by Linda Grimes
My stomach gave a minor heave but was quickly soothed by a deep breath of fresh sea air. “Sounds like you’re familiar with it,” I said. Wet work was an apt description. Odd how the motion of the waves didn’t bother me at all, while the mere thought of … yeah. Best not go there.
Billy patted my back sympathetically. “He did the same thing to me before he let me work a job with him. I, of course, didn’t puke.”
I quirked my mouth at him and stole another peek at Mark. The way that man’s muscles ripple should be banned in polite company, I thought, holding back a hungry sigh. That would never do in front of Billy. He teased me enough as it was.
“Of course you didn’t,” I said. “You grew up on a steady diet of illicitly watched slasher movies. It obviously desensitized you. Anyway, I only threw up a little.”
Okay, so I’d puked my guts out. But “little” was a relative term and therefore not inaccurate, especially if you stacked it up next to the time back in high school that I’d snuck out with some girlfriends, killed a bottle of strawberry wine, and topped it off with a cigar. My quality time in the bathroom with Mark had been minor compared to that adolescent fiasco.
“And, besides,” I went on, knowing full well I was overembellishing but unable to stop my tongue from moving, “it was more than likely a touch of food poisoning. Never trust an all-you-can-eat sushi bar.”
Billy’s eyes sparkled with unreleased laughter. “Bad sashimi, no doubt,” he agreed, graciously not calling bullshit on my fib.
Which wasn’t technically a fib at all when you really thought about it. I hadn’t said it was definitely food poisoning (hey, for all I knew, it might have been—who really knows how safe those airplane snacks are?) or that I’d dined at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar, only that one shouldn’t do that in general. Which is perfectly sound advice.
“You just keep on enjoying your ‘dolphin’ watching, shorty,” Billy said, and then he gave me a speculative look. After a minute, he bent down to whisper in my ear. “Don’t give up, cuz. I’d lay odds you’ll be in Mark’s arms by the end of the day.”
“Ha. Yeah, right. I wish,” I said. Trying to hide my crush on Mark was pointless. It wasn’t like Billy wasn’t perfectly aware of it.
“No, I mean it. I can just see you held by those bulging biceps. In fact, I’d put money on it. Or, since you’re technically still a poor college student—”
“After which I’ll be an even poorer graduate,” I interrupted to remind him there was no point in trying to con me out of any cash.
He acknowledged the truth of it with a nod. “We can wager something else. A favor, maybe.”
“Uh-huh. I thought so. You want something. Did you ever consider just asking for it? Maybe I’d do it out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Yeah, but then I’d owe you, and I’m much more comfortable being the owe-ee than the owe-er. Besides, a bet is more sporting.”
“Mm-hmm. Do go on.”
“Well—just offhand—let’s say, if I win, you will accompany Molly and her annoying little friends to the make-a-teddy place I promised to take them to next week. As me, the doting big brother, so I get the credit.”
Aha. Knew it had to be something like that. Now, I liked spending time with Molly, and part of me actually thought constructing stuffed animals might be kind of fun. Then again, I knew Molly’s friends. “Annoying” was an understatement.
“And if I win?” I asked. Which I thought was much more likely, considering.
“Then I’ll haul all your crap home from campus. Deal?”
“Billy, it’s a sucker bet. You know Mark doesn’t feel that way about me. Are you trying to lose? Wait … that’s it! You’re hoping my roommate will be there, aren’t you? I saw the way you ogled her the last time you visited.”
His eyes widened innocently. “I’m shocked you could think such a thing.” Bingo.
“There’s always an ulterior motive with you. I told you—she has a boyfriend. You won’t get anywhere with her. You’d be hauling my stuff home for nothing.”
Billy smiled charmingly. “Then what do you have to lose?”
True. And I did have a lot of crap at the dorm. Also, I knew my roommate was moving out the day before I was, so there would be no ogling opportunity for Billy. Not that I saw the need to mention that.
And, a tiny, self-delusional voice whispered in my ear, what if Billy knew something I didn’t? Like, say, that Mark has only been waiting until I officially join the adult world to declare his undying passion for me? Or, you know, at least ask me out?
Hey, it could happen. Besides, either way, it worked out okay for me. In Mark’s arms or Billy hauling my crap. Win-win.
“Deal,” I said, and I shook his hand before he could back out.
Billy tugged my ponytail and hollered over to Mark, “You want a beer? I’m heading down.”
Mark finished securing the anchor and joined us. “Sure. Hey, wait a sec—while I’m thinking about it, do you have anything lumberjack-hipster handy? I have an assignment in Portland and don’t have a thing to wear.”
In a flash, Billy sprouted a full beard and lost a good twenty pounds. “Will this do for you?”
“Perfect.” Mark grabbed Billy’s forearm and duplicated him instantly, holding on until the energy had been adequately absorbed into his own system.
