes widened. "You think it's good that I almost shot you?"

"Yes, Kita. You didn't take the time to think. You just reacted." He smiled enigmatically. "You wouldn't have shot me, though."

"How do you know that?" Nikita said, her tone clearly suspicious.

He tapped his temple. "Your brain reacted to the fact that it was me long before you would have pulled the trigger." He sounded matter of fact, but the truth was, he was amazed that Nikita's reflexes were still so sharp.

"Must be all that time I spend chasing after the twins. Hones the killer instinct." She laughed. So did Michael. Right before he pulled her into his arms and held her.

"Hey, Killer…" he whispered into her ear. "I love you, my brave Kita."

A smile transformed her weary face into the picture of contentment. She didn't wait for him to kiss her; she reached up, standing on her tiptoes, to kiss him. Once her arms crept around his neck, she snuggled against his chest. "I love you, Michael."

He didn't think it would make that much difference hearing the words, now that she was safe in his arms again, but it did. It brought tears to his eyes. He blinked, unaware that he also gave a tiny gasp, a sound Nikita registered as relief for her passing her tour safely.

"I'm safe, Michael. We both are."

"I know, love. I know." He kissed her again, this time making no effort to hide his tears from her. "I'm so proud of you."

"How are the kids?" she asked, almost breathless with the sudden realization that they were halfway through the night. Safely.

"Okay. Birkoff is watching them."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Birkoff? Where's Declan?"

"Reconnaissance. He's checking out the area where Walter was attacked."

"Any leads at all?"

Michael shook his head. "Not really. The police say there's nothing. Which in and of itself is suspicious. I mean, the average mugger, even a gang, leaves something behind to identify it."

"Which means the area was probably swept."

"Which means we're dealing with professionals. More and more, it's beginning to look like Section, Kita."

She shuddered in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Try not to worry, doucette."

"It's not me I'm worried for, Michael. It's Faith and Chris," she said in a low voice, smoky with unspent emotion.

He heard someone coming down the hall. Without warning, he pressed Nikita against the wall, both hands framing her face as he kissed her fervently. Averting her eyes, the white-coated lab technician passed them by hurriedly. When she was gone, Nikita smiled up at Michael. "I like the way you make us blend into the scenery."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, best I could do on such short notice."

"Hey, never apologize for kissing your wife. She likes it." She stuck out her tongue at Michael and he tickled her ribs before resuming his grip around her waist.

"You should have seen Birkoff's face when I gave him a gun."

"Did he faint?"

"Almost." Michael kissed her again. "For a second, I think he honestly believed I was going to shoot him."

He sighed. "You're relieved of duty, Kita. I have command."

"You certainly do." She licked his mouth mischievously. "What's the plan?"

"You take the Jeep, go home and sleep in the kids' room. Birkoff is going to relieve me here, and then, Declan and I are going out hunting. For real."

She nodded. "And if I need to get in touch with you?"

"You won't. But…"

Michael looked worried. Nikita rubbed the frown line in between his eyebrows with her thumb. "What, love?"

He bit his lip. "Kita…if I'm not back by dawn…take the kids and the Jeep and head for the chateau. It's like a fortress. You should be safe there. Even if you're followed."

"But Michael—"

He silenced her with one finger to her lips. "Sorry, doucette, I can't let you change my mind on this. It has to be this way."

"Michael? When you say, if you're not back…you mean, if you're delayed, right? You'll follow us later?" she asked hopefully, afraid to hear his reply.

He buried his face in her hair. "I hope that's what I mean."

Her earlier elation replaced by worry for Michael's continued safety, Nikita could only hold onto him weakly. Oh, God. Please don't take Michael away from us. Not now.

Declan crept on his hands and knees across the rooftop of the hospital. The night cloaked him in black. He was a nearly invisible shape moving through the shadow world he was once too comfortable in. His long red hair was contained under a black knit cap or it would have flagged him for whatever enemy approached. He looked over the edge of the roof.

He could see Nikita leaving the building. He watched as she got into the Jeep and drove away, making sure that she was not followed. Declan and Michael had not shared all of the intel with Nikita, fearing that it would make her even more reluctant to leave Walter's side. While it was true that Walter was attacked in the mall parking lot, there was precious little intel gathered from the site. As Michael had noted, the area was clean. Too clean for a random mugging by amateurs.

