Zell attended the charity event with Rinoa, while Squall drove Lily to the Dollet Art Academy for their appointment. Lily frowned the whole way there. She had no desire to go back to school, but she brightened as they stepped inside the main hall where the walls were lined with dozens of student works. There were sculptures and paintings, collages and mixed media pieces, each marked with the name and grade of the creator.
"These kids are my age," Lily said as she pointed to a group of works. "Wow, these are good. What if I didn't bring my best stuff? Maybe I should have brought that ugly landscape you like."
Lily had spent a good part of her day deciding what to put in her portfolio for the visit. Squall helped a little at breakfast, but she'd picked the majority herself. Squall thought all of her art was great, so Lily put no stock in his opinion.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Squall said. "You ready?"
"Ugh! What if they think I suck?"
"They won't think you suck," he promised.
"But what if they do?"
"They won't," he said. "And if they do, then they're the ones that suck and we'll find some place else."
"I'm scared."
"I'll be right there with you, Lil."
Squall expected a tour first, but they were introduced to the headmaster and ushered into a conference room. Three senior faculty members waited at a polished wood table. Lily's grip on Squall's hand tightened. Neither had expected a panel of judges.
"It is highly unusual for us to take a student this late in the term," the headmaster said, "however, we do have an opening and Mrs. Delacroix spoke so highly of Lily's talent we felt it was worth meeting with you. Did you bring a portfolio, Lily?"
She nodded and with shaking hands pushed it across the table toward him. Squall held her hand as they reviewed her work without comment. Squall tried to judge their reactions but found he was unsure of whether they liked what they saw or not.
A place like this had to be expensive, scholarship or not. Laguna would gladly foot the bill, but Squall had a hard time swallowing his pride long enough to ask, even when it wasn't for himself. Squall had a little in savings, probably enough to cover the first month's tuition, but not a full semester.
If the school wanted her, Squall would suck it up, choke back his pride and ask Laguna for the money. It was for Lily, and Laguna would do anything for her, except shoulder the responsibility of her day to day care.
"These are quite exceptional, Lily," the Headmaster said. "What formal training have you had?"
"I had a few lessons," she said. "And my teacher at DS102 was really good. Miss Brandon."
"What's your favorite medium?"
"Watercolor," Lily said, "but I'm just now trying out oil, so that might be my new favorite. I like the way the paint moves."
Squall gave her hand a quick squeeze of support under the table and she squeezed back. There were more questions, and Lily answered with confidence. Lily knew art the way Squall knew battle strategy.
"Why don't we give you the tour?" the headmaster asked. "Miss Hardwick, would you mind showing them around?"
Miss Hardwick was a pretty, young brunette in a peasant skirt and silk tunic, and she looked every bit the bohemian artist. Or at least, as far as the stereotype in Squall's head went. Her smile was broad and carefree, but also flirtatious. Squall pretended he didn't notice and followed her through the halls without comment.
The school was impressive. In addition to the usual academic subjects, there were a dozen or so "labs" where students learned and used different types of materials, from paint to sculpture to pottery. Inside each one, small groups of kids were busy creating. Lily pressed her face to the glass outside one of the rooms, rapt as she watched the activities going on inside.
"The school day here is two hours longer than your typical curriculum," Miss Hardwick said. "That extra time is focused on the arts, of course. The students can choose what they wish to focus on that day until they find a medium they particularly enjoy or show a talent for. For example, Lily might spend her first hour focused primarily on watercolor or oils, and then sample another class for the second."
"Wow, this is cool," Lily murmured, watching a pair of students collaborate on a sculpture made of plastic army men, coat hangers, polymer clay and a lot of glitter. "So, we can make, like, whatever? Anything we want?"
"Pretty much," Miss Hardwick said. "So long as it isn't toxic or explosive or offensive."
"Take all the fun out of it, why don't you?" Lily said.
Squall scowled and elbowed her for the comment, but Miss Hardwick laughed.
"I think you'll fit in here just fine," the woman said.
"Can we go in?" Lily asked. "I wanna see that thing up close."
"Sure," Miss Hardwick said. "You can meet the instructor and some of your classmates."
All eyes were on Lily as they were led inside. The other kids gazed at her with curiosity but without hostility as she wandered the workspace, eying the odd sculptures with interest.
"We keep the classes small," Miss Hardwick said to Squall. "There are only 18 spaces available for each grade so that we can give the children the attention they need."
"What's your policy on bullying?" Squall asked.
"Not tolerated. At all," Miss Hardwick said. "All incidents are taken seriously and investigated thoroughly, and all students are required to take a conflict resolution class to help them learn to talk through problems and concerns."
That was good to know. He didn't want any repeat incidents. Lily had already endured enough but she could benefit from lessons on how to deal with others. Hyne knew, she wouldn't learn it from him.
"A lot of the children here experienced bullying in other schools," Miss Hardwick continued. "So we make absolutely sure that this is a safe place for our kids. I assume by your question Lily's had issues in the past?"
"She lost her mother two years ago," Squall said. "She's had a hard time adjusting. Some of the kids at her other school weren't kind nice about it."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Your wife?"
"Sister," he said.
"Well, this is a very nurturing environment," Miss Hardwick said but her tone implied she was game to nurture him, too. "We encourage the children to express grief and anger through art and creativity. It's very therapeutic."
On the other side of the room, Lily talked quietly with a dark haired boy wearing thick, black-framed glasses. He appeared to be building an owl out of a bunch of machine parts, screws, bolts and spark plugs. The owl made Squall think of Rinoa and it took him nearly a full minute to remember why.
"It's very sweet of you to take her in," Miss Hardwick said. "It's not so often you see single young men willing to do that."
Miss Hardwick stood too close for Squall's comfort. He took an unconscious step back as he watched Lily talk with the boy at the back of the room about his project. The boy was animated and enthusiastic and he pointed out things on the sculpture for Lily to examine. When she laughed at something he said, Squall knew this was where Lily needed to be.
Back in the office, Squall asked about tuition.
"Tuition won't be a concern," the headmaster promised. "A generous patron has provided a sort of scholarship for children like Lily."
