All Fixed Up (11 page)

“Of course I am. Thomas is a domineering ass and Brian, God help us all, is an indie band member whose only redeeming quality is that he doesn't play bass. Why wouldn't I be your favorite?” Humor glinted in the green eyes that were mirrors of my own, his affection for our mutual brothers obvious.

Mark acknowledged the teasing with a smile. “Listen, if you're going to be here with Ciel, maybe I better get going. Think you could see her back to your parents' place when you're done?”

“Does this have anything to do with what Mom told me about Mason Pickering? You think it's connected to Aunt Helen somehow?” James asked. I felt a pang at the mention of Aunt Helen, and Mason, too, though I'd barely known him. “Is Ciel in danger?”

“To answer all your questions, yes, don't know, and not necessarily. But like I keep trying to tell your sister, caution doesn't hurt.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” I said, sounding more grumpy than I intended. I needed some time to myself to take the stupid pregnancy test so I could stop worrying about
that.

“Don't get pissed, Howdy. It's only until we find out who's behind the murders,” Mark said.

“It's a stupid waste of your resources. Geez Louise, I just decked
you
! I think that proves I'm perfectly capable of getting myself where I want to go when I leave here without a man's help.” Which wasn't going to be back to my parents' house, though I didn't feel the need to mention that.

Both of James's eyebrows had shot up at my declaration about Mark.

“Not on purpose,” I explained. “He startled me—I didn't know it was him.”
A common problem for me
, I thought wryly.

“Listen, if Billy thinks you're wandering off someplace on your own—no matter how capable you are of taking care of yourself—he'll be useless to me.”

Okay, that got my attention. Billy was doing something for Mark? “Did he really go to D.C. to meet with a client? He's not going after Loughlin on his own, is he? Is he okay?”

“He's fine. Yes, he went to meet with a client—we didn't lie to you, if that's what you're worried about. But I did ask him to scope out NASA's headquarters while he was there, to see if he could dig up anything useful on Loughlin.” He paused, looking at me intently. “Howdy, I need Billy's head in the game, so we can finish this up fast. It won't be, if he's worried about you.”

“Damn it,” I said, lowering my voice even more. The emotion still came through loud and clear. “I should have gone with him. I'm the one who has Loughlin's aura. Did you ever even consider that
that
might be handy?”

“Cool your jets, slugger.” Mark stroked his jaw. “Billy was already down there when I thought to send him to NASA. It's a long shot. And he couldn't use Loughlin's aura anyway—what if he'd run into him? I promise to keep you in mind if we need the aura. But it won't be happening today.” Mark finished with one of his devastatingly appealing smiles. Seriously. Half the men in the gym were drooling over him.

James looked around, and announced to the room in general, “Forget it, guys. He's straight.”

There was a chorus of groans, but it didn't take them long to get back to the serious business of maintaining their temples.

Mark hadn't taken his eyes off me, and I have to admit, it was hard to resist the pull of his smile. Besides, I knew if I didn't agree, he'd stay with me himself, and I didn't want to keep him from his work. “All right. James, may I hang out with you today?”

“Happy to have the company, sis. I promised I'd go shopping with Devon after we're through here, and he'd love to spend time with you. He's always saying how he wants to get to know my family better.”

Gah
. Shopping? Was this retribution for lying to my mother? I glanced heavenward.
Go for the thunderbolt next time, Big Guy. It would be more merciful.

*   *   *

“Last stop, I promise!” Devon the Gorgeous pulled me into the baby store by my elbow. He used to say he was bisexual because it would have been too cruel to deprive either gender of his company. (I think he was teasing.) These days he had eyes only for James.

I dug in my heels. “Guys, I'm all shopped out”—absolutely true—“and I'd only slow you down. Why don't I wait for you out here? Oh, look, there's a bench.”

“Nonsense. It won't take a minute. We absolutely must find something fun for your new niece or nephew,” Devon said.

I shifted the four shopping bags I carried to my other arm. “No, really. You go ahead. I'll find something for the”—I swallowed hard—“baby later.”

