He flipped her over and down on the mat. "Don't stiffen. Boneless. When you hit, roll and on your feet."

Don't stiffen, she told herself as she struggled to her feet. Don't stiffen.

Easy to say. When you were flying through the air, tensing the muscles was as natural as breathing.

At the end of an hour she was so limp with weariness that she no longer tensed any part of her body.

He stood over her. "Shall we stop?"

"No." She struggled to her feet, swaying. "Again."

At the end of another thirty minutes of work, he picked her up, carried her to her room, and dropped her on the bed. He said roughly, "Remind me not to let you call the shots again. You'd go on until I killed you."

He left the room.

She would rest for a moment and then force herself to get into the tub. God, she hurt. She closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would remember not to stiffen when she fell. Tomorrow she would roll and get to her feet ...

Something cold and wet was pressing against her hand that was hanging off the bed.

She opened her eyes.

Sam. He must have followed Tanek into the room and gotten shut in.

"Do you want out?" she asked. "You'll have to wait a minute until I can move. I'm not in very good shape."

The German shepherd looked at her for a moment and then lay down on the floor beside the bed.

Acceptance. He knew about pain and wanted to comfort her.

She reached a tentative hand down to stroke his head.

The next day, she didn't stiffen with the toss, but she couldn't force herself to spring to her feet.

The day after, she rolled during the first few falls but fell apart when the exhaustion hit her.

The third day she managed to relax, roll, and get to her feet. She felt as if she'd painted a masterpiece. It was coming together!

"Good," Tanek said. "Do it again."

She didn't do it again for another two days. He made sure the falls were harder, the pace faster.

She spent two hours a day in the gym, but it might have been twenty-four. When she wasn't there, she was thinking about it, preparing herself mentally and physically for the next time she faced Tanek. She continued sketching, she talked to Michaela, she ate, she slept, but everything was unreal. She felt as if she were existing in a cocoon with nothing in the world but the dominant figure of Tanek, the gym, and the falls.

But she was growing stronger, more agile, faster. Soon Tanek would no longer be able to totally dominate her.

Tanek heard the sound of light footsteps pass his door.

Nell had left her room. The dream again.

Tanek rolled over on his back on the bed and stared into the darkness.

Tania had told him about the nightmares, but knowing and watching Nell try to survive them was not the same. He had followed her a few times but had not let her become aware of his presence. Not after he'd caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face. She wouldn't want him to see her weakness.

She would go to the living room and curl up on the couch and look up at the Delacroix or wander to the window and stare out at the mountains. She would stay an hour, sometimes two, before returning to her room.

Did she sleep when she went back to bed?

Precious little, he'd bet. She never appeared fully rested, always balanced on a fine, nervous thread.

Yet it never interfered with her determination or endurance. No matter how many times he hurt her, she came back for more. Strength of spirit and indomitable courage, wrapped in that beautiful fragile package. When she made a mistake, she learned from it. No matter how tired or bruised, she endured.

She endured his hardness, his brutality, his indifference to her pain.

God, he wished she'd go back to bed.

On Tuesday it finally did come together. She found the falls no longer hurt her, and she could roll away from an attacker and bounce to her feet, ready to defend herself.

"By George, I believe she's got it," Tanek said. "Do it again." He threw her, hard.

She was on her feet seconds after she hit the mat.

"Good. Now we can begin. We'll start attack and defense tomorrow."

She smiled brilliantly. "Really?"

"Unless you'd rather I kept on throwing you around the gym."

"I imagine I'll still get enough of that," she said dryly.

"But you'll be able to concentrate on what I'm teaching you and not worry about getting hurt." He threw her a towel and watched her wipe the perspiration from her face. He said, "You did well."

They were the first words of praise he'd given her, and warmth rushed through her. "I was slow. I didn't think I'd ever learn."

"You were quicker than I was." He wiped his face and neck. "I was only fourteen and had a highly developed sense of self-preservation. I resisted every step of the way, and we didn't have any mats in the warehouse where Terence was teaching me. I nearly got my neck broken a dozen times before I learned."

"Terence?"

"Terence O'Malley."

She could almost see him closing up again. "And who was Terence O'Malley?"

"A friend."

A curt dismissal, but this time she ignored it. He knew everything about her. It was time she learned more about him. "The friend Gardeaux killed?"

"Yes." He changed the subject. "You deserve a reward. What would you like?"

"A reward?" she repeated, surprised. "Nothing."

"Name it. I subscribe to the tutorial system of reward and punishment." He added dryly, "And you've had enough punishments lately."

"There's nothing I want." She thought of something. "Except perhaps ..."

"What is it?"

"What you said about Maritz-" She stopped. "When you had me down. Something about hitting me under the nose and killing me. Could I learn to do that? Right away?"

He stared at her for a moment and then started laughing. "No candy or flowers or jewelry. Just another lesson. I should have known." His smile faded. "Too bad. I was hoping you'd be fed up with violence by now. I've been exposing you to enough of it."

