Quick Fix (8 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t think of him like that, not now. Not that I would consider … even if he weren’t— Stop laughing! And why aren’t you jealous, anyway? Don’t you even care that I totally ogled him before I found out he was gay?”

“I probably would be jealous if I thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell of you throwing yourself at the guy. But you’re not that kind of person.”

“Huh. Maybe I should find out what I’ve been missing.”

He shrugged. “You’re human. It’s normal to find a little variety intriguing.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Listen, Ciel, I can give you all the variety you ever want.”

What?
Was he offering what I thought he was offering?

Duh. This was Billy. “Is that why
you
want
me
? Because I can change into your whim of the day without you having to bother with seduction? Huh. Efficient.” I should’ve been mad, and I was, but mostly I was insecure. I looked away from him, feeling stupid.

“Ciel, look at me. No, not at my shoulder. At me.” He lifted my chin and waited until I met his eyes before he continued. “I’ve had enough variety to know it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I want you. Only you.
As
you. You, on the other hand, haven’t been sampling. I’m not naïve enough to think you wouldn’t eventually wonder what else is available out there. I’m just saying there’s a safe way for you to experiment, if you ever want to.”

God, what an offer. “You are unbelievable, you know that? You think just because you’ve gorged at the great big hookup smorgasbord everybody must want to? Geez.”

He cocked his head, pondering. “I wouldn’t say ‘gorged.’ Supped until replete, maybe. But there’s definitely room for dessert,” he said, finishing with a wink.

I heard a noise from across the lab. Molly must have woken up and started back in on the games. “Maybe I better get a hotel room.”

*   *   *

Back at Billy’s (he having talked me out of staying at a hotel—okay, maybe not
talked,
exactly, but his tongue was involved, so close enough) I looked around surreptitiously for signs of a female presence. Near as I could tell, the only women’s paraphernalia around belonged to Billy, for use with his female auras, so whoever his guest had been had done a good job covering her tracks when clearing out.

Not that I cared.

The condo was a large, open space, heavy on the black and modern. The kitchen took up one corner, separated from the rest of the room by a gray granite-topped breakfast bar. A comfortably spacious bathroom and a huge walk-in closet fit into the area under his sleeping loft. The leather and steel décor wasn’t what I would’ve chosen, but it suited Billy.

I wasn’t sure how Billy was going to handle the sleeping arrangements, so I dumped my suitcase on the couch.

“I’m taking a bath,” I said as soon as I pulled out some clean clothes. I wanted to scrub that phone number off my arm so I could quit adapting it away.

“Great. Can you take care of Molly while you’re at it? She could use a little freshening up herself.”

“You want me to take a bath with an ape?”

“Well, I can’t do it. I’m her brother. It wouldn’t be seemly.”

“It’s not like you’d have to be naked to give her a bath. I’m sure she won’t be traumatized.”

“Look at her.” Billy gestured broadly, his arm following his sister. Molly was running around the condo, jumping up onto every available surface, climbing the stairs to the loft, and swinging from the railing. The longer she was in orangutan form, the more apelike she was becoming. “Do you think she could take a nice, calm bath without soaking whoever is with her? At least you’ll already be naked. You can dry off more easily afterward. Besides, it’ll save water. Sharing baths is the green thing to do.”

I set my face. No way was I sharing my bubble time with a hairy little creature, even if she was my cousin.

“Come on, cuz. Please? I’ll cook dinner for us if you do.” His eyes were beseeching.

“Oh, geez. You are going to owe me big-time, pal. Come on, Molly. Bath time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. When this is all over, I’ll give
you
a bath.” He flashed his dimples and headed for the kitchen.

The bath with Molly turned out to be a lot more fun than I thought it would be. We used loads of bubble bath (I did not let myself question why a full-grown man would have such a large assortment of sweet-smelling bath products on hand—I knew I probably wouldn’t like the answer) and turned the jets on low to keep the froth lively. Molly decorated first herself, then me, giving us puffy white hair and beards. We squished masses of iridescence through our cupped fingers, making bubble volcanoes that shot out of the tub. I figured if Billy was going to blame the mess on Molly, we might as well make the most of it.