Squall was suspicious. "No application?"
"Well, yes," the headmaster said. He pushed a document across the table. "But I believe we've already decided, and I oversee any approvals for said scholarship. Is there a concern?"
"It just seems... Sudden," he said. "I thought there would be more of a process. And we haven't really decided yet."
"But-" Lily began, but Squall silenced her with a look.
"Can we let you know?" Squall asked. "After we take a look at a few other places?"
"Of course," the headmaster said. "But don't take too long to decide. We only have one open spot and we plan to fill it by the end of the week."
"I understand," Squall said. "I'll be in touch."
Out in the parking lot, Lily caught hold of Squall's hand as he reached to open the door of the truck for her. Big brown eyes stared imploringly up at him, and he knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.
"You really want to go here?" he asked before she could start begging. "You don't even want to look at any other schools first?"
"No," she said. "This place is awesome!"
"Are you're sure?" he asked. "Because once you're enrolled, I'm not taking you out if you don't like it."
"I know I'm gonna love it," she said. "Promise."
He smoothed both hands over her hair as she looked at him hopefully.
"Please say yes," she urged. "Please, please, puhleeze!"
Squall's mouth quirked into a half-smile.
"Why don't you sleep on it and let me know tomorrow?"
"I don't need to sleep on it," she said. "I don't. I wanna go here."
"Okay," he said. "Let's go fill out the paperwork."
Seifer sat in his car outside an expensive high-rise apartment in downtown Deling City. He'd been sitting there for over an hour, watching the door for any sign of Florian Delacroix or the woman he'd gone inside with. Impatient, Seifer tapped his fingers against the steering wheel and sent a glance at the clock on the dash.
He might have believed this was a case of a clandestine lunchtime hook-up, a bit of afternoon delight, if not for the fact that the man in question was a paraplegic. A little digging told Seifer that Delacroix had been quite the cad in his younger days, prior to the injuries that would leave him unable to walk for the rest of his life.
As a young man, Delacroix had developed a reputation for both his wild partying and his extreme generosity. It was said that pre-accident, Delacroix had a soft spot for pretty girls of modest means. He liked to give them lavish gifts, dress them up in gowns that cost more than a whole month's rent and take them out on the town. His friends called it slumming, but he claimed to prefer his women less spoiled. Common girls appreciated his gifts, whereas rich girls felt entitled to them.
His generosity was almost as well known as his love of partying. He was the sort of guy who would do anything for a friend, and gave without asking for anything in return. He'd abhorred his parents stiff formality and for a time, refused to learn the family business.
It was the party lifestyle that had brought him down. He'd drunkenly taken his date out for a late night drive in his brand new sports car and had lost control on an unexpected curve in the road. He'd rolled the car into a farm field, and wound up nearly 100 feet from the road, pinned beneath the car. For two hours, he'd lay in the field, in and out of consciousness before anyone came to his aid. By then, it was too late to mend his broken back, and far too late to save his date, who had been thrown from the car and had more than likely died on impact.
Since then, Delacroix had been a good boy. He drank only in moderation, though he was a regular on the ball and gala scene, both in Dollet and Galbadia. He stopped womanizing, went to college and eventually became head of Delacroix Industries. He seemed to be on the up and up, except for one thing.
This apartment.
Though Delacroix spent a significant amount of time in Deling City, he had a standing reservation in the penthouse of the Hotel Galbadia. Seifer's contact had been watching the man since Squall had asked Seifer to look into it, and he'd reported back that Delacroix retired to his rooms at the hotel every evening, without fail. Yet he spent his lunch hour here, in an apartment rented in his name, with the same woman, every single day. As far as Seifer could tell, neither of them returned there in the evening.
Was the man having an affair? Was that the real reason he was away from home so much?
If it was an affair, it could only be an emotional one, if rumors about Delacroix were true. Sure, there were plenty of things he could do pleasure a woman, but there would be no reciprocation that he could feel or even enjoy.
Did Delacroix crave a physical relationship? Or had that urge left with his broken spine? What was it like to remember arousal and pleasure, but no longer be able to experience it? Was the instinct still there? Seifer didn't know, but he was curious.
Twenty minutes later, the woman exited the building. She tucked her dark blonde hair behind her ears and slipped on a pair of expensive looking sunglasses. Seifer took a few pictures, making sure she didn't spot him as he snapped the photos. She was well-to-do and put together, and he noted there was a wedding ring on her hand. The ring was huge and sparkly through his viewfinder.
She was someone's wife. A rich someone's wife.
"The plot thickens," he murmured to himself.
They arrived together but left separate. Why? And who the hell was she?
Seifer decided to follow her. He took care care to stay at a distance, a few car lengths back, while still keeping her vehicle in sight. Eventually, he found himself stopped a block from the Caraway Estate. He parked half a block away and watched as the woman got out of the limo and walked up the steps like she owned the place.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
Seifer watched through the lens of the camera. He zoomed in closer as the front door opened and Caraway stepped out. The woman gestured angrily at him, and Caraway glanced around as though he did not want her to be seen on his doorstep. Seifer snapped a couple photos as the woman was ushered inside. He was particularly proud of the one he got of Caraway looking guilty as sin.
And then there was more waiting. Nearly half an hour lapsed before the woman emerged from the house carrying an envelope. She flashed a smug, triumphant smile as she sauntered down the walk to the limo.
Seifer trailed her all the way back to Delacroix's main office in downtown Deling City, which was only blocks from the apartment. Delacroix was just arriving as the woman stepped out of the limo. She passed Delacroix the envelope, exchanged a few polite words with him, and they entered the building together.
They didn't act as though they were lovers, but perhaps it was part of the ruse. Seifer wasn't exactly a stranger to keeping it professional in public, even if it was heated behind closed doors.
What the hell was going on here? How was Caraway involved in this and why had he looked so damn guilty? Who was this woman?
Seifer tried to give Squall a ring, but Squall's phone was off. He left a voice mail.
"Got some weird shit going down. Hit me back, ASAP."
He pocketed the phone and resumed drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Maybe he should stick around and follow the woman when she left the building. She might lead him somewhere even more curious than Caraway's doorstep.
