Chapter 21

Finished reading a report, Quatre placed it on a small stack in a tray on the corner of his desk, then reached for another. If he kept himself busy, he wouldn't think about what was uppermost in his mind, especially when he returned to his hotel suite where Rashid would report what Jamila had been doing during the day. Her nanny, Mrs. Brown, was a cheery old woman who probably let his daughter get away with too much, like a grandmother would. Jamila was becoming headstrong, a personality trait that Sadirah had crushed during her reign of terror, and now Jamila needed the guidance of a mother. Quatre couldn't fill that need and he wasn't going to ask it of any woman but the one Jamila could call mother. Unfortunately, he didn't know where she was.

He was just studying numbers on a spreadsheet when his secretary buzzed and announced the arrival of Heero Yuy. Putting aside his work, he waited impatiently for his friend to enter, and when he did, neither man bothered with a greeting.

"Have you found her?"

Heero dumped a thick folder on Quatre's desk. "She doesn't want to be found."

Quatre looked at Heero's face. "You aren't going to advise me to stop trying to find her, are you? Because if you do, I'm not listening this time."

"She may need a little more time."

Quatre shook his head. "A week, a month, a year, five years. I'm not going to sit back and wait this one out. It's been six months already. Jamila needs her mother, and I'm sick of waking every day wondering if Dorothy is safe." He opened the folder, and on top of the pile of papers was the picture of a woman with curly red hair. "Who is this?"

"It's her, at least as she was a few days ago." Heero moved around the desk, dug through the papers and pulled out the copy of a passport. "This is one of her identities."

Quatre pushed the papers around and found half a dozen different surveillance pictures of what appeared to be different women. Included in the file were copies of passports for each woman. "How is she managing to do this?"

"When she landed on L2 she paid a visit to Duo Maxwell. She gave him a story about working undercover for the Preventers and that she needed to meet some people who could arrange a new identity for her. Because he knows one or two unsavory characters, he hooked her up with one who could help her. Since then, she has been relying on these unscrupulous people to keep her one step ahead of us."

Quatre sighed as he closed the folder. "I take it she is still one step ahead of you."

"I do have some good news," Heero told him. "We have finally managed to trace her money."

"Why haven't you done that before now?" The lack of progress his friend had made in finding Dorothy was frustrating, especially when Heero was an expert in the field.

"She wasn't using her money, at least not any we knew about. Apparently she has had access all along to an enormous fortune squirreled away by the Romefeller Foundation, or at least by Duke Dermail. The old bastard was skimming from the accounts and hiding it in Switzerland."

Rats stealing from rats. Quatre wasn't surprised. "Dorothy knew of this? How much money are you talking about?"

Heero pulled copies of bank records from the file. "Enough to keep her comfortable for a few lifetimes, certainly enough to pay people to keep her invisible."

"How did you find out about this?" Quatre knew how easy it was to hide money, or at least to keep others from gaining access.

"I was thinking about how this whole mess started, and then I remembered how she had pushed Randolph Morrison's final button. She juggled accounts on Bill Morley's computer. So I tinkered on his computer - it took several days - and I finally discovered her password: Angelina M."

Angelina Maria. Quatre had already discovered that was the name the Huffmanns and Dr. Richter had given Dorothy's child.

"I was able to track her spending up until a few days ago when she must have realized someone was onto her because she changed the password."

"Did you discover anything of importance?"

"She had purchased a ticket to Rio de Janeiro and booked a week at a resort."

Quatre guessed those plans were abruptly changed. "I suppose she canceled."

"Fortunately for you, Dorothy Catalonia has little concept of how the common man lives. She was raised by wealthy parents and spent her childhood as part of the baggage train of her mother. She would never think to check into a Best Western. That narrows the playing field to our advantage."

Quatre paged through the file, noting the cities she had visited and the places she had stayed. They were expensive, exclusive and populated by the bored upper crust of society seeking any form of entertainment. He didn't want to believe that she had become one of them because that lifestyle was addictive and destructive. Until his trip to Barbados, that was the kind of life he had been leading and heading toward a crash and burn until his involvement with Dorothy turned him in another direction.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked Heero.

"We go to Monte Carlo," Heero told him with a half-smile. "I alerted agents to watch for an unaccompanied young woman checking into any five star hotels. I wasn't expecting to get a response quite so soon, but I received this picture this morning." From out of his inside jacket pocket he pulled a photograph that he handed to Quatre. The woman with dark, shoulder-length wavy hair didn't look anything like Dorothy. Then again, neither did the other pictures he had seen.

