Quick Fix (30 page)

The makeup artist touched us up every few minutes, blotting shine or adding glow as necessary, per the photographer’s orders. What the difference between “shine” (bad) and “glow” (good) was, I hadn’t a clue, but I bore with it, reminding myself that at least my bank account would be substantially healthier at the end of the day.

We wound up at the Conservatory Garden, next to the Untermyer Fountain, where Devon, Mom, and I held hands and danced like the three maidens in the statue.

“Now for the money shot!” Lumière yelled.

Devon seemed to know what he meant, and started twirling faster, his customary sexy pout replaced with a wide smile. When he had us sufficiently disoriented, and situated in just the right spot, he let go of our hands. Mom and I tumbled backward into the fountain pool.

I came up sputtering. “Shit on a shingle! Why the hell did you do that?” I yelled.

“Keep going!” the photographer shouted, switching cameras with one of his lackeys, and shooting away.

Mom, who’d looked every bit as surprised as I had been, recovered quickly and got into the playful Zen of the moment. She beckoned to Devon, who, to his credit, stepped right into the water and held out his hands to resume our warped game of Ring Around the Rosie. I, of course, took the first opportunity to trip him.

“Fantastic! Beautiful!
Perfect!
” Lumière proclaimed.

Well, yeah. I thought so. But I resisted the urge to bow.

Lumière’s directions continued, loud and fast. “Stand up, Devon. Shake your head. Good … now, all of you hug! That’s right. Now look at me. Make
love
to the camera!”

It’s hard to be sultry when your dripping-wet beehive is straggling around your face, but for Mom’s sake I tried. Think I managed pretty well, too, until Devon, his mouth close to my ear, whispered, “Which Halligan are you?”

What the fuck? He knew?
My mouth fell open.

“Perfect!”

*   *   *

While Mom was in the back of the van changing, I dragged Devon aside. “Just what did you mean by that?”

“Scrappy. You must be Ciel.”

Crap.
“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re not making any sense. Have you been taking something?”

“Nice try, but I don’t use. My body is a temple, and all that.” He said it with an ironic twist of his lovely lips, but I suspected he meant it. You don’t maintain looks like his without a certain reverence for the flesh.

“Maybe somebody slipped something into your wheat germ smoothie when you weren’t looking,” I tried.

“Give it up, Ciel. I know who you are and what you can do.”

I was about to panic when it hit me. “Billy?”

He laughed. “Took you long enough, cuz.”

I slugged his arm. He yelped.

“Hey, don’t blame me. It was
your
mother who called me in a tizzy because she couldn’t find Devon anywhere.”

“Why would Mom call you about Devon?”

“She didn’t. She called me to find out if I knew why James wasn’t answering his cell phone. When I told her I hadn’t a clue, she begged me to track down Devon using whatever nefarious means I had at my disposal—what on Earth does she think I do, anyway?—and haul his ass to the shoot. When I couldn’t find him, I did the generous thing and took his place. It was the least I could do for my dear aunt.”

“Whoa. Mom said ‘ass’?”

“Of course not. She asked me to ‘escort him firmly.’ I was paraphrasing.”

“So why didn’t you tell me who you were sooner?”

“Because, my darling twit, at first I thought you were my mother. I do
not
want Mommo to know I did this for Ro. God knows, I don’t need either one of them thinking I’m available for this sort of thing in the future.”

Okay. I could buy that. “But after you saw my cell phone?” I pressed.

His violet eyes glinted with a suspiciously Doyle-like shine. “Well, after that it was just fun.”

I wound up for another slug, which he easily blocked, taking me in his arms and pinning me for a kiss. After a token resistance, I joined in. It
was
Billy, after all, and if I was honest, I
had
been curious. The luscious mouth might have been Devon’s, but that thing he did … well, that was pure Billy. And it got me every freaking time.

Chapter 25

“Never again, Mom.”

We were back at the parental homestead, Immie and Krissie dropped as soon as we were through the door. We’d each had a hot shower, and I was curled up next to her on the deep, overstuffed, red velvet sofa, my head on her lap as she stroked my damp hair.

