by Linda Grimes
working out even better than I’d hoped. I doubled over and stuffed half my hand in my mouth to keep my howls of laughter
contained.
“Ha-fucking-ha. Come on. Get those rayon rags off right now. Don’t worry—you haven’t got anything under there I’m not
already intimately acquainted with.” He didn’t wait for me, but unbuttoned my blouse and yanked on my sleeve.
I sat down hard on the plush bath mat. I couldn’t help it—my legs stopped working. My hand dropped away from my mouth
as I tried to steady myself, and I’m afraid some unqueenly guffaws may have escaped the confines of the room.
Within seconds the door swung open. Trey’s eyes widened when he saw us there, me splayed on the floor, one arm puled
upward by Bily’s attempt to disrobe me, and Bily bent over me, reaching down my back to unhook my bra. We froze.
“What’s going on in here?” Mark looked positively flummoxed. Mr. Unflappable himself. Not much, but it was something. I
supposed it was time to come clean.
But first I had to enjoy it a little more. “Care to join us, big guy? The more the merrier.”
Bily was the first to recover. “Trey! Help me. I think Edith has had a stroke or something. She started talking nonsense and
ripping at her clothes. I thought I’d better get her to lie down.” The boy was quick.
Mark was over me in a flash, pushing up my eyelids to look at my pupils, moving one finger back and forth in front of my face
to see if I could track it. “Can you smile for me, Edith?”
No problemo. In fact, I was having trouble not smiling.
“Good. Now can you lift both your arms for me at the same time?”
I did.
“Great. Now can you tel me how you’re feeling?”
“I’m feeling like you’re a big jerk, Mark.”
His eyes narrowed, and Bily jumped in with, “Mark? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
Mark looked over his shoulder at Mina. “I’l explain later, Ciel. Or maybe I’l let Bily here do that.” He stood up and booted
my royal posterior. Not hard, but stil.
“Ouch! I’m not Bily. I’m Ciel. Mina is Bily.”
Mark looked from me to Bily and back again. “At the risk of repeating myself, what the hel is going on here?”
I puled myself up and shrugged, rebuttoning my shirt. “Nothing. Bily stole Mina from me and wouldn’t give her back, so I had
to take the Queen—” Something occurred to me. “Hey, did you know Trey might be Mark al along?” I asked Bily. If he had, I
was gonna kil him. Twice.
“I did not. If I had, I never would’ve gone after him.”
“Thanks a lot. See if I ever hire you again,” Mark said.
“Only because I’d have trusted you to get out of the mess yourself,” Bily explained, with a pretty Mina-smile, and then turned
on me. “In any case, you shouldn’t have folowed me. For God’s sake, you saw me take the gun. I had it covered.”
“Yeah, wel, it didn’t look ‘covered’ to me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Jesus, Ciel, I’d just gotten there. I was stil assessing the situation.”
I got right up in his pretty face, and jabbed his shoulder with my age-spotted hand. “Right. Because it’s so easy to ‘assess’
when you have a gun pointed at you. If you’d tried to go for yours, you could’ve been kiled, and Trey—I mean, Mark—too!”
“I had it under control,” he said, voice escalating to match mine. “Mark would’ve been free in another minute even if you hadn’t
arrived when you did, and believe me, the two of us wouldn’t have had any difficulty taking down the Swede.”
“And how in the hel was I supposed to know—”
A piercing whistle made us both wince. Trey’s ocean-blue eyes were stormy, and the non-Chiclets were nowhere in sight.
“Both of you—quiet.” We obeyed. Very few people didn’t obey Mark when he used that tone. For the space of two hard looks
—one for Bily and one for me—there was silence. “Now, then,” he said at last, softening it with a hint of amusement around his
eyes. “I’m hungry. What do you have to eat around here?”
