Chapter Eight
VIII
About a month later. August 25.
The tentative knock on the open door of Quatre Winner’s WWA office was neither warranted nor expected. Quatre didn’t mind interruptions from any of the members of this office, including her. When he looked up and greeted her, he noticed that an air of apprehension surrounded her. He questioned this, and was bit surprised by her answer.
“I need your help with something,” she replied, “and it’s not a small matter. It’s pretty important.”
“What is the matter?” Quatre inquired.
Nicole crossed her arms over her chest. “Heero. And Relena Peacecraft.”
Staggered, Quatre let his hands go lax and sat back in his chair. “Pretty important, indeed.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Nicole, with Quatre along for support (and protection, for Crys would skin Heero alive if he harmed Quatre—especially so near the twins’ birth) strode across the floor to Heero’s domain.
“He is not going to like this very much,” Nicole said to Quatre as they walked. “I can tell you that for sure. I don’t even know for sure he won’t kill me.”
“Heero has been under a lot of stress lately,” Quatre remarked.
Nicole agreed silently. “I would be too if my wife kicked my ass and disappeared into the horizon like Wonder Woman.” She shook her head. “Duo said that Heero has been trying to crack the security on the Arashi Corp personnel files like crazy since. You think Takeshi Arashi is up to something? You wouldn’t have such a lockdown on your files if there was nothing to hide.”
“There has been speculation for years about the exact nature of Arashi’s business dealings,” Quatre commented. “Nothing has ever been proven. Something has given Heero the impression that the speculation is true.”
“You ain’t got to stick your head in somebody’s mouth to know there’s bullshit coming out,” Nicole quipped.
“I thought the appropriate expression was where there is smoke, there is fire.”
Nicole shrugged. “Same difference.”
Quatre stopped then, expression unreadable as his blue-green eyes saw something she couldn’t, as Nicole looked at him sidelong. They were a mere few inches outside of Heero’s closed office door so when he spoke, she had to read his lips.
“Nicole,” Quatre began, “whatever is going on, whatever it means—do me a favor? Please don’t get any deeper than necessary. I honestly don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”
Nicole quirked an eyebrow. “Crossfire of what?”
“Nicole,” Quatre pressed impatiently, “please promise. And don’t question this.”
Nicole let out her breath through her lips, making a raspberry. “Fine, fine,” she grumbled. “Even though I hate it when y’all treat me like some feckless idiot.”
Quatre chuckled. “The fact that you can use the word feckless in a sentence with that tone of yours proves you’re not a feckless idiot. Okay?”
Nicole fought a smile. He was trying to cheer her up. Dear, sweet Quatre. Such a sweetheart. Especially since she was about to die by Heero Yuy’s hand…
Thinking of what remained behind that door, Nicole squared her shoulders. “All right. Let’s do this shit.” She choked when she realized who she was talking to, and cleared her throat. “Oh. Uh-hem. Sorry.”
Quatre shook his head with mild amusement and knocked on the door. A moment later, Heero granted them entry.
Nicole walked in first. Heero was in the process of tidying his office for his long weekend and paused when he sensed them near. Nicole stared at him solemnly, no attitude at all in her stance or countenance. She seemed unnaturally apprehensive. For a girl that could lay a man out flat with a look, it was strange. Heero was immediately suspicious.
“Is there something wrong?” Heero inquired.
“Maybe not now, but in a few seconds, there will be,” Nicole muttered. Quatre cleared his throat audibly and had her straightening. “Oh yeah. Right. Um. See, what had happened was…”
Heero couldn’t resist an eyeroll. Any explanation that started out with see, what had happened was heralded nothing but trouble. Nicole had told him that herself. “What did you do, Nicole?”
Nicole squirmed. Quatre spoke instead. “What Nicole is in fact trying to say—” he began.
“Maybe I should just show you,” Nicole suggested abruptly before thrusting a thick file folder in Heero’s direction for his perusal. He looked at it quizzically before dubiously accepting it. At her expectant stare, he opened it and focused on the top page.
His blood froze when one word jumped out and grabbed him by the jugular. Relena…
It was a report, written in Nicole prose, detailing the circumstances of Relena’s sudden and untimely demise. There was little he didn’t know, he discovered as he flipped through it, or that wasn’t common knowledge. But the information presented to him by surprise left him feeling as if he’d been sucker-punched.
He raised his eyes to Nicole’s and one word came from his lips: Why?
Nicole lifted a shoulder. “Honestly? I felt like I needed to know. Well, the basics at least because I didn’t know what y’all were talking about at that dinner the subject came up. The more I looked into it, the more intrigued I became.” She paused and took in Heero’s expression before continuing. After seeing nothing immediately dangerous, she finished, “And then I started a correspondence with Mitchell Davenport.”