When we were done, I pulled two large, plush bath sheets from the linen cupboard (the ones already hanging on the heated towel bar were soaked, for some strange reason) and wrapped us in them. Molly looked adorable peeking out from between the folds, with only her wise eyes and snub nose showing. I hugged her close, rubbing her back briskly.

“What do you say, Molls—shall we go for the full treatment?”

Billy’s blow-dryer had three settings: low, high, and hurricane. I did Molly first, leaving her soft and fluffy, with orange hair punked out on the top of her head. She loved the warm air blowing over her and twirled wildly with arms extended skyward, like a ballerina on crack.

I was applauding one of her more expansive pirouettes when a
bang!
interrupted playtime, making me jump. Either a car had just backfired in Billy’s living room or somebody had fired a gun. I turned off the dryer and parked Molly on the toilet (lid down, of course), told her to stay put, and edged the door open.

The living room was empty. I couldn’t see into the kitchen from where I was, so I crept out, gingerly shutting the door behind me. I didn’t need a diminutive fur person playing Watson to my Sherlock.

Something—instinct, a sixth sense, whatever—kept me from calling out to Billy. Instead, I padded toward the kitchen, ducking to stay out of the line of sight until I was safely behind the breakfast bar. When I peeked around it, the first thing that oozed into my field of vision was blood, garnet black against the dark floor.

I stood at once and rushed into the area screaming,
“Billy!”

But it was a woman laid out against the opposite side of the bar, one hand clinging to the handle of the cutlery drawer. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Flat, leather sandals showed off her pedicure. As I stared in shocked horror, her eyelids fluttered open and her lips formed the word “help.”

Galvanized, I grabbed a dish towel off the counter and pressed it to the expanding blood spot just above and to the right of her navel. There was a wound on her back, too, so I reached for another towel and covered it, applying pressure as hard as I dared. She’d been shot through and through, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the front or the back. I just knew that if I didn’t slow the bleeding, she’d be dead before I could find out who she was.

“Billy!” I hollered again. “Where are you? I need you.
Now,
damn it!”

No answer. I let go of the towel and disengaged the woman’s hand from the drawer. I lowered her gently, counting on her body weight to keep the towel pressed firmly against the back wound, and placed her hand on the towel in front.

“You keep holding this right here,” I said to her. “You hear me? Hold it tight. I have to get a phone.”

A clatter on the breakfast bar above me alerted me to Molly’s presence. She dropped a cordless handset on me. Smart monkey.

I was about to dial when I heard a voice coming from the phone: “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” Molly had already dialed for me.

“A woman has been shot. She’s bleeding. Hurry!” I said, and verified Billy’s address. I disconnected as soon as the dispatcher told me help was on the way, swiping the phone across my bath towel before I laid it back on the counter. My fingers were still covered in blood. I wiped them off, too. Which was silly, because they got bloody again as soon as I touched the woman.

Who was she? And, geez, what was I supposed to do with her until help came?
Think, Ciel.

What I really wanted to do was call Mark. But I didn’t dare take the time—if she didn’t bleed to death, shock could still kill her. What were you supposed to do for shock? Keep her warm, right?

Okay, blankets. I ran to the living room. On the sofa was a throw cover Auntie Mo had knitted for Billy when she was stuck on bed rest with one of her pregnancies. God, she’d kill him if he got it stained.
Crap.
What the hell was I thinking? It was there. I needed something now. I grabbed it. It was as ugly as sin, anyway. A few bloodstains couldn’t make it any worse.

I laid it over the woman, checking her wound as I did. It was still oozing. Oozing was better than gushing. I was afraid to lift her to check her back. The pressure from her weight on the wadded-up dish towel might be all that was keeping her from bleeding out.

“Thanks, Ciel.” The words were thready, spoken so softly I couldn’t be sure I’d heard my name. I stared at her face, really looking at it for the first time.

“My God … Laura? Is that you?”