While in the bathroom, I’d returned James’s call. Fortunately, after Devon—or rather, Billy—had discovered my phone at the shoot, I’d stowed it with my street clothes, so it hadn’t been dunked along with me. All James had wanted was to find out how it had gone with Auntie Mo, and to ask if Molly’s aura was holding. I reassured him that Mo hadn’t killed me and that Molly hadn’t resprouted any fur, and hung up without going into Devon’s lack of job responsibility. That wasn’t James’s problem.

On the limo ride home I’d asked Mom about Devon. “Oh, he’s one of your brother’s friends,” she’d said, and explained how she’d met him one day when she was delivering a calamari casserole (with sweet cream drizzle—urk!) to James’s apartment. She’d been blown away by his beauty, and had given him one of her business cards. They’d worked together several times since, though he was under the impression she just owned and operated the agency, and didn’t realize most of the models he worked with were her.

She was a little afraid he might not prove to be reliable, since she’d had to send Billy to find him this morning. But she supposed that was just his artistic temperament, and he
had
apologized sweetly for his tardiness (must have been when I was getting sewn into my dress), so she guessed she could make allowances. Especially since he was such a good friend to James.

She hadn’t gone into what kind of friend, and apparently didn’t know about the breakup (and possible subsequent make-up), so I hadn’t, either. Time enough for all that when things settled down.

“I mean it this time. No more photo shoots,” I stated. Firmly.

It was part of the ritual we went through after every job I worked with her. I complained; she listened. She’d think something was seriously wrong with me if I didn’t whine about it.

“Yes, dear,” she said, and patted my cheek.

“No, really. I’m
not
putting on one of your model auras ever again. Something always goes wrong.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You can’t make me if I don’t want to, you know,” I said, and snuggled closer, stifling a giggle. It hadn’t been that bad. She knew it, I knew it, and she knew I knew it.

She tucked one of Auntie Mo’s ugly afghans around me. “Of course not.”

“If Dad doesn’t have to, I shouldn’t, either. It’s only fair.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sweetie,” she said, her voice soothing, like when I was a little girl and upset about something. Usually Billy teasing me, or one of my brothers not letting me tag along with him wherever he was going.

“So you won’t ask me to do it again?” It was always worth a shot.

“Not unless there’s an emergency, dear.”

I sighed. “You’re still going to expect me to help out, aren’t you?”

“Well, it pays very well. And you do need the money.”

There
was
that about it. “So, do I get extra for the dunking? Like hazard pay or something?” She expected that, too. I
always
asked for more money. I keep hoping she’ll get tired of giving it to me and stop asking me to help. Hasn’t worked so far.

“I’ll see what I can do, dear.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

*   *   *

When I woke up I was alone on the sofa, ugly afghan still tucked around me. Mom had replaced her lap with a pillow, and had gone on to the next item on her agenda, whatever that might have been. Probably cooking dinner. I just hoped like hell it wasn’t calamari casserole.

Billy was supposed to call me after he tracked down the real Devon. No word yet, so I assumed Pretty Boy was still AWOL.

I yawned and stretched until my bones creaked. I still hadn’t heard if Brian had found Suze, either. Mark was supposed to be on that. Maybe I should call him and ask.

He picked up on the first ring. “Are you okay?” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “What’s going on? Did you find Brian? Did he have Suze? Where are you?” (I liked to get in as many questions as possible before he started not answering them.)

“Where are
you
?” he said, ignoring my questions. (Huge surprise.)

“At home. I did a job with Mom today.”

“Good. Stay there.”
Click.

I stuck my tongue out at the phone screen. “Mom?” I hollered. “I’m going out. Don’t keep dinner for me!” I was through the front door before she could answer.

*   *   *

Two blocks away, the Volvo shot past me on the other side of the street, screeched through a U-turn, and pulled up next to me. “Get in, Howdy.”

Mark looked only mildly annoyed as I buckled my seat belt. “Didn’t I tell you to stay where you were? I could have missed you.”

“Yeah, well, you might have mentioned you were coming to get me. I thought you were telling me to stay put while you went about your merry business,” I said, a little grumpily. It’s not like it was an unreasonable assumption.

“Like I’d think that would work without handcuffs.”

