Chapter 11
As she worked in the rose garden behind her house Dorothy tried to relax and take her mind off her problems, but she couldn't concentrate on the blooming flowers. After returning to her house, she had sent the maid home early, changed into jeans and sweatshirt and started digging around in the dirt. She could not completely keep her mind off of the chaotic events of the last few days. How long had it been since Quatre Winner had blown into her life again like a tropical storm? Not even a week and he had already made a complete mess of her life! Granted, she did have to accept some responsibility for walking around with her head in the clouds, blind to the machinations taking place under her very nose. Maybe Dorothy didn't want to recognize the true character of Randolph Morrison, and maybe she deliberately closed her eyes to Tracy James' ambitions in the office. She hadn't been dissatisfied with her life.
Despite everything that had happened to her, she was still naïve, still the little girl who couldn't do anything right in her mother's eyes simply because she wasn't the male heir who could carry on the traditions of the Dermail family. She had failed to uphold their policies in the war, had betrayed the Romefeller Foundation, and had subsequently been reduced now to losing her own job to a backstabbing office assistant. How much lower could she possibly sink? Dorothy wondered if Heero actually let the air out of the tires of her former assistant, and the image of him doing so made her smile.
However his warning before he left made her now prick her thumb on a sharp thorn. Why would Quatre send someone to Switzerland to check up on her? What did he think he would find? Dorothy was confident that there was nothing he could discover about those months in Switzerland. She had little contact with anyone but her few servants and they would not discuss her with strangers no matter how persuasive. If Heero hadn't been able to discover the nature of her self-imposed exile in the Alps, then she was reasonably sure that any man Quatre sent to investigate her would return without any revelations. Dorothy suspected Heero of putting Quatre on her trail, yet she didn't know what he hoped to gain. If Heero's idea of friendship was this constant spying and prying into her life, then she could do without it.
Hearing the gate security buzz, Dorothy reluctantly left the garden. She had been considering finding something to eat in the kitchen, hoping that the maid had prepared a meal before leaving, so the arrival of a visitor put a welcome end to her gardening.
Pulling off her gloves, she pressed the button to the security intercom. She peeked out the window and saw a police car on the street outside her house, and she let out a sigh of relief that Morrison hadn't dropped by to continue harassing her. "Can I help you?" she asked the officers.
"This is the police, Miss Catalonia. May we come in to speak to you?"
Great! Heero vandalized Tracy James' car and now she was going to get the blame! Sighing, the pressed the button to open the gate, then went to the door. She was surprised to see the officers approaching with Jamila Winner between them.
Before she could say anything, Jamila cried, "Mama!" and she ran to Dorothy and threw her arms around her legs.
Dorothy was so shocked that she couldn't speak.
The officers came to stand before her. "We found the little girl on the streets downtown. Apparently she became separated from her nanny, and when we questioned her, she gave us your name."
Dorothy looked down at Jamila. The little girl was looking up at her, eyes wide and pleading. Dorothy noticed that a side of her face was swelling and one of her eyes appeared to be puffy. Dropping down to her level, Dorothy pulled Jamila into her arms and felt that she was trembling.
Over her little blond head, Dorothy looked at the police officers. "I didn't even know she was missing!" Dorothy looked at Jamila. "Nanny must be very worried about you!"
One of the officers remarked, "Ma'am, I don't think I would keep a nanny like that in my employ."
"You are quite right. If the woman returns, I will immediately inform her that her services are no longer required. I shudder to think what could have happened to my little girl!" She hugged Jamila again, and the girl clung to her, her fingers digging into Dorothy in desperation. "I don't know how I can thank you, officers."
"Just doing our duty, ma'am." They tipped their hats to her, then left.
Dorothy didn't say anything until she was inside the house with her young guest and she had reset the security. Once she was sure they would be safe, she drew Jamila over to the sofa. Jamila was still trembling, and glancing down, Dorothy saw that her wrist where Sadirah had held her was dark purple. Knowing now where Jamila received her abuse, Dorothy was choked up with anger against Sadirah Barak. But she didn't say anything as she pulled Jamila onto her lap and held her in her arms, rocking her as the child burst into uncontrollable sobbing.