Seifer hated waiting. Despised it. Would rather listen to Dincht expound on all the virtues of hot dogs than have to sit in a car for hours, waiting around for something to happen.
Deciding to take a risk, he pulled a knit cap over his hair and a leather motorcycle jacket over his company t-shirt. As he got out of the car, he double checked the 40 caliber pistol nestled in the holster at his side and zipped up the jacket to conceal it.
He crossed the street and paid little attention to the traffic honking at him as he weaved through traffic, and went inside the main lobby of Delacroix Industries. It was furnished in a contemporary look, with a lot of glass, metal and black granite. A deceptive simplicity hid an exorbitant cost, for Seifer was no stranger to the price of quality granite. He'd paid through the nose for just a few square feet of granite in a charcoal gray for the butcher's block in his recently remodeled kitchen. Here, the stuff was everywhere. The floor. The walls. The counter top at reception. Even the pillars were clad in the stuff.
He ignored the desk and stalked to the elevator after a quick glance at the directory. He had no real purpose here, he just wanted to take a look around. Maybe something would stand out but he doubted it. This was mostly just to satisfy his curiosity.
On the 15th floor, where the main offices were, the woman from the apartment sat at a reception desk near a set of double doors marked with a brass plaque. Seifer had expected a floor of cubicles, not Delacroix's actual office.
On the reception desk was a nameplate.
Lorraine DeLong.
"You Delacroix's secretary?" Seifer asked.
"Personal assistant," she said tersely. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"I got the wrong floor," Seifer said. "Sorry."
He stepped back into the elevator wondering what the hell Delacroix and his personal assistant were up to.
Zell stood in a flower shop that catered to the rich and entitled, sniffling a little as the heavy, heady scent of flowers made him want to sneeze. He wasn't exactly allergic, but so much perfume and pollen concentrated in one single space was too much for his sinuses to handle.
He retreated to the corner of the room, where non-blooming plants were displayed, and waited for the shopkeeper to return with her list of orders for the last week. At his hip, his phone buzzed and he checked it to see he had a message from Seifer.
Call me when you get a chance.
No smartass comments, no chicken references. Just the message. That was unusual for Seifer. The last text he'd gotten from him was nothing but a drawing of a cartoon chicken in a corset. Whatever it was, it must be important for Seifer to forgo his usual mockery.
Zell pocketed the phone as the florist came out of the back with a stack of orders and a ledger.
"I can confirm there was no order for Delacroix," the florist said. "But, there was an unusually large order for the Kilroy estate. Yep. It's right here. Five dozen of a rose called the Blood of Hyne, ordered by Mrs. Kilroy and delivered the following day."
"Where?" Zell asked. "The Kilroy estate, or somewhere else?"
"Well, this is unusual," the florist said, perplexed. "I don't know this address. Looks to be on the other side of town."
It wasn't familiar to Zell either, but judging by the zip code, it was residential. He jotted down the address and thanked the florist.
He had an hour before he had to take Rinoa to the Decatur St. Homeless shelter for her shift in the soup kitchen. Zell thought it was cool that she did stuff like that. Throwing money at the problem was great and all, but it was really nice of her to jump in and help, too. Not that Rinoa had ever been a bystander when it came to the welfare of others, but it was nice to know that even with a ton of money behind her, she was still game to get her hands dirty.
As he got in his rental car, he wondered how she and Squall were getting along. Zell had taken her to the clothing drive this morning and had passed her off to Squall around lunch time. The tension between them was as thick as gas station coffee and neither dared look at the other. Seifer had said to encourage it, but from what he could see, there wasn't much to encourage.
Since he had a few minutes to spare, he decided to find out where the address was and he plugged it into his GPS.
Ten minutes later, he parked in front of a town house with a modest 4-door vehicle in the driveway. He got out to take a look around but froze when he saw the name on the mail box.
Leonhart/Loire
"Oh, shit."
Zell took his phone from his pocket and called Seifer back. It went to voicemail. He sent a message, in need of an opinion besides Squall's. Seifer was his best and only option.
Shit's just gone sideways. Cluck-cluck, Lap-dog. Call me. Now.
In his office, Seifer flipped through the photos he'd taken earlier as he he waited for Quistis to figure out a time that was good for her to meet up with him.
"I can meet you in Dollet on Sunday," Quistis said. "Does that work?"
"I can make it work."
"Should I make a reservation?"
"No, I'll take care of it," Seifer said. "Just get yourself on that train."
"You sound eager," she said. "You don't miss me or anything, do you?"
He did, but he wouldn't admit it. He wanted her now. Two hours ago. Yesterday. He wouldn't be happy until he could have her all the time, every day, whenever he wanted. But he wouldn't say that. Not out loud.
His phone buzzed. It was a message from Dincht. Seifer was about to blow it off, until he saw what it said.
"Quis, I've gotta go," he said. "Chicken-face has something for me."
"Remind him that I need an update by end of day," Quistis said. "Just a quick message to let me know how it's going."
"I can tell you that," Seifer said. "It's a cluster fuck. Nobody knows what the hell is going on. Not me. Not Squall, not Chicken-wuss. I'll see you Sunday."
"Looking forward to it," she said. Her voice was a soft, husky purr in his ear that went straight to his groin.
He dialed Zell as soon as he hung up but didn't get an answer. So it was like that, was it?
He set the phone aside and sifted through the photos again. He didn't understand this. Why was Delacroix's secretary visiting with him in a private location every day, and why had she visited Caraway under such suspicious circumstances? None of it added up, but he was sure of one thing. Delacroix was not as squeaky clean as they'd been led to believe.
His phone rang and he answered, glad for once to hear Zell's voice on the other end.
"I think Squall's being set up," Zell said.
He didn't wait to get Seifer's reaction before he explained what he found at the florist. The more Seifer heard, the more it seemed Squall might actually be a target.
"And get this," Zell said. "When I went back to the florist to find out who signed for the delivery, the invoice had Squall's signature on it."
"For real?" Seifer asked. "Or a forgery?"