*
Half an hour later Mark, Bily, and I were seated around the glass-topped dining table, drinking beer, ready to chow down on
newly delivered pizza. We had closed al the blinds and dropped our assumed auras as soon as the delivery boy left, a huge smile
on his face at the size of his tip. Al things considered, it was just less confusing to be ourselves for a while.
Since there was a severe shortage of men’s clothing around the place, Bily was wearing Edith’s pink flannel robe, and Mark
was stil in Trey’s bathing suit. I’d snagged one of Mina’s new outfits for myself, a floaty, multicolored drawstring skirt and
matching spun-rayon tank top. The top was big and the skirt way too long, but it was miles ahead of anything in Edith’s wardrobe
style-wise.
Yes, I’m short. My own hair is strawberry blond, my eyes are pale green, and “voluptuous” is not a word you’l ever hear
associated with my true form. Try to ignore the freckles. I know I do.
Mark, looking too damned delicious in Trey’s trunks, glanced at the clock on the wal. His build was similar to Trey’s, but his
hair was a darker blond, and his eyes a shade of gray that oscilated between dove-soft and cold as steel. His features were sharp
and rugged. If Trey brought to mind country clubs and polo, then Mark made you think back aleys and street fighting. Seeing him
in his own form never failed to make my hormones do the happy dance. Bily’s dark curls and dimples were probably, from a
strictly objective point of view, every bit as swoon-worthy, but the pink robe tended to detract from that.
Bily’s voice interrupted my mini-reverie on Mark’s physical virtues. “Nice job at the warehouse, cuz. Your screams sounded
so authentic.” One of his hands crawled across the table toward me, squashing any hope that my reaction to the spiders would
go uncommented upon.
“That hand gets any closer, and I swear to God I’l smash it,” I said, my mostly ful beer can held poised for attack. Mr. Crawly
retraced his steps.
Mark gave my shoulder a squeeze, looking at me with what could have been pity, but I chose to believe was sympathy and
understanding. He let go too quickly to suit me, and turned his attention to systematicaly devouring slice after slice of a Meat
Lover’s Special. Between bites he griled me about everything Trey-and Mina-related.
“… so, was there anything—anything at al—in Mina’s dossier that might point to a non–Agency-related reason for Trey’s
abduction?” He timed the final question to coincide with his last swalow of beer.
“No,” Bily and I answered simultaneously.
I glared at Bily, who flashed me his best dimples-and-lashes look of pure innocence. Note to self: beef up security at my
office.
“Okay,” Mark said. “But we better look at it again. I’l have a copy sent over in the morning. In the meantime, I have to go
check on our new friend.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head (a waste of good lips), ruffled my hair, and was Trey again
before he got to the door.
“Wait a minute,” I caled after him, my mind backspacing to what he’d said about Mina’s dossier. “You mean to tel me you
have a copy of Mina’s file, too?” Damn it, was there anyone who didn’t have access to my office?
“Later.” He lifted one hand in a casual wave, without turning around, and let himself out.
I turned to Bily, who was studiously selecting his next slice and avoiding my eyes. “Bily,” I started in conversational tone, �
�how
did Mark get the file from my office?”
“About that…” He cleared his throat and took another swalow of beer before continuing. “Wel, you see…” He looked at me
and must’ve seen the murder in my eyes. I’m no good at hiding my feelings when I’m in my natural state. “I suspect he has people
for that sort of thing, don’t you? Clerical help.” He took a humongous bite of his new slice.
“Did you give a copy of Mina’s file to Mark? Or did you make him steal his own?”
He chewed thoughtfuly, taking his time before swalowing. “There’s no good answer to that, is there? I’m screwed either way.
You probably won’t even be mad at Saint Mark, you’re stil so besotted with him.”
“That is not true!” I felt my cheeks flame.
“Is so. Why else do you think you were so attracted to Trey? You’ve worked plenty of jobs with good-looking men, and never
turned into a quivering mass of hormone-rattled goo before. You were obviously picking up on his underlying Mark vibe.”