After a moment, Jamila drew away, tears still rolling down her cheeks, and she fumbled with her handbag, and when she had pulled open the drawstring, Dorothy was horrified to see the angel she had given her fall out in several pieces.
"Mama did it!" blurted Jamila between gasping sobs. When Jamila put her hand to her cheek, Dorothy received such a horrible vision of Sadirah hitting her with the handbag that she was speechlessly appalled.
"Mama hates me!"
Although the evidence seemed to back up her claim, Dorothy couldn't let Jamila think that her own mother hated her. Jamila's entire world consisted of her mother and father, even if her mother abused her and her father apparently preferred to remain oblivious to his wife's faults. Dorothy realized that Sadirah had likely been infuriated to be so publicly confronted by her husband's infidelity in the hotel lobby, so Dorothy felt partially responsible for the rage that must have prompted Sadirah to beat Jamila. But that didn't excuse her cruelty to the daughter that loved her unconditionally. Despite everything that Sadirah had done to her, Jamila loved her mother.
"Your mother doesn't hate you, Jamila."
"She does! She called me a bastard! I asked nanny Maria what it is, and she said it is someone who doesn't have a father! I have a Papa! Why does Mama say mean things to me? Why does she hurt me?" Jamila's words stumbled out, one after another until she hid her face in Dorothy's bosom and shook with uncontrollable sobs.
Dorothy didn't have any answers for Jamila. All she knew about Jamila was what Quatre had told her, that her birth had been an accident. As incomprehensible as it seemed, Sadirah resented Jamila for it, and she couldn't understand why, when Sadirah had gained so much from giving Quatre Winner a child.
When Jamila's tears had subsided to hiccups, Dorothy took her into the kitchen where she gently washed her face and put a cold compress on her swelling cheek. A thorough search of the kitchen yielded a boxed pasta dinner and a jar of cookies that seemed fresh, so she gave Jamila some cookies then concentrated on preparing a meal for them. By the time Dorothy had added the pasta to the boiling water, Jamila seemed to have forgotten her problems because she was swinging her legs as she sat on the chair, humming a snippet of Mozart over and over as looked curiously around the room.
"Did you run away?" Dorothy asked Jamila as she stirred the cooking spaghetti.
Jamila nodded. "I sneaked out of the play yard at the hotel while nanny Maria was talking to a man."
A hotel nanny was going to lose her job over this, thought Dorothy. "Where was Rashid?"
"He stayed to talk to Mama. He was very angry."
Nothing gave Dorothy greater pleasure than imagining the giant Rashid giving Sadirah the punishment she deserved. No, that wasn't true, she thought as she dished up the pasta and sat at the table. Dorothy would be quite pleased to give Sadirah Barak the beating that Quatre Winner was too kindhearted to administer.
Jamila seemed puzzled by the spaghetti at first, but when she watched how Dorothy ate it, she mimicked her and Dorothy could tell that she was very hungry so she ate sparingly in order for Jamila to have her fill. As Dorothy was cleaning off the table, Jamila darted around the kitchen exploring it as if it were unknown territory. Dorothy realized that Jamila probably hadn't been in a kitchen before, and she had memories of her own childhood and how she was shuttled from the nursery, to the playroom, the garden, the salon and never once having contact with a servant other than her brutish nanny. Soon enough Jamila had the pots and pans scattered across the floor and she would have hauled out an antique silver tea service that she discovered before Dorothy put a stop to her activities.
"You haven't seen my roses," she told Jamila to distract her, and taking her hand, she lead her to the garden.
Characteristic of one her age, she soon forgot the fun she was having in the kitchen when she saw the white and yellow roses that Dorothy grew. Although she was expecting that Jamila might be too rough with some of them and prepared to see her precious flowers fall victim to Jamila's exuberance, she was surprised that Jamila was very gentle as she touched them. Watching Jamila lean forward to smell one of the blooms, Dorothy realized how much she looked like her father and didn't seem to have any of her mother's features.
