Quick Fix

by Linda Grimes

  Billy sobered. “Look, she came to me.” He saw the skepticism in Mark’s eyes. “Seriously. She approached me after Sweden. Said she knew I had interests other than just working with you, and that she wouldn’t mind moonlighting a little herself. Made a crack about government work not paying all that well.”

  “If she needed money she could have come to me,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, well, I got the idea she’s more the type who wants to earn it herself. Or maybe…” Billy stopped, shrugged.

  “What?” Mark pressed.

  “Maybe it wasn’t about the money. Maybe she was on a fishing expedition.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Mark. She knows about you. She must suspect there are more like you. Maybe she was trying to figure out if I’m one of them.”

  Mark considered it. “Maybe. So, what did you set up with her? I assume you didn’t turn down her offer.”

  “Of course not—I was curious to find out what she knows about me,” Billy said. “We were going to meet when I got back from D.C. She was up here, supposedly setting up the job. She’d asked to stay at my place, to save a few bucks, since she wasn’t on the company dime. That’s what got me thinking she was digging deeper into my background.”

  “That it?” Mark said.

  “She also set up a meeting with a friend of hers at the zoo in D.C., one of the reasons I decided to take Molly to visit Ciel. That friend never showed. Now I’m wondering if that was just to get me out of town for a few days.”

  “Is that why you were so distracted at the zoo when you were supposed to be helping me?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Two birds, one stone.”

  “And Laura was the one you had to get rid of before we brought Molly to your place,” I said. At least it hadn’t been a girlfriend.

  “Well, I wouldn’t phrase it that way,” Billy said wryly. “But, yes, I had called her to ask her to clear out before we got there. I didn’t think explaining Molly’s situation to her was a good idea.”

  Mark’s face remained passive. “So? I’m waiting.”

  “So, that’s it. I never had a chance to find out more.” Billy looked uncertain. “The thing is, I don’t think my project with Laura has anything to do with her shooting.”

  “Then why was she at your apartment?”

  Billy shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe she left something there and was coming back for it. Or maybe…”

  “What?” Thomas, who’d been standing back and letting Mark do the questioning, pounced.

  “Well, when Laura and I first discussed working together, she mentioned a possible stumbling block. Other than Mark.”

  Mark quirked his mouth but remained silent.

  Billy took a deep breath, a face-the-music look coming over his face. “It’s Harvey. He found out she was working on the side with me, and I don’t think he liked the idea.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Mark said. “It goes against my agreement with him.”

  “So why was Laura working with Billy in the first place, if she wasn’t supposed to?” I asked.

  “Because, technically, she didn’t know Billy was an adaptor, so I couldn’t order her not to do it. I was counting on Billy to do the smart thing and keep his distance from her.”

  Billy shrugged. “I was curious. Anyway, when Harvey found out, Laura kind of freaked, called and left a message on my cell that she needed to discuss the situation. I was hoping to head her off before”—he cut me a glance—“things got needlessly complicated, but our wires got crossed. She must have showed up at my place right after I ran out to grab dinner for Ciel and Molly while they were in the tub. Somebody—possibly somebody in the guise of me—was there before Laura arrived, or maybe got there at the same time. All I know is, if she thinks it was me who shot her, she’s wrong.”

  Mark took a sip of his beer before he spoke. “About Harvey—”

  Thomas stepped on his words, “If that asshole is involved, you can bet he’s on a recruiting mission.” He cut Mark a look. “How many of us does he know about? He couldn’t get me, not even after he lured Laura away to use as bait. He thought I’d follow her. Who’s he after now?”

  Aha. Well, that explained Thomas’s dislike of Harvey. I grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl on the bar and absently munched on it, hoping my queasiness would settle if my stomach wasn’t empty.

  Mark shook his head, forcing patience. “Tom, Laura did what she wanted to do. And Harvey left you alone after I told him I’d quit if he didn’t lay off you.”

  “Does he know about me?” Billy asked.

