Quick Fix

by Linda Grimes

“Cut to the chase, James.” Mark’s patience was eroding.

  “That someone was Monica.”

  Yikes.

  “And just how much did Monica know about your experiments?” Mark asked. To his credit, his tone wasn’t accusatory.

  “Look, you know Monica and I are—God, were?—good friends. She’s in the same position I am. You have no idea how tough it is to belong to a family of people who have a remarkable ability you can only dream about. It bothered Monica more than most. I thought if I offered her a little hope, things might be easier for her. So I told her what I was working on.”

  Mark’s eyes hardened, just a bit, but his voice remained neutral. “Plus, you’d have a second test subject to verify any findings you came to by experimenting on yourself.”

  “No.” James was adamant. “She offered, but I wouldn’t allow it. In fact, we were arguing about just that when she came that day with Molly.”

  “Do you think Monica gave it to Molly?” I asked. Might as well get it out in the open.

  “No. I don’t think that at all. But I do think it’s possible Molly may have gotten into some things she shouldn’t have while I was arguing with Monica. We’d left her watching a video on plate tectonics in the alcove while we talked on the other side of the lab, but she was suspiciously close to my work area when Monica and I were finished. The bottle with the latest incarnation of the formula was there.”

  “I thought it was perfume.” Molly’s voice came from the hall, for once hushed and uncertain. She looked so young and vulnerable, dressed for bed in one of James’s T-shirts, clutching an armful of comic books he kept for her in his study. “It looked like one of the bottles Auntie Ro has on her dresser, the ones with the bubble thing you press to make it spray. I just wanted to smell it, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh, honey,” I said, hugging her. “It’s okay. You’re all better now, right?” I felt her nodding. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  Molly nodded off three-quarters of the way through the latest issue of Spider-Man. We both loved the red webbed-bodysuit look, and tried to squeeze in some Spidey time whenever we were together. We’d even been known to speculate on whether the original aura adaptor might have been bitten by a radioactive chameleon. Molly must have been truly exhausted to fall asleep before we got to the end.

  I was tempted to lie there snuggled up with the comfortingly familiar form of my cousin, but a vibration from my pocket stirred me. I made my way out of the room before the nearly inaudible buzz turned to a ring that would wake her up, and slipped into James’s study to see who the call was from before I answered it. Not likely to be Mom at this time of night, at least.

  Billy. “Where the hell are you?” I said right off the bat.

  He laughed. “Now, is that any way to greet your new boyfriend? Not even a ‘hi, honey, how are you?’ first?”

  “God, Billy, I’ve been worried sick about you—”

  “That’s better. I love you, too.”

  “I did not say that I—”

  “You didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can hear it in your voice.”

  I growled. “Where?”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m close. You at James’s place?”

  “Yeah, but how did you know? We’ve only been back here for— Oh! Molly’s back. As herself, I mean. James’s magic potion worked after all—it just took a little longer than he expected.”

  “Yeah? Hey, that’s great! How is she? No ill effects?”

  “Nope. Just tired. And James isn’t invisible anymore, either.”

  “What?”

  Oh, yeah. He didn’t know about that. “Never mind. Long story. Are you coming over?”

  “Depends. The spook with you?”

  “Uh-huh. You need to see him?”

  “Nah. I’ll skip that for now. Can you get away? You I want to see.” Something in his voice made me tingle all over.

  “Not until after Mark leaves and James goes to bed.”

  “Shove Mark out the door and start talking to James about upcoming family functions. He’ll go to bed in self-defense. Then meet me at my place.”

  Chapter 23

  Half an hour later I was at Billy’s, having snuck out of James’s place. Molly was fast asleep, hogging all the covers and hugging the pillow that would have been mine. Mark had left shortly after I’d rejoined the guys in the living room—he was off to make sure Brian hadn’t nonviolenced Suze to death somehow before she spilled her info, I supposed. After James went to bed (Billy was right—one mention of the Halloween dinner party Mo was hosting and he was attacked by a sudden fit of the yawns), I’d left him a note explaining I’d gone to meet Billy, just in case I wasn’t back before he and Molly woke up. I really hoped I would be, though, because, damn, I didn’t want to miss those waffles.

