Chapter 6
After her talk with Sadirah Barak following the luncheon, Dorothy came to the conclusion that she had completely misjudged Quatre. From all appearances, Quatre and his beautiful wife had an ideal marriage, that he was devoted to her. Returning to her office, she tried to prove to herself that he was still a skirt-chasing playboy, but her extensive research provided not one scrap of evidence since his marriage to support her theory. The news agencies had many archived stories about his less than discriminate pursuit of women after he returned to L4 following the conclusion of the wars. Dorothy felt even more foolish now, five years after her trip to Barbados, that she had fallen for the smooth-talking womanizer. His exploits had been publicly catalogued in society pages and scandal sheets across the Earth Sphere United Nation, but she had isolated herself so well that she didn't know or care what had become of the boy she had defeated on the Libra. She had a hard time reconciling the pure-hearted gundam pilot with the man that spent a ridiculous amount of money on loose women and fast cars. Given his complete reversal in behavior after having sown his wild oats, Dorothy had no choice but to conclude that he had fallen in love with the young daughter of his business manager. Such things often happened. Dorothy tried to be glad that he had found happiness.
So with the goal of putting him completely behind her, she had dressed to give Randolph more encouragement, wearing a black haltertop cocktail dress of clinging silk crepe. She put her hair in a French twist, carefully applied her makeup to give herself the most seductive look she could, and when she was satisfied that even Randolph couldn't misunderstand her invitation, she left for the restaurant. Because she planned to have Randolph take her home, she took a taxi to the restaurant, and her first indication that she had succeeded in her efforts was the many times the driver looked at her through the rearview mirror. Dorothy was glad to get out of the car because she was afraid he was going to get into an accident.
The maitre d' met her at the door. "Miss Catalonia, might I say you look positively stunning this evening."
Dorothy smiled at him as she relinquished her wrap to him. "Thank you, Pierre. Has Mr. Morrison arrived?"
"He is waiting for you." She followed him to the table where Randolph was already seated. Dressed in an elegant black suit, he drew as much attention as she did when he rose to greet her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
"Very lovely, Dorothy," he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "What is the occasion?"
She looked into his hazel eyes. "We'll think of something later."
As Randolph relinquished her to her chair, she noticed that the table had been set for four, and she had to school her features to mild surprise and not extreme annoyance as she looked at him. "Are we expecting guests?"
He signaled the waiter and ordered her a glass of Chablis before answering. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call you to inform you of the change of plans." He raised a brow as his gaze dipped to the cleavage revealed by her dress. "I didn't think you would mind."
She did mind, but she didn't tell him so. Instead, she ordered a martini when the waiter arrived with her wine. Randolph raised a brow, but he didn't comment on it.
"How was your day?" she asked, then regretted it almost immediately when Randolph launched into his various financial coups.
The martini couldn't arrive soon enough, and when it did, she made short work of it, ordering another so that it would dull her senses enough not to find him utterly dull. He really was a handsome man, and she knew they made an attractive couple. Maybe that is why she had stayed with him as long as she had. The chemistry between them wasn't there, but that hadn't mattered to her before seeing Quatre Winner again. Why did just a look from his blue eyes make her feel as though she had burst aflame when Randolph could barely light a spark with his kisses and caresses? Considered their humdrum sex-life, something that was almost non-existent that last few months, she wondered why she had gone to the trouble of trying to seduce him this night.
The answer was standing with the maitre d', and Dorothy choked on her martini as he approached the table, his young daughter beside him dressed in a charming flouncy dress, her gloved hand in his. Randolph stood to greet Quatre Winner, and as they shook hands, Dorothy was horrified to realize that he would be joining them for supper. Jamila fidgeted as she half-hid behind her father, and Dorothy noticed that she seemed to be preoccupied with her drawstring purse.
"You look lovely tonight, Miss Catalonia," Quatre said smoothly, reaching out to take her hand. "I hope you don't mind us intruding on your dinner." His blond brows were raised as if expecting a response. Although wanting to, Dorothy did not glare at Randolph. Quatre did nothing more than grasp her hand warmly, but it was enough to send her pulse racing.