"Are you sure this is her?"

"This woman checked in to the Hotel de Paris after arriving in Nice following a flight from Rio de Janeiro."

"You might be wrong," Quatre said skeptically. He didn't want to get his hopes up. Dorothy could be anywhere, and he had a hard time believing the woman in the picture was her.

"Her fingerprints were lifted and checked in the database. The woman is Dorothy Catalonia."

Quatre reached out to press the button for his secretary. "I'll get a suite..."

Heero put up his hand to stop him. "I've already made arrangements. There is a room booked in case you need it." He handed Quatre a hotel reservation confirmation. "But you can't hide as easily as Dorothy Catalonia. Once she gets wind of your presence in Monte Carlo, she'll make another run."

"I must have lost my mind," commented Quatre with a shake of his head. "We are talking as if we are stalking some animal."

"I can cancel the reservation," suggested Heero.

"No! I'm not letting her get away this time." He buzzed his secretary and told her to inform the pilot of his jet to be ready within the hour, then he asked Heero. "Are you coming with me?"

Heero snorted. "I wouldn't dream of missing this. Relena is going to want a detailed account."

Before leaving for the airport, Quatre returned to the hotel suite that had become his home. Rashid was standing guard outside the door, so he explained his plans to his friend. Rashid wanted to accompany him, but Quatre preferred that he stay with Jamila while he was gone. Entering the suite, Quatre heard soft snoring and didn't get his hopes up that Jamila was napping. Instead, he saw Mrs. Brown sprawled on the couch, her head lolled back as she snored. Fortunately Jamila wasn't doing anything more dangerous than scribbling with an indelible marker on some reports Quatre had left on his desk. When she saw him enter, she quickly hid the marker and pretended to be innocent as she hoped off the desk chair and hurried to greet him.

Quatre should scold her, but he preferred just to hold her in his arms. He knew that he spent too much time working, and Jamila's attack on his paperwork proved that she was unhappy with his frequent absence. But he couldn't remedy the situation until he worked something out with Dorothy Catalonia. That something was nothing less than marriage, regardless of how she felt.

"You are home early," said Jamila as she looked at his face. "Are we going to the zoo? Can we go to the park?"

He hated to disappoint her as he had been doing for months now. "I'm sorry, Jamila, but I don't have time. I am going away."

The worried look in her eyes went straight to his heart, then she asked, "Can I come with you?"

He glanced at Mrs. Brown. He doubted the woman wanted to hop on a jet and fly to Monte Carlo. "This is something I have to do alone."

Jamila looked him in the eye. "Are you going to see Miss Dorothy?"

Although Jamila knew that Dorothy was her mother, she did not refer to her as such. Quatre was still unsure if Jamila understood everything he had told her, and he was equally uncertain about her feelings. He feared that deep down inside Jamila would always consider Sadirah Barak her mother, and he hoped that she could make room in her heart for Dorothy. Dorothy didn't deserve what had happened to her.

He decided to be honest with Jamila. "I'm going to try to find her."

Jamila looked away from him, and for a moment he was afraid that she was disapproving of his mission. Then she turned her head back to him and he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. "Will I get to see Miss Dorothy?"

Quatre decided at that moment that he would not be making any bargains with Dorothy Catalonia. He wasn't going to give her the freedom to choose. "You will."

Jamila hugged him tightly and was reluctant to release him when he told her that he had to prepare for his trip. She followed him to his room where Quatre threw a few essential items in a bag. Whatever else he needed, he would purchase via telecommunication en route to Nice so that it would be waiting for him when he arrived at the airport. He had difficulty in saying good-bye to Jamila because he could see that she was afraid that he would not come back to her although she bravely tried to hide it. He ended up wiping away her tears and promising that things would be better when he returned.

Once in the hall he gave further instructions to Rashid then headed down to meet Heero Yuy in the lobby. He drove to the airport without making conversation and they didn't discuss any plans until the jet had taken off. Given that one or two photographers snapped pictures of him at the airport, Quatre gauged that they had little time if those pictures were published before Dorothy discovered that he was on the move.