  The crime-scene tape was pushed off to the side of the entrance to Billy’s condo, and the door wasn’t latched. I pushed it the slightest bit and peeked inside.

  “Billy?” I whispered.

  The door opened wider. “Ignore the tape, cuz.”

  I did, and as soon as I was over the threshold he had me in his arms, lifting me off my feet, burying his face in my neck. “God, I missed you,” he said, and kissed me.

  I broke away—well, after a minute or so—and said, “Stop. Should you even be here? What if the police find us? Can’t we get in big trouble for this?”

  “Relax. The police are done here—they’ve already released the crime scene. This is the last place they would look for me.” He put his lips on my neck. Gaaah. The spot.

  “Come on,” he said softly, and led me toward the spiral staircase up to the loft. The loft with the great big bed.

  I pulled back. “Uh-uh. First we talk.”

  “Later. After.”

  “Nope. I’m not falling for that again.” I went to the black leather couch and sat myself smack dab in the middle of it.

  He grinned and sat beside me, trying to snuggle close.

  “Nope,” I said. “I want air between us until you tell me what’s going on. Where were you, and what did you find out?”

  He sighed. Tried the Doyle eyes on me, but I was ready for him and stared him down. “All right, all right,” he said. “But first tell me why you’re wearing those awful clothes. I can hardly find you in there.”

  “Didn’t you get my message? I had to play Suze for Brian tonight at the club. She flaked on a gig, and it was going to get the whole band fired if she didn’t show. So ‘she’ showed. By the way, I think she’s the one who killed Monica.”

  “Monica’s not dead.”

  “What? But I saw … hell, you saw her, too. What do you mean she’s not dead?”

  “I mean Monica is safe and sound and recovering from a nasty bump on the head at the safe house with Laura, where Harvey stashed her. She’s feeling well enough to complain bitterly about her dress being ruined with the fake blood.”

  “What the hell? Who would fake a thing like that?”

  “Little Miss Monica, apparently.”

  “Did you find out who she was kissing in the grotto?” I hesitated to bring it up, since I didn’t want to remind him of his car, but, hell, I wanted to know.

  Something between amusement and exasperation flitted across his face. “No. I wasn’t in a position to do more than eavesdrop, and she didn’t bring it up.”

  Damn. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. All I know is, Harvey is in it up to his eyeballs. Which is why I’m avoiding Mark—I don’t want to lock horns with him over his mentor until I know what’s going on. He genuinely likes Harvey.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re avoiding Mark?” I asked, earning myself a sharp look.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, you guys seem a little, um, tense around each other. I’d hate to think it’s because … Look, I saw him hit you at the club, okay?”

&n
bsp; “Speaking of eavesdropping,” he said with a twist of his lips. “How much did you hear before he decked me?”

  “Enough.”

  He sighed and ran a hand over his jaw. “It was probably my fault. I jerked his chain. I know he’s concerned about you—about us—but frankly it pisses me off that he thinks I could hurt you. He should know me better than that. Plus, he’s been more zipped up than usual with me about this whole thing with Laura, and now Monica, like he doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  I acknowledged the awkwardness of his situation with a nod. “But why would somebody pretend to kill Monica?”

  “I think it was staged for whoever was really out to kill her to see, so they’d stop trying.”

  “And who would that be?”

  Billy shrugged. “You got me. I’m still working on that.” While we were talking he’d taken my feet onto his lap, slipped off my boots, and started massaging. I’d been so shocked about Monica, I’d barely noticed. And now it felt too good to make him stop, so I pretended I still hadn’t noticed. Except maybe a tiny moan or two might have given me away.

  “Come here,” Billy said, tugging on my feet.

  “Wait—one more thing. How’d you find out about Monica?”

