Sasha couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to her. He stood at his bedroom window and watched as Skye turned around and looked up. For a second, he thought he would throw up. She was so beautiful…and she was walking out of his life. Maybe for good.

He knew that she couldn't see him. But he could feel her eyes penetrating the glass, searching in vain for one last glimpse. He touched the window with one hand, his fingers spread as though they could capture her and keep her with him.

"Ange…" The sound of his voice took him by surprise. He hadn't spoken her name since he found out that she was going away.

The door of the car slammed and she vanished from sight.

Now it was real.

Now he could cry.

"But how come it happened so fast?" Declan cast a puzzled look at his lover.

"Isn't it better this way?"

"I don't know. It kills me to see Sasha hurt like this."

"But you understand why, don't you?" For one irrational moment, Declan thought that Sey was agreeing that Sasha couldn't be trusted to control himself where Skye was concerned and he felt an inexplicable rage blossom in his chest. But then he saw the tragic look in Sey's expressive eyes and he knew different.

"He was managing—"

"He was drowning, Declan."

"He wouldn't hurt her."

"I know." Sey shook his head. "It's not like they're sending Skye away to spite Sasha."

"Tell that to him."

"If it was Emmy, wouldn't you want to protect her, Dec?"

Declan dropped his head wearily, contemplating his hands which were folded carefully in front of him. "Aye, I would."

"But I know Sasha. I know what's in his heart. Just because he's a teenager doesn't mean he can't love just as deeply as we do."

Sey caressed the back of Declan's hand with his thumb. "That's why we have to help him through this."

"I can't believe we sent her away, Michael," Nikita said, visibly shaking.

Michael prayed for control that seemed strangely elusive now. And why not? This was, after all, their daughter, and to Michael, there was very little more precious to him than his children.

"Kita…"

Nikita turned anguished, red-rimmed eyes upon her husband. "My baby girl, Michael."

Michael lost the battle with his recalcitrant emotions. "Our baby," he whispered, sounding every bit as grief-stricken as his wife.

Pulling her into his arms with a ferocity that he couldn't express any other way, Michael buried his face against her neck. "It was the only way to protect her, doucette."

"But did she have to go so far away? Michael, we'll never see her."

"Yes, we will. We'll go to England in the fall. When she's settled."

"What if she never gets settled, Michael? She's been so sheltered here. She doesn't know how to survive on her own."

"She'll learn." She has to, Michael thought.

"How can you say that? You've always been there for her. What's going to happen to her now?"

As Michael comforted Nikita, he realized that no matter how much his head understood, his heart would always falter. "She'll be all right, Kita."

"Do you know that, Michael? Do you? How can you be so cold? I don't know why I listened to you. There had to be another way."

Every syllable Nikita uttered was like a dagger piercing his heart anew. "There wasn't."

"But—"

"For the love of God, Kita, she's my baby, too! Do you think I don't want her here with me, with us? I can't believe you can't see that," Michael lashed out, instantly regretting it.

"Oh, Michael," Nikita whispered, finally registering that whatever Michael did, he did out of love.

Someday they would get past this.

They had to.

"You don't have to get on the plane with me, y'know." If Davenport was surprised by Skye's words, he didn't show it. He was well-trained and well-used to hiding his true feelings.

"Sorry," he apologized with a cheerful smile calculated to ingratiate himself with the young girl. "I've got orders."

"From who?"

"Your Dad."

Davenport offered Skye a stick of gum, but she shook her head. "I'm too nervous. My stomach hurts."

"I bet. Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you. I just want to get this over with," she sighed, unconscious of the deep sadness shadowing her beautiful features.

"So…" Davenport tried to make conversation. "You ever been to England?" He cursed himself under his breath the moment the words left his mouth. Of course she hadn't been to England. She had never been anywhere. Thanks to an overprotective father.

Preoccupied, Skye didn't notice Davenport's obvious gaffe, much less comment on it. Her head ached, her feet hurt, and she wanted to go home. But that wasn't going to happen. Not for a very long time.

Things didn't get better by the time they boarded the plane. "So what exactly did Daddy tell you to do with me?" And why didn't he come himself? Cause he hates me? Skye valiantly resisted the urge to cry, but she felt truly heartbroken. Cut off from Sasha. Cut off from the family that had coccooned her from birth.