That admission gave Heero pause. He’d had a meeting with the London Times reporter eight years ago that had ended badly because neither one of them had trusted the other. It had been lucky that Duo had been around or Mitchell and Heero would have both been in jail.
“You did what?”
“I looked up Mitchell Davenport, and we started talking about it,” Nicole responded, gesturing with the paper she still held. “I didn’t tell him who I was or who I worked for—just gave him the name Cleopatra Jones and enough info to make me sound legit.”
Heero tossed the file aside. “So what was your point in coming to me with this? Did you want a cookie?”
She rolled her eyes. Did I want a cookie? Asshole. “We have a meeting with Mitchell Davenport,” Nicole told him.
“We?” Heero sounded incredulous. “And when did you and I become partners?”
“We,” Nicole responded, essentially shitting on his question, “have a meet with Mitchell Davenport in London tomorrow afternoon. He is willing to speak to us—that is, if you don’t get the urge to bust a cap in his ass again. I think we could learn something new about this whole scenario that could solve the mystery of Relena’s death.”
Heero merely glared. “I fail to see what you have found that I could have possibly overlooked, Nicole.”
Quatre winced. He could see the muscles and bones in Nicole’s neck shift and knew what was coming next. This could get ugly. Nicole rarely unleashed attitude upon Heero, but when she did…
“Oh really? So you think I’m just some nosy black chick who just snoops around in people’s business with no sense of integrity, logic, or finesse?” Heero’s Prussian blue eyes bored holes in her skull. “Mm-hmm. I’m listening.” She muttered under her breath, “You cocky bastard…”
“You have no right poking into something like this,” Heero finally said. Fists clenched, bunching the paper in her grasp, Nicole tried her best not to look at him. Her temper was mounting, and Quatre could tell it was costing her to hold it in check. “This isn’t just some primetime TV storyline that you and your girls sit around and chat about. This is a woman’s life—a woman who salvaged the world as we know it and was senselessly killed. Have some goddamned decency, would you—?”
Nicole shifted forward, brown eyes bright with anger, and shoved her fist into Heero’s rock-hard chest. He was more stunned than angry. “I’m getting you some fucking Q-tips for Christmas because obviously you didn’t hear what I said,” Nicole snapped. “If I didn’t have any decency, I wouldn’t have stepped a damn foot in this damn office to tell you shit. I would have done this on my own without asking you if you wanted to be involved. I know she means something to you. She means something to all of you. I ain’t stupid, Heero.” She uncurled her fingers and smoothed a piece of paper out on Heero’s chest. She released it and it fluttered to the ground. “I’m boarding the plane,” Nicole said as she strode out. “I’m moving forward whether you’re there with me or not. So you can just kiss my natural black ass.”
Quatre groaned as Nicole strode away. “Heero,” he started, “listen to reason.”
“I don’t know how the hell you think that anything spewing forth from that woman’s mouth would be equivalent to reason,” Heero countered as he finished packing.
“And I don’t know how the hell you think that nothing spewing forth from that lovely and shrewd young woman’s mouth would be equivalent to reason,” Quatre fired back, uncharacteristic anger in his eyes. “She’s not like you or me—she’s made that abundantly clear. However, she has proven herself to be someone worthy enough to be in our employ, and that means she is worthy enough to be in our confidence as well.” He placed a hand on Heero’s arm. “Are you afraid, Heero?”
Are you afraid, Heero? That echoed through his mind like a taunt.
His eyes drifted down to the piece of paper. One scrawled block of text jumped out at him: Transfer of roughly seventy-six thousand from one of the known accounts under the late Nadia Randall’s possession to a mysterious account occurred 6 January 01. Bank account used to transfer money through an account belonging to Randi Albert (a known Randall alias) to the account under the name Millie Darling traced back to front company Death Bell Incorporated, which, according to various tax records, did not actually exist before AC 200.
Millie Darling. Death Bell Incorporated. Heero frowned as his mind computed this. Millie? Darling? Death Bell?
He was not completely sure what it meant, but it was something that he had not known back when he had been investigating Relena’s murder.
Without a word, Heero pushed past Quatre and strode out to the reception area. Curious, Quatre followed. Nicole was jerkily stuffing her belongings in a bag and muttering obscenities under her breath. All of a sudden she paused, feeling a presence at her back.
When she turned, she was the most surprised that Heero and Quatre ever had seen her.
“Who is Millie Darling?” Heero demanded after a moment.