Being reminded of Quatre, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was getting late. Dorothy had planned to be with him by this time, but she guessed that Quatre had probably discovered his daughter missing by now and was frantic with worry. She allowed Jamila to choose her favorite rose so that she could cut it for her, but Jamila didn't want any of them to be harmed, so she picked one to adopt and Dorothy allowed her to spray it with some water before they went inside.
When they went back into the living room, Dorothy settled her on the couch, and picking up the phone, she was dug into her purse to find the key card for the room at the hotel so that she could take the number of the hotel.
Before Dorothy could dial more than a few numbers, Jamila grabbed her hand. "Don't call my Mama! She will be very angry at me again!"
Dorothy set aside the phone. "Your Papa must be worried about you Jamila."
Jamila looked down at her hands. "Mama said that Papa doesn't want me. She told me that he is going away and he will not want to see me ever again." Her teary eyes met Dorothy's. "Mama said that you are taking him away from us."
Dorothy felt as if her heart were being squeezed. She reached out to take Jamila's hands in her own. "That isn't true, Jamila. I would never take your Papa away from you. I know how much he loves you. Will you let me call him now so that he knows you are safe?"
"Can I please stay here tonight?" Jamila's eyes were wide with pleading.
There was no doubt in Dorothy's mind that Jamila was terrified of returning to her mother. After what Jamila had just revealed, Sadirah would be even more furious to learn that Jamila had run away to be with her husband's lover. Against her better judgment, she gave in. "Then we must call your Papa immediately in the morning to tell him that you are all right."
Jamila nodded, then she leaned forward to hug Dorothy. Dorothy was moved deeply when Jamila kissed her cheek and rested her head on her shoulder. "I like you very much, Miss Dorothy."
Dorothy adored Jamila too much to put into words. There was no forgiveness in her heart for what Sadirah had done to terrorize the innocent child. If Quatre didn't do something about her, then she would. Or at least she could ask Heero Yuy to find someone who could put the fear of God into Sadirah Barak.
Jamila picked up her handbag, and taking out the pieces of the angel, she spread them out upon the coffee table in front of the couch. "Can we put her back together again?"
As she stared at the broken porcelain figure, Dorothy couldn't stop the emotion that broke through a floodgate she had erected on her heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped among the pieces. The angel could never be fixed. She was gone forever.
When Dorothy arrived back home, the chauffeur was waiting for her at the airport. Beyond a lifting of his brow, he did not remark upon her unexplained absence before putting her suitcases in the trunk and opening the door for her. He drove her back to the mansion without speaking, as was his custom and in the past Dorothy had not been bothered by the distance between her and the servants. But as she sat in the back seat of the limousine, she realized that the servants were the only people in her life and she did not even interact with them. Dorothy didn't even know the chauffeur's name although he had driven cars for her since she was a child.
For over a week, she stayed at the mansion, most of the time in her room, claiming to be sick when all she wanted was to have time to herself to recover from the worst mistake she had made in her life. The debacle in Barbados even seemed worse than her incomprehensible escapade with the White Fang. At least she could explain that away by her militaristic upbringing. How could she explain what she had allowed to happen to her in Barbados? How could she have been so stupid as to trust the man she had tried to kill during the war? Anyone with any common sense would have been leery of his intentions. But she had willingly become the victim of his revenge. Quatre Winner would probably laugh about her gullibility all the way back to L4.
As if he hadn't had enough, he called the mansion several times, and each time Dorothy refused to take the call. She had nothing to say to him. If he had an attack of conscience, she didn't want to hear his apologies. If he was going to rub salt into the wound he had made in her heart, then she didn't want that either. Quatre Winner was part of a past that she wanted nothing more to do with. He had taught her a valuable lesson about opening herself up, and she would never do it again. The pain she felt wasn't worth any of the joy.