The flight to Nice took three hours, and during that time Heero made arrangements to put Dorothy under heavy surveillance by Preventer agents skilled in such work, so Quatre was reasonably assured that she wouldn't be able to slip through their fingers. Once they arrived at the airport in Nice, they took a private helicopter ride to Monte Carlo and when they landed, a car was waiting to take them to the hotel. Heero chose to go by taxi, reasoning that they were better off splitting up.

By early evening, Quatre was at the desk of the hotel waiting to check in. The young woman at the desk was in the middle of her standard, bored greeting when she stopped abruptly and her eyes widened when she realized to whom she was speaking. Now was one of those moments that Quatre wished he could blend in, but because of his wealth and position, he never would. Because the young desk clerk had become mindless and speechless, the manager stepped forward, and with barely a blink of the eye, took Quatre's confirmation card.

He shook his head. "There must be some mistake, Mr. Winner. I will have the presidential suite prepared immediately..."

"There is no need. I will not be staying long and I want the room booked for me." Quatre glanced around the luxurious lobby as he waited, and as he was turning back, the opening of the elevator door drew his attention.

If he hadn't already seen the photograph of her recently assumed identity, Quatre might not have recognized Dorothy as she stepped from the elevator. Wearing an elegant designer evening gown of black silk that clung provocatively to her, she was decked out in diamonds and a sable wrap. Her darkened hair was held up with diamond combs, and he was assured that it was her by the dangling diamond earrings she wore. He had filched one of those same earrings the night of the charity ball when he had given her a ride home so that he could have the opportunity of seeing her again.

Realizing that he was gawking at her, Quatre turned quickly away and noticed the manager smiling at him. "She is quite beautiful, no?"

"Indeed," he said as he signed the guest book. "I do not wish to be disturbed." Quatre reached into his pocket, peeled off several bills to hand to the manager. "Perhaps you can tell me the young woman's name."

The man behind the desk turned the guest book back a page. "She signed her name Angela Delrio. She is from Barcelona, but currently residing in Suite 4B."

Quatre risked looking back toward her and saw the doorman open the door and escort her to a waiting car. "I don't suppose you would know where Señorita Delrio is headed?"

"She did send for a car," hedged the manager showing some remorse for disclosing private details of his guests.

Quatre raised a brow. "You wouldn't know the destination?"

The man gave up, finding it impossible to deny the richest man in the Earth Sphere United Nation. "I believe she is headed to Le Casino."

"That would be my destination then. Please inform my driver." Quatre took the key from the manager, then headed to the room Heero had booked for him. Used to staying in suites, he thought after opening the door that he must have mistaken a closet for his room. With a sigh he realized that it didn't matter that there was just the one room beside the small bathroom because he wouldn't be staying here much beyond changing into the formal evening attire he had purchased sight unseen.

Heero was waiting in the car, and he raised his brow when Quatre settled into the car. "She's not going to notice you, is she?"

Quatre knew he would stand out with his dark Italian suit and bright blond hair. Because he had used the tailor in the past, the suit fit to perfection. He shrugged as he adjusted his diamond cufflinks. "I'm going to a casino where I've dropped plenty of money in the past. I hope you have a net set out for her because she's not going to miss me."

"My men and women are in position to cover all exits."

Quatre didn't care if he was making a mistake or not by going to such extreme lengths to get Dorothy back. Her behavior was childish and irrational, so he was going to prove he could be just as childish and irrational.

The casino manager greeted him personally when the doorman radioed a message that he had arrived. The small man hurried to shake his hand. "Monsieur Winner, I am so delighted to see you! How long has it been?"

"Seems like only yesterday, Jacques," commented Quatre wryly as he looked out over the crowd of elegantly dressed men and woman ringing tables, wagering fortunes, drinking too much, sharing whatever substances they were hiding in their pockets. There were many nights that Quatre wouldn't have known how much money he had lost had Hassan Barak not covered his bets and reported to him the following day as he nursed incredible hangovers. He knew many of the people who haunted the casino, those debauched by having too much money and too much time on their hands and the sycophants who grasped the edge of their society and hung on without realizing how useless their lives had become.

Jacques rubbed his hands together. "Do you have a preference tonight, monsieur?"

Quatre hadn't come to play, but he knew he would have to in order to blend in. Glancing over the crowd, he sought Señorita Delrio and saw her moving toward a roulette table, a couple of drooling young men on her heels. "I think I will play a little roulette."