There was a humming pause before Nicole spoke. She tossed her keys in her open purse, leaned on the desk, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Nobody,” she responded. “Whoever they are, they don’t exist. Just like Death Bell. A smoke screen with something behind it. Mitchell was helping me figure that for sure with his connections.” She rolled her eyes, then shrugged. “But my first thought was that it was a variation of Millardo and Darlian. That was what I was going to tell you, but you went all apeshit on me.”
He didn’t apologize. She knew he was going to react in such a way, so what was the use? It wasn’t fear that propelled him forward toward her. It was a glimmer of piqued curiosity. A new link had been uncovered, and he wanted to see where it led.
“When is your flight?” Heero wanted to know.
* * *
Moira-Selene Thomas had not a boring life, at least in her opinion. She had heard the horror stories of people who’d had active social lives and did not envy them one bit. She had listened to the griping of her friends with significant others and was thankful that she carried out her existence unfettered. So when she got a visit from Duo Maxwell on August 25, she felt her peace going up in smoke.
“What do you want?” Moira-Selene demanded as he fell into step beside her as she went to her car. She had worked the graveyard shift and felt blessed by the abundant sunshine that had greeted her when she had stepped outside. What she had not liked, however, was Duo Maxwell greeting her as well.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” Duo said, trying to keep up with her ground-eating stride.
“If you don’t have a debilitating disease or head trauma that threatens your very existence,” Moira-Selene began, “you and I don’t need to talk.”
“Look, I’m not mad at you for what Danie did to Heero,” Duo assured her.
Blinking, Moira-Selene merely said without stopping, “Thank you, I guess.”
“Have you heard from her?”
Moira-Selene had been having strange dreams about her sister, but she was hardly going to tell Duo about it. Especially when she didn’t understand what it all meant. “No I haven’t. No one has in fact.”
“Where do you think she is?” Only then did Moira-Selene pause, eyebrow cocked. “You wouldn’t tell me?”
“What is it that you want, Duo?” Moira-Selene asked, looking more than a little irked.
Duo rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right, fine. Do you remember when we were trying to find out who had that onyx and opal ring that you had claimed you’d seen that day in Spanish Gracia?”
Moira-Selene looked intrigued more than angry now. Yes, there was the hook. “Yes, I recall that. Did you find something?”
“Did I ever.” Duo took that moment to pull out a folded piece of paper. “I’ll just let you read it.”
Moira-Selene took the paper and scanned it. After a moment she raised an eyebrow and lifted her eyes to Duo’s.
“How did you get a copy of a credit card slip?” Moira-Selene asked.
Duo smirked. “I have my ways.” Moira-Selene rolled her eyes and scrutinized the paper again. Duo watched as she gasped all of a sudden and dropped the paper as if it were a hot potato. Her eyes were wide and she appeared shaken. Duo moved to place his hand on her shoulder but she backed away. “Moira—?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No…I need to sit…” She sat on the rear bumper of a nearby car and sucked in lungfuls of air. No words passed between them for a long moment. Duo picked up the piece of paper and stared at her.
“What’s wrong with you?” Duo wanted to know. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Moira-Selene didn’t answer his question directly. Instead she said, “It’s been a long day. I need some rest.”
Duo took a penetrating look at her as if he sensed something she wasn’t telling him. In reality, there was. But she wasn’t going to reveal that.
Realizing it was futile to get her to budge, Duo only said, “Well you get home and get some rest. If you hear from Danie will you let me know?”
Moira-Selene agreed, and Duo left. Yes, on August 25, a mere eight days before her and Danie’s birthday, Moira-Selene could feel the end coming for her peaceful existence and from the looks of things it would not be a quiet end.
* * *
A few hours later, Heero and Nicole found themselves sitting at a table at the back of a pub in southwestern London. Nicole nursed cranberry juice with a splash of soda water while Heero had nothing.
“So here’s how it’s going to go,” Nicole said. “I’m going to ask all of the questions, he’s gonna answer them.” She paused for effect. “And you’re going to take notes.”
Heero’s eyebrow quirked as she took a sip of her drink. “I don’t see how that could be the best arrangement, Nicole.”
Nicole exhaled loudly out of her nose. “You nearly landed the guy in the ER the last time you tried to talk to him,” she pointed out. “The last thing we need to do is let you lead. We’ll end up in an interrogation in some dark, dank place that’ll make the Spanish Inquisition look like riding the Teacups at Disney Land.”
Heero turned to her, irritated. “So why am I here, then?”
“Because if this goes to shit, you can whip out that ol’ Yuy charm and shut it down.” After a pause, she added, “Besides, I figured you needed a bit of a diversion.”
“I didn’t know you were such an expert on me, Nicole.”