  “I followed Thomas back to the safe house, and borrowed one of the agents watching the house for a little while so I could get close enough to hear what was going on.”

  “Did you see Laura? Is she okay?”

  “Laura is doing remarkably well—improving by the minute. She’ll be up and slapping the faces of bad guys with her feet again in no time.” Laura did have a pretty impressive high kick, as we’d found out in Sweden.

  “What about the agent you ‘borrowed’? You didn’t…?”

  “Of course not, you twit. He looked like he could use a nap, is all. So I gave him one.” He pulled me closer, across his lap. “Enough talk for now,” he whispered, and kissed me again, doing that thing he does with his tongue.

  Gaaah. That thing got me every time. Hugely relieved about Laura and Monica, I gave up and gave in.

  *

  The sky was lightening with a predawn glow as I wandered down the spiral staircase, looking for my clothes along the way. Huh. I could’ve sworn they’d been dropped piecemeal on the way up to the loft earlier. Pulling the sheet up and closer to my naked torso so I wouldn’t trip, I called out to Billy.

  “In the kitchen, cuz. Follow your nose.”

  All thoughts of clothing were swept away by the aroma of French-pressed coffee and toasting strawberry Pop-Tarts. “Mmmm…” I said, reaching for a cup. Billy said the same thing as his lips connected with my neck from behind.

  I twisted around in his arms, gazed adoringly into his beautiful eyes, and said those three little words that mean so much: “Are they frosted?”

  He laughed and swatted my rear lightly, with a glint in his eye that dared me to object. The previous night had taught me I was unlikely to object to anything he did when his eyes held that particular shine, so I just smiled lazily and said, “Well? Are they?”

  “They are, but if you keep smiling like that, you’ll never get to them, because I’ll be carrying you back upstairs again. Or maybe just clearing the counter.”

  I glanced at the gray granite expanse, flashing back briefly to when Laura had been lying beside it, her blood pooling on the floor. Fortunately, the building manager had been allowed to send in a biohazard cleanup crew after the police were done collecting evidence and photographing everything. Guess removing the crime-scene tape wasn’t part of the crew’s job description.

  If Laura had died, I doubt I could have ever even walked into this kitchen again, much less looked at the counter with lascivious thoughts dancing in my head. But somewhere between me giving in on the sofa, and both of us making it all the way up the stairs, Billy had reassured me again about Laura. She was totally out of the woods—it was just a matter of her resting now. And Thomas was apparently in a much better mood. I suspected the two things were related.

  I sighed. “Well, the Pop-Tart’s faster,” I said, and took a huge bite of one, fresh from the toaster. “So, where’d you put my clothes?”

  “Those oversize rags you were wearing? I should have thrown them in the incinerator, but I wasn’t sure if they were yours or not, so I hid them instead. It’s a crime to bury your petite sexiness under that much cloth.” He matched the last words with a thorough exploration of said petiteness, almost making me choke on the rest of the toaster pastry I’d hastily stuffed into my mouth while he was talking. God. Pop-Tarts and Billy—killer combination.

  I swallowed hastily and pulled away before leaving became entirely impossible. “And what am I supposed to wear?”

  He kissed some stray crumbs off my chin. “Take a sip of your coffee and go look in the bathroom. I found some things in my stash that should fit you better. After you shower. Right now you smell rather strongly—”

  “I beg your pardon! What an ungentlemanly thing to point out,” I said, my indignation waylaid by a giggle. Honestly, I was just glad he kept an extensive wardrobe for his alter-ego auras. I was tired of the rolled-up-pants look.

  “Let me finish. You smell rather strongly of eau de us. And while I find the aroma to be the strongest aphrodisiac imaginable, I doubt your brother and my sister would feel the same way. Now, go wash. I’ll come with you to James’s—I want to see Molly, too.”

  “Oh, goody. You can have breakfast with us. James is making waffles,” I said, and hurried to the shower.

  “But I just fed you breakfast!” he called after me.