  “Not through me, no. But he’d be an idiot if he didn’t suspect, after all the jobs you’ve worked with me. And whatever you can say about Harvey”—Thomas snorted; Mark ignored it—“he’s not an idiot.”

  Billy nodded once, thinking. “Okay, here’s the question, then—did Harvey send Laura to recruit me behind your back? Was that her real purpose for wanting to work with me?”

  Mark looked like he didn’t want to believe it. “It’s possible. She’s always had kind of a father complex about him—her dad was a real son of a bitch—so if he asked her … Yeah, she might consider it.”

  God, all the twisted spook intrigue. “But then who shot her? And why? And why would she say it was Billy?” I said.

  “To finish the mission?” Thomas said with more than a touch of bitterness. “That’s what they train you spooks to do, isn’t it—always finish the mission? If she was supposed to recruit Billy, what better way than to implicate him in a crime and then let the Agency offer him a way out. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if Smith arranged the whole thing. What’s losing a regular operative compared to gaining another adaptor?”

  Crap. Was it possible? My stomach gave a small heave.

  Mark took a deep breath, holding it for a second before releasing it. I could almost feel him biting his tongue. Obviously, he’d gone a few rounds with Thomas on the subject of Harvey’s methods before. “Harv wouldn’t hurt Laura, Thomas,” he said quietly.

  “You’ve always had a giant blind spot when it comes to Harvey Smith.” Thomas sounded as resigned as Mark. He probably didn’t really believe what he’d accused the man of—it was likely just an old frustration cropping up.

  Brian, who’d been following the conversation with about as much tension on his face as if he were watching a butterfly flit from flower to flower, topped off his beer and said, “First Laura and then Monica. So, who’s next?”

  My stomach rebelled completely at that thought, and I dashed for the ladies’ room. Turned out stale popcorn was not the hangover remedy I’d hoped it would be.

  After its exit was complete and I’d made my final bow over the toilet bowl, I went to the sink and splashed more water on my face. A quick pat with a paper towel and I looked human enough again.

  The guys were all standing when I returned, having obviously wrapped things up while I was gone.

  “Here she is,” Thomas said. “Everything okay, Ciel? Good. We’re heading back to the lab. I want to bring James up to speed about Monica—didn’t he take her under his wing when she found out she wasn’t going to be an adaptor?”

  Billy nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. He knows what it’s like, and I seem to recall him helping her through a rough patch.”

  “That’s what I thought. Listen, you better come, too,” Thomas said, having apparently forgiven Billy his transgressions. “Unless you want to wind up back in jail, we have some things to discuss about your case. Bri, you need anything, you call.”

  Mark took Billy casually by the elbow. “Hang back a second, okay? You two go on—we’ll be right behind you.”

  I dug through my brain for a good excuse to stay, but Thomas herded me out the door. Brian came with us, probably just to give Mark his private time with Billy. I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. When Thomas opened the back door of the limo for me, I hesitated.

  “Hold on,” I said, patting my pockets. “I left something in the
ladies’ room. Be right back.” I dashed before they asked me what I’d forgotten, so I didn’t have to expand the lie.

  Once inside, I crept toward the bar, careful not to make a sound. I didn’t dare peek around the wall, but I could hear Mark’s voice plainly enough: “… isn’t a game, Billy. People are getting hurt. If you—”

  “Life is a game, Mark. You ought to know—you spend enough time playing superhero.”

  “Stop being a smart-ass. I meant what I said. You give it some careful thought before you pursue things. If she gets hurt—” Crap. Were they talking about me?

  “Are you really worried about that? Or are you just ticked because I beat you to the punch?”

  A hollow-sounding thwak, followed by a thud, was the answer. Yikes! I had to look. Billy’s knees had hit the floor. His hand went to his jaw, and he was bleeding from the corner of his mouth. But he was smiling.

  Mark was not. He looked pissed, and maybe surprised. He probably wasn’t accustomed to losing control.

  “If you’re so worried about Ciel, you might want to turn your sights a little closer to home,” Billy said. “How much do you really trust Harvey?”