“Well,” Nicole began hastily, looking mildly uncomfortable, “I knew you probably had you-know-who on the brain so I figured that a little mystery would be a welcome distraction from thinking about…you-know-who.” Heero eyed her and she went quiet. She pulled a flowered scarf from a pocket and wrapped it around her neck.
“What is that for?” Heero inquired.
“I told Davenport I would be wearing a flowered scarf,” Nicole explained. “I wasn’t about to tell him what I looked like. It might have scared him off.”
Heero didn’t agree or disagree, just sat silently and waited with her.
The man who came and sat down in front of them was over six feet tall. His thick dark brown hair was stuffed under a ball cap and partially hid a face with aristocratic features. Sharp olive green eyes peered at them from behind plastic black-rimmed glasses, and his nondescript clothes were clean and neatly pressed. When he spied Heero sitting beside Nicole, he paused warily.
“Good evening, Mr. Davenport,” Nicole greeted him.
“When we spoke on the phone, Ms. Jones, you didn’t inform me that your partner was the infamous Heero Yuy,” Mitchell said ironically, his words flowing out in a British drawl that would have made a lesser woman feel two feet tall. As it was, Nicole didn’t feel cut off at the knees.
“Didn’t feel the need,” Nicole told him with a shrug. “Besides, I know how to make him mind so don’t you worry about feeling threatened.”
“As if I have the mental capabilities of a mere canine,” Heero muttered.
“Hey,” Nicole chided brightly as if she were indeed talking to a dog, “you be good now Tito and I’ll give you that Scooby snack I promised. You want a Scooby snack? Sit! Stay!” She patted him on his dark-brown head and endured another Yuy glare. Eh, she didn’t care by now; she was almost immune. “Good boy.”
If looks could kill, Heero would be up one more count of murder. Mitchell raised an eyebrow at Nicole when she turned to him and looked at him expectantly.
“So,” Nicole prodded, “whatcha got for us, Mr. Davenport? I figured this conversation would be best carried out in person since the subject matter is quite…sensitive.”
Mitchell’s brow smoothed out and he produced a flash drive, expertly shielded in his palm. Heero raised an eyebrow as he gave it to Nicole in the guise of taking her hand.
“Oh Mitchell,” she said with a coy grin, “you shouldn’t have. A gift on the first date.”
“The first, the last, the one, and the only,” Mitchell said wryly.
“Who says it’s gotta be the last?” Mitchell gave her a bland stare. “Okay, okay. I get your point.”
“I’m not sure you do, but you will,” Mitchell remarked. “Everything is on that thing I gave you, everything you need to know.” He gave Nicole an appraising look. “You know, Ms. Jones, I find your vigor in uncovering this mystery rather intriguing. As well as your acquaintance with Mr. Yuy over there.”
Nicole grinned as she smoothly put the flash drive in a pocket of her jacket. “Aw Heero and I go way back. But we ain’t here to reminisce. Did you find what you were talking about before?”
A waitress came by with a scotch on the rocks for Mitchell, and he downed a large gulp before speaking again. “To be honest, Ms. Jones, what I uncovered is a little…” He paused while searching for the right word, staring at the condensation on his glass. “…Disturbing.”
Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Okay—to hell with all this cloak and dagger shit. You’re gonna have to elaborate on that one, and I ain’t leaving until you do.”
Mitchell raised his eyes to hers, around the room to make sure there were no dangerous ears within earshot, and then back to hers again. “This one thing. Then we never speak to each other again.” Nicole, still staring at him intently, gave a slight nod. He shifted and leaned in. Nicole and Heero mirrored the action.
“Your discovery that the money funneled from Randi Albert’s account was deposited into an account under the name of Millie Darling thrust this whole mystery into a whole new light for me,” Mitchell admitted to Nicole. “We—well, most of us anyhow—in the media world had been all so grieved by the death of such an iconic and wholly innocent young woman that we were ready to point the finger at anyone, anybody who seemed worthy of the blame. I was young when this all happened—well, a little older than you, Ms. Jones. I was so staggered by injustice that the conspiracy theories didn’t take a hold of my mind until after the Regal Evils story.
“I suppose what I am trying to say,” Mitchell continued, “is that all this time we thought we were looking for a murderer…”
Heero suddenly felt his blood go cold at Mitchell’s inferred assertion. “And you believe that now we are not?”
Mitchell stared at him levelly. “It would explain a lot of things, Mr. Yuy. After all, haven’t you found it odd that no killer has been found after ten years? No assassin is too sophisticated to evade discovery—unless they had some help. Or if one doesn’t truly exist.”
“My theory had been that Firestar had received protection from a corrupt but powerful opponent of Relena’s,” Heero revealed.