Violence? There had been pain and frustration, but he had never been violent. She had always known that the force he exerted was measured and without malice. "I don't think you were violent."

"No? It felt like it to me." He shrugged. "But then, I'm not accustomed to throwing around women who aren't even half my weight."

It had bothered him, she realized. Behind that cool mask, distaste had been festering. "I asked you to do it."

"That's right." He stepped closer and took her hand. "Just as you asked me for this pleasant little present. You asked me, so I gave it to you." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Just as I'll give you the gift of killing Maritz with one blow." He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the palm. "With this very hand."

He had caught her off guard. She stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away from his face. Her palm tingled and she felt as breathless as the times before she had learned to properly hit the mat.

"Isn't painting a picture more satisfying than killing a man, Nell?" he asked quietly.

He dropped her hand and left the gym.

The next day Michaela brought two large cardboard boxes from the Bar X.

Nell was perched on her usual stool, sketching, when she noticed the boxes in the corner. The lids were open and they appeared to be brimming with fabric. "What's that?"

Michaela glanced at the box. "Only some old clothes I brought to take to Lasiter this afternoon. The Basque Benevolent Society is having a rummage sale this Saturday. I need to put them in the truck. I was going through them this morning to make sure they didn't need repairs." She shrugged. "Children are hard on clothes."

"Children?"

"I have two grandchildren. I didn't tell you?"

Michaela a grandmother? The idea was odd. She couldn't imagine her bouncing a grandchild on her knee.

"My daughter Sara's son and daughter," Michaela said. "Six and eight. Come put aside that pad and help me take them to the truck."

Nell obediently set the pad on the butcher block and followed her across the room.

"You take this one." Michaela thrust one of the boxes at her. "I left the pickup in the stable yard." She lifted the other box and swept out of the kitchen.

Nell made a face as she started after her. Michaela made a better general than a grandmother. She could see her rallying the troops and- Something had fallen out of the box. She stopped to pick it up.

It was a tennis shoe, a very small, red tennis shoe.

A child's shoe. How many times had she picked up shoes like that and tossed them in the closet after she'd put Jill to bed?

She couldn't pick up this shoe.

She could only stare at it.

Jill.

"Hurry, I have to get back to my baking," Michaela called impatiently.

Nell forced herself to kneel and pick up the shoe. She crouched there with the shoe in her hand. It felt so good, so ... familiar.

"Oh, God," she whispered. She found herself rocking back and forth with the tiny shoe clutched to her breast. "No ... no ... no ..."

"What's keeping-" Michaela was standing in the doorway. She hesitated only a moment before coming forward. "Oh, you dropped a shoe." She took it from Nell and dropped it into the box. "I can take this now. Go wash your face. You have a smudge." She picked up the box and strode out of the room.

Nell got up slowly and went to the bathroom. No smudge. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Stupid. Falling apart over a shoe. She had no control over her dreams, but during her waking hours she had thought she was in control, growing tougher, maybe even starting to heal. Was it going to be like this all her life?

"Don't take all day." Michaela was outside the door. "I need you to help peel potatoes."

Michaela never asked for help with the meals. She regarded the kitchen as her exclusive domain. She had ignored Nell's moment of weakness and was trying to keep her busy. Kindness came in all packages.

"Coming." She opened the door. "I'm sorry, I-"

"About what? You were clumsy and dropped a shoe." Michaela headed for the kitchen. "I'm not interested in your chattering. Come and help me."

"That's good." Nicholas tilted the sketch under the lamp. "You've caught her."

Nell shook her head. "Not entirely. It's frustrating as the devil trying to sketch someone who flits around like Michaela."

"Michaela doesn't flit. That's much too airy a term."

"Whatever." She took the sketch back and put it in her portfolio. "But I think I'm ready to set up the easel and oils tomorrow." She looked at him from under her lashes. "Do I get a bonus for that?"

"Nope." He knelt by the fire and stoked the logs. "I'm giving you enough time in the gym. Any more would be overload."

She had thought that would be his answer, but it hadn't hurt to try. Actually, he was probably right. She was satisfied with her progress in the week since he had started teaching her the rudiments of attack and defense. But it would take a lot more time for the moves to become second nature.

"I didn't learn very much about guns at Obanako," she said tentatively.

"Not my area of expertise. Jamie likes guns. If he comes here, maybe you can persuade him to teach you."

"Or knives."

He looked up and met her eyes. "I'll teach you how to defend yourself in a knife attack but not how to use one. You wouldn't have a chance against Maritz anyway. You can't learn in three months what it took him years to learn." He stood up and filled her coffee cup. "You'd better have another weapon, a damn good plan, or just plain luck."

"What about Gardeaux? What would I have to have with Gardeaux?"

"Leave Gardeaux to me."

"I can't. He gave the order." She lifted the coffee cup to her lips. "Tell me about Gardeaux."

He sat down on the hearth and linked his arms around his knees. "You told me you researched him."