Oh, my God—was it true? Did I subconsciously know it was Mark al along? Was I realy that miserably stuck on him? I spat
a piece of thumbnail into my napkin. Shit. I hadn’t even been aware I was chewing it. I pushed my chair away from the table, not
hungry any longer.
“Don’t worry, cuz. Your secret is safe with me.” He leaned back, a smug look on his face. Probably because he had
successfuly diverted my ire from his wavy-haired head.
“You’re being ridiculous. If I was attracted to anyone, it was Trey. Mark is too good an adaptor to let any of himself slip
through. If I responded at al, and I’m not saying I did—”
“Right.”
“If I responded, it was a purely physical reaction to a nice male specimen. That’s all.”
“God, you’re cute when you’re mad. By the way, I like your hair short like that, sticking out al over, kind of post-modern
punk.”
My hands flew to my head and smoothed my flyaway tresses. I’d gone short since the last time Bily saw me—but not, I stress,
“punk”—in hopes it would make me appear older. Wearing my hair long had made me look about fourteen, and I was sick of
getting carded in bars. I was also sick of my cousin’s barbs.
He winked. “Unclench your fists, cuz. I’m not wearing a cup today and I’m feeling rather defenseless.” His eyes softened,
losing their teasing glint. “I meant what I said. You’re adorable, you know that, right?”
I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Uh-huh. I’m irresistible. Just ask Mark.”
“He cares an awful lot about you.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m the little sister he never had.” I grabbed the pizza box and trudged toward the kitchen. “You have no idea
how frustrating it is to realy, realy like someone who only sees you as an annoying relation.”
Bily gathered the empty beer cans and folowed me. He crushed them one at a time and tossed them in the bin while I shoved
the leftover pizza into the fridge. “So, you ‘realy, realy like’ Mark, huh? You mean, like, like like?”
I had to admit it sounded pretty juvenile. “God. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
“Absolutely,” he said, draping an arm over my shoulder. “But on you it works.” He kissed my forehead and walked me back to
the living room.
“If I’d had half a brain when I was growing up, I’d have gradualy adapted myself to be tal and curvaceous as soon as I was
through puberty. Now everybody in the family knows what I realy look like, so I can’t do anything about it.” I shrugged out from
under his arm and sprawled backward on the couch.
“Not even you can hold an aura forever, Supergirl. Somebody would have caught you eventualy,” he said reasonably, sitting
next to me and puling my feet onto his lap. Gaaaah. There is nothing better than a foot massage, except for chocolate, and
maybe sex. I felt my whole body relax as he worked the arch of my left foot with strong, gentle fingers. Make that a big maybe on
the sex. Nothing I’d experienced in that department thus far came close to being as good as a foot massage. He switched to my
right foot. “Now, which speech do you want—‘Appearances Are Shalow’ or ‘It’s What’s on the Inside That Counts’?”
I felt a tug at the corner of my lips. “Neither. I’d rather bitch and moan some more.”
He went on massaging. “If you must. But could you give me a heads up when you’re done, so I’l know when to start listening
again?”
I peered at him from beneath half-closed lids. “It’s easy for you, you know. You’d be singing a different tune if you stil looked
like your sixth-grade school picture,” I said, just to be evil.
He laughed in good-natured agreement, and started in on my toes. “Not a good year for me. If I’d been capable then, I’d have
gone to school every day looking like the teenage heartthrob of the week.”
I suppose it’s just as wel our talent doesn’t emerge fuly until adulthood, even if it does make middle school hel. “What about
now? Are you realy as gorgeous as you look? You aren’t fudging it even a tiny bit?”
“You think I’m gorgeous? I’m flattered.” He batted his eyelashes so fast I could almost feel a breeze.
“Oh, come on. You know you are—why else would al those women chase you? Stop avoiding my question. Do you cheat or
not?”
He hesitated. “Wel, there is one part of me I alter on occasion.”