James gave me a small shove, juggling his own bags. “Come on, sis. If I can do this, you can, too.”

Crap. And I'd been doing so well up until then. Hadn't thought about any uncomfortable what-ifs since I'd chased down the waitress at breakfast and changed my coffee order to decaf, asking her not to mention it when she brought it to the table. James might not notice what I drank, but Devon tended to be a lot more observant about people than my brother.

The splitting headache I was getting from caffeine withdrawal wasn't helping my nerves any.

Since breakfast we'd hit what felt like every store at the Long Island outlet mall Devon had insisted had the best bargains. I'd joined in on the shopping with determined merriment. As long as I had to do this, I might as well get my own Christmas shopping out of the way, or at least part of it. The tie I'd found for Billy (with lumps of coal on it, each one printed with the word “naughty” in different fonts) almost made the trip worthwhile. Between the tie and the kitschy assortment of Christmas bathroom decorations I'd found for Mom, the wad of twenties Billy had pressed on me ran out pretty fast, but I could replace them as soon as I laid hands on my wallet again. Which, granted, wouldn't be until I stopped avoiding Laura.

God, Ciel, grow up already.

I took a deep breath and marched myself into the store, secretly starting to hope Loughlin would show up. Dealing with a possible killer would be less painful than fake-smiling at infant paraphernalia.

Devon was oohing and aahing over miniature clothing, soft toys, and crib accessories that made
me
want to scream and run the other way. Even James had a besotted expression on his face he normally reserved for the contents of petri dishes.

“If only we knew the gender of the baby,” Devon lamented, fondling a tiny leather jacket with “Heck's Angels” printed on the back. “Then we'd know whether to get the lettering in pink or blue.”

“Well,” I suggested, antsier than ever to leave, “if we
waited
until…” I trailed off when a petite woman who looked about my age rounded the corner of our aisle, pushing a double stroller with twin boys, one with spiky blond wisps of hair, the other sporting a head full of brown curls.

I gasped, assailed by a horrible new thought. Then, to my everlasting mortification, right there in the middle of a happy crowd of holiday shoppers, I burst into tears.

 

Chapter 9

Back at James's apartment, seated on his comfortable overstuffed sofa between him and Devon, I reiterated for the umpteenth time that I was fine, maybe a little overtired was all, and possibly affected by the combination of Thomas and Laura's baby news and the murders of Aunt Helen and Mason. That kind of emotional pendulum was enough to overwhelm anyone, right?

Only they weren't buying it. James, even if he didn't quite believe me, would probably have left it alone. He respected people's privacy to a ridiculous extent (something I loved about him, even if I didn't share the trait myself).

Devon, however, was another matter. I could tell by the dangerous combination of concern and curiosity in his lovely violet eyes that he wasn't going to let it go. He was tucking one of Auntie Mo's ugly afghans (a relic from her yarn phase—we all had them) around me in a mother hen-ish way so far from his usual sex-on-a-stick persona I almost couldn't recognize him.

“It is a lot to take in all at once, I know,” he said gently. “James, why don't you make your sister a drink? It's cold out there—maybe a hot toddy?”

I sat bolt upright. “No! I don't want a drink.”

Surprise and alarm flared on James's face. Oblivious he might be, but even he knew I rarely refused a drink at happy hour.

“It's okay, sis. You can stay here tonight. I'll call Mom and let her know. I'll tell her we're wrapping presents or something.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That would be great. Only do you maybe have some”—gak!—“herbal tea?”

James screwed up his brows, examining me with new interest, like I was one of his lab specimens. “Sure. Devon, could you see what we have? And start the kettle?”

Devon seemed reluctant to leave the room, but, after a pointed look from James, went to make my tea. James, once we were alone, took my hand awkwardly. Dealing with strong emotions wasn't within his usual purview. We sat there for several minutes, being quiet. I'd chalk it up to sensitivity on James's part, but I suspected it was more him trying to come up with a rational way of dealing with an obviously upset female.

