Quick Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “I don’t think so,” Thelma said, and pulled the scarf from her gun, making it plain she still had me covered. I shrugged and smiled weakly at Harvey.

  “Thelma, don’t be ridiculous,” Harvey said, not quite as relaxed now. “You can’t win this. It’s over.”

  “Maybe I can’t win, Harvey, but I can sure as hell make you lose.” She lifted the gun, bringing it level with my temple.

  Without a nanosecond’s pause, Harvey said loudly, “Take it.”

  It sounded like a couple of monster mosquitoes whizzing by my ear, one immediately after the other. I felt Thelma stiffen, then drop. When I looked down, I saw two small holes had appeared on her forehead.

  Okay, I admit it. I passed out again.

  *

  I was in Billy’s arms when I came to, only this time it was better because I knew it was him. We were on the ground, right where I’d fallen, so I guessed I couldn’t have been out for long. He smiled down at me, his eyes full of concern. “Twice in one night, cuz. You gonna make a habit of this? Do I need to start carrying smelling salts?”

  “Give me a break,” I said wryly. “Let me shoot you, and we’ll see how long you stay conscious.”

  Harvey swam into my field of vision, lowering his large frame next to us with an amazing amount of grace. “Let’s get her downstairs to the ER,” he said. Behind him, one of the men in suits from the helicopter held on to Monica and the other squatted next to Thelma’s body, carefully removing the gun from her grip with a gloved hand.

  “Hey, wait,” I said, my head clearing somewhat. “Molly’s still out there—she was up a tree by the Dairy. And she’s”—I glanced at Harvey, unsure how much he was privy to about Molly’s “fluke,” as Thelma had so eloquently put it—“um, you know, not really herself. Upset, as you can imagine.” Not to mention orange and hairy.

  Harvey chuckled, his chins wobbling. “Nice, Ciel. Very subtle. Can’t imagine why Mark didn’t think you were cut out for the life.” He patted my hot cheek. “Don’t worry about Molly. She’s at a police station, waiting for her ‘daddy,’ Mark, to come get her. She found a cop after she climbed down from the tree. Told him she was a runaway having second thoughts.”

  Whew! That meant she was able to drop the orangutan aura without any problems this time. Even better, she was smart enough to call Mark instead of her parents, so now maybe I had a shot at seeing my next birthday. Because if Auntie Mo ever found out what happened tonight—how I’d dragged Molly with me away from the safe house where Mark had stashed us—she would skin me alive. Or, you know, give me a talk, which would be worse.

  Of course, I still had to answer to Mark, which wasn’t going to be any picnic.

  Billy stood, lifting me with him. “Hey,” I said, preferring not to think about any upcoming conversations with the spook, “don’t let them stick me, okay? You know I don’t do needles.”

  “Sorry. Can’t make any promises.”

  “All right,” I said, feeling woozy already, just in anticipation of getting jabbed. “But you better be there when I go down for the third time.”

  “Always, sweetheart. Always.”

  Chapter 30

  Laura and I lounged in low lawn chairs, watching the guys—Billy, Thomas, Brian, and James—play Nerf football with Molly on the wide expanse of grass in the Sheep Meadow area of Central Park. I probably would have been fine joining in—my arm wasn’t that sore anymore—but Laura was still recovering and I wanted to keep her company. She’d made it through the Children’s Zoo earlier with no difficulty, but she still tired easily.

  It had been Molly’s idea to come back to Central Park. She said she wanted to “reclaim” it as a fun spot. She was one brave little girl, and I was proud to be her honorary relation.

  It was a parent-free picnic (trust me, none of the parents in question were complaining) because that’s what Molly wanted. The other Doyle sisters were off at college, dreaming up their own ways to make Billy’s life as a big brother miserable. I kind of enjoyed that. (What? Relationships can’t turn on a dime, you know.)

  I’d been more than a little nervous about our foray into the petting section of the zoo, though James had assured us Molly was totally un-juiced now. Besides, he was almost a hundred percent certain she’d been able to project the orangutan aura only because its primate genome was so similar to a human being’s. As long as Molly stayed away from apes, she should be fine.

