Inamorato

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “She didn’t even mention his name.”

  “Don’t worry about it. This whole thing will be forgotten about in a week.”

  “It will if the Hunter Division has its way.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They’re clearing McKean of any wrongdoing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Maydevine told me that McKean reported a malfunction in his gun. They tested it, and apparently the trigger mechanism was faulty. Everyone’s calling it an accident.”

  “There you go, then.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, Alex. He was aiming for me.”

  “How can you be so sure? You saw him for a split second before you went off the edge of the building. Maybe he was aiming at something else.”

  “I knew you didn’t believe me.”

  “I believe that you believe it. Isn’t that good enough?”

  No, she thinks, but she can’t be bothered to have this conversation again. The painkillers make her drowsy, and she hardly slept all night because she couldn’t get comfortable.

  “Let’s just go.” She collects her book bag and the fallen textbooks. “We’re going to be late.”

  “You go. I’ll meet you there. I still need to shower.”

  That might be true, but Ella knows the main reason is that he doesn’t want them to be seen arriving at the Academy together.

  She turns to leave, but he stops her at the doorway.

  “Wait.” He limps over to her and pulls her toward him. “There’s one more thing I want from you.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her.

  “There.” He rubs her cheeks with his thumbs. “Now I’m sated.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Faded Thought

  Celia is alone in her apartment, doing more research on Ella.

  She has a stack of papers on her desk, and her whiteboard is now filled with color-coded notations and sticky notes. She has Ella’s entire life history mapped out, beginning from the day Maydevine adopted her.

  She has Jonathan Cross’s autopsy photographs, photocopies of Ella’s adoption papers, her Hunter Division Academy enrollment papers, her report cards, and anything else of importance that relates to her years at the Academy.

  She’s also begun to pry into Maydevine’s personal life. The timeline of his relationship with Veva is laid out on the whiteboard, and she’s recorded the timing of key events with painstaking accuracy.

  She knows everything.

  She knows the precise date that they renewed their relationship after Ella’s adoption, and the precise date that it all blew up again.

  She’s been searching through Ella’s life for a weak link, and looking at the course of Veva’s life since meeting Maydevine at the age of sixteen, she thinks she’s found it.

  When Veva was a teenager, her parents had practically thrust her at Maydevine. She was an innocent, virginal gift, given to him with the anticipation of marriage. He’d accepted her, but from the records, it appears that he did so tentatively.

  There was no immediate proposal.

  He led her on for three straight years before finally, abruptly, attempting bind her with vows in 2314. She’d initially accepted, but had broken it off shortly thereafter.

  Because of Ella?

  Celia’s not sure, but it’d be a sensible inference to make. Ella’s birth coincided almost exactly with the short-lived engagement.

  After that, five long years went by. J.C. died, and Maydevine took Ella in. Almost immediately, there was another engagement.

  It, too, was brief.

  Veva had given back the ring within the week, and the two were parted again. She moved on, or so it seemed. She got pregnant—not once, but twice. At some point during which, she and Maydevine had begun a somewhat casual association.

  Their formal relationship was never reestablished, but their sexual relationship most certainly continued. Veva was frequently seen coming and going from Maydevine’s home, and vice versa.

  Contemplating this, Celia flicks through a pile of surveillance photographs. One shows Veva saying goodnight to Maydevine on his front porch. Their lips are locked together and his hand is up her dress. Another—shot through Veva’s living room window—shows her on her knees, pleasing him, while he smokes a cigarette on the couch.

  Reporters from the Amaranthe News and Times frequently undertake surveillance on the Hunter General. Always hopeful that they might catch him doing something newsworthy, the surveillance starts and stops in random spurts.

  Alas, they hadn’t ever uncovered a single thing.

  Either he’s completely clean and incorruptible, or he’s just too savvy to get caught.

  Nevertheless, Celia has gleaned something useful from these stolen moments in their private lives: Veva is in love with a man who is emotionally unavailable to her, and that makes her weak.

  Corruptible.

  Pliable.

  Easily manipulated.

  She’s emotionally damaged, and an easy target. Not only that, but she has her own sordid family past, and Celia’s not going to be shy about threatening her. She’s worked all through the night to collate the evidence, and she’s about to make a house call.

  *************************

  It’s a stroke after eight-thirty a.m. when she knocks on Veva’s front door.

  At first, there’s no answer.

  She knocks again.

  Eventually, Veva responds. Her hair’s tousled, her dress is creased, and she’s surprised to see Celia standing on her front step. They don’t know each other well, but they first met when Celia wrote a piece on Veva’s battle to use donated sperm to conceive as a single parent—that was big news in Amaranthe.

  “What can I do for you?” Veva suppresses a yawn.

  “Good morning, Ms. Valentine. I was hoping we could sit down and have a little chat about an article I’m writing for the paper. May I come in?”