Davenport could read between the lines. She had to be wondering why her father didn't make the trip instead of sending a trusted surrogate. "Your Dad loves you, honey. He *couldn't* come."

"Why?" she sniffed, willing the tears that stood in her pale blue eyes not to fall. "Everybody else is more important than me?"

"Nooo…" Davenport hastened to assure her. Michael hadn't discussed his reasons with Davenport. He didn't have to. As a father, Davenport knew how *he* would feel if he had to send one of *his* children away.

"He couldn't stand to let you go, darlin'."

"Uh huh," Skye muttered.

"*Really*."

Suddenly Skye dove into Davenport's body, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline to everything sane and safe. "I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know, sweetie," Davenport said, stroking her long pale hair.

"I've never been on a plane before."

"It'll be okay. I've been on lots and lots of planes."

"You have?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

"Yep. Nothin' to worry 'bout, darlin'." She settled back against him, her body struggling to relax, but failing.

"What if—" Her voice faded.

"What if what, honey?"

Skye took a deep breath and whispered, "What if they don't like me? What if they hate me?"

"Sssh…how could they hate you, Skye? They don't even know you."

"But…but maybe they don't like French girls," Skye said in a quavering voice.

"Skye…they're going to love you. Just like we do."

"Y'think so?" she sniffed.

"Sure."

The rest of the short trip passed uneventfully. Skye managed to sleep, but she never released her grip on Davenport. When they landed in London, Davenport collected her bags and headed for Customs with Skye in tow.

After they cleared Customs, Davenport hired a car to take them to the school. "How come they have school during the summer?" Skye asked once they were ensconced in the back seat of the car.

"This school runs all year-round, darlin'."

"It does?" Skye asked with a horrified look. "You mean no one ever goes home?"

Davenport could see the fear inside Skye resurfacing. "Some people go home, honey. Some don't. Some people don't have wonderful families like you do."

"Oh." Skye fell silent for the rest of the journey.

Eventually they pulled into a long driveway that led to a series of huge stone buildings. The sign said, Braden Academy, in elegant lettering. Far from heartened by this, Skye felt a chill come over her. *This* was a school? It was big enough to be a minor university.

When they stepped out of the car, Skye exclaimed, "It's so big!"

Davenport opened the boot of the car and removed Skye's luggage, setting it on the ground. "Yep. Sure is."

A person could get lost here.

Seriously.

Skye turned to Davenport and said, "Please, could I go home? I'll be *so* good. I promise. Please?"

Now Davenport felt the true nature of the task that Michael had charged him with. No wonder he thought he couldn't do it himself.

"I'm sorry, honey."

The look on Skye's face stayed with him all the way home. He didn't tell Michael.

It was late afternoon by the time Skye finished unpacking. There were two beds in the room she was assigned to, but so far, the other occupant hadn't shown up. She was in the process of sliding her empty suitcase under the bed when a voice interrupted.

"Hi."

After she straightened up, Skye surveyed the source of the voice. "Hi."

"I'm Holly Patterson. What's your name?"

"I'm Skye. Skye…um…Jones."

The petite brunette grinned at her. "You don't sound too sure about that, Skye."

Afraid that she had inadvertently revealed something that she shouldn't have, Skye paled. "It's my name. Honest. I can show you my passport," she said anxiously.

Holly shook her head. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just teasing."

The young girl, who looked to be the same age as Skye, sat down on her bed. "Ever been to boarding school before?"

"No."

"I could tell."

"You could?"

"Yeah. You're still all shy and everything. Wait till you've been here a month. Like me."

"What's it like?"

Holly smiled, a more genuine smile this time, and Skye realized that she liked her. She seemed like someone Skye could trust. A little. Her father's words of warning rang in her head. She couldn't tell anyone her real name. She couldn't tell anyone where she really lived. It could be dangerous, not just to her, but to the rest of the family.

She didn't need to be told twice. Just looking into her father's concerned eyes had been enough. Michael had enemies. Enemies who would love nothing more than to seize her. Skye had to be very careful.

That meant trusting no one. Not even a pretty brown-haired girl who wanted to be friends with the new kid.

They chatted about this and that, passing the time until dinner. Holly offered to show her where the dining room was and Skye accepted.