After she had been back a few days, she received a visit from Relena Peacecraft. Relena tried unsuccessfully to get Dorothy to tell her where she had disappeared to, even attempting to guess based on her tan. Dorothy didn't trust Relena's intentions, not after her experience with Quatre, so she didn't divulge any useful information. Disappointed by Dorothy's lack of civility, Relena finally left her to her depression, vowing to visit her again soon. Fortunately for Dorothy, the Vice Foreign Minister was called to one of the colonies, so Dorothy was going to be spared that visit for some time. She would rather not be tempted into confiding in Relena because she wanted to keep her foolish mistake to herself.
Although she tried not to dwell on the experience, she had little choice when her dreams were filled with memories of her days and nights with Quatre, or worse, fantasies of a future that included him. She started to feel so miserable that she lost her appetite and when she did eat, she couldn't hold her food down. She lost weight, spent whole days in bed and fought a losing battle with mood swings. After two months of such misery, the housekeeper finally sent for a doctor, explaining to Dorothy that the staff was afraid for her health.
Dorothy stirred herself enough to shower and make herself presentable when the man arrived. She knew she still looked dreadful, having lost her tan and now looking as pale as a ghost. Dr. Carstairs was the housekeeper's physician, and Dorothy was glad the dour old man usually employed by her family for generations was not doddering over her because she could not imagine disclosing anything personal to him. Jovial Dr. Carstairs was very friendly as he asked her questions about her health, but Dorothy wished he would just prescribe some happy pills for her and go away.
When the maid served coffee, Dorothy wrinkled her nose in distaste and her stomach rolled violently. Dr. Carstairs was delighted with the eclairs the maid served, and watching him take a bite of the pastry, Dorothy had to excuse herself, and she barely made it to a bathroom before she had the worst fit of retching of her life. She was shaking uncontrollably from the episode and planned to go straight to bed after she left the bathroom.
But the doctor was waiting for her in the hall. "Are you feeling ill, Miss Catalonia?"
He seemed to be amused by what she considered an absolutely asinine question. "I'm sorry to cut this short, doctor, but I need to lie down."
"Completely understandable. Let me escort you to your room. Your housekeeper, Mrs. Smythe, tells me that you have been sleeping quite a bit."
"I had a bad experience, doctor." Dorothy didn't really want to discuss it with him as they walked up the grand staircase with generations of Dermail ancestors staring down at her from the portraits on the wall. "I have been depressed about it. Perhaps you could prescribe something to make me feel better."
"I'm not sure that is a good idea. You haven't had much of an appetite? You appear to have lost weight."
Her clothing was very loose on her. "I have been feeling nauseous." They stopped before her bedroom door, and the doctor opened it and nodded for her to enter. "You aren't planning to give me an exam, are you? I don't really feel up to it." Dorothy wouldn't be able to stand him touching her. She would probably be sick again.
"I don't think I need to give you a physical examination." He closed the door behind them. "You aren't married? May I ask if there is a special someone in your life?"
"I am not lovesick, doctor, if that is what you are driving at."
His laughter sounded more like a snort, and Dorothy almost smiled. "You aren't very forthcoming, Miss Catalonia. I guess I will get to the point then. When is the last time you experienced your monthly cycle?"
A week before she went to Barbados. Dorothy opened her mouth to tell him, then realized that it had been two months ago. Two months! She suddenly felt very light-headed, and thought it odd that the room tipped around her before knocking her off her feet. The doctor caught her before she fell, and he carried her to the bed. For several minutes she felt dizzy and disoriented, but she eventually resumed what passed for her composure these days.
The doctor brought her a glass of water.
Dorothy's hand was shaking as she took a sip, but she didn't spill any as she set aside the glass. She looked at the doctor. He was smiling kindly at her. "I…I haven't had any problem with my cycle." Dorothy couldn't help lying. She didn't know if he could be trusted. What would happen if he left the mansion and blabbed her secrets to the press? How could she ever live with this? She had already shamed her heritage by her behavior in space. She would be completely ruined if word leaked out that she was…was…pregnant.
Her stomach wrenched again. Dorothy barely managed to swallow the watery bile.