Jamila was tugging on her father's hand other hand.
Quatre glanced at her, then brought her forward. "You remember my daughter, of course."
Dorothy reached out to take her hand to shake. "Of course I do. I am glad that we could get together again."
Jamila curtseyed, then tugged her father's hand again and he leaned down so that she could whisper something to him behind her gloved hand. Although Dorothy was disgusted that her evening was ruined, she thought the exchange between them was sweetly amusing and immediately guessed the reason as she watched Quatre's brows draw together and he seemed perplexed for a moment.
Dorothy rose from the table. "If you will excuse me, I will visit the powder room." She held out her hand to Jamila. "Would you care to join me?"
Quatre's relief was mirrored on Jamila's face. She quickly relinquished his hand and took Dorothy's. As Dorothy lead Jamila to the restroom, she heard Randolph mention the markets to Quatre, so she knew he would soon be bragging about his portfolio to Quatre in an effort to tempt him to invest with him. Too bad for Randolph that Quatre Winner knew more than Randolph would like about his secret portfolio.
Dorothy helped Jamila take care of her pressing personal needs, but when she was going to take her back to the table, the little girl asked if they could sit in the comfortable lounge in the powder room. Sensing that she wanted to speak privately to her, Dorothy did not refuse. Jamila was such a darling child that she didn't know how anyone could say no to her let alone cause any harm to her.
When she sat on the couch beside her, Jamila began to fumble with the strings of her handbag, and Dorothy could see that she was nervous. To try to put her at ease, Dorothy said, "I spoke to your mother today."
Jamila stopped working at the strings for a moment. Something was bothering her, but she didn't reveal her thoughts.
"Your mother is very nice," Dorothy remarked for lack of anything else to say. She hoped it would put Jamila at ease.
She didn't respond, but she started working at the strings again. Dorothy almost smiled about her determination, but she knew Jamila wouldn't understand and think that she was laughing at her, so she sat patiently waiting.
Finally she opened the bag and reached in. When she withdrew a figurine that Dorothy recognized as one of her own that she hadn't noticed was missing, she saw that tears made Jamila's eyes shine. "I am sorry, Miss Dorothy. I took this from your room without asking you."
Dorothy took the angel figure from her shaking hands. Her heart was so filled with emotion at the moment that she couldn't say anything. This was the first figurine she had purchased at a very low point in her life. No one would ever know how much it meant to her. Yet as she looked at Jamila's teary eyes, she knew the angel might be just as important to her.
She reached out to pat Jamila's hands, which she had clasped in her lap. "I thank you for returning her to me. I am sure that you took very good care of her."
"I was careful so that mama did not see her," Jamila told her seriously.
Dorothy smiled at her. "You were probably right to do so. There has been no harm done, Jamila. I am surprised that I did not know she was missing."
"The angel reminded me of you," Jamila said in earnest. "You are very kind."
"When I first saw this angel, she reminded me of someone dear to me whom I had lost." She reached out to take Jamila's hands and she placed the small figure in them. "But I want you to have her. I will always think of her watching over you."
Overwhelmed, Jamila burst into tears, and Dorothy quickly drew her into her arms to hold her, then wipe her tears away with a linen handkerchief she took from her bag. When Jamila was composed enough, Dorothy washed her face with cool water, combed through her hair, and after seeing the angel safely tucked back in her handbag, she led her back to the table.
At first Dorothy thought Quatre was studying the menu as they had been gone for a long time, but as she drew nearer, she saw the engraved lettering of Randolph's company on a leather folder. If Randolph didn't see his sardonic smile as he set it aside, he was a bigger fool than Dorothy thought. Quatre didn't have the least interest in investing with him.
Randolph watched with a perplexed frown as Jamila settled on the chair beside her father, then he looked at Dorothy. "What happened to your dress?" he asked abruptly.
Dorothy glanced down and saw that Jamila's tears had stained her dress where she had cradled her against her bosom. She knew it would be ruined, but she shrugged. "A little accident." She noticed that Jamila slouched a little in her chair out of embarrassment. Quatre raised a brow.
