| Subject: Chapter 17 |
Author:
Kate
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Date Posted: 16:06:35 03/30/01 Fri
In reply to:
by Kate
's message, "Things My Mother Taught Me" on 19:49:51 03/29/01 Thu
****************
A half truth is a whole lie.
Milla led Sam downstairs to the family quarters. The hotel was busy. Sam could see David dealing with a few guests; Dulcie was serving cocktails to people on the patio and in the bar, someone Sam didn't know was mixing up drinks and chatting in German to another guest. People were munching on peanuts and crackers and a table with cheese had been set up in the small dining room. A couple of children ran by, shiny apples in their hands as their mother called them to hurry up.
"You're starting happy hour early," he commented.
Milla shrugged. "Some people like to drink no matter what time it is. Are you hungry? You didn't come down for lunch."
"Maybe Sara and I'll go out for an early dinner."
"Places open at 8 o'clock here. But you're welcome to eat with the family in awhile. It'll be me, David, Dulcie, and probably Daddy if he gets here in time." She checked her watch. "I don't know what train he caught so I'm not sure when he'll be here."
"You were able to reach him, then?"
"Yes. He was delayed in Rome, so he turned right around and caught the next train back to Naples. Then he changes in Naples and comes straight here. He'll probably call and I'll run out and pick him up."
Milla opened the bedroom door and nodded. "I'm going to start dinner. I'll make extra in case you want to stay."
Sam turned toward the bed. Nikita had fallen asleep again, her face lax in the late afternoon sunlight. A cat leapt up on the window sill, regarded Sam suspiciously, and hopped down inside the room. It sniffed of Nikita and then darted under the bed. Sam could see the tip of its tail peeking out.
He didn't want to help her.
He didn't want to touch her.
He didn't want to have anything to do with her.
Nikita frowned in her sleep and whimpered. Such a small, helpless sound, like a caught animal. Or a hurt child. Sam tried to steel himself to walk out the room, out the hotel and out of Italy, but somehow, he couldn't move.
Nikita whimpered again, then she turned over onto her back, her hair tangled around her face.
If he left, Sara would be furious. Worse than furious, she'd be absolutely livid and he'd have to explain. And he knew he couldn't explain anything yet because he didn't have enough information.
If he left, Milla would be hurt. And he genuinely liked Milla, not so much for herself but because Sara loved her. Their first few months in Egypt had been very hard on Sara. There had been only one other woman at the time, and she only spoke French, which Sara didn't know well enough. Having Milla had been a blessing.
If he left, he'd be turning his back not only on Sara and Milla and this woman who obviously needed help, but he'd be turning his back on his profession. He'd promised to help people, no matter who they were or what they believed in. Maybe no one would ever find out except his wife, but he'd know. And he wasn't sure if he could stand himself.
Sam took a step closer to Nikita. Than another one. He set the computer on the foot of the bed, reached out and took her hand, his fingers settling on her pulse. Strong and steady. Nothing wrong there.
"Michael?" Nikita mumbled and turned toward him, blinking up at him, and all his charitable thoughts vanished. Michael. Michael Samuelle? "Oh. Sorry. I thought you were --"
"Who is he?" Even to his own ears, Sam's voice sounded harsh.
Nikita looked at him, confused. "Who?"
"Michael Samuelle." He nearly choked on the words. "Who is he to you?"
"He's my ... uh ... Milla's father."
"Milla's father. Your husband?"
"Uh ... sort of." Nikita, completely awake now, slid up in bed, wincing slightly. "Why?"
Sam was suddenly so furious he couldn't even speak. Instead, he grabbed his computer, opened the display, and turned it on. The last thing he'd looked at flickered on the screen, came into focus and he thrust it at her.
Nikita looked confused, then her eyes focused on the computer screen and she turned absolutely white. She didn't move or say anything for a moment, and when she finally looked at him, Sam felt suddenly afraid.
Ridiculous. He out weighed her and she was ill.
"Who are you?" Her voice was steady and strong and cold as ice.
"I should ask you the same question." Sam's eyes narrowed and he felt Nikita examining him, inventorying his eyes, his hair, his physique. He stayed perfectly still under her inspection, and was totally unprepared when she jerked up, slid out of bed and faster than he could imagine possible, whipped out ... a gun?
Sam blinked. Where had she hidden it? Who kept a gun so close by?
"Answer the question," Nikita said, her voice flat and frigid. "Now. And so help me God, if you've harmed one hair of Milla's head I'll -- I'll --"
Behind him, the bedroom door opened and Nikita's eyes grew wider and she took a step back, her gun shaking wildly. Sam started to turn, but something heavy and hard came down with lightening speed on his head, and he crumpled. His last conscious thought was, Well, at least she didn't shoot me.
********************
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