She could do this. After all, she was Michael's daughter.

After dinner, Skye took out her laptop. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Skye connected to the Internet, using the special encryption program that Sey created. It was state-of-the-art software, intended to render any connection secure, no matter where she was calling from.

With a sigh, Skye realized that by now, Sasha would have had enough time to miss her. If he cared.

She sent a scrambled message to her mother and father, not expecting a quick response. That was why the IM that popped up on her screen took her completely aback. "Umm…"

She was alone in the room. Her roommate thankfully had abandoned her to her own devices. Otherwise, she would have had a hard time explaining her reaction.

"Sasha???"

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, initiating a subroutine that would determine if it was safe to respond to the IM. When the green button lit up on the bottom of her panel, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sasha…" she whispered aloud, feeling his presence in the room as strongly as if he were really there.

Coming to her senses with a start, Skye typed another message. "We're not supposed to have any contact. If Daddy finds out, we'll both be in a lot of trouble."

"He won't find out," she read off the screen.

"Daddy always finds out," Skye whispered to herself. "I have to sign off now."

A new message appeared. She watched the cursor blink almost frantically. "Don't go."

"I have to." She meant to terminate the connection and lock up the laptop, but another message, this one even more urgent than the first, came through.

"I love you."

Tears hovered on the edge of her eyelashes as she stared at the screen in dead silence.

Little did she suspect that it would be the last time she heard from Sasha. For a very long time.

"What are you doing in here?" Michael commanded.

A guilty look fled across Sasha's face before he jumped up and bolted from Michael's study. Michael could easily have stopped the teenager, but he knew there had to be a logical explanation. He walked over to his desk and noted that the screensaver was activated on his computer, meaning it was running.

With a light tap of the mouse, the screensaver disappeared, revealing Michael's secure email program had been initiated. Since no one but him and one other person could possibly penetrate the inner recesses of his computer, Michael knew who was ultimately responsible.

"Why?" Michael asked without turning around, knowing that Sey would be behind him.

"He was suffering so badly—"

"Does he know where she is?"

"No. Just how to contact her," Sey said, automatically dropping his eyes when Michael swung around to face him. He knew what he would see. A wounded glare that hadn't been there in years, fiercely accusing him.

"You deliberately went against me," Michael said, sounding almost as if he didn't quite believe it.

"Michael, do you have any idea how hard this is for him? For both of them?" Sey asked.

Michael gave a short harsh laugh. "What? Now I'm heartless? Is that my role in all this?"

"No! I didn't say that. I know you underst—"

"Were you even going to tell me?"

Sey flushed. "You weren't supposed to find out. I didn't see the harm in them keeping in touch—"

"If you don't, how can he? Birkoff, this isn't about *them* anymore. It's about all of us. Do you know how many people would love to get their hands on *my* daughter? Do you?"

"Then you shouldn't have sent her away," Sey snapped, frustrated and impatient to make Michael see the emotional point that lay behind his decision to help Sasha.

Michael stared at him, unable to frame a single word in his defense.

"And you shouldn't have told me," Sey finished. "I know where my loyalities lie."

A muscle twitched restlessly in Michael's cheek, evidence that he was barely in control of his emotions.

"And I'd do it again," Sey declared before he spun on his heel and left the room.

"He defied me, Kita. I still can't bel—" Michael paced back and forth, stopping every few seconds, addressing his wife in a terse tone that she hadn't heard him use in a long time. She knew better than to touch him right now. But she didn't have to. She could sense the inner turmoil roiling beneath the surface.

"Michael—"

"If something happens to her—" Michael couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence, but it hung there between them, as loudly as if it had been shouted.

Nikita closed her eyes briefly and centered herself. One of them had to be strong and clearly focused. If it couldn't be Michael, it would have to be her. The fact that Michael could not seem to cope should have frightened her. He was her rock, her anchor in times of stress. If the intensity of his feelings was that great…well, she knew she had her work cut out in front of her.

"Michael," she began soothingly, "we can't control the rest of the world. Only our small piece of it. What Birkoff did…wasn't meant to be a breach of trust between you."

Michael froze where he stood. "How can you say that?"

"He told you where he stands. With his son. Would you expect anything less from him?"

"I—"

"And you, what do you think *you're* doing, if not putting your family first?"