  Still, most of us held our breath the first time she reached out and touched a goat. When she pulled her hand back without sprouting horns or a goatee, we all let out a collective sigh of relief.

  She hadn’t shown any more signs of precocious adaptor-hood, which kind of disappointed her, but, as she philosophically pointed out, at least it delayed her stint in isolation.

  Laura and I had been having a great time getting to know each other better as we convalesced together. We’d spent a few weeks up at my lakeside client hideaway, letting Hilda, my faithful doer of everything, fuss over us while we healed. She loved it and so did we. My injury wasn’t nearly as bad as Laura’s, but I was not above milking it for as many of Hilda’s special desserts as I could get.

  Thomas spent a lot of time there with us, too. Wouldn’t surprise me if there were wedding bells in his and Laura’s future. I sure hoped so, anyway. Not only would I gain a sister, but I’d lose a nanny. Win-win.

  Brian, as near as any of us could tell, hadn’t replaced Suze with a new girlfriend yet, so I thought maybe he was maturing. Turned out Suze wasn’t really all bad, merely unduly influenced by Thelma. When she’d found out Thelma had given the go-ahead to use deadly force in the “recovery” of orangutan-Molly, resulting in fellow agent Laura getting shot, Suze had come around and filled Harvey in on Thelma’s plans. So she’d been reassigned overseas rather than arrested. Still, she had drugged me, so I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the idea of her freezing her ass off during those long winters in Moscow.

  James had pleaded with Mark to find a place for Monica where she could get some much-needed treatment. He felt responsible for her slide over to the dark side, and still wanted to help her, in spite of her trying to have his former boyfriend offed.

  Devon had been located, unharmed. He’d actually never even set out for Hollywood—turned out he really was in love with James. Guess he’d been honest with me during our little heart-to-heart after he walked in on Billy and me. James was continuing to be cautious with him but seemed happier lately, so I had hopes that things might yet work out between them.

  Mark was off on yet another assignment—God knew where—which was too bad, because I did love watching that man play football. Especially when it was warm enough for him to take off his shirt. (What? Sure, Billy and I were officially an item now, but that didn’t mean I’d gone blind.)

  Once the doctors were done patching me up, and Mark knew I was going to be all right, he’d lit into me, hitting me with the steel-hard eyes and letting me know exactly how dumb it had been not to call him immediately after I’d gotten the call from the fake Billy. I’d taken it meekly (because, yeah, he had a point), even though “meek” goes against my grain under any circumstances. As soon as I’d said the magic words (“you’re right”), he’d dropped the steel, donned the dove, and gathered me close in a careful hug.

  “Jesus, Ciel, you have to stop doing this to me,” he’d whispered, his words squeezing my heart. I wasn’t sure if he meant scaring him, or possibly something else. Honestly? I was afraid to ask.

  Laura handed me another can of iced tea. “He loves you, you know,” she said.

  Startled, I almost dropped the can. Had she been reading my thoughts? “What? Who…?” I said.

  “Billy,” she said. “Oh, Mark does, too, of course, but he’s married to his job. Clichéd, but true.”

  I felt my cheeks redden. That didn’t stop her from continuing. “But Billy—you can see it erupt from his eyes when he looks at you. That’s special, Ciel.” She was looking at Thomas as she said that last par
t, and added, in her soft Southern drawl, “Don’t fuck it up, sugar.”

  Good advice, I figured, from one who knew whereof she spoke.

  Billy had, of course, forgiven me for bashing up his car even before he knew I’d been drugged—which spoke volumes about how much he cared for me—but I felt better about our chances for a successful relationship now that we both knew I wasn’t batshit crazy.

  The game was winding down. After one last throw to Molly, they all trooped over to the blankets spread out in front of us, Thomas sitting beside Laura and Billy dropping down next to me. Everyone grabbed a drink, and all the guys wiped the sweat from their faces with their shirts. I handed Molly a napkin before she followed suit. Somebody had to be a good role model for her.

  “What did you guys pack for us to eat?” Billy asked, digging into one of the picnic baskets Laura and I had provided for the whole gang. “I’m starving.” The rest of the guys joined in, each claiming to be more ravenous than the next, sending Molly into fits of giggles with their hyperbole.