  Shock flickered over Mark’s face. “What does Harvey have to do with this?”

  “Well, I could tell you, but then he’d have to kill me,” Billy said wryly.

  Mark reached a hand out to Billy and helped him up in that manly, grab-each-other’s-wrist way guys do. Not precisely an apology, but probably as close as most men get. When he spoke there was no longer any anger in his voice. “Could you please just cut the crap and tell me what you’re talking about?”

  “I’d rather wait until I have something solid to go on. Since you and Harv are such bosom buddies and all…” Guess Billy wasn’t quite ready to forgive and forget.

  Mark looked like he might flare up again, so I pulled back and made some noise. Better clip this confrontation before Billy made some other flip remark and they really went at it.

  When I poked my head back in, Billy was standing, stuffing a cocktail napkin into his pocket, blood gone from his mouth and any signs of Mark’s fist adapted away. Mark was leaning casually against the bar, his face bland.

  “Hi, guys. I forgot my lip gloss in the ladies’ room.” Yeah, big fat lie. “You coming? Thomas is getting impatient.”

  Billy laid his hands on my shoulders, casually possessive. “There’s something I need to follow up on first. You go with Tom. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “But—”

  He kissed me, and not in a cousinly way. I tasted the residual copperiness of the blood on the inside of his lip, but that didn’t stop me from melting into him, my body reacting before my brain could remind me we had an audience.

  Billy pulled away first, brushing my cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes full of the soft emotion I hadn’t seen since before he found out I’d vandalized his car. Had he forgiven me? Or was it just a show for Mark? I wanted to believe it was real. He touched each of my eyebrows lightly with his lips before releasing me and leaving the club without another word to either of us. Guess he’d communicated everything he’d intended. Question was, to whom?

  Chapter 19

  “Ciel, pick up! Pick up now!” Brian’s voice blared at me from James’s answering machine.

  I rolled over and stuck my head back under the pillow. I figured I needed at least another two or three hours of oblivion before I’d feel entirely human again. Plus, sleep offered the only reliable escape from my thoughts. Part of me was still wrestling with the idea that maybe all Billy had really wanted was to “get there” ahead of Mark. He claimed Mark’s interest in me was whetted by his own, but what if the reverse were also true?

  That’s the part I wanted to suffocate under a pillow.

  After leaving the guys at the lab I’d slunk back to James’s apartment to recuperate. James hadn’t taken the news about Monica well, and seemed more determined than ever before to straighten out the mess that was Molly. He had assured me he’d need at least the rest of the day to set things right there, and that I’d only be in the way, so I didn’t feel guilty about abandoning her. Which was good, because frankly I had all the guilt I could handle just with the car thing.

  “Ciel! I know you’re there. Come on, sis, I need a favor. Pick up the phone.”

  “Go away,” I hollered. Not that he could hear me. It just seemed like some sort of response was required, and that was the only one that didn’t necessitate leaving the warm nest of covers.

  “Okay, sis, I didn’t want to have to do this, but here goes. If you don’t pick up right now I’ll be forced to tell Mom what you did to Billy’s car. And why you did it.”

  Fuck. I crawled over the king-size expanse to the edge of the bed and grabbed the phone. “Seriously, Bri? You’re threatening to tell on me? Could you be any more immature?”

  “Sorry, but I’m desperate. I need you to fill in for Suze at the club tomorrow night. She was supposed to debut with us, but something came up. Only thing is, the club manager said if Suze wasn’t going to be there, none of us should bother to show up—he really likes Suze—so I told her I’d get someone to cover for her.”

  “What? You told her about us?”

  “Of course not. I told Suze I knew a singer who looked enough like her to pull off the switch with the help of stage makeup, that’s all. She bought it. But, seriously, the manager is way too into Suze not to notice if it’s not her. So it really needs to be her.”

  “So why don’t you do it? I’m sure the manager won’t miss you,” I said. Yeah, I know. Rude. Sisters are allowed.

  “Ciel, I’m lead guitar. I have to be there.”