I decided to take that as a compliment. “So, what’s going on? Did Brian find Suze?”

“Nope. He found a good-bye note, and her stuff gone. She must have cleared out when you guys were performing.”

“Why, that bitch! What a sneak. Do you think she knew we were on to her?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Is Brian still…” I tried to think of the right word. “Angry” didn’t seem to cover the transformation I’d seen in him. “…
not
Brian?”

“He relaxed a little after we found out Monica wasn’t dead. I think he felt responsible for that somehow.”

“But that’s just stupid—it wasn’t his fault at all. How was he supposed to know Suze was a killer?”

“Monica isn’t dead,” he reminded me.

“I know that. But … hell, what’s going on with that, anyway? Did Suze only pretend to kill her? Why would she do that? And Monica
must
have been in on it—she’s the one who had to play dead.”

“Good questions. I’m getting closer to the answers, but for now…” He paused and gave me one of his rare soft looks. “Ciel, I want something from you.”

Eep!
I swallowed. “Mark, you know Billy and I are … um, well, we’re…”

His smile turned rueful. “Yeah, Howdy, I’m aware.” Something in his tone told me he still wasn’t entirely happy with the situation. Is it bad that it gave me a little thrill to realize that? It’s tough to let go of a decadelong crush all at once.

“What, then?” I asked, proud of myself for not agreeing before I’d even heard his request, like I would have before. Guess I really was learning to let go, if a little slowly.

He didn’t speak for a moment, negotiating through traffic with some maneuvers that left me breathless while he kept a close eye on the rearview mirror. After he settled on a street a few blocks away, he said, “I’m taking you somewhere—”

“Your place?” I’d been there only once, with Thomas, ages ago. It was a tiny apartment in a crap neighborhood, but that was deceptive. It was like a geode—ugly on the outside, a total jewel on the inside. Every luxury and high-tech amenity you can imagine was crammed into a twelve-by-twenty efficiency unit.

He gave me a sidelong glance. “Would you come to my place?”

My cheeks warmed and my heart sped up. I cleared my throat. “Probably not a good idea.”

“Yeah. Probably not. So I’m taking you somewhere else, and I’d like you to stay there—”

“Uh-uh, no way are you locking me away somewhere out of some misguided—”

“Calm down, Howdy. I’m not going to lock you away anywhere. I’m asking you—nicely—to lay low for a short time, that’s all.” He paused. “Please.”

I set my chin stubbornly. “There’s no reason—”

“There could be. Listen, Howdy…” I could tell he was struggling with himself over how much to tell me. “I’ve moved Laura to another safe house, here in Manhattan. Earlier today, I put Molly there, too. With Mo’s permission, of course.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “
She
didn’t give me any shit about it.”

“Molly? Why would you do that? Is she okay? She hasn’t—”

“Molly is fine. I just want to make sure she stays that way.”

“Okay, I’m not following you here, Mark. Why did you move Laura if she was already in a safe house? And what about Monica? Wasn’t she there, too?”

“I had to leave Monica where she was—they were sitting on her too tight, afraid she’d get scared and bolt. I didn’t even have a chance to question her. As for Laura—frankly, I wanted her away from all of them until I’m sure about what’s going on. So I moved her someplace that nobody knows about.”

“Nobody?”

“Only me. It’s my own special bolt-hole.”

Okay, now I was really starting to get concerned. “Why is this necessary?”

“Look, not everybody where I work can be trusted. Let’s just say there are some factions within factions that might not have the adaptor community’s best interests at heart. I thought I’d insulated us pretty well, but even the best firewalls can be breached.”

“Who? Is it Harvey? Thomas doesn’t seem to like him at all,” I said.

Mark tensed. “No. Harvey and I have an understanding.”

“Who then?”

“Your client.”

“Thelma?
Thelma
is CIA?”

“Upper echelon, on a par with Harvey. Big-picture stuff. Doesn’t usually involve herself in the day-to-day operations. Until, I think, now.”

“Why now?”

“Could be as simple as professional jealousy. She doesn’t like it that Harvey has me in his camp. She’d like nothing better than to have her own pet adaptor. The deal Harvey made with me has always annoyed the hell out of her.”