Jacques followed his gaze and a knowing smile curved his lips. "A fine choice, monsieur. Mademoiselle Delrio has quite an extensive account of her own."

Quatre knew that Jacques was referring to the gold-digging women eyeing him speculatively. Instead of immediately joining the table that Dorothy had chosen, Quatre stationed himself at one several feet away so that he could watch her without her knowledge. She bet recklessly, allowed herself to be flattered by her two admirers, and she made the mistake of drinking too much as she continued to lose. The two young men were more interested in her body than her money, a fact she seemed to be oblivious to as she haphazardly bet on the roulette wheel.

Barely concentrating on his own play, Quatre was somewhat surprised to find himself winning, but less surprised to find women vying for his attention. He recognized one or two faces, and one woman joined him at the table, attempting to distract him from his true purpose to coming to the casino.

"It's been a long time, Quatre," she purred as she slipped an arm around his waist and moved against him.

Quatre couldn't remember her name although he did have a vague memory of having sex with her once or twice. The thought made his gut twist with another unpleasant memory of taking Dorothy to the dance club in Barbados when he had flaunted other women in order to destroy her self-confidence. If she knew he was here in the casino, she could almost be doing the same by flirting with her admirers. When she wasn't looking, the young men exchanged conspiratorial glances.

"Are you here alone?" asked the woman touching him casually.

"I'm with someone," he lied, not taking his eyes off Dorothy. One of the men brought a drink to the table for her, and Quatre noted that his cohort slipped a powder in it before handing it to her.

"I didn't realize that you were into the party scene."

Irritated by the cloying woman, Quatre shook her off and slid the pile of chips he had won in front of her. "Have a good time."

He didn't reach Dorothy before she drained the glass. Quatre hoped that she hadn't become a gambling, partying lush because he couldn't see himself bringing that kind of woman home to raise his daughter. Correction, their daughter.

Although he attracted attention, Quatre remained at the edge of the crowd watching the action at this particular roulette wheel. Dorothy had lost a fortune already, so Quatre guessed people were waiting to see how she would react to losing the last few chips before her. Quatre could see that the drug was starting to take effect by her sluggish motions and her glazed gaze. But when her admirers closed in to keep her from falling from the stool upon which she was perched, Quatre stepped forward and shouldered one away.

"Here you are, Angela," he said smoothly, while raising a challenging brow at both men. "You left the hotel without me."

Dorothy tried to focus and failing, she merely giggled.

Slipping an arm around her waist, he was about to pull her from the table when the dealer announced that she had won on her final straight up bet, recouping most of her losses. Dorothy clearly didn't recognize him, nor did he think she had any sense of what she was doing when she bet thousands of dollars on one number.

He had no choice but wait as the dealer spun the wheel, dropped the ball and the crowed watched with breathless anticipation as the ball rolled round and round until bouncing, then dropping to rest on the black number four. The dealer stared speechlessly, and for a moment nobody watching said a thing until Dorothy slurred, "My lucky number."

"Let's get out of here," muttered Quatre as the dealer pushed the chips in front of her. Dorothy seemed unable to focus, and Quatre glanced around, looking for her admirers and finding them gone, he guessed they would be waiting for him outside the casino.

She didn't protest as he lead her through the amazed crowd, but before he could leave, Jacques, the manager, stopped him at the door. "Monsieur Winner, what shall I do with Mademoiselle Delrio's winnings?"

The man seemed a bit harried because the house had lost a great deal of money on the last spin of that particular roulette wheel. "I will send the name of the charity to which she would like it contributed." That was the least she could do with the stolen Romefeller money.

Dorothy walked with him, but her mind was clearly engaged in some hallucination that made her receptive to following his lead. By the time he stepped out of the casino, Jacques had called for his car. But as Quatre suspected, the two young men were waiting in the dark and stepped out, one of them carrying a pipe. Sighing, Quatre handed Dorothy into the car, then removed his suit coat and tossing it inside, he told the driver to stay with her before turning to face his attackers. He noticed Heero Yuy standing just inside a dark alley, watching with his arms folded over his chest.

"Can I help you?" Quatre asked the men innocently.

"I think you know what we want." The first one nodded toward the car.

"Life is full of disappointments," Quatre told them matter-of-factly. "This is just one of many for you."