Eventually he spoke, his voice calm. Soothing. Careful. “Ciel, what's really wrong? We're all upset about Aunt Helen and Mason—naturally so—but this is something more, isn't it?”

It was the steady, concerned look on his face that did it. This was my reserved brother who always held himself in check, not only with me, but with the whole family. None of us doubted his love, but we all understood he wasn't at his most comfortable displaying it overtly. He was more at home with the cut-and-dried, provable or disprovable aspects of scientific study. Facts were clean. Emotions were messy.

I tried to think of a good excuse. Even surreptitiously crossed the fingers of the hand he wasn't holding, in case I had to outright lie. But when my mouth started moving, something even more horrifying than crying like a baby in front of all those strangers at the mall happened: I told him the truth.

“I'm afraid I might be pregnant and I don't know who the father is, and what if it's twins, and they're
both
the father! Is that even possible? Because if it is, and I am, and they are—oh, God, I am so screwed!”

I
know.
The words spilled out of me, surfing a tsunami of guilt and fear.

There was a crash. James and I jerked our heads around to see Devon, mouth open, tea tray at his feet, broken china scattered, and steaming liquid spreading in puddles. The delicate aroma of grassy citrus hit me, and I burst into tears for the second time that day.

*   *   *

“It was a completely understandable mistake. No one could possibly blame you,” Devon said, patting my hand.

The three of us were at the small kitchen table, James having decided the mess on the floor could wait until after the mess who was his sister was cleaned up. Knowing how difficult that must be for someone of his orderly nature made me feel even worse. But he'd insisted.

Devon had quickly brewed more tea. This time he'd served it in sturdy mugs. Guess he had a pragmatic side.

I'd completed, with great difficulty, my halting explanation of how I'd inadvertently mistaken Mark for Billy, under the tipsy assumption that Billy, well aware of my decade-long crush on Mark, had decided to help me get Mark out of my system by satisfying any lingering curiosity causing me to cling to an old fantasy. (Trust me. It had made perfect sense at the time.)

“I mean, who
wouldn't
assume that?” Devon continued. “Right, James?” he prodded.

My brother still looked stunned, but was manfully trying to hide it from me. He nodded, probably wishing he'd never come to the gym that morning, longing no doubt for the test tubes and microscopes of his lab.

“Of course. Yes, perfectly normal assumption, I'm sure. Er, does Billy know?” he added delicately.

“That I might be pregnant? God, no. How can I tell him? He doesn't even want kids!”

Devon handed me a tissue, which I automatically raised to my cheeks. Shit. This was all so
stupid.

“I think what your brother was asking is if Billy knows about the, um, confusion with Mark.”

I blew my nose. “Oh. Yeah. Yes, of course he does. I wouldn't keep a thing like that from him.”

James, still looking uncomfortable, said, “And Mark? Does he…?”

“Yes. He knows, too.” I looked from James to Devon and back again. Sighed. “To answer the question you're both being too polite to ask, yes, they were both mad at me. But they got over it. Even—kind of—understood how it could happen.”

Devon smiled, a touch of his more familiar sauciness sparking in his eyes. “Well, as long as we're being all open about things, why would Mark take you to bed if he knew you and Billy were together? Admittedly, I don't know him well, but it doesn't sound like him. He's always struck me as stick-up-your-ass honorable, if you'll pardon the expression.”

“Devon! Please,” James said. “Of all the things to ask.”

“What? It's relevant. And you want to know, too, you know you do.”

“It's okay,” I said. “Apparently, Mark's feelings toward me have … evolved. He may have been under the impression I was reconsidering my relationship with Billy, and when I, um, kind of”—I couldn't bring myself to say “threw myself at him”—“when I made my intentions for the evening known, he …
gah
, this is all so embarrassing. Damn it all to fucking hell!”

I threw my tissue down next to my mug. James handed me a fresh one. I took a deep breath and pushed forward.

“Look, I thought Billy and I were playing a game. You know, like those role-playing things you read about? Dress up like a pirate, put on a French maid's outfit, that sort of thing, only more realistic.”