“Had been?” Nicole frowned at the word choice. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it you’re not telling? What’s changed, Heero?”
Heero remembered what Danie had told him the last time they had seen each other. He had not told anyone the particulars of his altercation with his wife, not even his twin sister, who had threatened to flog them both. He had figured it was safer to deal with the situation on his own.
Even now, after a month, he felt the same. He continued to search for answers to the rampant questions in his head, and letting anyone else into the mystery when he didn’t know what was going on in the first place seemed unwise. He supposed he was counting on Danie to explain it.
Therefore, to Nicole’s question he shook his head. “Nothing has changed; I just decided to widen my perspective.” He turned to Mitchell. “I am willing to hear your theory out.”
“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” Mitchell responded. “I came up with the assumption that Relena Peacecraft’s death had to be a smoke screen for something else from the evidence I gathered. Along those lines, I wonder if Nadia Randall’s death was also staged.”
Nicole’s eyes went huge. “You think…?” She sat back, looking utterly stunned. “Damn. If that’s the case, then there might be more going on than we thought.”
“I believe that particular aspect has been confirmed,” Mitchell pointed out grimly. “Which is why I must adjourn this meeting, for all our sakes.”
Mitchell unearthed his wallet to pay his tab as Heero and Nicole sat in silent shock. As thoughts raced through his active mind, his eyes fell upon a picture—upside down but still discernable. It looked to be the school portrait of a girl with dark hair. A slight smile curved her lips but the mirth didn’t meet her eyes. The color of them was familiar. Almost too familiar.
Realization came like a jolt from live wire. It couldn’t be…
“You have children, Mr. Davenport?” Heero found himself asking.
Mitchell gazed at him, guardedness coming into his eyes. He lowered his stare to the school portrait that was revealed as he opened his wallet. After a tense moment, Mitchell simply replied, “There is a child out there that means a great deal to me, Mr. Yuy. I would like to leave her out of this.”
With that, Mitchell threw down money for his tab and left.
In the time that it took Mitchell to walk out of the pub, Heero made a decision. Pulling out his phone, he did a quick search that took a few moments. Then he sent the pertinent information to Nicole.
“Follow him,” he ordered Nicole.
Nicole was understandably flabbergasted. “What?” she looked down at her phone as it beeped with an incoming message. “What the hell—?”
Heero shook his head. “I can’t explain it to you. It would take too much time.” He looked at her, eyes filled with urgency she couldn’t comprehend. “Just take the directions to that address. Please.”
Nicole stared at him for a beat before obeying. She swung out of the booth and out of the pub with Ryan Tedder crooning in the background about secrets, earning surreptitious stares from every male in attendance.
As she exited, the flash drive she had put in her pocket tumbled out next to Heero.
* * *
As sunset came and darkness ascended from the ground, Mitchell took no time in getting away from Heero Yuy and the mysterious Cleopatra Jones. Despite his desire for truth and clarity, he was hardly going to have himself and two others killed in the quest for it.
The mystery of Relena Peacecraft’s death had haunted him for ten long years. He had written stories about her before her death and had become fascinated with her as others in his profession had. When she died, he felt that it was his duty as a reporter to find out the truth. Suddenly, he felt like he was getting a few steps closer. What scared him, however, was what loomed at the finish line.
Someone called out his name, and he turned to find a tall, dark-haired man in a coat walking toward him. Jeffrey Milton McDonald, better known as simply Jeff, was a close friend, neighbor, and colleague. The younger man had irritated him a little when they had met for the first time two years ago, but the twenty-seven-year-old had since proved himself a worthy photographer. He walked jauntily despite the late summer cool, and his long brown hair gleamed under the setting sun. Mitchell took one look at him and shook his head in consternation.
“So you’ve finally come up for air I see,” Mitchell remarked. “I suppose Miss Gianna was as entertaining as advertised.”
“I can’t help it if I was enthralled by the lushness of the female form,” Jeff quipped, brown eyes twinkling. “It’s an awesome way to spend a birthday.”
Mitchell, seeing that his place was close, started to dig out his keys from his pocket. “Considering your birthday was a few days ago.”
“Whoever said one day was enough…” Jeff paused then, and Mitchell bumped into him. Mitchell started to chide him for stopping when he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh my God… Is that Abigail? I didn’t know she was coming to visit…”
Mitchell looked at his front steps in astonishment. The hooded, dark-haired girl who leapt up from the stairs looked bedraggled. She still wore her school uniform, but her socks were filthy. Fear and exhaustion emanated from her and clenched Mitchell’s stomach. When it sank in that she was alone, he strode purposefully to her and took her by her shoulders, careful not to hurt her.