It was. The long, auburn hair was now black and severely short, with eyebrows dyed to match. Or had the auburn been the dye job? But her forest green eyes were exactly as I remembered them. Her lips and cheeks were devoid of their usual healthy color—
duh, Ciel, no wonder
—but it was definitely Laura. She was the CIA operative who’d recently helped Mark crack a neo-Viking terrorist ring. I’d met her in Sweden when my then-client’s fiancé got kidnapped by the group.

“Laura, what happened? What’s going on here? Who did this to you?”

“Well, I could tell you, sugar, but then…” She tried for a smile, but it was replaced by a grimace as she sucked in a breath.

I was glad she still had her sense of humor, but killing was not something I wanted to contemplate, even in a punch line.

“Don’t talk. Help will be here soon.”

“Ciel, tell Mark…”

I took her free hand. “Quiet now. Save your breath.” As much as I wanted to know what she had to say, I was more worried about her dying. First things first.

“Tell him he was right.”

Her eyes fluttered shut again, and I felt panic grip my chest. I had to fight the urge to shake her, to yell at her to stay awake. The wail of a siren getting closer penetrated my growing bubble of fear, easing it some.
Thank God.
Maybe now my head wouldn’t explode.

“Forget it,” I said, babbling anything, trying to will her into consciousness. “His ego is big enough without letting him think he was actually right about something. You just hang on, and when you’re better I’ll help you come up with a reason he wasn’t right. I’m good at reasons. Reasons are my specialty.”

She didn’t respond.

“Laura?
Laura?
”

I heard the door behind me open, and then Billy was there. He pushed me aside and checked under the throw, setting his mouth grimly at the bloody sight.

“Jesus,” he said.

“The ambulance is almost here. Police, too, I imagine. I heard the siren,” I said.

“What?”
Billy avoided police like kids avoid brussels sprouts. His aversion was instinctive and strong.

“I had to call for help. Look at her—she could die.” I whispered the last part, and hoped she couldn’t hear me.

He gathered himself. “Right. You did the right thing. Let me think for a second.”

His eyes went someplace far away; the sirens got louder. They were almost here.

“Billy, what’s going on? Who shot Laura? Why does she look different? Is she on assignment? With you? Is she the one you had to meet?”

He ignored my questions. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take Molly and get the hell out of here. Take her back to the lab. Or, if you can’t get in there, take her to James’s apartment. Come on, hurry!”

He took my elbow and lifted me away from Laura.

“But I’m wearing a towel!”

“So throw some clothes on, and do it fast. Where’s Molly?”

“I don’t know. She was there a second ago. Molly—where are you?”

“Never mind. I’ll find her—you get dressed. Molly! Get your furry little butt over here.”

*   *   *

Billy put Molly in the stroller while I dressed in record time. No underwear, no bra—couldn’t take the time. Just jeans, T-shirt, and flip-flops. Trust me, going commando isn’t as liberating as you might think. I didn’t want to contemplate the places I was likely to get chafed.

I left the building just as the cops and medics were arriving. One of the officers—a young guy, maybe a rookie—held the door for me, and took a second to ask me if I’d heard any gunfire. Fortunately, he didn’t look too closely at my well-bundled baby, partially hidden by the stroller top.

“You mean a little while ago? I think I heard something, but I’m not sure it was a gunshot. I just thought it was a car backfiring. Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“Could be, ma’am. Stay alert.”

“I’ll do that.”

I pretended to hail a taxi, but waved the driver on as soon as the police were in Billy’s building. After crossing the street at the nearest corner (didn’t want to risk getting picked up for jaywalking with Molly in tow), I eased into the shadows between two buildings and waited. I had to see if Laura was okay, if she was still alive when they brought her out.

The medics came out first, pushing Laura on a rolling stretcher. She had a mask on her face—oxygen, I supposed—and an IV in her arm. They loaded her efficiently, turned the siren back on, and were gone in a matter of seconds. I sagged with relief. Worried though I was, at least I knew she was now where she had the best chance at survival.

My relief was short-lived. As the ambulance neared the end of the block, two policemen walked Billy out of the building, his hands cuffed behind him.

Chapter 9