The first man swung at him, but Quatre ducked and rammed into his gut with his shoulder, knocking the air from him and plowing him into the man holding the pipe. The second man recovered and swung the pipe at Quatre, but he grabbed his wrist and twisted it until the pipe dropped from his hand, then he smashed his fist in his face. Unfortunately, the first man had retrieved the pipe and brought it down on Quatre's head. For a moment he was dazed, giving his attackers the chance to get in several punishing blows.

Finally the fight was abruptly ended by the arrival of the authorities probably called by the car driver, and as the police chased his assailants, Quatre pulled himself up and found himself facing Heero Yuy.

"You could have helped," he said resentfully. He was bruised, his clothing was ripped, and he had a huge lump on his head.

Heero shrugged. "I wouldn't have let them kill you." He moved past Quatre and put one arm on the top of the car as he leaned in to look at Dorothy. "How are you this evening Señorita Delrio?"

She giggled. "You are an ass, Heero Yuy."

Heero chuckled as he straightened and turned to look at Quatre. "I hope you won't be taking advantage of her."

"She deserves it," grumbled Quatre, but he had no intention of taking advantage of Dorothy in that state.

"I'll see you in the morning. In the meantime, don't lose her." Heero thrust his hands in his pocket and walked away.

Quatre gave directions to the driver after joining Dorothy. Her eyes were closed and she was sighing deeply in sleep. For a moment he watched her tenderly, then he turned away in disgust as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. She had behaved with stupid disregard for her safety. He couldn't help but wonder how often she had been in these situations. At the moment he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, to tell her exactly how much she had hurt him and their daughter by running away.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Quatre roughly shook her awake so that she was lucid enough to walk rather than be carried ignobly into the luxurious hotel. He ignored the curious stares as he escorted her to the elevator, and once they were inside, he took her purse and dug out the key to her suite, but he stopped the elevator on the floor where his room was located. She needed to learn a lesson about her imprudent behavior. Fortunately for her he would be teaching it, not the two goons that had planned to have a good time at her expense.

Dorothy awoke with a headache, a sour taste in her mouth and an unpleasant churning in her stomach as she realized that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Naked, tangled in a sheet that she quickly pulled up to cover her, she discovered her gown lying several feet from the bed, and her underclothes scattered. Reaching up to her throat, she realized before she touched her bare throat that her necklace was gone as well as her earrings, and her hair was lying over her shoulders, testimony to her missing hairpins. Swallowing her bile, she left the bed, and after a quick search turned up no other occupant of the room, not even a suitcase, she trudged to the bathroom where she proceeded to empty her stomach in the toilet.

Throwing on the water of the shower, she stepped in and let the hot water do its magic as she rested her aching head on the tiled wall of the shower. Dorothy couldn't remember anything about the previous evening after she had arrived at the casino and started gambling at the roulette table. She had only gone because she was bored although she knew she was taking a chance of being recognized. But in her present disguise she felt safe even though someone had hacked into her personal bank accounts to discover her most recent transactions.

Dorothy was rather disappointed to have to cut her planned trip to Rio de Janeiro because she was looking forward to some time in the sun. Instead she had returned to Europe to make a fool of herself. Her imagination was vivid enough to give her an explanation of how she might have spent the evening. At least she hadn't had sex, which hardly made up for losing a valuable set of jewelry to her chivalrous thief. Perhaps this experience was a warning to her. The night could have ended with far worse consequences than the loss of her jewelry. She certainly had no intention of returning to the casino where she might run into whatever man had brought her back to the hotel. She did still have clothing for the beach, so she decided to spend the afternoon on the beach in Nice nursing her hangover. While she was there, she would plan where to go next.

After drying off, she pulled on her discarded clothing, annoyed that she would be returning to her suite in a wrinkled silk evening gown. Her sable wrap was gone as well. She had been stupid the previous evening, but she had gotten off easy.

Fortunately she didn't run into anyone on the way to her suite, but once she arrived, she was irritated to realize that her key was missing. However the door was ajar, and Dorothy stepped in to see that her suitcases were open, her clothing thrown around, and she didn't need to look to know that anything of value was missing. She stared at the mess for several minutes, then moved things around to find a bottle of painkillers for her headache and was irritated to see that it was gone. She used a few choice words for a thief that would add insult to injury by stealing her ibuprofen.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Dorothy dug out a bathing suit, pulled it on, then found a sundress. After throwing her sunblock in a bag, she grabbed her sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat and after calling the desk to arrange for a car, she headed to the elevator. She wasn't going to let this setback spoil her day. But just as she stepped into the elevator and was about to close the door, a hand caught it and she felt her heart skip a beat until a woman stepped inside, smiled blandly at her and then proceeded to ignore Dorothy. Dorothy's head was pounding, and her empty stomach was threatening to growl, but the woman was distracting as she began to get the niggling of a suspicion.