But Declan was convinced that whoever was responsible for the attack would try again. The fact that Walter was lying in an unconscious state in a hospital bed, with only an unarmed nurse for defense, made him an inarguably vulnerable target. That was why Declan was concentrating his efforts on the rooftop. He had a good vantage point, no matter what direction they came from. If there was to be another encounter, it would be tonight. Declan felt it with the intuition that came from long experience in the field. And it would be here.

It took courage to do what Michael had done, letting Nikita take a turn at guarding Walter. Never mind that it was the logical thing to do. Declan knew what it must have taken for Michael to leave his wife vulnerable to attack, with her only back-up a single-action gun. He knew Michael must be feeling a certain relief that nothing had transpired during Nikita's tour. But…it made the anticipation that something would happen closer to dawn stronger in Declan's mind.

Declan heard a new noise and looked down below. It was Birkoff. After he left the car, he looked up at the rooftop, as if he knew Declan was there somewhere. Declan never told Birkoff where he was going. He couldn't possibly know. But somehow…Declan was sure he did. He closed his eyes, willing Birkoff to go inside the building, before he was spotted by someone else. When he opened his eyes again, Birkoff was gone. Declan never let himself be distracted by anything during a mission, but he felt a palpable tug at his heart, just thinking of Birkoff being in the area when things started to happen. Please, God, keep him safe, Declan prayed, unaware that Birkoff had offered up a similar prayer in his behalf only moments ago.

Michael stood guard outside Walter's door, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible, but without Nikita nearby, Michael found himself curiously preoccupied. His ability to detach himself from events and emotions had served him well during his years in Section, but now, with his family in very real jeopardy, Michael found it difficult to maintain his focus on the mission at hand. Only the thought that he was keeping Nikita and their babies safe made it possible for him to do what he needed to do.

Birkoff walked down the hospital hallway with considerable trepidation. He glanced at every door, jumped at every shadow, winced at every sound. He was never meant for fieldwork, and he knew it. Inextricably tied to his laptop, Birkoff knew his real strengths lay in intel-gathering and data analysis. But he had already done what he could with the little intel they had. It was time to back up the others in the only way possible.

He swallowed hard as he approached Walter's room. He could see Michael standing outside the door, his casual stance belying his vigilance. Just as Birkoff was about to assume his position outside Walter's door, Michael frowned, putting a finger to his lips. Obviously, Michael heard something that Birkoff did not.

Moments later, all Hell broke loose. Walter's body jerked as if he were having a seizure. It came suddenly and without warning, taking the special-duty nurse, Cheryl, completely by surprise. Walter sat up in bed, groaning loudly, his eyes still closed, and Cheryl was unable to restrain him from moving by herself. She couldn't leave his side to reach the call button, and it was unlikely that staff down the hall would hear her call for help. But her first duty was to her patient. She had to protect him.

So when Michael and Birkoff burst through the door, Cheryl felt no conflict in demanding their aid. "He needs to be restrained. Can you hold him down?"

Michael nodded briskly. Cheryl, though a well-trained and normally observant nurse, did not notice that the two men had entered the room with guns drawn. In fact, she had total amnesia for anything that did not concern her immediate problem with her patient. Which suited Michael just fine.

The next thing that happened was a combination of sheer luck and a break in protocol. Once Michael and Birkoff were holding down Walter, Cheryl left the room to call for help. With Cheryl gone, Michael noticed that Walter had stopped struggling. He released his grip on the older man and indicated that Birkoff do the same. Walter opened his eyes.

"Michael!" He croaked in a voice that sounded stronger than Michael expected.

Birkoff almost wept. Walter was conscious! He knew who Michael was. He could see, speak, understand…

"Michael! The men who…attacked me—"

Michael was torn between wanting the information and telling Walter to save his strength. "Walter…you're safe here," Michael began, settling for what little reassurance he could offer.

Walter gripped Michael's jacket with both hands, pulling him close enough for a whisper. "Listen! I've seen the leader before!"

Michael frowned. "Where?"

"Section One! He was there! I swear it!"

Michael stared at Walter. His worst fears were crystallizing before his eyes. "Who is he?"

"I dunno what his name is! But there's something else…something important!"

Walter's color didn't look all that good. He was fading, too, back into unconsciousness, so his body could repair itself.

"Walter! Walter! What is it?"

Michael felt Walter's grip leave his jacket and knew the older man was succumbing to his injuries once again.

"Dec…lan…"

Birkoff said, "Declan and Walter had an argument just before Walter left…maybe that's what he's remembering?"

"…warn Declan…"

Birkoff glanced at Michael, truly alarmed. Making an intuitive leap, Birkoff said with a shudder, "You weren't the target, Walter?"