The doctor patted her hands. "Well, I guess my diagnosis is that you are, indeed, suffering from some type of depression." He turned, reached into his bag and set a small box on her bedside. "You may wish to make use of that. You need not get back to me. I certainly understand, but I do caution you to take care of yourself. Your appetite should be returning soon, and I would recommend a healthy diet and plenty of rest until your energy returns. When that happens, you should get out in the sun a bit and get some exercise. You look like a ghost."
Dorothy looked at the box he had left and saw that it was a home pregnancy test. When her eyes met his, he looked strangely blurry.
"These things have a way of working themselves out," he told her kindly. "You need not worry about my discretion. I didn't really find anything unusual wrong with you."
She managed to thank the doctor, and after he left, she lay with her head on the pillow staring at the box for hours. Dorothy could not believe this was happening to her! Such things only happened to careless, uneducated women, certainly not to the granddaughter of the Duke Dermail, and the daughter of General Catalonia!
Convinced that the doctor was wrong, that she was merely depressed, Dorothy finally grabbed the test and headed to the bathroom. Although her hands were shaking, she ripped through the packaging, then followed the instructions to the letter. At the end of the two-minute test, she stared at the result so intensely that her eyes watered. Finally her knees buckled and she sat on the floor of the bathroom clutching the test strip in her hand.
Drawing up her legs, she hugged them as she rocked herself and wept.
After a thorough search of the hotel had been completed and there was no sign of Jamila, Quatre returned to his suite, which had now become a Preventer base of operations. Sadirah was so overwrought that she shut herself away in her room until her father arrived to comfort her. Quatre felt as if he were in a nightmare from which he would awake to find Jamila bouncing on the end of his bed. Now he was terrified to think of what her fate might be. Although she was most likely abducted for a ransom, Quatre couldn't ignore the possibility that some deranged predator had taken her.
The hotel nanny was mortified by what had happened while she was supposed to be watching Jamila in the hotel play yard. Maria Montero explained that she had been doing just that until a man had engaged her in conversation and she was ashamed to admit that she lost sight of Jamila. Quatre's men were equally apologetic for allowing his daughter to slip out of the play yard unseen. Quatre hadn't even had an opportunity to speak to Rashid because he left with Heero Yuy shortly after Quatre arrived.
The Preventer officers wanted to distribute Jamila's picture to the media so that anyone who had any information about her could contact them. Quatre was adamantly opposed. If by some miracle Jamila were only hiding from them, then they would be doing a great deal of harm by unnecessarily exposing her identity. Although her picture had appeared in the paper that day, she had not been identified, so unless someone were trying to make a connection between him and the little girl in the photograph, Jamila's anonymity was still safe. If anything, one might conclude that Jamila was actually Dorothy's daughter. But if the authorities publicized her disappearance, there were enough greedy, dangerous people who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her if they knew she was.
The wait for any news was maddening to Quatre. He thought about calling Dorothy to explain why he wouldn't be meeting her, but even thinking about Dorothy when Jamila was missing made him feel guilty. Sadirah was watching him with ill-concealed contempt. At least her father was discussing the situation with the Preventer agents assigned to the hotel suite. Beyond her initial histrionics, Sadirah showed little emotion over her daughter's disappearance. Quatre wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, and yes, maybe even hard enough to snap her slender neck.
Disgusted by his violent thoughts, he stepped out to the terrace to smoke, and he was aggravated to notice that Barak nodded to his daughter. She dutifully followed him.
Quatre ignored her for as long as he possibly could before her silent stare began to unnerve him. "What do you want?" he asked, refusing to look back at her but continuing to look out over the city where his daughter was lost or being held a prisoner.
When she laid her hand on his shoulder, he shuddered and resisted the urge to shrug her off and step away. "I'm sure they will find her and she will be safe."
Turning, he looked down into her dark eyes. "Do you care, Sadirah?"
"Of course I care! She is my daughter too!" Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Sighing, Quatre tossed aside his cigar and put his arms around her, drawing her head against his shoulder. "The Preventers are doing everything they can to find her."
Sadirah slid her arms around his neck, but when she tried to pull his head down for a kiss, he purposely avoided her lips. Her body stiffened, and she stepped back from him. The tears had evaporated rather quickly, but then Quatre assumed that they would. "You are thinking about her!"