"I don't know yet. Looks like his handwriting. I took a picture for comparison," Zell said. "Haven't had a chance to put them side by side yet."
"Was the delivery time stamped?"
"Yeah. About 11 am, the date the maid was found," Zell said. "The driver couldn't give a good description, but he said dark hair, scruffy looking, leather jacket."
"Fuck," Seifer said. "You don't think Squall's behind this."
"Hell no," Zell said. "I think someone's doing a bang-up job of making it look like him, though."
"What have you got on the Kilroy's?" Seifer asked.
"Not much. Lance Kilroy inherited an obscene amount of money from his grandfather," Zell said. "He's head of a cosmetics manufacturer, in name only. Shows up to board meetings every now and then, but mostly, he hangs out on his estate shooting clay and getting drunk on martinis."
"Must be nice," Seifer said. He couldn't imagine having so much money he could get away with doing nothing. "What about his wife?"
"Order was made in her name," Zell said. "She doesn't do much but shop and spread gossip."
"I'll see what I can dig up," Seifer said. "I've got some weird shit going on here, too."
He shared his news with Zell, who was just as perplexed as Seifer was.
"Her dad can't be part of this," Zell said. "That doesn't make any sense."
"He opposed Timber's liberation," Seifer said. "I'm still betting whoever is behind all this lost something when Timber gained independence. The man's not exactly an icon of morality."
"Yeah, but I just don't see him doing anything to hurt her," Zell said. "I mean, he's kind of a dick, but... I just don't see it."
"Maybe not, but he looked awfully guilty when that woman walked in the door."
"Blackmail, maybe?"
"Could be," Seifer agreed.
"What the hell do I tell Squall?" Zell asked.
"Don't tell him shit," Seifer said. "Not yet. Find out if it's possible he was at his place when the roses were delivered. If it looks like we have a concern, bring him in the loop. Otherwise, he doesn't need to stress over this yet."
"I dunno," Zell said. "I'm sorta working for him."
"And it's in his best interest for you to keep your mouth shut for the time being," Seifer said. "Let's see what we can dig up first."
"All right," Zell said reluctantly. "Keep me posted."
"Will do," Seifer said. "By the way. I'm curious. Were your kids born with feathers, or just chicken legs?"
He wasn't at all surprised when Zell hung up on him.
After Rinoa had returned from her volunteer duties, and after Lily had been picked up from school, but before they had to get ready for Miranda DeLong's fund raiser, Squall took Rinoa out back and set up a paper target above the ocean. Her hands shook as he placed his 9mm pistol in her palm and she looked at it like it would explode.
"Don't be afraid of it," Squall said. "It's not that different from your Shooting Star."
"It feels different," she said.
"I promise you, it isn't," he said. "The only real difference is the projectile is much smaller but more powerful."
She already had half of this down, she just didn't know it.
"The sight is just like your weapon," he said, pointing out the small dot at the end of the barrel. "Line up your target, just like you would if you were using the Shooting Star."
She lifted the gun and he adjusted her hands so that her thumbs were locked together and both arms were locked and extended.
"You can hold it this way," he said, "Or you can use the isosceles grip."
He mimicked it for her, feet hip width apart, one foot slightly back with his left arm bent so his palm could cup the bottom of the grip.
"Try them both out," he said. "Use whichever is more comfortable."
"I think I like the second better," she said. "It's more like how I fire the Shooting Star."
"Okay, then we'll proceed with that one," he said. He placed his palm under her right elbow and pushed it slightly upward. "Keep this arm locked. Your left hand is your support."
It was easier to be near her in training mode. He could shut out his personal feelings when his mind was on things he knew and understood. So long as he kept his focus on teaching, he would get through it without falling to pieces or be tempted to touch what didn't belong to him.
"Expect some recoil," he said. "It's going to kick back at you, so make sure you keep that arm locked."
"Got it."
He slid a set of earphones over her head, then put on a pair of his own. She chambered a round and took aim at the target.
She unloaded all ten rounds, pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty. From where he stood, he saw seven out of ten rounds had hit the critical area. Two had gone outside and one had gone astray.
It wasn't bad for a first try. Squall hadn't done so well his first time out.
"Good," he said.
"That was fun," she said.
"Wanna go again?"
"Why, yes. Yes, I do."
She ejected the empty magazine and Squall handed her a new one.
"Go for it."
This time, all ten rounds went inside the critical zone, hitting heart and lungs on the imaginary attacker. She had good aim, just as she'd had with her Shooting Star back in the day. When the magazine was empty, she looked disappointed.
"Now try this one. Same thing, bigger bullets, bigger recoil."
He handed her a .40 caliber pistol he'd liberated from the safe earlier. It was a much more powerful gun, with a much stronger recoil. This time, only five of the rounds hit the target. Still, if she were to have fired it at a real assailant, he would not be getting up. Three of the five had gone straight through the heart.
"Good," he said with approval. "You're getting the hang of it."
Lily was drawn out of the guest house by the noise.
"You shouldn't be out here, kiddo," he said.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Squall's showing me how to shoot," Rinoa said.
"Why?"
"Just in case," Rinoa said. "I'm here alone a lot. Thought it might be a good idea to learn how."
"Can I try?" Lily asked.
Squall had learned to shoot at an early age, younger than Lily was now, though it had only been a .22 long barrel marksman's pistol with almost no recoil to speak of. It had been a requirement for all gunblade candidates to first learn to use firearms. Even though the gunblade didn't fire rounds, it used the same mechanism to charge the blade for a more powerful strike. It taught them to get used to the blasts and the recoil. Not to mention, most SeeDs carried a sidearm as a back-up, in case their primary weapon was lost or damaged.
It might be a good idea to get Lily comfortable with firearms, not that he planned for her to ever need one, but he didn't see the harm if he helped her hold it while she fired.
"Come here," he said.
He walked her through basic gun safety, taking care to explain that it wasn't a toy and that mishandling could cause injury or death. Then he showed her the proper way to hold it when she wasn't taking aim.
"Always make sure that muzzle is pointed at the ground when you're not locked on a target, Lil. This goes for you, too, Rin," Squall said. " And never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire. Understand?"