Once the elevator reached the ground level, the woman stepped out first, and Dorothy watched her walk away before she went to the desk.

"I would like to speak to the manager," she told the desk clerk who promptly buzzed him.

The man came out of his office immediately. "What can I do for you Mademoiselle Delrio?"

"I would like to know who is staying in room 223."

The manager raised a brow. "I am sorry, mademoiselle, but I cannot give you that information."

"Can't or won't?" Dorothy raised a brow at him. "I have reason to believe that person stole a considerable fortune in jewels and cash from me, so I would like to report him to the authorities."

"The man staying in room 223?" The manager pressed his lips together tightly in an attempt to conceal a smile, but the desk clerk behind him chuckled. "I assure you, mademoiselle," the manager finally said, "that the guest in question would not steal from you."

Dorothy frowned at him. "Someone did, and I hope you make some attempt to find the perpetrator. I am going to Nice. When I return, I expect you to have some information for me."

"Indeed." He didn't seem nearly as solicitous as he had the previous day, so she wondered if he would act on her order. "By the way, Mademoiselle Delrio, there is a message from Le Casino de Monte Carlo for you."

Dorothy took the envelope and opening it, she pulled out a card from the manager informing her of the disposition of her considerable winnings the evening before. The Earth Sphere United Nation Children's Fund was grateful for the donation. She had won money? Dorothy had no memory of that, and certainly not the fortune that had been donated in her name. Had she had the wits to arrange it before returning to the hotel?

A man passing through the lobby drew her attention for a moment, and she thought she might have seen him before, but she couldn't place him. He disappeared through another exit before she could study him further. Then she noticed the woman from the elevator again, and she was standing near the entrance to the hotel restaurant.

"Do you need anything else today, mademoiselle?"

Dorothy looked back at the hotel manager. "See that the authorities are called."

She headed to the door, then suddenly stopped as she realized where she had seen the man before. Agent Weston? The last time she had seen him he was on L4. Dorothy spun around to look for him, but he was gone. Was it a coincidence that he was in Monte Carlo? Dorothy was getting the uncomfortable feeling that it was no coincidence, but she had no plan to leave as of yet and she would need some time to wire enough money to Monte Carlo so she could plan another trip, another disguise.

She wished Quatre Winner would just stop pursuing her so that she could rest. The moment she had stepped off the cargo shuttle on L2 she realized that Quatre was more determined that she had given him credit for. The news had been inundated with the announcement of his resignation from any government position on L4 citing personal reasons. She was too upset and angry to return to him, but she knew he would be looking for her so she enlisted the aid of Duo Maxwell to help her escape. He had been reluctant at first until she told him her fabricated story about working undercover for the Preventers. Including the fact that it was an internal investigation and that he shouldn't trust any Preventer agents helped to keep her invisible for a long time. She guessed that Heero Yuy broke him down into confessing to his role in helping her. Heero Yuy was also very likely responsible for finding her personal hidden accounts. Fortunately she had discovered it before he could do anything more than spy on her.

Glancing one more time around the lobby, Dorothy noted the woman studying the menu posted outside the restaurant, but still no sign of Weston. She convinced herself that she had been mistaken. Weston wouldn't be in Monte Carlo.

The doorman held the door open for her, and she noticed a hotel limousine headed towards her. Suddenly another car sped forward, cut off the limousine and screeched to a stop at the curb. Dorothy was so shocked to see Quatre Winner get out of the convertible sportscar, move around the side and open the door that she hadn't moved, hadn't even been able to draw a breath.

"Get in," he ordered tersely.

Dorothy stared at him, first in disbelief that he was there, then with anger. "I will not! I believe that you are blocking the car I ordered."

Quatre grabbed her arm in a bruising, tight grasp. "Then I guess I will just have to help you."

"If you don't let me go, I'll scream," she warned him.

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

Dorothy turned back to ask the doorman for help, but instead of the hotel employee, she found Heero Yuy standing negligently by, his face impassive as he watched Quatre force her into the car. From out of the hotel stepped the woman she had seen along with Weston, and they had a brief exchange with Heero. Preventer agents!