"I'm worried about Jamila," he said with annoyance as he lit another cigar.
Sadirah glared at him through the haze of smoke he blew between them. "I saw her today! That brazen whore was still here at lunch time!"
Quatre took a long draw from his cigar, and when he felt sufficiently calm, he responded. "I doubt she intended to run into you."
"Why not? I think she wanted to rub my face in the fact that you were with her last night under this very roof!" Sadirah was clenching her fists at her side. "How can you do this to me? I am your wife!"
"A position for which you have generously been rewarded."
She gasped in outrage. "I didn't ask for this! If you will recall, I was only sixteen years old when you married me, and only after I had given birth to Jamila!"
Quatre didn't like being reminded that he had taken advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl. "I can't do anything more to prove my deep remorse for what happened. You haven't given our marriage a chance; you haven't given Jamila any place in your heart."
"You don't understand what I suffered!" Sadirah started to pace, nervously wringing her hands. "I couldn't tell my father because he would blame me, and I dared not contact you for fear that you would accuse me of planning it all. You didn't even remember being with me!"
Quatre still didn't remember the event that brought Jamila into his life. "This is not the time for this discussion."
"Why not?" demanded Sadirah. "Father told me that you are going to ask me to divorce you!"
Quatre wondered when Barak had spoken to Sadirah. He had little doubt that he called his daughter immediately following their discussion at the office. "Neither of us are happy."
"I haven't been happy since that night! You can't imagine that humiliation I felt when I had to leave school because of the baby. All my hopes and dreams were destroyed! Do you think offering me money can make up for that?"
"Sadirah, you are young enough to make your hopes and dreams a reality."
"In what capacity? I will always be known only as your ex-wife! I don't want that!"
"You don't want to be with me either, and you certainly don't want Jamila. Tell me what you do want Sadirah, and maybe we can work something out."
Sadirah glared at him, nostrils flaring, her cheeks bright pink with anger. "Work something out? Do you think for one minute that I will let you have Jamila? She is all I have! How dare you think I am so shallow that I would trade her for money! You don't have enough to take my motherhood away from me. I'm the one who suffered the pain of bringing her into the world, alone and ashamed, and I will keep her to my dying breath."
Turning on her heel, she marched off the terrace, passing Rashid who was accompanied by Heero Yuy. Quatre massaged his temples for a moment, then turned his attention to Rashid. "I hope you have some news for me."
"I am sorry, Master Quatre, but I do not. Missy Jamila seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth."
"You don't think she was taken away on a shuttle?" Quatre envisioned supporters or opponents of Mahmad Al-Jazar abducting his daughter so that he would pay whatever they asked to return her. Such people would not be satisfied with a single payment, and a little girl's life meant nothing to them.
"We have already checked. No shuttles left Earth today and there are none scheduled for a few days. You can be sure that any will be thoroughly searched before take-off," explained Heero.
Quatre turned back to Rashid. "How could this happen? Where were you?"
Rashid didn't respond for a moment, and by his sidelong glance at Heero, he had something to say that he didn't want the Preventer agent to hear. Heero wasn't oblivious to their desire to speak privately. He simply didn't wish to give them the chance.
Suddenly a phone began to ring, and Heero frowned as he pulled out his cellular phone. He had no choice but to give them some privacy so he could take his call.
When Heero had stepped away several feet to talk on the phone, Rashid said in a low voice, "Missy Jamila had an accident today."
"Accident?" Quatre was alarmed.
"The kind of accident that should have ended when Atifah left."
Throwing down his cigar, Quatre started to head into the apartment, his body stiff and cold with fury, but Rashid seized his arm. "Let me go, Rashid. I warned her."
"This is something we will have to deal with after we leave Earth."
Quatre knew that Rashid was right. A man beating his wife would not even raise a brow on L4. However, the authorities on Earth weren't as open-minded about spousal discipline. "When did this happen?"
