Chapter Text
Mackenzie McBride was safe.
Usually, when Lia—along with the Naturals—solved a cold case, about ninety percent of the time, the victim would already be a stiff, grey, cold corpse that had been that way for at least weeks. But this time, they'd solved it, and little Mackenzie was going to grow up to be a thriving, albeit traumatised, child, then teenager, then adult.
At first, she didn't allow herself to celebrate, just in case it would ruin the outcome somehow. Hope wasn't exactly something she was fond of having. But the Naturals—her friends—were ecstatic, and she just couldn't resist being happy any longer.
And what did people do when they're happy? "So." Lia sat up as straight as she could with the lack of space on the couch. "Who thinks this calls for a celebration?"
~
Music was blasting throughout the back porch and the lawn of the house. Of course, Lia was the one who'd chosen it. Dean had the saddest playlist known to the history of man, while Cassie and Sloane weren't exactly that fond of songs. And Michael... well, Lia wasn't exactly in the best relationship with him at that moment, so there was no way in hell she would let him do the honours.
Lia took hold of Cassie's hand first, seeing the strange expression on her face, and led her to the lawn. "For once in your life, just let go."
Lia started dancing to the music and waited for Cassie to do the same. Though she'd meant it for this moment, it was also a command to Cassie that if she wanted Michael, she should just let herself have him. Lia was done with him anyway, for the most part.
To her relief, Cassie started dancing, indicating that she was letting go for the moment. Lia just needed to get her next victim out there. "Sloane! Get your butt out here."
Coffee-induced Sloane Tavish got out to the back porch and onto the lawn. Her definition of dancing was definitely not the same as Lia's though, and she started making some hand gestures combined with light bouncing. Cassie, seeing Sloane's dance, decided to imitate her.
Lia gave the two of them an alarmed look, concerned at their way of dancing. She turned to Dean and Michael, desperate for help.
"No," Dean said in response. "Absolutely not. I don't dance."
Loser, Lia thought lightheartedly. She looked at Michael, sure that he would join them. And join he did, even with his injured leg. Unfortunately, he followed Sloane and Cassie's way of dancing instead of hers.
Lia rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless," she told all of them even as she was on the verge of smiling.
Michael shrugged and replied, "It's one of my many charms."
She cast a glance at him, then got an idea. If she danced with Michael, Dean would surely become Mr. Pissyface about it. And, oh, did she love annoying Dean and getting him to step out of his brooding corner.
She went closer to Michael, until she could loop her arms around his neck and press against his body, swaying her hips to the music. Michael mirrored her dance, wrapping his arms around her waist lightly. He raised a brow at her, but didn't say or do anything to stop her or question her intentions.
Is it working? Lia questioned in her head. She didn't know who she was questioning, Dean or Cassie. She told herself it was Dean, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to get a rise out of Cassie as well, for different reasons.
Michael turned his head slightly. Lia couldn't see behind her, but she knew that he would only give Cassie that look, along with the slow wink. She tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped and concealed any emotion on her face as far as possible, even if Michael could read it if he looked at her.
Instead, she reminded herself of her true purpose of dancing with Michael. "Come on, Dean-o," Lia called out to him. "Join us. You know you want to."
She let go of Michael's neck to turn and press her back against his chest. She took a glance at Dean's expression, which looked every bit murderous with not a single twitch of his mouth.
Perfect.
Michael seemed to get what Lia was doing, so he trailed a hand down her arm. Lia almost shivered, but she didn't let her body. She was an extravagant liar, physically and verbally.
Before Lia could say anything, Cassie said, "Come on, Dean. You don't have to dance. Just brood in beat to the music."
As soon as Dean laughed at her suggestion, Michael let go of Lia and went up to Cassie. As she thought he would.
"Care to dance, Colorado?" Michael extended a hand to Cassie. She took it and he twirled her around.
Lia wasn't jealous. She didn't get jealous, even if Michael would say so. So much so, that she immediately put an arm around Sloane's waist to get her to dance something real.
Lia's attempts at getting Sloane to actually dance were in vain. "Come on, Sloane, that's not real dancing."
"There are over 10,000 dance styles in the world," Sloane stated, "and this is one of them."
"It definitely isn't," Lia said, narrowing her eyes at her despite Lia's brain telling her that Sloane wasn't lying.
She shrugged. "Believe me if you want, but I'm not lying. You probably know that."
Lia smiled a lighthearted tight-lipped smile, then called out to Dean again, "You sure we can't talk you into dancing?"
"Positive," Dean said firmly. She needed to do something worse to get him to let go.
"Well, in that case..." She cut through Michael and Cassie, taking up Michael as her dance partner once again. Not a single emotion on his face could be read, but she could assume that he was either amused, annoyed, or both. Good.
Placing her palms flat on his chest and looking up at him innocently, she said in a low voice, "Tell me, Townsend. Do you feel lucky?"
When Cassie entered the car, Michael tried not to stare for too long. Not that he could—he had to drive the three of them to Colonial University. And also, Lia was right beside him. He didn't care what she thought, but he could sense that if he were to stare too long she might just kill him.
When he started driving, he kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the occasional glances that Lia was giving him. If she wanted his attention, he wasn't going to give it to her. He told himself it was just to focus on the road, but he knew that if he said that aloud, Lia would immediately call him a liar.
If he even glanced at Lia, he would know exactly what she's feeling. And he didn't wish to know what she was feeling, though he could say he was intrigued. They were off, but she still wanted him all to herself it seemed.