"Too bad," remarked Randolph. "That was a lovely dress."
"Indeed," commented Quatre.
Jamila reached up to tug on the sleeve of her father's dark blue suit. "Papa, Miss Dorothy has given me a gift." Dorothy watched as Jamila took out the angel and set it on the table.
Quatre looked from it to Dorothy. "Are you sure you wish to give this to Jamila?"
"Is that from the collection by your bed?" asked Randolph, indelicately revealing his knowledge of her bedroom.
Quatre raised a brow. Dorothy gritted her teeth. Did he think she led the life of a nun? Then again, she didn't really like the image he must be getting of her and Randolph together.
"I can't believe you would give that up," went on the oblivious man. "I thought you cherished that one over the rest."
Dorothy forced a smile to her lips when she looked at Randolph although she was mentally planning the speech that would end their relationship. "Be that as it may, Mr. Morrison, I believe I have proven my regard to Miss Winner by giving it to her."
Randolph opened his mouth to speak again, then closed it as the fact that she had suddenly become formal with him seemed to sink in. An uncomfortable silence descended upon the table that even Jamila did not intrude upon. This would be the moment for Quatre to ease the situation by making a polite comment, but he seemed content to let it draw out.
As if the waiter knew a rescue was in order, he came to the table to make his suggestions. Dorothy moved her chair a little closer to Jamila so that they could study the menu together, and she ended up ordering the same meal for them both. Quatre turned his attention to Randolph, and they discussed business, a discussion that continued well into dessert. Fortunately, Dorothy had Jamila to occupy her attention, and the little girl seemed to be just as grateful that she had someone to talk to. Over the chocolate mousse that they shared, Dorothy heard all the details of Jamila's dolls, their names, family lives, their favorite dresses. Dorothy would prefer to be playing with them than to have to listen to Quatre humor Randolph. She didn't know which man she wanted to kick more: the oaf who didn't know any better or the bastard who toyed with him.
A small orchestra began to play, and Quatre turned away from Randolph as couples began to dance on the area cleared for that purpose. Her heart leapt as he glanced at her, and she didn't think she could remember how to breathe when he stood. But he held out his hand to Jamila.
"Would you honor me with this dance, Miss Winner?"
Jamila giggled as she took his hand and after he led her to the floor, he pulled her up to ride on his hip as he held her hand and put his arm around her waist. Swaying with her to the music, he spoke words to her that made Jamila smile. Dorothy had to look away as she felt a wave of depressing loss. She could almost pretend that Jamila was their child, and she could watch them proudly now. Anyone watching them could see how much he loved his daughter.
Across the table, Randolph sighed and tossed down his napkin. "Too bad Mrs. Winner was unable to join us. I'm sure he'd much rather be dancing with her."
Dorothy looked at him. "He adores his child. Do you find some fault in that?"
"She is his heir," remarked Randolph as if he were trying to find a reason that anyone would care for a child. "Some day she is going to be even more wealthy than she is now."
"Mr. Morrison, you are an ass." Dorothy picked up her glass of wine and drained it.
"I think you have had too much to drink," he said in a low voice as he leaned toward her.
She leaned toward him. "I haven't had enough to forgive you!"
"Forgive me?" For the first time she saw genuine emotion in his eyes, and it appeared to be anger. "I am not the one flaunting myself in front of a married man!"
"I am not flaunting myself for him! As you recall, I didn't even know he was going to be here!"
As Randolph seemed to come to the realization how badly he had slipped up on the evening, Quatre returned to the table with Jamila. "Miss Catalonia, would you do me the honor of dancing with me."
Randolph started to rise. "She has already consented to dance with me."
"I don't remember saying anything of the kind." Dorothy was so furious that he would presume to make decisions for her that she took Quatre's hand. Randolph glared after them as Quatre led her further into the small crowd of dancing couples so that she momentarily lost sight of Randolph.