"After we returned from her shopping trip. She took Jamila into her room to try on the clothing she purchased for her. I didn't hear anything, and when I saw her injuries, Sadirah told me that she had been clumsy and hit her face on a table when she fell while trying to get out of her clothing."
"You believed that bullshit?"
Rashid raised his brow. "She is not my wife to punish."
By his tone, he had inferred that Quatre should have taken care of the situation long ago. But he had purposely put on blinders because of the guilt he felt for causing Sadirah's unhappiness. He blamed himself for not making his marriage work. He could tell himself over and over that he had tried, but he knew it wasn't true. Sadirah played the role of his wife, mother of his daughter, but he had always held back part of himself from her. He didn't love her.
"I sent Jamila out with the nanny so that I could discuss the situation with her mother. I guess my anger made me careless, and Sadirah refused to speak to me anyway."
Heero rejoined them. "I have some disturbing news."
"I don't think things could get much worse," sighed Quatre.
"You sent two men to Switzerland yesterday," Heero began.
"How do you know about that?" asked Rashid.
Heero didn't answer. "One of the men was found shot in his hotel room this afternoon. He is dead."
Quatre was aghast. "Do you know what happened?"
"I guess he was asking too many questions," commented Heero. "Someone didn't like his curiosity."
"Who even knew that they left?" Quatre asked Rashid.
"I sent them without giving them a chance to discuss their assignment. Salim and Yaqob have worked for the Winner family for many years. They would not have spoken of this to anyone."
Quatre was starting to feel uneasy as Heero stared at them silently. Did he think they were trying to hide something from him that was of any importance to the security of the Earth Sphere United Nation?
Finally Heero said, "I kept tabs on the flights headed for Geneva, and wasn't surprised when your men obtained their boarding passes."
"You knew? Did you tell someone?"
"I told only one person." Heero met Quatre's eyes. "Dorothy Catalonia."
"Dorothy!" Quatre couldn't believe the implication of Heero's announcement, that Dorothy might have something to do with the death of his man.
"She wasn't happy to hear that you were checking up on her."
"You don't actually believe that she would have anything to do with this?" Quatre demanded of Heero.
"The woman has secrets that I think she would cut her own throat before revealing to anyone," Heero told him. "Could she have something to do with it? When Dorothy took the assignment with me to infiltrate Romefeller, she did the job with frightening ease. For a couple of months she was the Dorothy Catalonia that I remember from the war. There were moments when I was afraid she was going to join their cause. Although she reported to me about their projects, I suspected she was holding something back. Does she have the means to kill one of your men? I doubt she turned in every Romefeller operative. In fact, she purposely seemed to cut the mission short. Morley was glad that she landed the big fish and didn't care that she let the small fry go."
"She could be contacting the small fry," suggested Rashid. "They may owe her favors which she is calling in."
Quatre turned to look at him incredulously. "You believe that she had my men killed?"
"One of your men," corrected Heero. "I believe his name was Salim."
Quatre shook his head. "Not Dorothy! I won't believe it of her."
"Master, she is the only one who knew aside from the three of us."
One of the Preventer agents stepped onto the terrace. "Mr. Winner, we have some news about your daughter."
Quatre pushed his way past Heero and joined Sadirah and her father who were listening to a police officer. The man stopped speaking to look at Quatre. "I was just telling your wife that my partner and I picked up a little girl matching the description of your daughter. She was looking a little lost, and it looked like she must have fallen down and gotten a nasty scrape."
Although a wave of anger towards Sadirah crashed through him, Quatre didn't even look at her. "She was all right otherwise? Where is she?"
The officer rubbed his neck nervously, then continued with his story. "We asked her if she knew where her parents were. She gave us a story about her nanny ditching her at the park, then she told us that her mother's picture was in the paper."
Sadirah's picture was always in the paper, thought Quatre. At least it would serve a useful purpose. "Is my daughter in your car? Why didn't you bring her up?"
"Well, I think we misunderstood the little girl. We showed her the paper, and she pointed out a different woman." The officer avoided looking at Sadirah. "Dorothy Catalonia. Her picture was in today's paper, along with the little girl. We didn't have any reason not to believe her."