“Abby,” Mitchell managed. “What…how did you get here?”
The tender words let loose a torrent of tears in her large violet eyes. “Uncle Jack…I had to run away… I had to get away…”
Mitchell frowned at her choice of words. I had to run away… I had to get away… “Get away from what? What is going on, Abigail? Where is Victoria?”
The grief in Abigail’s eyes was staggering. “Uncle Jack… She…she is going to die soon…it’s not getting better…”
Mitchell held her close, trying to keep the tide of grief from washing over him as well. Victoria was a dear friend to him. Once upon a time, there could have been more between them, but Harlan Taylor had come into the picture and had stolen Victoria away from him. In the subsequent years, a deep affection had formed, strengthened by the presence of Abigail. He didn’t have a loving wife and child; Abigail and Victoria were the closest thing he had to a family.
To think that he would lose Victoria, a woman he loved greatly, made a wound that scored deep. The pain mingled with the horror of the predicament in front of him. Abigail was a practical child, almost unerringly so; she wouldn’t have run away from home, away from her ailing mother, for something trivial. What the hell is Harlan Taylor doing?
Mitchell opened his mouth to speak but there was a sound from nearby. Jeff went on alert and Mitchell stood protectively in front of Abigail as a petite black woman stepped out of the shadows. She wore a long military-style coat in a teal hue that flapped in the wind and opened at the waist to reveal a pair of dark jeans and knee-high brown boots. A couple of seconds slipped by before he recognized her.
“Cleopatra Jones?” he asked incredulously.
“Cleopatra Jones?” Jeff repeated as if to say, What the hell?
She fumed at the name, inwardly cursing herself for picking it. “All right dammit that’s not my real name. My real name is Nicole Smith.”
“Then why did you lie to me?” Mitchell demanded.
“And with such an outrageous moniker at that,” muttered Jeff.
Nicole leveled a glare upon Jeff. “What is wrong with Cleopatra Jones? You got a problem with my codename?” Jeff responded but Nicole spoke over him, her ire up. “I don’t care ‘cause nobody asked you anyway.” She turned to an impatient Mitchell. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you would help me if you knew I worked for Quatre Winner. I knew you would look me up.”
“Fine. So why are you here?” He made an expansive gesture to indicate the current scene.
“I was given an order, and trust me when I say I almost told Heero Yuy he could kiss my ass but now…” She regarded Abigail with a depth and gentleness neither man thought she could possess. She took a step forward, slowly so that she didn’t upset her precarious position. She knew Mitchell didn’t trust her yet and he probably resented her for following him to his house. “Now it makes a little sense.”
“I hardly care what that wanker told you to do,” Mitchell snapped. “He doesn’t strike me as a man with a lot of sense. So I don’t care what sort of justification you have for violating my privacy.” He turned to Abigail to speak to her but Nicole directed one statement to him.
“He did it because of her mama.”
Mitchell clenched his jaw and whirled around. “You will not speak ill of Victoria Taylor in my presence—” Abigail laying a gentle hand on his sleeve cut him off. She stared serenely at Nicole as if looking through her.
“Uncle Jack,” she began, “she doesn’t mean Victoria.”
“Then who in the bloody hell does she mean?” Jeff wanted to know as realization had Mitchell going slack. “That’s the only mother you have.”
“We’d better talk about this inside,” Abigail suggested urgently and tried to push Mitchell toward the door.
Jeff began to ask why, but the sound of gunfire gave him his answer.
* * *
Back at the hotel room Heero shared with Nicole, Heero hooked the flash drive to his laptop.
He had been in a state of disconcerting focus since he had sent Nicole away. As he walked back to their hotel room, there had been little else on his mind. The flash drive, as small and slight as it was, had seemed as heavy as a stone in his coat pocket.
Without speaking to anyone, Heero had traveled up to his room and powered up his computer. Now he sat, waiting for the drive’s contents to be revealed to him.
The flash drive contained a dozen PDF documents and five JPEG files. He opened each document and read through them carefully. He found himself impressed by Mitchell’s research abilities while disquiet filled him with every new fact he discovered.
The child only known by the banal moniker Baby Jane had been an occupant of Theodore Baxley’s house for several months before her kidnapping in August AC 198. Baxley had brought her into his home, and he had been in the process of having adoption papers brought up so that he could assume legal control of the child. Unfortunately for him, the law worked against him because he was single; in a correspondence with the now-deceased Bruce Richards, Richards had advised Baxley to marry—and quickly. Heero’s stomach had turned when Baxley had indicated he had a solution. The little princess will be all but eating out of the palm of my hand when I’m done with her.