The last thing she wanted was to be in Quatre's arms, but because of Randolph's stupidity and her stubborn pride, here she was, one of his hands resting on her waist, the other holding hers, their bodies only inches apart. For a moment he didn't say anything and Dorothy was rigid as they danced.
Then he remarked, "You used to be a better dancer."
She looked up at his face, almost expecting him to be gloating over what was the apparent disintegration of her relationship with Randolph Morrison. "I doubt Mr. Morrison is in much of a mood to discuss your financial options anymore tonight. For that, I am sorry."
His shoulder lifted in a shrug under her hand. "I didn't really want to see him anyway."
She raised a brow. Could that mean he had wanted to see her? What an absolutely asinine way to get a date, by intruding on one already in progress!
"Jamila has been very upset by what she did, so I called your office to arrange a meeting with you, but your eunuch guard wouldn't let me leave so much as a message."
Dorothy made a note to tell Tracy to inform her of Quatre Winner's calls. Her assistant was very literal and Dorothy had given her list of names to screen calls from and his name was not on it. Why would it be?
"She hung up on me." Quatre sounded offended.
Dorothy smiled. "She is very protective of my time."
"Then she should be commended for doing her job, however, she did let slip that you were dining with Mr. Morrison, and I wrangled an invitation from him."
"You are dastardly clever," she commented. "Then again, I already knew that."
"Dorothy..."
His tone warned her that he was going to move their conversation in an intimate direction, so she cut him off. "I had the opportunity to speak to your wife today. She is very refined and an asset to your home."
Quatre's brows drew together. "I have learned the nature of your discussion with my wife and I am sure you must realize how little an asset I think she is to my home."
Dorothy looked away. Sadirah had seemed quite panicked by the possibility that Quatre would learn of her domestic woes, so she could only conclude that he received his information from Rashid. Did that mean that Rashid was less a bodyguard and more a spy? Dorothy didn't like the feeling of hope that sprang up in her heart, that all was not as idyllic as she thought in the home of Quatre Raberba Winner.
"You need not worry that Jamila will come to any more harm," he told her. "Sadirah has promised to be more diligent in the future."
Dorothy didn't respond, having nothing to say, but she glanced toward the table and saw that Randolph was completely ignoring Jamila. Jamila looked tired as she moved the angel figurine this way and that, studying it now with a more personal interest as it belonged to her. Dorothy wished she could lay her head on Quatre's shoulder and cry the tears she had been holding for four years, to share with him her deepest sorrow. But she couldn't. She would have to live with the results of her mistakes for the rest of her life.
Without her realizing it, he had moved close enough so that their thighs brushed, and when she took a breath, her senses were filled with his subtle cologne and the faint aroma of his cigar. Dorothy closed her eyes and wished she were far from here, basking in the sun.
After only half an hour of splashing around in the surf, Dorothy realized how out of shape she had become in the last few years. She wasn't afraid of the water, and learning to swim was easier than she had thought, although she found it quite distracting to find herself in Quatre's arms as he showed her how to swim. Most of the time she was hoping he would kiss her again, but he was concentrating on the task at hand even if she wasn't.
Tired and aching from the waves battering against her, Dorothy readily agreed when Quatre suggested they get out of the water for a while. The sun was quite merciless, and she knew that she was going to be burned already, but she grabbed the bottle of lotion lying on her towel on the beach and was applying it to her arms when Quatre came to lie on the towel next to hers.
"Not bad for the first time," he said. "I can't believe you've never learned."
Dorothy winced as she worked the lotion into her skin. She was already burned, so this was probably an exercise in futility. "I never had a reason to learn."
"No trips to the beach, no backyard swimming pool?" He took the bottle of lotion she had set aside and began to mimic what she was doing. She felt herself growing warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sun as he spread the lotion over his arms, then his chest.
When he raised his brows, she realized he was waiting for an answer.
She shook her head, then closed her eyes to put the sunblock on her face. "You are talking about the granddaughter of the Duke Dermail," she reminded him. "I have extensive education in the arts of war."
"I remember."
She opened her eyes to see that his hand had moved over a scar and was ashamed to realize that it was from the wound she had given him on the Libra battleship. Dorothy didn't know what to say.