Walter sank back against the pillows slowly. "Dec…lan…"

It was hard to tell who moved first. Birkoff or Michael. Birkoff shouldn't have moved at all. He'd been ordered to guard Walter. But in the flurry of the code that was called, with medical personnel racing back and forth furiously, all in an effort to save Walter, Birkoff darted out the door and up the stairs, heading for the roof. Michael caught up with him before he opened the rooftop door.

Michael's hand shot out and prevented Birkoff from opening the door that led to the rooftop. "No."

Birkoff panted, both from exertion and frustration. "Don't try to stop me, Michael."

Michael shook his head. "We don't have time for this, Birkoff. Go back downstairs and stay with Walter."

Birkoff blinked. "If someone's after Declan, I need to be here. Not down there."

"No…you don't. You can't shoot well enough to help either of us. Fact is, you're a liability we can't afford."

Birkoff swallowed. "If someone were after Nikita, would you let someone stop you from getting to her?"

Michael stared at Birkoff. All at once, Michael's hand dropped from the door he'd been holding shut. "No," Michael replied tersely.

Michael stepped back and re-checked his gun, sliding the safety off. Turning back to Birkoff, he said, "Just stay out of the way. If you can."

Nikita apologized profusely for waking Madeline. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's really important. I need to leave the kids with you for a while."

Madeline rubbed the sleep from her eyes and regarded her adopted daughter carefully. "What are you not telling me, Nikita?"

"I promise, I'll give you the whole story as soon as I can. But I've got to run now, Mom."

Nikita tried to keep the tears out of her voice as she left her children with the woman she considered to be her real mother. Faith woke up and held out her arms to Nikita, but Nikita blew her a kiss, saying hoarsely, "You be good, Fee. Mommy and Daddy love you."

Madeline saw the look that passed between mother and daughter. It broke her heart that Nikita was so obviously distraught, but could not bring herself to tell Madeline the cause of her distress.

Still, Madeline knew that what Nikita needed most right now was her unconditional love and support. "Be careful, Nikita."

Nikita almost choked on the emotion she was holding back. Her hand fluttered across her mouth as she struggled not to cry. "Take good care of my babies."

She ran to the Jeep before she could change her mind. She was going back. Michael needed her. She didn't know how she knew, but it didn't even occur to her to question the feeling. It was so strong, it throbbed like an ache within her heart.

It was going down now. Declan saw the indistinct shapes crossing the road and climbing the other side of the building. Christ, there were more than six now. His eyes sought out the leader of the group. Tall, lean, late twenties. It was hard to see more than that from here.

Declan watched as they approached. Where was Michael? He heard the door to the rooftop swing shut behind him and turned. Michael hunkered down on his haunches, using hand signals rather than speech to indicate where they would move and who they would hit.

Declan felt another presence. It niggled at him until his eyes adjusted to the total blackness next to the door. It was Birkoff, standing in the shadows. Declan loudly exhaled, and Michael looked in the same direction as Declan faced. "Sorry, I couldn't stop him."

"You? You couldn't stop him?" Declan would have found it funny if it hadn't been so tragic.

Michael's eyes simply fixed on Declan's, his expression softer than usual. "None of us knows how this is going to end. How could I tell him no?"

Declan beckoned to Birkoff to come forward. Birkoff knelt at Declan's side. "Walter woke up, Dec. He said to warn you. He wasn't the target. You were." Birkoff's urgent whisper hit Declan with the impact of a shout.

Suddenly the moment they had been waiting for arrived. The leader of the group strode forward towards Declan and Michael. It was hard to see in the blackness of night, but he was taller than Declan. His hair, an indeterminate shade in the darkness, was cropped close to his head. His eyes glittered with feral glee at finding his prey.

Declan couldn't make out the man's features. He didn't recognize anything about him, despite his conviction that this team originated at Section One, or somewhere very like it.

Then he heard the voice.

It was the voice of his nightmares. Come to life. The voice of dread. The voice of death.

Declan dropped his eyes to the tarpaper that covered the roof. It was his voice. So familiar. Yet so strange. He'd never thought to hear that voice again. In life.

That Irish lilt mocked them. How could anything so evil come dressed in such a fine package?

Birkoff glanced at Declan, who seemed to be carved from stone. Paler than he'd ever seen him. His eyes like slivers of barely-there ice. Declan slowly drew himself up to his full and not so inconsiderable height.

"I see you're struck dumb as usual, Declan." The voice that emanated from this being sounded entirely too pleased with itself.