He took a glance at Cassie through the rearview mirror. He told himself it was because he wanted to know how she was feeling about this whole excursion, but God knew he just wanted to see her in that green dress again. Which, if he wasn't wrong, was actually Lia's.
Surprisingly, Cassie was already looking at him through the mirror as well. She was wearing her profiling face, which could only mean that she was wondering why he'd accepted this mission. The short answer: the same reason she did.
As though she couldn't stand Michael looking at Cassie for even a short second, Lia said, "We'll want to make a quick detour." She pointed at a specific location. "Pull off at the next exit." Michael followed her instructions, but not before hearing her ask Cassie if she was enjoying the ride.
"I'm not doing this for enjoyment," Cassie replied.
"No," Lia agreed after a moment. "You're not doing this for enjoyment. You're doing it for Dean."
Michael didn't miss the way Lia had subtly emphasised Dean's name. Lingering a little, increasing the volume of her voice as she'd said his name. One thing was clear—she was riling him up, the Lia version of it anyway—and it was working.
"Gas station," she instructed. He did as he was told, parking the car. Lia smiled. "You two wait here. Ta."
Typical.
She slid her body through the open window instead of opening the door to exit the car. Michael couldn't lie—that was definitely impressive.
The moment she left, he breathed a sigh of relief while Cassie said, "This is a bad idea."
Of course it was, but it just so happened that Michael was someone who would welcome bad ideas on an hourly basis. "Almost certainly."
"We snuck out of the house to go to a frat party," she pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure this isn't a dress."
Michael turned around in his seat to take a good look at her. Despite what she thought, the dress was, in fact, a dress. He would know—it was most definitely Lia's dress that he'd once took off her. He didn't remark on Cassie's suspicions and instead smiled and said, "Green's a good colour for you."
The car was silent with her lack of reply. Michael equipped a serious tone. "Now it's your turn to say something about the way this shirt really brings out my eyes."
Even in the dark, he could see the smile that he'd put on Cassie's face. He counted that as a victory. "Your shirt is blue," she stated. "Your eyes are hazel."
Michael leaned closer to Cassie. "You know what they say about hazel eyes."
Before Cassie could say anything, Lia returned and closed the door behind her. "No, Michael. What do they say about hazel eyes?"
He ignored the smirk on Lia's face and if he was annoyed, he didn't show a single twitch in his face for Lia to know that fact. "Did you get what you needed?"
Instead of answering him, she passed the brown paper bag to Cassie, who announced what was inside by questioning, "Red Gatorade and cups?"
That earned a shrug from Lia. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." She took a brief glance at Michael, then back to Cassie, the glance so brief that he almost wondered if he imagined it. "When at a frat party, drink questionable fruit punch out of a red Solo cup."
Michael shouldn't have forgotten—physical lies were her specialty too. Which is why she got the Gatorade and cups.
~
This time, on their ride back to the house, Lia sat in the back with Cassie and Michael sat alone in the driver's seat. Part of him wished that Cassie would sit in the passenger's seat instead of the back again, but that was mostly wishful thinking.
"That actually went better than I expected it to," Lia said. "If we can sneak back in without getting caught, I'm willing to call it a win."
"I thought you never got caught," Cassie replied. Michael couldn't see her expression, but he could assume that he would seeing a slight frown on her face.
"We live in a house with a trained FBI agent and a former military sniper. I'm stealthy, not magic. Call it an acceptable risk." And she would take any risk for Dean.
"Are you sorry you came?" Lia asked after a beat of silence. "Or, given the opportunity, would you do it all over again?"
Cassie didn't reply. Instead, she asked Michael, "What did you think of the TA?"
Before he could respond, Lia interrupted with a fake yawn, "Yes. Do tell, Michael. What did you think of the TA who was such a promising lead that Cassie left the party to go with him, with you on her heels?"
Was this a matter of her own safety or a matter of jealousy? Michael couldn't help but think it was the latter.
He glanced at Lia through the rearview mirror and explained, "The guy was looking at Cassie like she was some kind of specimen under a glass." He had all her attention now, and by the expression on her face, this was definitely a matter of jealousy. "You really think I should have let him take her off alone?"
"I'm surprised, that's all. I mean, following Cassie worked out so well for you last time."
What did it matter to her that his leg was injured because he chose to follow Cassie? Michael could feel his temper fraying.
"We shouldn't have left you there," Cassie said, her tone apologetic.
"Puh-lease. I can take care of myself, Cassie." Then why the complaints, Lia Zhang? "I saw you leaving. I could have joined you. I chose not to. And if Michael had bothered asking, I would have told him to go with you."
"I told you to stay at the party," Michael muttered under his breath, trying to keep his temper in check.
"Excuse me?" Lia feigned bad hearing. "What was that?"
"I texted you when I left. You were supposed to stay at the party!" He couldn't help but slam his hand into the steering wheel, but immediately regretted it when he saw Cassie jump out of his peripheral vision. "But no, you went off with not one, but two strange—"
"Witnesses? Trust me, I had a handle on it. I could handle the Dereks and Clarks of the world in my sleep."
There was no rational explanation for why Michael was so riled up by Lia. He knew she could handle herself—she always had. And yet, he was still losing control of his emotions.
It seemed as though Lia was designed just to do that—making him lose control of the one thing he always knew.
"Now, Michael, dearest," Lia continued as though they hadn't argued, "concentrate. Cassie's TA. What were your impressions?"