Lily nodded.
"Never aim at anyone or anything unless you really mean it, Lil," Squall said. "This is very important, so pay attention. You never pull out a weapon unless you intend to use it. Not to scare someone, not to show off, and never just for fun. It's a weapon and it can kill you or someone else, so if you pull it on someone, you better mean it."
"Okay," she said. "I mean, I promise, I won't."
"Second, you always treat a firearm as if it was loaded. Never assume there isn't a round in the chamber just because the magazine is ejected or empty."
Lily had difficulty drawing the slide back to chamber a round so Squall assisted. He took a knee behind her and positioned her in the correct stance, then placed his headphones over her ears and a pair of protective glasses over her eyes.
"Ready?" he asked.
Lily nodded and Squall wrapped his hands around hers, ready to brace her if the recoil was too strong. She had to use two fingers to pull the trigger and when she did, she shrieked, nearly let go of it and leaned back into Squall's chest, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Wow."
Squall laughed softly at her reaction.
"Had enough?"
"No," she said. "Can I try it again?"
"Sure."
He took a firmer hold of the grip so that the recoil wouldn't startle her as much. She fired the remaining nine rounds slowly, getting closer to the target with each attempt.
"Not bad, kiddo," he said. He pressed his cheek to hers as they both looked at the target. "That guy's not getting up."
"That was scary, but kinda fun."
"We'll try again another day if you want," Squall said. "With something less powerful."
"Can we?" Lily asked hopefully.
"Sure," Squall said. "But not today. Rinoa and I have to get ready."
"I wish I could go with you," Lily said wistfully. "I've never been to a ball."
"Trust me, it's not as fun as it sounds," Rinoa assured her.
"You get your homework done?" Squall asked.
"Yep," Lily said. "All done. It's in my bag if you wanna check."
"You like the new school so far?" Rinoa asked as Squall collected the weapons and safety gear.
"Love it," Lily said. "The teachers are super nice, and the kids are pretty cool. A lot of them are kinda like me. Weirdos and bookworms and art nerds."
It was only the first day, but it seemed like she was going to fit in. When Squall had picked her up, the sullen girl he'd lived with for the past few months was gone, and in her place was a bright eyed and enthusiastic chatterbox. She'd actually shared the day's events with him, and had talked about her classes and teachers, and about how much she'd liked her afternoon pottery class. She hadn't uttered the word whatever once.
"I'm making a decorative bowl," Lily said proudly to Rinoa. "It's not done. I still have to paint and glaze it but I think it'll be really neat."
"That sound like a lot of fun," Rinoa said. "Just don't forget about the little people when you become super famous, Lily."
Lily giggled and rolled her eyes.
"Artists only become famous after they croak, you know," Lily said. "You have to die tragically to get famous."
"Lily," Squall scolded.
"It's true," Lily said and began to list names of artists who lived in poverty their whole lives and only sold paintings after they had passed on.
Squall tuned it out as they returned to the guest house to change for the event. Rinoa's dress had been delivered earlier, and her hairdresser was set to arrive any minute. It took Squall twenty minutes to get ready, including the time it took to trim his beard into something that didn't make him look like something Rinoa had dragged back from the homeless shelter. Rinoa took far longer. Two hours longer, but by the time she emerged from Lily's bedroom, Squall almost didn't recognize her.
She wore a gunmetal colored silk gown that nearly made his eyes fall out of his head. It was elegant and sophisticated but wildly sexy and unlike anything Squall had ever seen her in before. Dark, shimmery fabric dipped low in the front and revealed an alluring hint of cleavage and collarbone and bare shoulder. The skirt was simple and straight, cut high on one side to reveal a mile of slender leg. Her back was bare to her hips, revealing a tattoo in a faint, whitish-gray swirling design that resembled wings.
Without thinking, Squall traced the design on her skin with a fingertip. It was only then that he remembered that her Sorceress-self had wings. Beautiful, breathtaking pearly-white wings that spanned 12-feet across. They'd been astonishing the first time he'd seen them. And the second. And every time after that. He was willing to bet, if he saw them now, they would still steal his breath away.
Rinoa turned to him, surprised as he took a step back, embarrassed by his own behavior. He hadn't meant to touch her. At least, not like that.
"When did you get that?"
"I didn't. It showed up a couple years ago," she said. "Apparently a Sorceress thing."
For an instant, he imagined kissing those lines and could almost hear the breathy sound of her gasps as his lips traveled over her skin. His cheeks warmed and he was forced to look away, afraid that she could hear his thoughts.
"Wow," Lily said. "You look so pretty."
"Thanks," Rinoa said. "That's nice of you to say."
"Doesn't she look pretty, Squall?" Lily prompted, cocking an eyebrow at him as though to remind him of his manners.
"You look scandalous," Squall blurted out.
"Good," Rinoa said with a smile. "That's the point."
As she moved across the room, he couldn't take his eyes off her, or the way her leg peeked out from under the fabric as she walked. In all their years together, she had never worn anything this revealing or overtly sexy, but he had to admit, if she had, they wouldn't have made it wherever they were going.
"Help me with the necklace?" she asked.
He opened the offered jewelry box and took a second look at the gems he'd retrieved earlier. Three tiers of smoke-colored diamonds of various cuts in an asymmetrical platinum setting sparkled in the lamplight. It was an unusually modern take on traditional diamond jewelry, but it was stunning and most certainly expensive. With care and trembling hands, he swept her hair aside and slid the chain around her neck and fastened it.
A sudden and overwhelming desire to press his lips to the nape of her neck forced him to take a step back. If she sensed it, she didn't let on.
He should have asked Zell to go in his place. The way she looked was enough to drive him mad with desire. If Squall didn't get a hold of himself, they were both in trouble.
She put on the matching earrings, and then turned to him with a soft smile on her painted lips. Dark and dramatic eye make up gave her a dangerous and feral appeal, like something wild and untamed and darkly beautiful. Not for the first time, he sensed her power over him, but this time he knew how easily she could assert that power if she wanted to. He would fall on his knees if she kept smiling at him that way.
Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?