Michael passed a hand over his eyes and sagged against the corner table. "I was wrong," he whispered.

Nikita smiled. "It happens once in a while."

When Michael forced himself to realize that nothing had changed, that Skye was still safe, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't know what to say."

"Maybe you should tell Birkoff you're sorry," she suggested.

Michael gave her an enigmatic look, as if to say, I don't apologize to anyone but you. But he knew that Nikita wouldn't rest until things were resolved between him and Birkoff. She was the peacemaker, the heart of the family in a very literal sense.

"I'll talk to him in the morning," he conceded.

"Good. Now come get a hug."

There was something about a man who clings to his supposed invulnerability even as he gives it up that Nikita found endearing. That was the contradiction that was Michael. That was her husband.

"Sasha! Aren't you going to school with us?" Emmy called to her brother.

Sasha shrugged and kept on walking, his head down. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He felt confused, depressed, and agitated, all at the same time. Michael discovering him in his study was a minor disruption of his life compared to losing Skye in the first place.

"She could have said *something* to me," Sasha muttered to himself. As he walked, he didn't notice that he was headed in the opposite direction of school. But if he had noticed, he wouldn't have changed a thing. Nothing mattered more than being separated from the girl he loved.

It was all he could think about.

Plunging his hands deep into his jeans pockets, he continued on, getting further and further away from where he lived and everything familiar. If he hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have noticed the long black Lincoln Town Car that was keeping pace with him.

But he didn't.

Sasha started to cross the street without looking and suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, there were what felt like a thousand pairs of hands grabbing and tearing at his clothes. "Hey! Stop! What are you doing???"

Panting and short of breath, Sasha surveyed the inside of the car, searching for something, anything that would tell him what this was all about.

That's when he saw her.

He opened his mouth to scream, but a black leather gloved hand covered it. "I wouldn't."

"Look, I don't want to argue with you about this. I'm not sorry about giving Sasha the access codes to Michael's computer, and I'm glad he was able to contact Skye."

Declan groaned in frustration. "I'm not asking you to apologize to him. I'm just—God, you're both acting like a couple of bloody children."

"Thanks, Dec. Nothing like a little show of support from my significant other," Sey gritted out, his teeth clenched so tight, they protested the abuse.

"Birkoff! Can I talk to you a moment?"

Sey closed his eyes and counted to ten. Just what he needed, an audience with Michael first thing in the morning.

"What is it?" he asked with a tinge of exasperation.

"I wanted to tell you," Michael flicked a glance at Declan, who seemed to be hovering rather anxiously at his lover's side. "Did you want something, Declan?"

"Just showing my support," Declan answered a trifle coolly.

Sey whirled around to face Declan and exploded, "Sure, *now* you're behind me, now that Michael wants to ream my ass!"

"I don't want to—" Michael began.

Sey snapped, "Stay out of this! This is between me and Declan!"

It was hard to tell who was more surprised. Declan or Michael.

Suddenly Nikita strode into the living room with a determined look on her face. "Okay, boys, why can't you play nice with each other?"

Michael frowned. "We don't need you to play peacemaker, Kita. We're capable of working this out ourselves."

"Oh, really? Then how come I could hear you all the way out in the kitchen? Or was that the sound of you working it out?"

Things continued to escalate until soon, raised voices wouldn't be enough. If it weren't for the sudden appearance of Emmy, they might have gone on indefinitely. As it was, they wasted what later would turn out to be valuable time attempting to assuage hurt feelings when they could have been listening to what Emmy was trying to say.

"Please!" Emmy's heartfelt plea finally penetrated the wall of noise that surrounded them.

Declan saw how distressed his daughter was and his skin started to tingle, a prescient tingle that he used to get before a mission went south. "What is it, Em?"

"Sasha was acting funny this morning."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, upset. Crying, too, I think, even though he didn't want anyone to know."

"I know, Princess. It's because Skye was—" Three pairs of eyes stared at Declan, daring him to say the words "sent away". "Skye's not here," he quickly improvised, his attention split between the others and his daughter.

"I know, Da. I know. The thing is, he didn't want to walk to school with us."

"Maybe he needed some time alone, sweetie."

"Maybe, but that's why I came back. To tell you."

"To tell us what, Em?"

"Sasha never made it school this morning."