He had to clamp down on the urge to hunt Theodore Baxley down and kill him with his bare hands.
Meanwhile, Nadia Randall had been corresponding secretly as well…with Millardo Peacecraft. She had expressed her concern about Relena’s relationship with Theodore. Millardo echoed her sentiments and offered a solution, though the solution was never revealed. Mitchell was unable to uncover any more correspondences between Millardo and Nadia; Nadia “died” shortly thereafter. Heero started to wonder if Millardo was actually dead as well.
One of the documents outlined activities in Nadia’s known accounts, which were legion, and Heero saw the transfer Nicole’s report had outlined. Mitchell had been nothing but thorough; he had even tried to track the money through Millie Darling’s account and its origin, an account under the ownership of Death Bell Incorporated. Heero noticed more transfers—probably what Mitchell had been talking about when he had said that the rest was on this disk—and one that had happened a mere month ago.
Nadia did not have any children, and upon her death, her visible accounts and assets were controlled by lawyers and accountants. But the Randi Albert account had been strictly under Nadia’s control; no other person had access to it. So that meant…
“Nadia is not dead,” Heero said to himself. “And maybe…” He couldn’t say the rest out loud. He felt that if he finished that sentence, he would jinx the possibility. However, as Nicole said, if such a possibility was true, then the question became what had caused these events.
Heero had a feeling that the child had something to do with it.
Thinking of the child, Heero went back to the flash drive and opened up the five JPEG files.
In the first picture, Millardo, along with Lucretzia Noin, occupied a table with Nadia Randall and Relena at an opulent dinner function. Judging from their body language, Millardo and Nadia were having a heated, friendly debate. Relena was laughing, and Noin looked slightly mollified at the man she loved. Hmm. Establishing that Millardo and Nadia were acquainted. Noted.
In the next picture, Relena and Theodore were at a restaurant. Heero frowned at the image of a frustrated Relena. The date given for the picture indicated this was after he and Relena had seen each other in Sydney, Australia. Establishing Relena was less-than happy about their relationship and it was becoming noticeable. Noted.
The next two photos were grainy, but Heero could recognize Millardo’s white-blonde mane anywhere. He and Relena, along with who Heero assumed was Nadia, were walking into an abandoned building in a seedy, urban locale. The photos had been taken from above and at an angle, so Heero could see the back and a bit of the profile of the person who entered the building before the trio. The person had long black hair and Heero’s memory touched on the lone black hair in Spanish Gracia. Not a coincidence in his opinion.
In the fourth picture, the mysterious man had his hand on Relena’s shoulder, guiding her inside. Establishing that Relena, Millardo, and Nadia had been meeting covertly with an unknown man. Noted.
In the last picture, taken by a former employee of the Baxley household, Nadia and Relena sat posed together. They both wore semi-casual winter clothing. Judging from the decorations posted up around them, it was sometime around Christmas. Both sported large, happy smiles and grasped mugs of steaming liquid in their hands. The only difference was that Relena had a child in her lap.
“Baby Jane,” Heero murmured. Perhaps Mitchell had come to the same conclusion as well, which was why he had included this picture for evidence. The reports that surrounded Relena’s death had not connected the incident with Baby Jane’s kidnapping. The fact that Relena knew Baby Jane was not public knowledge. In fact, Baby Jane’s mere existence was not public knowledge. If it hadn’t been for that cryptic email and the research of Mitchell Davenport, Heero would have known nothing about her.
Heero magnified the image in a facial recognition program—another of Wild Wing creation—and selected the child’s cherubic face. He sat for a long moment, transfixed by the familiarity of her smile, her lips, her eyes. A pang went through his heart. He wasn’t sure if it was due to her innocence—or because she looked very much like someone he knew…
Where are you going?
To find out who’s keeping my babies…
Determinedly, Heero typed a command that had the program measuring the particular dimensions of the child’s facial structure and searching for a match. He limited the search to ten- and eleven-year-old females, but it would still take a while.
Heero looked down at his phone, dimly wondering why Nicole hadn’t called him yet.
* * *
There was hardly any time to think, just react.
Abigail sucked in a breath as if about to scream at the sight of blood staining Mitchell’s jacket. That first bullet had lodged in his shoulder. Not feeling or thinking of the pain, Mitchell went down over Abigail and Jeff ducked. However, Nicole expertly drew a gun and fired off two shots in retaliation before ducking as well.
“Bloody hell!” Jeff exclaimed. He gaped as Nicole landed near him.
“We’d better get going,” Nicole said tersely. “If I’m gonna be a target I’d better be a moving one.”
“Who died and made you the bleeding leader?” Jeff griped.
“You volunteering?” Nicole shot back.