Even if she could think of something, his lazy half-smile made any kind of coherent speech impossible. Her hands dropped into her lap, and she stared down at them.
"Have you ever wondered," he asked, "If the Zero system were responsible for your actions? Such a program is designed to enhance one's natural fighting abilities."
She shrugged. Dorothy didn't want to be reminded of that day because that was the day she discovered her life had lost its purpose. She had felt no joy in defeating Quatre Winner, and his words and those of the one called Trowa Barton made her question the philosophical foundation of her life. Up to that point she reveled in the fact that she had lost her family in acts of war, then suddenly she realized they were dead, gone forever without ever having pointed her in the direction that she should take without them.
"I wondered what became of you," continued Quatre when she didn't say anything. "When I saw you at the restaurant, I thought that maybe the two of us could put some closure on that unfortunate incident."
His idea of closure obviously consisted in seduction. Looking at him, she saw that his gaze was intense, and a shiver ran down her spine as he watched her, propped on his elbow on the towel. Dorothy suddenly felt very vulnerable in the wet swimsuit, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.
Quatre sat up, and grabbing the bottle of lotion he moved behind her. "If I don't put some lotion on your back, you will get a nasty burn."
Her spine straightened, and she flinched nervously when he lifted her hair, stiff from salt-water, and pushed it over her shoulder. Her mind searched frantically for something to talk about although her attention was centered on what he was doing. He had pressed lotion onto his hands, and she heard him rubbing them together. It took all her willpower not to moan when his fingers moved over her shoulders in a circular motion.
"You are tense," he remarked as he applied the lotion across the back of her neck. "I don't suppose you have ever been in the sun, either, Miss Dorothy."
"Whatever for?" she managed to croak out.
Quatre laughed softly, and she felt him move closer to her, the heat of his body even more intense than the rays of the sun beating down on them. "Then I wonder what drew you to Barbados." His fingers moved down her spine, then they were gone and Dorothy couldn't suppress her moan of disappointment.
"I need more lotion," he murmured in her ear. His lips brushed against her neck, and she instinctively laid her head back on his shoulder. His fingers began to work sensual magic on her back, and she did not realize he had unclasped the top of her swimsuit until he was pushing it off her shoulders. She made a half-hearted attempt to hold it to her breasts, but he gently pried it from her fingers and tossed it aside.
"You don't want any tan lines," he told her.
"You seem to know a lot about what I need and want," she said breathlessly, trying to sound flippant but knowing the words only underscored her vulnerability.
"Not as much as I plan to know," he responded, his low tone sending tingling shivers throughout her.
He applied his hands to her back again, and this time they roved unimpeded by her top. When he brought her back against his chest, she was unprepared for the flood of liquid heat that surged through her when he reached around her to slide his hands over her belly and up to her breasts. She bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning as he touched her as no one ever had. Quatre was murmuring something in her ear, and she guessed he was speaking Arabic because she couldn't understand a single word, but each syllable caressed her as much as his fingers. One of his hands slid up, over her neck to her chin and he turned her head so that her lips were under his.
Their eyes met, and Dorothy was struck with an odd sensation of having her life changed forever as she looked into his blue gaze. Then his lashes lowered, and his lips covered hers. She opened her mouth to his kiss, sliding her arm up around his neck to bring him as close as she could. She was drowning in his kiss, in the pleasure of his hands sliding over her body, stroking with expert precision until she didn't care that she made sounds of pleasure in his mouth.
As one hand slid down over her belly, she became rigid with anticipation and fear of the unknown. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her swimsuit bottom, wet and clammy from seawater, and she didn't have the willpower to stop him from peeling the garment down. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she had arched her hips to help him remove it, but her thoughts were centered on him returning his touch to her once he had tossed it aside.
Quatre broke their kiss to look into her eyes again. "No tan lines," he reminded her softly. His fingers skimmed over her hips before sliding to her inner thigh to gently part her legs. The woman that arched in his arms as he stroked flesh that ached for his touch couldn't be the same one who only a week ago sat in a dark mansion feeling quite content in her loneliness. Quatre was kissing her again as he urged her to pleasures she could not even have imagined, and when the waves released through her, she broke the kiss and heard herself cry his name.