The figure, draped in a long black leather coat that lay open, moved toward Declan. Immediately Birkoff stepped in front of Declan, without even thinking. Declan's face didn't even register Birkoff's gesture, but his hand slid to Birkoff's shoulder, giving him a gentle shove away from him.

"Ah, don't tell me, this must be the love of your life, Declan. How touching." The figure directly addressed Birkoff. "You, boy, what's your name then?"

Birkoff refused to answer. Part of him was frightened beyond belief. But part of him was just beginning to deal with the dawning realization that the man standing before him was…dead.

It couldn't be. But it was. The man who stole Declan's dreams and replaced them with heartbreak was alive. Just another Section coincidence.

"Justin…" Declan barely managed to whisper.

"Aye, you remember me well enough, I see."

Justin moved slightly and Birkoff flinched involuntarily. He couldn't help it. He wasn't frightened for himself as much as for Declan. No one should have to go through what Declan did once, much less twice. Birkoff, scared as he was, still struggled to protect Declan. Declan would have appreciated his support, but he was too preoccupied with confronting the ghost of his past.

"What do you want, Justin?" Declan's voice sounded deceptively calm and vaguely menacing to Birkoff. He knew how deep Declan's pain and anger went, and he willed Declan to use whatever means necessary to overcome their obvious disadvantage in terms of sheer numbers and shift the odds in their favor.

"What I've always wanted, Declan. Your surrender. You gave it to me once. I think I'd like to see how much better you can do." Justin laughed harshly. His close-cropped hair and feral eyes gave him a demonic countenance and alluded to his association with certain hate groups throughout the world.

"Shall I ask your little friend here to participate? Ooh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Justin's tone unnerved Birkoff, but when he was able to think more clearly, he wondered how Justin managed to survive cancellation.

Declan stared at his older brother. He wasn't sixteen anymore. Justin was no longer his hero. They had both moved on, albeit in completely different directions. Declan might have feared Justin once, but the thought of him touching Birkoff made Declan a force to be reckoned with. "Leave him alone."

"Can I touch him? Is his skin as soft as yours was?" Justin reached out and slid a long finger along Birkoff's cheek. A nerve jumped in Birkoff's cheek where Justin touched him. If Birkoff could have reached his gun, he would have given it a try.

"I said leave him alone," Declan said between clenched teeth.

"I heard you the first time, boyo." Justin's eyes narrowed, but he was so close to Birkoff, now Birkoff could see that they were the same unusual shade of grey that Declan possessed. That was a shame. He loved Declan's eyes. He didn't want anything to remind him of this pig posing as a terrorist.

Justin moved on to study Michael. Taller, leaner. Pretty in a way that the younger man was not. Definitely sensual. Yet there was something else there. Something shifting and mysterious, almost predatory. He respected predators. He was one himself.

Justin commanded Declan to kneel at his booted feet. Declan spat at Justin's feet. Justin looked outraged. "There's more fight in you than I remember, Declan. You ought to treat me better. After all, we are family."

"Not so's you could notice. Boyo." Birkoff's head whipped around. Declan was throwing caution to the wind now, deliberately provoking his brother. Did he mean to end it all here and now?

"I'm sure it's occurred to you by now that I'm not dead." Justin's playful bantering tone was at odds with his cold eyes and feral smile.

"What a shame," Declan quipped.

Justin laughed shortly. "I've been greenlisted for years. Nice little program Section has going for it."

"Next thing I know, you'll be telling me you slept with Madeline," Declan said airily.

"Aye," Justin nodded. "I don't suppose you did, though, did you?"

Declan fell silent, his eyelashes sweeping down to cover his all-too-expressive eyes. Justin reached out and caressed Declan's cheek before pressing his knuckle into his jaw. Declan refused to utter a sound.

Birkoff felt the bile rise in his throat, and he knew he was going to be physically sick if Justin tortured Declan. A tear squeezed out from under Birkoff's eyelid, betraying his closeness to Declan.

A predator like Justin never missed a thing. The smaller one was with Declan. The other, the predatory one, was undoubtedly a protector of some sort. Declan attracted those. There was something winsome about him. Once he'd found him tragically beautiful, but Declan rejected him. He wondered if Declan even remembered that. Perhaps he'd blocked it out of his mind. Along with the rape. Justin's eyes fell upon Declan's head. He ripped off the younger man's black knit cap, revealing the long red curls.