The squeal of tires split the air and Nicole leapt up in the direction of the runaway car. Running after it, she squeezed off two shots. The first hit the bumper. The second punctured a rear tire. She watched as the car barely got away. She cursed loudly while Jeff went to his friend’s aid.
“I think they’re gone now,” Abigail murmured as Nicole came stomping back, face stormy.
Everyone watched in fascination as she put her gun away and took out her cell phone. She looked at it then growled in frustration.
“Much good that’s gonna do with no service,” she muttered bitterly as she stuck back in a pocket. She went to Mitchell then, taking off the scarf around her neck as she walked. She motioned Jeff back so she could tie it to his shoulder.
Mitchell raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got a gun. Why?”
Nicole tightened the scarf around the wound and Mitchell hissed with pain. “When you go anywhere with Heero Yuy, you better be packing some heat. Believe me, you learn fast.” She took in her surroundings, eying the front of Mitchell’s flat in the evening darkness. “Whoever that was was shooting to kill. Those weren’t warning shots. If I hadn’t been here, well…” she trailed off and shook her head. “We ain’t gonna think about that. We’d better get you to a hospital.”
When Abigail looked uneasy, Mitchell pursed his lips together. “Perhaps there is an alternative.”
After a long, incredulous stare, Nicole punched his uninjured shoulder in frustration and he growled in pain. “Are you out your mind? You are bleeding from a bullet wound. You’ve got a piece of hot metal in you, dammit. It’s gotta come out.”
“If you’re worried about someone discovering Abigail is with you, I can watch her,” Jeff offered.
Mitchell had to battle back some pain before he spoke. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel the throbbing in both shoulders. “I would appreciate it, mate,” he said tightly. Nicole started shaking her head vigorously. He gritted his teeth together. “What the hell is it now?”
“Here’s the plan,” Nicole began briskly. “You”—she pointed to Jeff—“are taking Mr. Davenport to the emergency room. I will take Abigail to my hotel room so she can clean up and wait on you.” When Jeff started to protest, she insisted, “I got the weapon. Do we really have to argue this?”
“Just because you’re armed doesn’t mean you can act like a bleeding bully,” Jeff snapped.
“And just because you’ve got a dick doesn’t mean you can act like a bumbling idiot,” Nicole shot back.
As they argued, Mitchell tiredly turned to Abigail. She had been silent throughout the whole exchange, just quietly tending to him as much as she could. When he peered into her face, he had the answer to his unspoken question. He didn’t like it.
He inhaled and turned to Nicole. “Where are you staying?” he asked grudgingly.
* * *
At nearly ten o’clock, Heero’s formerly closed lids cracked open.
He knew, even without a coherent thought, someone was in the suite with him. He awoke from his light doze without moving, instead taking in his environment carefully. His laptop still hummed as it looked for a child in the known universe who looked like Abigail Taylor. The person was in the living room area but moving slowly. He probably had thirty seconds before they got to the bedroom.
Outside the door, the person ran into a chair and cursed. Heero threw open the door and aimed the gun at the moving shadow.
The shadow yelped. “Dammit Heero—!”
Heero went to nearest lamp and turned it on. The room was bathed in a golden glow, and Nicole’s seething face came into view. He lowered the gun.
“I expected you back…” The scold died on his lips when her form registered completely. She was slightly hunched over, and a pair of limp arms and legs dangled in front of her. A dark head rested on her shoulder, face hidden from his vantage point. He gazed at Nicole wordlessly as he tried to navigate through his shock.
“Well this is what you get for asking me to follow Mitchell Davenport,” Nicole grunted. She shifted her weight when her cargo began to slip. Heero stepped forward to take the load off her back. Unburdened, Nicole straightened and inhaled deeply. “Somehow Mitchell landed in the ER again. He took a bullet for the little one.”
Robotically Heero took the girl into the bedroom as Nicole followed and filled him in on what had happened. He barely heard Nicole speaking. By now, he was in another world that included only him…and this mysterious young girl that Nicole had brought to him.
He gently rested her on the bed, and her head lolled to the side, causing her hair to cover her face. He took in her slim body, noting the skinned knees and the dirty clothes she wore. She was in a school uniform, which gave him cause to believe she had been plucked straight from school. Or had escaped.
He sensed Nicole standing beside him as he leaned over and turned the girl’s head. When the curtain of dark hair fell back and her face came into view, he recoiled as if zapped by electricity.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?”
Heero did not answer. Instead, he asked her a question of his own. “What is her name?”
Nicole frowned as the girl fidgeted in her sleep. Then she schooled her face to more serene lines. “We were never formally introduced. The name Mitchell used was Abigail.”