Realizing that she had little choice, Dorothy buckled herself in, then turned to glare at Quatre. "How nice to see you, Mr. Winner," she said sarcastically.

He didn't say anything before throwing the car in gear and squealing out. Dorothy turned one last time to give Heero an obscene gesture, then stared straight ahead as Quatre sped along the street. Soon enough they had left Monaco behind before she spoke to him.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"Nice."

"Good. That is where I was planning to go. You can let me off at the beach." A sudden thought occurred to her, and she lowered her sunglasses to look at him again. "You weren't by any stretch of the imagination staying in room 223?"

Quatre glanced at her, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a bottle of painkillers that he tossed at her. "You look like hell."

Her hands were shaking as she opened the bottle, and dumping a couple of pills in her hand, she popped them in her mouth and quickly swallowed them. If he weren't driving so fast and recklessly, she would sock him in the mouth.

"I would appreciate it if you would return my things," she said, trying to sound calm.

"We'll discuss it later."

"Later? Oh no, I don't think so. I have a day at the beach planned..."

"I'll try not to spoil your plans. You look like you need a little sun anyway." Quatre was staring straight ahead, for which she was grateful because the road was rather dangerous. "You've been creeping around in the gutters and hiding in the shadows a little too much lately."

She was seething with anger, but she didn't respond. What could she say when he was absolutely right? The people on whom she had to rely for keeping her hidden from Quatre Winner were the lowest dregs of society, but she needed to associate with them to use their particular talents. In her handbag, she had the name and number of one of these wretched people living in Nice who would be making her new identity papers once she had decided Monte Carlo was no longer safe. She wouldn't need that information anymore unless she managed to escape from Quatre.

Although she wanted to know what Quatre was planning to do with her, she turned deliberately away and stared at the sea. She wanted to know how Jamila was, but she refused to let him know how difficult it was for her to stay away from her daughter because he would use it against her. Quatre was a lying bastard who would do or say anything to get his way, especially since he couldn't use his money to buy her like he did everyone else.

Soon enough they were on the outskirts of Nice, but Quatre barely slowed down and he certainly didn't stop at any one of the beaches they passed. Dorothy gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in her lap. There was nothing she could do to stop whatever he had planned short of throwing herself out of the car and killing herself in the process. She didn't want to take that step. He wasn't worth it.

When Nice was behind them, she finally turned to him. "I thought you were taking me to the beach as I requested."

"I didn't say exactly which beach I would be taking you to."

"I suppose I could just as easily get a tan in Antibes," she remarked. "Just leave me there. I'll find my way back."

"This isn't a taxi service, Señorita Delrio," he said sarcastically.

She glared at him. "How long were you spying on me?" Then she noticed that he had a bruise on his face. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"

"Your escorts didn't want to give you up," he told her, then flipped down his sunglasses so that she couldn't see his eyes.

"My escorts?" Dorothy couldn't remember any escorts. "I went to the casino alone."

Quatre didn't turn his head. "Those pleasant young men didn't plan for you to leave alone."

She vaguely remembered two young men flattering her, buying her drinks, and since she had been in a good mood having thought she had eluded Heero Yuy, she hadn't refused. Now she was mortified that she had escaped a degrading experience due to Quatre Winner's intervention. She would rather burn in hell than thank him.

Quatre turned the car off the freeway and she noticed that they were headed to the airport. She spun to look at him. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the beach."

Dorothy wished she had her gun, but only Preventer agents were allowed to carry the weapons on Earth, so she had to give it up long ago. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she told him emphatically. "And I would appreciate it if you would stop pursuing me."

He pulled the car to a stop in the loading zone for international flights, and she quickly turned to open the door intending to escape into the crowd, but the door was jerked open and she looked up to see Heero Yuy. "Are you working at the airport now?" she asked contemptuously, shaking off his hand when he would have grabbed her arm to prevent escape. Dorothy had little doubt that nine out of ten of the people around them were his agents.

Heero smiled grimly. "The tips are good."

"How did you get here so fast?" she asked with irritation.

"Helicopter."

Quatre came around the car and tossed Heero the keys. "Do something with it." Then he grabbed Dorothy's arm and held tight although she tried to jerk it away.

"You're hurting me," she informed him as he pulled her along with him.