Justin liked power. He liked wielding it over the weak. He especially liked wielding it over his younger brother. All that hero worship had come to naught. Justin laughed as he ran his fingers roughshod through Declan's hair, and Declan snapped, "Look, if you're going to kill me, be done with it!"

Justin looked amused. "Kill you this early in the game, boyo? Not at all! We've a couple more hours of darkness yet, and that's more than enough time for me to…play with you and your friends here."

Michael wondered why Declan didn't go ahead and shoot Justin. He was in a perfect position to do so, and Justin clearly didn't see his brother as a real threat. But then Michael realized there was a distinct similarity between Declan's situation with Justin and Michael's with Rene. Michael knew that Rene was a terrorist, knew how many more would die if he weren't stopped, but when it came right down to it, Michael could not take the kill shot. He didn't even raise his gun to defend himself. He believed what Rene told him, that he was without honor, that he would die without believing in anything, that he had never accomplished anything substantial in his life.

Michael was ready to stand there and be killed, but for Nikita. Nikita did what he could not. She took Rene's life. And instead of thanking her for his own life, Michael told Nikita she should have let Rene kill him. He knew it was grief talking, and God knows, he had buried himself in grief long enough for two lifetimes. But he understood how Declan felt.

Declan had countless opportunities to take out Justin, but he didn't. His heart cried out that this was his brother, while his brain screamed at the injustice of it all. How could he possibly resolve the two? He couldn't do it back then, and now, even though he was far better equipped, he still couldn't do it.

He could only wait in quiet desperation, hoping that Birkoff would not suffer, hoping that Birkoff would survive somehow, hoping that Birkoff would not hate him when he remembered.

Justin studied the young man his brother had taken as a lover. He had little intel beyond the family's present location, but what he did have suggested that Birkoff was the weak link. He would exploit any advantage to get what he wanted. Some men preferred sex. He preferred power. Power aroused him, and no physical throb between the legs could compete with that.

Directing his attention to Birkoff, Justin seemed to know instinctively what would cause Declan the most pain. Not the obvious. Not physical injury to himself. Not even torture. No, Declan would be helpless against anything done to his lover. Justin smiled cruelly. It would be exquisitely painful, and quite unlike anything he had ever done before.

Michael counted the number of people surrounding them and despaired. Even with Declan, the odds were against them. But without him? They were dead. He closed his eyes and thought of how many he could take out before he went down. But his heart clung to life with a vengeance. As long as he was alive, there was a chance. Of seeing Nikita again. Of seeing their children again. Of seeing their next child be born.

Suddenly there was a loud pop behind Justin. He spun around, his long black coat flying out in a circle behind him. There was another pop in the opposite direction. Justin frowned. How could that be? There were only the three of them here.

Nikita stepped out of the shadows, her gun drawn and ready to fire again. "Heard you missed me, I'm back," she said to Michael, who heaved a sigh of relief even as he feared for her safety.

She put her gun to the nape of Justin's neck and cocked it. "I think you'd pretty much agree that I can't miss at point-blank range like this. If I were you, I'd give up. Unless you like having your brains splattered all over the rooftop. Your choice." She smiled wickedly. "Boyo."

Michael drew his gun and went from man to man, disarming Justin's terrorist enclave, one by one. Birkoff didn't even pretend to know what to do with his gun. He just stepped away from Justin, only too happy to see the last of him. Declan heard a noise and turned. There were four more men behind them.

Justin took advantage of his brother's distraction to grab Nikita by the hair and pull her into a choke hold. Michael froze where he stood. So far, they had gotten away without firing a shot. No more. Someone was going to have to make a move.

Michael was not close enough to kill Justin before he got to Nikita or he would have. No question. He shouted to Declan, "Take the shot, Declan!" But Declan couldn't move. One of Justin's men was holding Birkoff, forcing his head down until his neck would surely snap. Gun in hand, Declan perspired, wondering what to do first.

He never had a chance to decide.

The shot rang out clearly. They all heard it.

Justin looked surprised. Stunned, even. His mouth formed a perfect ‘O', then turned bright red. His body fell forward, slamming into the rooftop with such force, his nose was broken.

With their leader dead, the others scattered to the four corners of the earth, their bootheels clattering across the rooftop as they made their escape.

Michael, Nikita, Declan, and Birkoff looked at one another, in an effort to ascertain just who fired the fatal shot. No one knew. As one, they turned in the direction the shot had come from.

Madeline stepped out of the blackness, her gun still smoking. She nudged Justin's body with her toe. So politely, it was almost elegant. "I hate a man who doesn't have the sense to stay dead."