  When Billy got to the fresh, late-season raspberries he must have added when I wasn’t watching, he gave me a knowing look, the devil peeking out from behind those lush lashes as he opened the bag.

  But I was ready for him. From the basket closest to me, I pulled out a big jar of kosher dills—slowly—giving him my sweetest smile. And then I licked my lips.

  He started throwing raspberries at me, a huge grin on his face.

  “Hey, don’t waste those—I want some!” Thomas said, which of course sent me into gales of laughter as I tried hard not to look at Laura’s chest.

  “You should definitely try some,” Billy said, tossing a few his way. “I highly recommend them.”

  “Food fight!” Molly yelled, ripping open a bag of chips and flinging them randomly at everyone.

  The lid of the pickle jar was stuck, so I shoved it at Brian while dodging more flying berries. “Here—open this. Fast!” He gave it a quick twist and handed it back to me. I dug in, and held one high. “Aha! I gotcha now,” I cried, pointing it at Billy.

  “What?” James said, looking perplexed. “Pickles trump berries?”

  Billy raised a brow, winking at me before answering him. “Well, I suppose you might think so.”

  I was laughing so much I could barely catch my breath. “Stuh-hhhop. Please. Just stop.” I sat hard on the blanket, then fell over backward. Damn, it felt great to let loose. Laughing that hard is almost as good as sex, with the added benefit that you usually won’t get arrested for doing it in public.

  Billy plopped down beside me, leaned over, and kissed me lightly. Thomas didn’t even flinch—another benefit of his relationship with Laura. When I’d finally told him about Billy and me, all he’d done was take Billy aside and explain seventeen different ways he could legally kill him if he ever hurt me.

  Molly looked on in glee. “Mom and Auntie Ro are going to be so excited when they find out about you guys!”

  I shuddered. God, I was so not ready to have my new relationship exposed to that double whammy of maternal scrutiny. I liked things just fine the way they were. “Mol-ly … remember your promise. Billy and I get to decide when to tell them, nobody else.” I included the rest of them in my stern look.

  “I have no problem with that,” Thomas said, taking Laura’s hand.

  “Ha! Of course you don’t. You still haven’t told them about Laura yet, you big chicken,” I said. (I know. But it’s okay—my brothers are used to my hypocrisy. I’m sure they think of it as a charming quirk.)

  “It’s purely out of concern for Laura. I think she should be stronger before she’s subjected to more of my relatives. Why, one of Mom’s casseroles alone could set her recovery back by weeks.”

  “And if Mommo felt compelled to crochet her an afghan…” Billy started, and the rest of us finished with a groan.

  “Hey,” Laura said, verbally elbowing her way into the conversation, “I happen to adore your mother’s afghans. Ciel told me one of them saved my life.”

  We all sobered at the memory of how close we came to losing her.

  Thomas kissed her hand. “For that reason alone they’ll be forever beautiful to me.”

  Brian sprang to his feet. “Later, gators. I’m outta here.” He took off at a jog.

  “Wait a minute,” I hollered after him. “Where are you going?”

  “To find a girl!”

  I smiled. “Heeee’s baaack.”

  *

  We ran all the way up the stairs to Billy’s place, in a hurry to further explore raspberry and pickle possibilities now that we were alone. Thomas had whisked Laura off to the hotel that was her temporary residence until she was able to return to work. (If she returned to work. Thomas could be persuasive. And persistent. On the other hand, Laura had that Steel Magnolias backbone. I’d have to give them even odds.)

  James had promised Molly a carousel ride after lunch, and would drop her off at home afterward. Billy and I were still chortling about our narrow escape from the park—if James had forgotten about Molly’s propensity for motion sickness, he would likely be reminded of it soon. Really, you’d think such a brilliant man would have a better memory.

  Billy took the last few steps backward, hauling me up with him. At the top, he swung me around and set me on the floor in front of him. Smiling, I tilted my face up for a kiss—I couldn’t get enough of his kisses—and was knocked out of the moment by the look on his face.

  I turned to see what could stop Billy in his tracks like that, expecting, at the least, obscene graffiti spray painted on his door. Or maybe more crime-scene tape. Possibly another body.