As her exhausted body slowly returned to calm, he held her cradled in his arms. Dorothy could barely keep her eyes open, having had little sleep the previous evening, but she burrowed her face into his neck and murmured, "Not bad for the first time." Drifting off in a peaceful doze she heard him chuckling.
After returning Dorothy to the table, Quatre had little choice but to accept that he had to leave her with her boorish date so that he could take his sleepy daughter home. There was obvious relief on Morrison's face when he announced that he would have to take his leave, but Dorothy didn't show the least emotion. He knew that she had felt something while they were dancing, but she would prudently never admit it. Quatre didn't know how he was going to get any sleep with the memory of her moving with him in his arms.
Jamila fell asleep on the ride back to the hotel, so he carried her up to the room and took her to her bed himself. She was like a rag doll as he gently removed her clothing to dress her for bed, and he realized that he had never done this with his daughter. Before he slipped her pajamas on, he took note of the bruises that had concerned Dorothy and he was horrified to realize the extent of her abuse. Dorothy had been right to discuss the matter with Sadirah, but he was a little hurt that she hadn't brought it up to him. She must think him a neglectful parent.
As he crushed Jamila in an embrace, she wriggled, then asked sleepily, "Where is my angel?"
Quatre found the angel in her handbag, and she held it close as he tucked her in the bed. She was already alseep when he kissed her forehead and quietly left the room.
Checking the time, he saw that it was still quite early, so Sadirah had not yet returned from dining with her father. Quatre was glad because his moments with her were increasingly uncomfortable. When they first married, he had tried to be a good husband, but Sadirah seemed incapable of responding to him in any way. Their conversations were stilted, something he attributed to the sheltered upbringing she had in the Barak household. Quatre had even forgotten that she existed before her visit from school. Most men of his culture on L4 would appreciate having a quiet, humble wife. Quatre found it strangely disturbing. As for sex, she was stiff and unyielding despite the efforts he expended to give her pleasure. Sadirah certainly didn't love him, and she apparently didn't love their child either.
His thoughts ultimately turned to Dorothy, and glancing at the clock, he guessed she and Morrison had left the restaurant by now. He paced anxiously, waiting for Sadirah to return, then dreading it, and as the minutes ticked by, he knew he couldn't stay at the hotel. Informing his guards that he would be going out, he ordered them to stay and watch over Jamila. They were profuse in their objections, but Quatre ignored them as he called up a car dealership, getting the owner's name and personal phone number, then rousing the man from bed and buying a vehicle over the phone.
As Quatre settled behind the wheel of the quickly delivered Porsche, he acknowledged that wealth did have its privileges. The car dealer didn't complain about receiving a fifty-percent markup for the inconvenience that Quatre had caused him.
Quatre tried not to drive too fast through the streets, but he did pick up the speed when he reached a stretch of highway and felt pleasure as he flirted with danger at each curve. His father had been angry that Quatre had gone to fight for their ideals, preferring a pure pacifist solution that resulted in his death. Maybe he understood more than Quatre could at the time how the experience would change him. Quatre wanted peace and abhorred war, but a man, or woman for that matter, couldn't go through the experience of living on the edge in battle and not becoming addicted to the thrill of danger.
Returning to space at the end of the war, Quatre threw himself into rebuilding those colonies affected by the hostilities, hoping that it would fill a void in his life. But he soon became restless, needing the dangerous thrill that was missing. The women came and went, momentarily filling an empty part of him, but despite their beauty and the pleasure they could give, he found them all lacking. The cars and jets he purchased, he discarded like toys when he soon grew bored, just as he did the women. Hassan Barak had tried to steer him off the path of self-destruction by directing his energies to business. For awhile it worked, and Quatre enjoyed however little, making his fortune grow, and Quatre didn't even realize that he didn't like sitting on a mountain of gold by himself until he returned alone from Barbados.