  “Yeah. Your point?” I said, and closed the bathroom door behind me.

  *

  Molly was still asleep when we got there, thank goodness, but James was up, sipping coffee and reading his favorite Internet news site on his laptop at the kitchen table. Guess my plan of pretending to be surprised when Billy “stopped by” this morning wasn’t going to work after all.

  James’s only comment on our arrival together was a half-raised eyebrow and a nod toward his coffeemaker. “Help yourselves.”

  “I’ll just check on Molly first,” I said.

  “I looked in on her when I woke up. She was fine—still herself—and still sound asleep,” James said. “But go ahead. I’m going to start cooking soon, and she always likes to help.”

  Billy followed me back. Molly was just starting to stir when we walked into the room. When she caught sight of her brother through half-opened eyes, she was instantly awake, throwing off the covers and tackling him in one flying leap. “Billy! Look—I’m me again!”

  Billy steadied himself. “Are you sure? That was a pretty impressive jump for a little girl. Here, let me take a better look at you.”

  Molly giggled as he held her away from him, his thumbs hooked under her armpits. “Ooo-oo, aa-aa-aaah!” she said, the sounds riding on a wave of laughter.

  James came running, stopping himself by grabbing the door frame, panic turning to relief as soon as he saw Molly. “For God’s sake, don’t do that to me.”

  Which, of course, made Molly “orangutan” it up even more, laughing hysterically as she bounced around the bed. (It’s possible Billy and I might have joined her.)

  “All right, be that way,” James said, summoning a good huff, which was, of course, belied by the amusement in his eyes. “I’m going to assume apes do not eat waffles for breakfast.”

  Molly stopped at once. “Waaaiiit. I’m not an ape anymore. I want waffles!”

  James smiled, and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Well, come on, then. To the kitchen. You don’t think I’m going to make them without my sous chef, do you?”

  “Hooray!” Molly bounced out of the room on James’s heels. “Wait, I have to pee first—I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” James’s voice floated after her.

  And there Billy and I were, together on the bed where we first—


  I jumped up and ran even faster than Molly had, leaving Billy laughing in my wake.

  James was gathering the ingredients in his small but cheerful kitchen. “By the way, it’s nice to see you, too,” I said. “And I do mean that literally. Any more difficulties on the visibility front?”

  “Nope. Maintaining complete opaqueness. I don’t expect any further problems, either.”

  “You sure about that? I’d hate to be walking with you in public and suddenly have to explain the empty clothes walking beside me,” I kidded.

  “I’m sure, but I can outline my scientific reasoning if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Billy came up behind me and laid his hands on my shoulders, massaging lightly. “For God’s sake, no. Not before second breakfast.”

  “Second breakfast? Are you guys hobbits now?” Molly asked as she whizzed by us to grab the eggs from James. “Hey, I get to crack them, right? Billy, your feet might be big enough to be a hobbit, but you’re too tall. Ciel, you’re short enough, but your feet are too small. When did you have first breakfast, anyway?”

  I mumbled something about Billy and Pop-Tarts (perhaps implying he had them with him when he arrived at James’s earlier, but not outright lying about it) while James took the egg carton back from Molly and held it over her head. That seemed to distract her from questioning my earlier whereabouts.

  “Your adding the eggs depends entirely on whether you’ll listen to instructions this time,” James said. “Crashing two eggs together over the bowl is not proper culinary technique, nor is eggshell an ingredient I appreciate in my waffles.”

  Molly tried to look contrite. Not having as much practice at it as her brother, she wasn’t especially successful, I thought. But James bought it. “I promise. I know how to do it now. Sinead told me,” she said, referring to her older sister.

  James handed her the eggs and turned to get the butter from the fridge. Molly maneuvered the step stool closer to the counter, stepped up, held an egg high over the bowl, and lopped off one end of it with a butter knife. “Bombs away!” she said as the goo slid from the shell.

  James really should have remembered Sinead is the Doyle sister who can’t cook.