"Let's go see who bites, shall we?" she said.
The sexed-up outfit suddenly made sense. She wanted to see if it would draw out whomever was responsible for terrorizing her. She wanted to draw attention to herself, but also to show she was powerful and unafraid. If she played her cards right, it might even work.
He shouldn't have been surprised she had her own agenda. Of all the things he should have remembered about her, the fact that she wasn't one to sit back and watch things happen to her was the very first thing that should have come to mind. She would not be a spectator. Not in her own life, and not in the lives of others.
It was smart, but maybe dangerous. He unconsciously thumbed the pistol in its holster and offered her his arm. It was almost disappointing that she hadn't dressed this way for him. And disappointing to know that he wanted it to be for him, and only him.
The ride to the DeLong estate was uneventful. Both of them retreated to their respective corners of the bench seat in the limo. Squall stared out the window to avoid looking the curve of her shapely leg revealed by the slit in her dress. Rinoa helped herself to the champagne in the fridge but Squall refrained. He needed and wanted a clear head tonight, for more than one reason.
"So what's the plan?" Rinoa asked.
"I'm just here to make sure nothing happens to you and to observe," Squall said. "Socialize, do whatever it is you do at these things, just make sure you stay in my line of sight. I don't want to have to go find you."
"Don't worry," she said. "You won't have to."
"And... Don't drink too much," he said. "In case something does happen, I need you to be able to respond quickly to direction."
The DeLong Estate was much different than the Delacroix property. The grounds were open and clean, the landscaping minimal. The front of the property featured a dozen or so fountains and reflecting pools that were lit from the bottom. It might have been tasteless and overdone in any other setting, but the arrangement and lighting cast a fluid, watery pallor over the grounds that was calming and visually pleasing. The house itself was a huge colonial with grand arched windows and doors. A line of limos led up to the front door, where couples got out one by one and were escorted inside.
Rinoa took Squall's arm as she climbed out of the car. Her whole demeanor changed as they strode up the walk. Where before she'd been more like the girl he'd known, her posture now was that of a woman who was confident and poised and absolutely sure of herself. There was not even a hint of her girlish nervousness of the past. She had the bearing of a politician or an aristocrat as she walked through the door and offered greetings to those she knew and accepted introductions from those she didn't. She did all this with grace and poise, as though she wasn't dressed to kill but campaigning for office.
Squall was all too aware of the looks she received as he escorted her inside. The women were put-off or shocked or even envious at her daring choice, but the men stared with open admiration and longing. It made Squall want to ball up his fists and fight them. Instead, he stared down them down until they averted their eyes.
The jealous monster roared every time he caught someone looking too long. All the parts they admired belonged to him and no one had a right to look at her that way.
Damn her husband. Damn that ring on her finger. Damn that dress that made all the men in the room stare.
"Relax," Rinoa breathed in his ear. "They can look all they want."
She had picked up on his hostility and unwarranted possessiveness. He would have to do a better job of not projecting his thoughts. He just wasn't sure how to keep it from her anymore.
"I wish you'd have worn something less distracting," he muttered.
"Am I distracting you?" she teased.
"Me and everyone else in the room."
"Noni, you look stunning," a young blonde cried said as she approached. "That dress is so daring!"
"Thank you," Rinoa said to be polite.
"I wish I had the guts to wear something like that," the blonde said. "Lance wouldn't let me out of the house showing that much skin."
"Lacey, you remember Leo Loire, my head of security," Rinoa said. "Leo, this is Lacey Kilroy."
"I remember," Lacey said, batting her long eyelashes at him. "Good to see you."
"Same."
Squall's first impression of Lacey Kilroy was ditsy and spoiled. The kind of girl that married money, came from money, and had never lifted a finger in her life. She might have been smart, but her lifestyle didn't require much thinking beyond what shoes to pair with her outfit and whether or not she should wear her hair up or down. Most of her conversation with Rinoa revolved around who looked fabulous and who didn't. Rinoa was game to contribute, though her sly glance at Squall said she wasn't particularly interested in who wore last season's fashions and who wore new and upcoming designers.
"Come," Lacey said as she took Rinoa's arm. "Let's get a drink."
Squall followed them to the bar, where Rinoa ignored his suggestion to lay off and ordered a hefty concoction containing three different kinds of alcohol mixed with pineapple juice. He ordered a tonic water on ice. Might as well make it look like he was indulging, even if he wasn't. People would be less guarded if it appeared he was off duty.
"Any luck finding out who's behind those awful murders?" Lacey asked.
"Not a clue," Rinoa said. "There's so little evidence..."
"You must be so worried," Lacey said. "With Florian gone and all."
"Leo and his team are doing a great job looking out for me while he's away," Rinoa said.
"I just don't understand who would do this to you," Lacey said. "You're the sweetest, kindest, most non-threatening Sorceress I've ever met."
Squall cocked his head at her, his interest piqued.
"You've met other Sorceresses?" he asked.
"Well, not recently," Lacey said. "I met that Edea woman when I was a teenager. She was terrifying. I felt like she could see right into my soul. I'm so glad you're not like her, Noni."
"She was possessed," Rinoa reminded her gently. "The Sorceress you met wasn't the real Edea. The real one is one of the kindest people I've ever known. She took in orphans after the Estharian War, you know."
"Yes, yes, I know," Lacey said. "And then turned them all into killers for hire."
Rinoa's grip on Squall's arm tightened. Her fingernails dug through the sleeve of his jacket hard enough to bruise.
Lay off, Rin.
"They're more than just killers," Rinoa said as she loosened her grip. "Most of them are really good people."
"I hear they'll do just about anything for money," Lacey said with disdain. "Just dreadful, if you ask me."
Rinoa clearly didn't like the turn the conversation had taken, but what Lacey said was close to the truth. SeeD would take just about any contract if the price was right.
"It must be a very hard life," Lacey said. "I can't even imagine growing up in a place like that."
"It's a lot like camp," Rinoa said. "And boarding school. But with weapons training."
It was a fair assessment, if not an overly simplistic one. But, Squall supposed if boarding school and camp involved learning to choke a man to death at the age of eight, then she wasn't all that far off.