"Dorothy?" Quatre was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Did you take my daughter to her?"
He reluctantly nodded. "I didn't think we had made a mistake until we heard about the missing girl at the station."
"That woman has my child?" Sadirah suddenly burst out angrily.
Her father put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "When did you take my granddaughter to her house?"
"Must have been about four hours ago. She called her 'mama' and Miss Catalonia didn't correct her. I thought she looked a little surprised, but then I would be too if the police found my young daughter wandering around without any supervision."
Four hours? Dorothy had to know that he would be beyond distressed to learn of his daughter's disappearance. They had discussed her safety just that morning. What was she thinking in keeping Jamila's whereabouts from him? Quatre felt so hurt by her disloyalty that he couldn't speak.
"This is your fault!" cried Sadirah furiously. "She knows she can never have you because of Jamila! I'll never forgive you if that whore hurts my child!"
In a daze, Quatre watched her walk stiffly from the room. Quatre wouldn't believe that Dorothy had anything but good intentions, and yet he could not understand why she hadn't called him about Jamila. One glance at Barak told him that the man didn't trust Dorothy, and Rashid's stern stare gave him the same impression.
Was it possible that Dorothy had completely fooled him? Could she have turned the tables on him by seducing him into letting down his guard, then finding the most destructive way to hurt him? What secret was she protecting in Switzerland that would prompt her to have one of his men murdered?
Quatre's head was pounding from the stress, and his stomach was twisted in knots. If Heero didn't trust her, then what reason did he have? Dorothy Catalonia had already proved herself conniving and deceiving, even unbalanced after joining the White Fang. Quatre hadn't wanted to listen to the voices of reason, Rashid who pointed out her faults and his father-in-law who reminded him that Dorothy came from a long line of scheming manipulators.
"Why don't you call her?" Heero's voice at his shoulder shocked him from his dismal thoughts and doubts. "I'm sure she has a logical explanation for not contacting you."
Quatre hoped that he was right. Although he didn't know Dorothy's number, Heero supplied it readily. The phone rang several times before she finally answered.
"Catalonia residence."
"Miss Dorothy, this is Quatre."
She cut him off before he could continue. "I know why you are calling. The police must have contacted you."
"Is Jamila with you?"
"She is sleeping."
"I'm coming to get her."
"No! Don't come over." Her adamant outburst startled him.
"I'm worried about her."
"We can discuss this tomorrow. Right now, you will just have to trust me."
Trust her? Quatre was beginning to think he had lost his mind by trusting her in the first place. "I want my daughter back tonight, Dorothy."
She made a sound of disgust. "Come by tomorrow morning. She is sleeping right now, and I don't want to disturb her for reasons that will be clear to you in the morning. Trust me, Quatre." The line went dead when she hung up.
Barak was at his shoulder. "What did she say?"
"I should pick up Jamila in the morning." Quatre carefully set the phone down. But he stared at it, his head pounding, his heart aching, his pulse racing. In his mind he saw again the face of the woman who had leveled a gun at him on the Libra.
"By morning she could take Jamila anywhere," Barak said in his ear. "She could take her to Switzerland where her contacts there could make her disappear."
"She told me that I should trust her," Quatre said, his tone not even convincing to himself.
His father-in-law said what needed to be said. "You can't trust a woman like that,"
"Master Quatre?" prompted Rashid.
"Don't do anything foolish," warned Heero. "If you truly believe her capable of harming Jamila, then what is to stop her from whacking you if you go over there demanding that she return your daughter?"
"He's right." Barak looked at Rashid. "You will remain here and be responsible for Quatre's safety. I will take men to her house and get Jamila away from her."
Unable to stand any more, Quatre sat on the couch and covered his face with his hands. As Barak made arrangements, dismissing the Preventer agents by convincing them that his own men could handle the situation and that their interference would not be appreciated, Quatre felt as if his world were collapsing around him.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Sadirah looking at him with concern. She put her arms around him and he held her tightly. "I'm sorry, Sadirah. I'm so sorry for what I have allowed to happen."