Just thinking about his decision to seduce Dorothy Catalonia made him angrily shift into a higher gear. When he ran into her in Barbados, he thought he had found a companion who could understand what he needed, what he wanted. Instead she turned out to be just as aimless and empty as he was. Quatre certainly didn't think, after everything they had shared, that he was going to end up being used and discarded like the women who had come before her.
The streets started to look vaguely familiar, and Quatre slowed the car as he passed by the Dermail Mansion. The dark and foreboding edifice was locked away behind a tall wrought iron fence, and although the grounds were kept immaculate, Quatre could see that it was deserted. He pulled to a stop before the front gate where a sleepy guard came to tell him that no one was in residence. Quatre asked for directions to Dorothy's house, and although the man was reluctant to give out such information, like her personal assistant, he failed to guard Dorothy's privacy.
He parked across the street from her house, beneath a tree that would provide him with some cover. A luxury sedan was in front of her house, so he knew that Morrison was with her. There was a light in the downstairs, and he saw Dorothy pass by the wide window, followed by Morrison. They were obviously having a heated discussion. Morrison deserved a beating after they way he had treated Dorothy that evening. When Quatre arrived at the restaurant and saw how she had dressed, he knew that he was intruding in the worst way, but he sadistically didn't give a damn. Morrison didn't seem to care either. Quatre rather enjoyed monopolizing his time so that Dorothy could understand completely that Morrison wasn't good enough for her. Morrison drove home the point by treating Jamila with polite disdain. He would never give Dorothy the children she craved. Quatre didn't want to think about any man giving her children.
When he saw Morrison reach out to grab Dorothy and her shake him off, Quatre stepped out of the car, but a voice from the dark stopped him from crossing the street to go to her rescue.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Quatre turned to see Heero Yuy leaning against the trunk of the tree under which he had parked. "What are you doing here?" When he didn't answer, Quatre sighed. "Do you always spy?"
"I like to call it surveillance."
Although he was worried about Dorothy's safety, he did smile. "I suppose you are going to scold me about leaving my bodyguards behind."
"You have your reasons."
Quatre turned back to watch the drama through the window. Morrison had tried to catch her in an embrace, but she easily broke away.
"Don't worry about her," said Heero.
"He might hurt her." Quatre thought he could easily kill Morrison if he did.
"She can take care of herself." Quatre had a vague memory of Trowa Barton saying something similar when they left her behind on the Libra. He had proved to be right.
Quatre glanced at Heero. "You seem pretty sure."
"Five years ago she spent six months undercover for the Preventers in Switzerland, infiltrating the remnants of the Romefeller Foundation and dismantling plans for revolt. Because of her efforts, an attempted assassination of the president was thwarted." Heero chuckled and nodded toward the house across the street. "She can take care of herself."
The door opened and Morrison walked out, nursing an injury to a very private part of his anatomy. The door slammed on his backside, and once he had gone through the iron fence, it clicked shut, effectively locking him out. Quatre moved under the tree near Heero when Morrison paused by his car and faced the house. The downstairs light shut off and a moment later, a light illuminated a room on the second floor. Morrison stared at it for a moment, then climbed into his car and drove away.
Quatre pulled out a cigar and offered one to Heero. He took it and they smoked in companionable silence for several minutes before Heero spoke again. "I'm guessing that's the end of Randolph Morrison. He wasn't her type anyway. But the end of that relationship is going to be as messy as any divorce. He won't want to relinquish his hold on her money, and she won't keep it invested with him."
"He's stealing from her," remarked Quatre.
"Why should you care?"
Quatre didn't answer.
Heero already seemed to know the answer. "I don't know what is between you two, but I can tell you that it is almost a statistical impossibility for anything to work for the best."
"There isn't anything between us," Quatre denied although he wanted to be in the room on the second floor that was now dark.
"I know you have to say that because of the marriage agreement between you and Hassan Barak's daughter, but you're not talking to the press, Quatre. We've been through too much together for me not to know when you're lying." Heero reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "If you toy with a woman like Dorothy Catalonia, you're going to end up having your heart broken."
Where was that advice five years ago?