"Silly me," Lacey said. "I keep forgetting about your past. I don't mean to be nosy, but... Did you ever kill anyone besides that awful Sorceress? Everyone's dying to know."
Rinoa's expression turned from friendly to steely in an instant.
"Unfortunately, yes," Rinoa said. "Mostly in self defense. Unless you count Ultimecia."
"What was that like?" Lacey asked, eyes glittering with undue curiosity. "Killing someone? Did you enjoy it?"
"It was horrible," Rinoa said. "But... Sometimes there's no other choice."
She'd taken her first kill harder than Squall had expected her to, and up until then, he hadn't known she'd never had to do it before.
"What if he had a family?" she'd asked on the train back to Balamb. "A wife. Kids."
"He was a soldier. He signed up for it."
"Still..." she said as she wiped tears from her eyes. "I wish I didn't have to..."
It was part of the job description. In a perfect world, there would be no need to fight, but she was a revolutionist. She must have known the risk. Hadn't she prepared herself for the potential loss of life? Did she really believe she'd be able to free Timber without bloodshed?
"I can't stop thinking about it," she said. "How can you be so calm?"
"SeeDs are trained to think of it as collateral damage," Squall said. "We don't see a man with a family, but someone standing in the way of our goal."
"That's so cold. Don't you feel bad?"
If he felt anything, he wouldn't acknowledge it.
"I... It was him or you, Rinoa. Sometimes, you don't have a choice."
"I know that, I just... I feel so bad."
"The first one's the hardest," he said, not unsympathetically.
His field exam was the first time he'd ever faced humans in battle. He'd personally taken out 15 G-Army soldiers in Dollet, and never once had he thought of them as people. He'd been trained not to. They'd just been threats. Soldiers, like him, and death was merely an occupational hazard.
"Do you want to go back to Timber? We can put you on a train as soon as we arrive in Balamb. In fact, that might be for the best."
"No way," she said. "You're still under contract."
"Right," Squall said. "The contract."
"So eager to get rid of me," she said.
"It isn't that..." he'd murmured. "I... Don't want you to get hurt."
For the first time since she'd accosted him on the dance floor, there was a little flutter of something in his chest. A little bit of empathy. A desire to protect her. A little bit of hope, and for a boy who had never hoped for anything, it was terrifying.
Little had he known he would be blindsided by the depth of his feelings for her not so long after that. At the time, all she'd been was a client he'd grown rather fond of and had learned to respect in spite of their differences.
Her openness, determination, and vivacity had been fascinating to him. He'd grown up around girls that were all about procedure and policy and battle tactics. Planning and preparation and training. He'd never met a girl who operated the way she did, and though her talent for improvisation had gotten her into trouble, he had to grudgingly give respect for her willingness to take a risk and her ability to plan on the fly. Even if the result was often stupid and dangerous.
"I think I'd like to dance," Rinoa said stiffly, bringing Squall back to the present. "Leo, would you?"
He didn't particularly feel like it, but he sensed her annoyance with Lacey. She led him out to the floor by the hand, the way she'd done the first time they'd met. He longed for his gloves, for some barrier to put between them so that he didn't have to make direct contact with her bare skin.
It was too late now. He'd already agreed and to change his mind now would look suspicious to the morbid blonde who watched them like a hawk from the edge of the dance floor.
"Did that conversation seem weird to you?" Rinoa asked.
"Which part?"
She gave him a pointed look as he led her around the floor. Under his calloused palm, her bare back was cool and soft. It was all he could think about for a few seconds.
"I can't believe she asked me that," Rinoa said. "About killing people."
"Do you think she's responsible?"
"...no," Rinoa said, "but, what kind of question is that? Why would she want to know?"
Squall doubted Mrs. Kilroy had anything to do with it, but there was something off about her. Perhaps he just wasn't used to people who lived for gossip or circled around scandalous information like a hungry shark.
"God, I hate this," she said. "I hate these catty bitches, always throwing the war in my face! Like it's something to be ashamed of! Not one of them did a thing when everything went to hell, yet they judge me for picking up a a weapon and fighting back."
"Keep your voice down," Squall said, even though he empathized.
"I'm sorry, I'm just so fed up with the whole thing," she said. "I hate it. I hate these people and I hate these stupid parties and I hate being called Noni. Why Ian started calling me that in the first place is beyond me, but I hate it."
Squall decided right then and there Rinoa was done drinking for the night. Neither could afford a scene or a meltdown like her last, and he had a feeling that's where she was headed if she indulged.
"Sometimes, I just want to walk away," she said. "Just forget all this, but, Timber's still a mess, and people still need me."
He wondered why she was saying this to him. Especially here and now, where someone might overhear and spread rumors.
"You know my husband told me to have an affair?" she said quietly. "Like, it's totally cool with him for me to just go out and bang the poolboy if I want to. What kind of marriage is that? Huh?"
Delacroix suggested she have an affair? To what end? To serve as a substitute for what he couldn't give her? Or was there some other reason?
Seifer had told Squall about the apartment in Deling City. Perhaps Delacroix was the one having the affair. Usually, when a man suggested an open relationship, it was because he wanted one himself.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she said. Her eyes were fixed on his tie. "Or why. I just want to run away."
"I'm so tired of being followed, everywhere we go," she said.
"Maybe we should just run away."
"Everyone knows what we look like. There's nowhere to run."
"We could go live on an island," he said.
She laughed. "We already live on an island."
"A different one," he said. "With no people. Just us."
She tugged off his gloves and cast them aside to thread her fingers through his. The gloves landed on the floor, next to the bed. He wanted to pick them up, but he didn't want to let go.
"We could build a little house out of bamboo and palm leaves," she said as she opened his uniform jacket. "Right on the beach."
"I'll teach you to spear fish," he murmured and leaned down to kiss her throat. "We'll eat coconuts until we're sick of them."
"And we won't have to worry about clothes.
She stripped his jacket off with a flourish.
"I don't know about that," he said. "Clothes protect our skin from the sun."
"You'll get over it," she purred. Her fingers slid underneath the hem of his t-shirt. "I think I'd like to see you with an all-over tan."