  Turned out to be worse.

  “Sweethearts!” Mom said at the same time that Auntie Mo sang out “Darlings!”

  They reached down and lifted a giant basket between them. “We brought champagne and caviar,” Auntie Mo said. “Let’s celebrate!”

  I threw a panicked look at Billy. The shock in his eyes was retreating, replaced by rapidly advancing amusement.

  “Who’s the rat?” he said, a lot more calmly than I felt. “Wait, let me guess. Molly?”

  Auntie Mo shrugged.

  “How’d you get her to spill?” he asked. I couldn’t seem to find my voice.

  “I’m her mother. I asked. She answered.”

  Billy raised one eyebrow and quirked his mouth, wordlessly expressing his skepticism.

  Auntie Mo’s eyes crinkled at the edges in a gotcha smile she didn’t allow to reach her lips. “I ungrounded her. And bought her a Wii.”

  Mom smiled brightly. “And I gave her something called ‘Rock Band’—don’t look at me like that, Mo. It was for a good cause.”

  “Yes, but did you really have to include the drum set with it?”

  Okay, chalk one up for maternal ingenuity. Molly could hardly be expected to hold out against bribery like that. And it was impressive how well she’d kept her lapse contained during our picnic. Still, I was going to have a little talk with her about generational loyalty. I mean, she hadn’t even given us the opportunity to outbid them.

  “Never mind that,” Mom said, her eyes alight. “Now, let’s go in and plan.”

  Auntie Mo nodded, a matching determined gleam in her own eyes.

  Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no … I definitely wasn’t ready for this. I snaked my hand into the front pocket of Billy’s jeans and grabbed his keys. Turned and raced back down the stairs, Billy hot on my heels.

  “Ciel Colleen Halligan, you march yourself right back here!” my mother yelled down the stairwell.

  “That goes for you, too, William Seamus Declan Doyle!” Auntie Mo hollered. Huh. Both middle names—she meant business.

  Billy grinned when he caught up with me just outside the building. Grabbed my hand, and said, “Come on. I know a place they’ll never find us.”

  I smiled back, grateful he understood. Maybe I really could fall in love with this guy.

  Acknowledgments

  This is where I get to bl
ame everyone I interacted with while writing this book for anything that’s wrong with it, right?

  Wait, that’s probably not nice. Downright rude, really, and definitely not fair. I mean, most of them had no idea I was using them as research material, so they can hardly be held responsible for what I pilfered from their existence and threw into my book.

  By the way, if you think you—yes, I mean you—recognize yourself in this book, you’re wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. That’s not you. (Okay, maybe parts of it are you—only the good parts, I swear!—but it’s all mixed up with a lot of parts from other people, too. It’s like … Franken-you! And no, I won’t say which one of you is the ass.)

  Well, that was an awkward start. Maybe I’d better begin again.

  Ahem. I’d like to thank my brothers for providing insight into sibling relationships, as well as years of practical experience in that arena. If Ciel’s interactions with her brothers come across as authentic, it’s because I know brothers.

  (Not that my brothers are anything like Ciel’s, let me hasten to add. While it’s possible that some of my brothers have a few of the characteristics of her brothers, those characteristics are all shuffled up and in no way reflect any one real person. Well, except the “good-looking” part, of course. That applies to all my brothers. But, as far as I know, none of them are adaptors.)

  I’d also like to thank the rest of my family, blood relatives and in-laws, for their support of my writing, and for being all-around good people. Plus, they don’t expect me to cook much. I like that about them.

  My critique partners and beta readers deserve way more than a mere mention in the acknowledgments, both for their genuinely helpful feedback and for putting up with my writing-related neuroticism. But for what it’s worth, here goes: Susan Adrian, Tawna Fenske, Emily Hainsworth, Julie Kentner, Kris Reekie, Elise Skidmore, and Tiffany Schmidt, you guys rock!

  A big thank-you goes to my editor, Melissa Frain, for her special brand of magic. She has a knack for recognizing what a manuscript needs most and conveying it intelligently. A good editor’s contributions are largely invisible to the reading public (or should be), yet so very indispensable.