  “Brian, are you crazy? Even if I could carry a tune with Suze’s aura—which is highly doubtful—I sure as hell don’t have time to learn to play the guitar!”

  “No worries. I’ll teach you three chords—that’s all you really need—and we’ll crank up the volume.”

  “Brian, I can’t. I’d need more time to—”

  “No, you don’t. Really. You’ll be great, I promise.”

  “No,” I said. Firmly. The whole idea was preposterous.

  “Who stopped Billy from hitting you?” he wheedled.

  Gaaah.

  “Who put ex-lax in Ryan Lockmeer’s chocolate pudding after he called you ‘flatso’?”

  Double-gaaah. He had done that for me. It was my sophomore year of high school (Brian had been a junior) and I was particularly sensitive about my lack of any significant development (so to speak) on the boobage front. Even then Brian had been opposed to unnecessary violence, so he refused to beat the guy up. Didn’t mean he couldn’t come up with creative alternatives to exact retribution, though.

  “Please, Ciel … I really need this gig. You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency.” His voice was low-pitched, beseeching. How could I refuse?

  I sighed, heavily and melodramatically. I knew I sounded just like Mom when I did that. I also knew he was too smart to comment on the similarity when he wanted something from me. “When do I have to be there?”

  *

  “You owe me big-time for this, bro.”

  I’d gotten up early so I could be at Brian’s apartment as soon as Suze left for her day job, and I wasn’t a happy camper. Didn’t help that the toddler next to me on the train barfed, which apparently bothered the rest of us a lot more than her, since she promptly flung her arms wide and shouted “Ta-da!” followed by “I’m hungry!” The triple shot of espresso Brian had waved under my nose as soon as I got there was taking the edge off my grumpiness, but it was still a long haul to cheery town.

  “I think next time Mom needs an adaptable body for one of her jobs, you are filling in for me.”

  Our mother, with Auntie Mo as her partner, was her own modeling agency. (Note the wording: was, not had.) Just a small outfit they ran out of Mom’s home office, which used to be my brother Thomas’s room upstairs. They worked out of my parents’ house because Auntie Mo and Uncle
Liam still had kids at home.

  Their agency had a Web site full of the portfolios of their “models,” which were all, of course, them in different auras. Though they could easily provide whatever “type” a photographer desired, they specialized in models who looked almost, but not quite, like famous supermodels. Clients paid big bucks for those bookings. Not as big as for the real deal, but close enough that money wasn’t an issue for my parents, or Billy’s. They tried to limit their jobs to no more than two models at a time, but occasionally an extra was required. In those instances, Mom usually called on me, and paid me the going agency rate.

  The thing is, I hate all that primping and fussing (which was the same reason Dad and Uncle Liam refused to work with them anymore), and frankly most of the photographers were real assholes. Let Brian listen to “Make love to the camera, darling!” all day long, and see how cheerful he was then.

  Brian paled at the thought of filling in for me, but didn’t refuse. He didn’t dare, not if he wanted me to play real-life Rock Band with him later.

  “Sure,” he said, barely choking on it. “I’d be happy to. Anytime.”

  Ha. Like hell he’d be happy to. But he’d do it, and that was enough to make whatever retro-punk-hipster-indie hell I had to live through for one evening worth it.

  Maybe.

  I waded through the stage clothes in Suze’s closet, trying to find something it wouldn’t kill me to wear, because I was not going to put on the torpedo tits outfit. I have my limits.

  I yanked a piece of neon purple fake leather off a hanger, eyed it dubiously, and started to put it back. Brian caught my hand and said, “Hey, that would work. Suze looks great in it.”

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Because it looked like a corset, and not a whole lot else.

  “That’s it.” His eyes went all dreamy.

  I turned a dubious eye on my brother. “Why don’t you tell me which outfit is your least favorite, because no way am I doing this if you’re going to be looking at me all night with Suze lust in your eyes.”

  He coughed and turned red. “I would never … I mean, ew, you’re…” He slid hangers across the bar until he reached the end of the ugly train and shoved an outfit at me. “Here. This one bores me stupid.”