  “It’s not even nine o’clock.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “I have a guest.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  Celia looks determined, and Veva gets the sense that it would be futile to try and dissuade her. With a heavy sigh, she gives in and lets Celia inside.

  “Whatever you want, be quick about it.”

  Wearing a polite and thankful smile, Celia strides into Veva’s living room and makes herself comfortable on the couch. As she does so, Maydevine emerges from down the hall. He gives Celia a cursory glance, then proceeds to ignore her. He knows who she is, and he has very little patience for her. He pinches a cigarette between his lips and finishes buckling up his belt.

  At the front door, he bids goodbye to Veva with a tender kiss on the lips and a squeeze of her rump.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  Veva blushes. She can’t help it. It still makes her giddy to be with him, even after all the painful years that have passed. He might’ve been a lousy mate, but he’s an attentive and experienced lover, and her body still craves him.

  She turns back into the living room and meets Celia’s steely gaze. She doesn’t know how to explain herself, or even why she should, but she feels like she’s being judged.

  In the end, she says nothing.

  Celia says it all.

  “Still satisfying an old itch?”

  “Well, he’s very good at scratching it.” She sits down in a chair opposite Celia. “What did you say you wanted?”

  “I’m curious to know how it feels to play second fiddle to a spoiled little brat.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ella Cross is the reason you and General Maydevine never married, isn’t she?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  Veva doesn’t answer that, but her silence is the best answer she could’ve given.

  Celia looks smug. “I thought so.”

  “Is this why you came here? To bully m
e.”

  “I came here to open your eyes, Ms. Valentine. Ella Cross leaves a trail of destruction behind her, everywhere she goes. You must’ve noticed that?”

  “She’s difficult to handle.”

  “She’s out of control.”

  “She needs discipline, that’s all.”

  “Why do you defend her? She’s the only thing standing between you and a happy marriage to the man you love.”

  “Without her, there would be no man to love,” Veva snaps at her. “He lives and breathes for that girl. He worships her. I don’t even know what he is without her anymore, she’s so much a part of him. And she’s all he has left of her mother.” Veva becomes suddenly teary. “Loralei Cross: the faded thought that keeps on living.”

  Some deep-seated resentment seeps out at the mention of her old rival’s name.

  “Loralei Cross was Ella’s first victim,” Celia states calmly.

  “What?” Barely whispered.

  “Her mother died giving birth to her. She was too much to handle, even then.”

  “Do you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth right now?”

  “Oh, please. Don’t pretend that you have any affection for the dead woman. She was your bitter enemy.”

  “My personal feelings toward Loralei have no bearing on my feelings for the child.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Veva is taken aback by that. “You know what? I don’t think I want you in my house.”

  Celia continues her tirade regardless.

  “First, she caused the death of her mother. Then your relationship with the General went south. Then she ruined my relationship with the Hunter I intended to marry. Where will it end?”

  “You’re out of line, Ms. Rankin. I should report you for harassment.”

  “We’re all casualties of Ella Cross, Ms. Valentine. She even tried to destroy the reputation of a Hunter with more than a decade of service under his belt.”

  “You mean that nasty little shit McKean? Ella says he shot her deliberately.”

  “She says a lot of things.”

  Silence.

  Veva purses her lips. “I think you should leave now.”

  She gets up to show Celia the door, but Celia halts her before she can take more than three steps.

  “I know who your brother is.”

  Veva stops, but keeps her back to Celia.

  “Good old Bobby Valentine.” Celia consults her notes. “A sexual deviant with connections to the People’s Front terrorist group.” She flips pages. “I think I have enough evidence here to have him enforced.”

  Veva keeps her back turned. “What makes you think I care what happens to my brother? I don’t associate with him.” Her voice is tight and restrained, fearing what might come next.

  “Really? So this isn’t a picture of you with him at the night market?” Celia pulls something out of an envelope.

  Her heart thumping, Veva turns around. Sure enough, Celia’s holding up a photograph of her at the night market. She’d gone there with Maydevine, and the picture was taken as part of one of the newspaper’s random surveillance attempts. Her brother, Bobby, is in the background of the picture.

  “I didn’t go there to meet him,” Veva snarls. “It’s not a crime for two people to accidentally run into each other. We all live in the same city, for god’s sake.”

  “Take a seat, Ms. Valentine, and listen very carefully to me. It took me less than a day to uncover your brother’s connection to the People’s Front, and you and I both know that if I went to press with this, your citizenship would be threatened as well.”

  “Because of a picture?”

  “I’ve had people enforced for a lot less.”

  Veva drops back down into the chair. She’s on the verge of tears.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Only your cooperation.”

  “You want to hurt Ella?”

  “I want to teach her a lesson. You said it yourself: she needs discipline.”

  “She needs her father’s discipline, not yours.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be working too well, though, does it?”

  “What are you so mad about? You want revenge because she stole your boyfriend? How petty are you?”