"Too much sun causes wrinkles and cancer."
He frowned at Rinoa's snort of laughter. A moment later, she shoved him down on the bed and pulled off his boots. She tossed them aside, too and Squall resisted the urge to get up and put them in the closet where they belonged. She knew disorder made him crazy. She was doing this on purpose.
"If you age like your father, you have nothing to worry about," she assured him. He disliked the comparison and she knew it. "Although, if you keep that up, you're going to have permanent frown lines before you turn twenty-five."
He faked a smile and she hit him upside the head with a pillow before she dropped down onto the bed beside him. A slender arm snaked around his waist and her smile faded as she snuggled closer.
"They're never going to let us live in peace."
"They'll forget about it," he promised. "Eventually."
"...no, they won't."
The more Squall tried not to remember, the more things came back. It was bittersweet, memories like this one. They'd made the best of it, even as reporters interrupted dinners out and photographers followed them to the beach. If they'd hoped it would get better, it never did.
"Anybody home?" Rinoa asked. She snapped her fingers in front of his face.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Just thinking."
"I can tell," she said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to freshen up."
He escorted her from the dance floor to the restroom and waited outside the door.
Farther down the hall, a man lingered. His eyes were on the bathroom door, but he cast furtive glances at Squall as though he waited for him to leave. Squall pretended boredom as he waited but kept an eye on the young man, who drew closer to the restroom, then feigned interest in a nearby painting.
When Rinoa emerged, Squall offered his arm and led her to the opposite corner of the ballroom without looking back.
"What are you doing?"
"Tell you in a minute."
He found a spot on the far side of the ballroom with a good view and waited. As expected, the man had followed them out. Squall didn't look at him, but watched from the corner of his eye as the man made his way through the crowd to stand a few tables away. His eyes were locked on Rinoa, not with lustful interest but with deep scrutiny.
"Don't be obvious, but see the dark haired guy with the green tie?" Squall asked. "Standing three tables away?"
"What about him?"
"Do you know him?"
"Looks familiar, but, no."
"He's following us," Squall said.
"Let's go introduce ourselves," Rinoa said. "Can't hurt, right?"
She grabbed Squalls arm and dragged him along like a stubborn pet. Squall slipped his phone from his pocket and pretended to check his messages. He snapped a photo and got a clear shot of the man's face. Up close, Squall saw the man could not be older than twenty and similar in height and build to himself.
"Hi there," Rinoa said as she cornered him and offered her hand. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Rinoa Delacroix. And you are?"
"I... uh, I gotta go," the young man said.
He pushed past Rinoa and darted off. Squall followed, but lost him in the crowd of revelers near the bar.
"He's just a kid," Rinoa said. "I don't think he meant any harm."
"Don't assume anything."
Rinoa shrugged and then stiffened as the two other ladies Squall had met previously made their way over. Rinoa ducked them and struck up a conversation with an ancient and extravagantly dressed woman a few tables away. On the woman's head was a hat-like thing that may or may not have been a peacock. Squall recognized her from Laguna's circle but he couldn't recall her name.
"Emelda," Rinoa said. "So nice to see you!"
Right. Emelda Fontaine. Laguna was fond of her, or so Squall thought. Widow of a banker. Wealthy as sin. Loud, opinionated, and cantankerous as all get-out.
"You too, dear," Emelda said. "And look at you! Stealing a page from my own play book, I see. Wearing the most shocking thing you can find. I love it. I bet these haughty little bitches are all just green with envy."
"Dare to be different," Rinoa agreed.
"Cheers to that," Emelda said. She lifted her glass with a wicked smile. "I missed seeing you at Miranda's last event. You're not like these others, Rinoa dear. You've got a good, strong head on your shoulders and a big heart. The rest of them, heads full of cotton and hearts of stone, I tell you."
"That's sweet of you to say," Rinoa said.
"Well, it's true," Emelda insisted. She glanced at Squall. "Replaced your husband for the evening, did you?"
The woman eyed Squall up and down like he was something delicious to eat. Cheesecake. Caviar. Duck comfit. He forced a smile and nodded to be polite.
"This is Leo, my head of security," Rinoa said. "I'm sure you've heard about the awful time I've had lately."
"Yes, I've been meaning to check up on you, darling, but I keep forgetting," Emelda said. She touched her fingers to her forehead and sighed. "My mind's not what it used to be, sad to say, but you don't get to be my age without losing a few marbles along the way."
Emelda's laugh was grating, but Squall decided he rather liked the old bird. She was obnoxious, but at least she was straightforward and didn't mince words.
"I am, however very disappointed in your husband," Emelda said. "Leaving you all alone at a time like this. You'd think he would know better, considering what happened last time."
"Last time?" Rinoa asked. Her fingers dug into Squall's arm again. "What happened last time?"
"You don't think you're the first Sorceress to grace Florian's doorstep, do you?" Emelda asked. "No, this isn't his first rodeo, dear."
Delacroix had a prior association with a Sorceress? That was the first Squall had heard of it. Judging by Rinoa's expression, she hadn't known either.
"Pushed all that under the rug, they did. But this isn't the time and place to discuss that awful mess," Emelda said. "Perhaps we might have tea before I leave town?"
"I'd love that," Rinoa said. "Why don't you join me Sunday at the house? Say, around two?"
Both women wore a shrewed, conspiratorial expression, as if they understood one another.
"Your place is even better," Emelda agreed. "More privacy, fewer people listening in on conversations they aren't a part of!"
Emelda's head snapped to the left and her eyes narrowed at the two eavesdroppers Rinoa had hoped to avoid earlier.
"Mind your own business," Emelda warned.
The two women linked arms and drifted away, heads together as the whispered back and forth. Once or twice, they glanced back at Rinoa and then Squall.
"I'll be going now, darling," Emelda said. She pressed a kiss to Rinoa's cheek and patted Squall's arm. "Looking forward to seeing you. The both of you."
Rinoa and Squall exchanged a glance as the woman walked away. Squall knew she was thinking the same thing he was:
There was a lot Florian Delacroix hadn't told them.