“I knew it!” His eyelashes. It had to be his eyelashes. “What is it?” I sat up eagerly, but kept my feet where they were. They
didn’t want to leave yet.
“Promise you won’t tel anyone?”
“Yes. Now spil.”
“If you must know, Miss Nosy, it’s my”—he turned away from me, pained—“my manhood.”
I poked him in the bely with my big toe. “Oh, come on. Get serious.”
He looked wounded. (He did wounded wel.) “Fine. Be that way. See if I ever open up to you again,” he said, with just the
right amount of hurt in his voice, so I knew he was ful of shit.
“Goly gee, Tiny, I’m sorry. It was insensitive of me not to take you seriously. Hey, I got some e-mail the other day that might
help with your problem. Want me to forward it to you?”
“It’s obvious you don’t understand the true nature of my dilemma. The fact is, if I don’t scale it down to normal proportions, I
demoralize my pals at the gym and frighten the women I date.” He laughed when I roled my eyes, and shoved my feet off his lap.
“My turn. Time to pay the piper.”
“It’s realy not a fair exchange, you know,” I pointed out after he plopped his feet onto my thighs. “There’s a lot more acreage
here than you have to cover with me.”
“Whine, whine, whine. Shut up and knead.”
At least they were nice feet, clean and wel kept. I applied myself as assiduously as he had, tit for tat. The temptation to tickle
was strong, but I knew from experience I’d never come out ahead in that game. “When do you suppose Mark wil be back?”
“Why? Planning on waiting up for him?”
I shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.” He laughed and wiggled his toes, drawing my hands to where he wanted them. “Wel, it
does involve Mina,” I said, tackling each little piggy in turn. “I should know what’s going on. Aren’t you going to wait up?”
“Nope. Not my client. I’l be sleeping the sleep of the blessedly conscience-free. You can have Mark al to yourself.”
*
“Howdy?”
I jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice, quiet though it was. “
Howdy” was his childhood nickname for me, short for Howdy
Doody, who had more freckles than I did when I was ten, but not by much. Leafing through magazines—and, okay, maybe
dozing a tiny bit—I hadn’t heard him enter the bungalow. Super Spy was just that stealthy.
“Sorry,” he said, sitting next to me sideways, one knee up, ruffling my hair before he draped his arm over the back of the sofa.
“Didn’t know I’d be so late. You should’ve gone to bed.”
He was fuly dressed now, having gotten hold of some faded jeans and an equaly faded Hawaian shirt. On him, faded looked
good. (Admittedly, I’d never seen anything on him that didn’t look good.) I tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and
stretched, stifling a yawn. “I wanted to talk to you. What’d you find out?”
“Not much. Yet. I’m taking the Swede back with me on a company plane—I just stopped by to leave Bily some travel
clothes, and both of you new passports. ‘Trey’ and ‘Mina’ are booked on a flight tomorrow—we’l talk more about it when
you’re back.”
Wel, that was quick. Guess it pays to have connections in high places. “Did you get in touch with Trey? Does he know Mina is
okay? If he heard about the explosion, he’s probably worried to death.”
“Not yet, but we wil. In the meantime, I have something for you.” He dug into his pocket and puled out a battered ring case.
Opened it and held it out to me. My heart thudded against my ribs, jolted by past fantasies of precisely this moment—Mark giving
me an engagement ring. Like an idiot, I stared at it, sparkling in the soft light of the table lamp. Mocking me.
“You gonna take it, or do I have to get down on one knee to make your job officialy complete?” he joked.
I took it and snapped the case shut. “Thanks,” I said, jumping up and heading to the guest room before he could read my face.
Not that he could have failed to realize my pathetic crush on him over the years, but I was kind of hoping he thought I’d outgrown
it. No need for him to know my girlhood passion blazed on. It was embarrassing enough that Bily was aware of it. “I’l just put it
with Mina’s stuff.”
He folowed, taking my arm and turning me back toward him. “Hold on a second. I have to go … hey, are you okay? What’s