  Celia’s fake smile vanishes. “She didn’t just take my boyfriend, she altered the entire course of my life. I thought you, of all people, should be able to relate to that.”

  “Do you ever stop to think that maybe the foster boy left you because you’re a crazy fucking bitch?”

  At that, Celia kicks it up a gear.

  “Where are your children Ms. Valentine? Daycare? School? What would happen to them, I wonder, if you were banished?”

  “You leave my children out of this.” Veva’s tears begin to fall.

  “Who would raise them?” Celia needles her. “They’d end up in the foster program, wouldn’t they?”

  “Stop this.”

  “Listen”—Celia leans forward, trying to appear affable—“if you help me, I’ll bury this information about your brother. If you don’t, I’ll drag you down into the dirt right along with him. It’s your choice, and if you ask me, it’s a simple one.”

  After a long silence, Veva relents.

  She has no choice. She can’t do anything else—not at the expense of her own children. As much as she loves Maydevine, he’s not worth that sacrifice.

  Sobbing quietly, “What do you need me to do?”

  “I need Ella’s fingerprints.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s best that you don’t ask.”

  Silence.

  “Will it hurt her?” It pains Veva to ask.

  “Believe me, Ms. Valentine, the greatest threat to Ella is—and always will be—Ella herself.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Equilibrium

  Running several minutes late for class, Alex walks into one of the Academy’s smaller gymnasiums and finds his Cadets already there. Many are talking and laughing and chatting, but a few are gathered around someone who’s sitting on the bleachers at the far end of the room.

  As Alex approaches the bleachers to lay down his stuff, he sees that the object of their concern is Ella. She’s doubled over, clutching at her chest, and she looks as though she’s in incredible pain. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes are closed, and her skin is ghostly pale.

  Ignoring the rest of the class, he immediately limps over to her. He kneels in front of her and places a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to sit up straight and look at him.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” she rasps. “I just need a minute.”

  She’s struggling to breathe.

  “Are you hurt?” Alex squeezes her shoulder.

  “I can’t tell. My chest is on fire.”

  “I want to see you in my office. Now.” His hip creaking loudly, he gets up and addresses the rest of the class. “All of you start warm ups. We’ll begin when I get back.”

  Leading her by the arm, Alex takes Ella down the hall to his office. They’re alone, but under the watchful eye of a security camera.

  He gets as close to her as he dares and strokes his hands over her arms, trying to keep her relaxed to calm her breathing. He wants to do more, but he can’t. He’s only at arm’s length, but the distance between them feels like a valley.

  When her breathing finally normalizes, he instructs her to take off her vest and lift up her shirt, and then he begins pressing lightly against her ribs.

  “Tell me if any of this hurts.”

  “Are you qualified to do this?”

  “I have some field medical training.”

  He keeps pressing on her, and eventually finds a tender spot.

  She winces. “What does that mean?”

  “Your ribs seem fine, but I think you might’ve pulled something.”

  “Are you going to exclude me from class?”

  “I should.”

  “But?”

  “I prefer it when
you’re there.” He hands her back the vest. “Did I hurt you this morning?”

  He looks apologetic already, before he even knows all the facts.

  “Not my ribs.” She blushes. “Some other parts of me are a little sore, though. You were pretty rough.”

  “Oh, god. I’m so—”

  “Don’t you dare.” She laughs at him. “We’ve already been over this.”

  He ruffles a hand through his hair. “Okay, but if I didn’t hurt you, then why are you in so much pain?”

  Now it’s Ella’s turn to look apologetic.

  Alex turns instantly disapproving. “What did you do?”

  “I’m not used to being so sedentary.” She looks shamefaced. “I might’ve attempted to do a cartwheel.”

  Alex says nothing.

  She anticipates outrage.

  “Can we just jump ahead to the part where you tell me that I’m an idiot and I promise never to do it again?” She puts her vest back on. “I’m my own worst enemy—I’ve gathered that. If other people aren’t trying to hurt me, I’m busy doing it to myself. Yada, yada. Trust me, you can’t tell me anything Maydevine hasn’t already told me a thousand times before.”

  Alex begins to laugh.

  “What?” She upturns both palms. “What’s so funny?”

  “Only you would try to do gymnastics with four broken ribs and a cracked sternum.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “What would be the point? You’d only accuse me of mothering you.” He reaches out to stroke the back of his hand across her cheek, but thinks better of it. “I do worry about you, El. I wish you’d go easier on yourself, but I know you’re not that delicate. You’re not dainty, or particularly elegant. You’re not graceful, or charming, or ladylike really in any way at all.”

  “How nice of you to say so.”

  “You’re tenacious, relentless, stubborn, fierce, and—above all—you’re tough. I get that, and I love that about you. You’re also completely insane, but I love you anyway.”

  He coaxes a smile out of her.

  “If you’ll promise me no more cartwheels for at least another week, we’re good to go.” He holds out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal.”

  They shake on it.