"Don't make a scene."

She didn't have to make a scene for the photographers to emerge from the woodwork to snap photographs of Quatre. That he was escorting an unidentified woman to his private jet waiting for takeoff on the runway was fodder enough to keep the investigative journalists busy for days trying to discover her identity and his plans for her.

He ushered her up the steps of the jet, and as she settled on a seat, she heard the pilot informing him that the weather would be clear for the duration of the flight and that they already had clearance to land. Then Quatre took a seat across the aisle from her and buckled his seat belt just as the jet headed down the runway.

Dorothy looked deliberately away from him. He didn't care that he was disrupting her life again. Granted, her life had become rather empty, but at least she didn't have to worry about who her friends were and who was lying to her and who was keeping secrets from her. The pain she felt was as fresh today as it was six months ago when Relena had inadvertently told her about Jamila. Dorothy didn't want to have anything to do with these people. She had felt safer following in her mother's footsteps, visiting the places that seemed to fill the void in her mother's life left by a husband that preferred war strategy to spending any time with his family. That bastard probably had as many women to keep him satisfied as her mother had men. Dorothy hated the life they had given her, the only life she could fall back on when her attempt to find something better had failed. She didn't know what she would do now, and she didn't like the lost, aimless feeling, the same feeling she had when she had decided to go to Barbados.

Once they were in the air, Quatre stood, and without looking at her moved down the aisle, and she turned to watch him settle behind a desk and pull out a laptop computer.

Dorothy unbuckled her own belt and made her way to him. "Where are we going?"

"You'll know when we get there," he said without looking up.

She paced away from him. "You are crazy," she muttered, then spun to look at him. He was typing something, apparently not listening to her. "This is kidnapping! You can't just drag me off like some sort of caveman!"

Quatre didn't look up. "I rather saw myself in the role of the white knight saving a damsel in distress last night."

"Don't flatter yourself." He was studying the screen of his computer, completely ignoring her. "There is bound to be someone who will listen to me. At the very least the press will love this story. Will you like that?"

While he didn't look up, Dorothy could sense the tension that was building. Quatre hated the limelight, despised the constant attack of photographers and gossipmongers. He was staring at his screen, his brows furrowed, and stretching to peek over the top of the screen, she saw that he was studying a financial report.

"You're not even listening to me!" Dorothy put her hand on the back of the screen and slammed it down so hard that she heard a cracking sound.

Quatre slowly raised his gaze to her, and while the smoldering blue fire in his eyes should have warned her to move, the tingle of excitement racing through her rooted her to the spot. Standing, he reached out to snake an arm around the waist and he jerked her roughly to him.

She knew she should stop him, but she was wound so tightly that she needed something to alleviate the tension. His mouth covered hers in a bruising, punishing kiss that she returned with as much force as he gave. He swept out his other hand, knocking the computer off the desk and he pushed her down on it. This wasn't going to solve anything, but Dorothy couldn't resist what she realized she wanted so badly. There was no need for words or caresses or even the gentle, caring kisses she had grown accustomed to with him. What happened between them was explosive and more mind numbing than whatever drug she had been slipped the night before.

When she finally came back to earth and Quatre was lifting himself away from her, she felt a mixture of shame and gratification. He must have been feeling the same because he turned away from her to adjust his clothing without saying a word. Dorothy wasn't sure how she should take his silence.

She was shaking as she slid off the edge of the desk, rearranging her own clothing and noting the damage, a tear here, a missing button there. When she felt composed enough to talk, she turned back to him. He was half turned away from her, his hands in his pockets, his head lowered like a dog that had misbehaved. She realized that he probably felt ashamed of his behavior with her.

Dorothy couldn't help lashing out at him. "That is all I am to you!"

He glanced at her, then turned away, but she saw the disgust in his eyes. She could only assume it was for her and her lack of restraint. "Get some rest. The flight is long." Without another word, he headed toward the cockpit and a few moments later the pilot came through the door, a bemused expression on his face.

"Mr. Winner is flying the jet," he announced.

Sighing, she threw herself back into her seat, and glancing out the window she saw that they were over the ocean. She still didn't know where they were headed.

Looking at the disoriented pilot she asked, "What is our destination?"

He looked at her with surprise. "We should be landing at Christ Church in about four hours."

Dorothy looked away so that the man wouldn't see her angry tears. They were headed to Barbados.