I leaned over and laced my fingers through Billy’s other hand, capturing some of the energy myself. You never know when a fresh aura might come in handy.
These energy transfers happen all the time with aura adaptors. It isn’t as freaky as it sounds. We’re completely normal human beings, except for one tiny quirk—a genetic mutation that allows us to alter our auras to look like other people. It’s an energy thing, not a shifting-flesh thing, which is why it can happen so fast. Honestly? I don’t really understand the biology behind it. My brother James, the genius in the family, has tried to explain it to me on more than one occasion, but his technical mumbo jumbo tends to fly right over my head. Frankly, I find it easier just to think of us as human chameleons and leave it at that.
It’s an especially handy trait for Mark, of course, given all the undercover work he does for Uncle Sam, and why I’d thought, before Mark and the toilet bowl convinced me otherwise, that I’d be perfect for the same job.
Billy’s use of our special talent is typically less … laudable, shall we say? Not that he would hurt anyone, exactly, but he’s not above separating stupid and greedy people (his words, not mine) from their assets. I’d say he was Robin Hood–esque, only I’ve never seen evidence that the booty makes it into the hands of the deserving poor.
As for me … well, I’d been so sure of what I wanted that I hadn’t given a thought to alternate plans, while Billy (who’d graduated a semester early, the show-off) had already settled into his dubious career. He made tons of money by giving people exactly what they thought they wanted. In between his own jobs, he helped Mark with assignments that required more than one adaptor. Mark would hire him full-time in a flash, but Billy didn’t like to be tied down.
It’s possible my long-standing “I can do anything you can do” relationship with Billy had something to do with my decision to try for an agency job. I still believed I could do it too—only perhaps not without barfing on a regular basis. I might be a tad competitive with Billy, but I don’t like barfing even more than I don’t like losing.
So, now that “Superhero Spy” was no longer a career option for me, I was back at square one. All I knew was, I wanted to help people somehow. Not that I was a saint—far from it—but giving people a hand made me feel good, and I liked feeling good.
Considering my reaction to just hearing about blood and guts, medical school probably wasn’t a good option. And given the state of my hormones when I was around Mark, becoming a nun likely wouldn’t work for me, either. Teaching? No, thanks. I was about to get out of school. The last thing I wanted was to wind up in another classroom, even on the power side of the desk.
Billy, back from below with the beers, had a suspicious glint in his eye when he handed me mine. So I took his instead, popped the top, and was immediately doused with the spray erupting from the can. I sputtered, glaring murder at him.
He grinned, jumping back a step, exhibiting two charming dimples—defensive weapons that didn’t work on me. I knew him too well.
“That was the one I accidentally dropped,” he said disingenuously. “I was going to keep it for myself and wait for it to settle before I opened it.”
I grabbed the can he’d originally tried to give me, shook it, aimed, and had my revenge. And, yeah, okay, by then, I was laughing. That was the thing about Billy—it was impossible to stay mad at him.
Mark, standing safely out of the splash zone, said, “Looks like it might be time for a swim.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Billy said, and he promptly threw me overboard. He dove in after me—a shallow-water dive, since the bay wasn’t deep where we were anchored. Mark pulled off his shirt and followed seconds later.
After a few minutes of us all paddling around and splashing each other, Billy swam up behind me, lifted me by the waist, and said, “Hey, Mark—catch!”
“You’re such a cheater!” I yelled as I flew through the air.
Mark caught me and held me tightly, if briefly, to that bare, wet, and totally ripped chest.
Oh, hell. Cheating or not, it was worth it.
***
After a picnic dinner on deck, Mark sailed us back to Annapolis, where he docked the boat and headed off to a mysterious appointment. I chose to believe it was job related and not a date. I mean, his good-bye had seemed more tender than usual. It was basically the same as always—a quick hug and a kiss on the top of my head—but his embrace had felt tighter, and his lips had quite possibly lingered on my hair a few seconds longer than they typically did.
Plus, he had whispered in my ear before he let me go. Sure, maybe “Don’t worry, Howdy—the right job will come along” isn’t exactly the sexiest thing a man can say to a woman, but the way he’d said it …
Okay, so maybe my fevered imagination is too easily stirred. When your whole love life exists between your ears, you have to draw on what you can for inspiration.
Billy gave me a ride back to Thomas’s townhouse. I now had two days ahead of me to spend stressing about impending unemployment instead of celebrating a new career.
“You sure you don’t want to come along, cuz?” Billy asked, referring to his date, which he’d told me about during our forty-minute interlude in his rental car. (As if Route 50 wasn’t painful enough without being reminded how inadequate my social life was compared to his.) He spent as much time in D.C. as he did back home in New York and had girls lined up everywhere. “I’m sure Katherine has a brother or an ex she can fix you up with; we can make it a double date.”
“Fun as that sounds … no. And I thought you said her name was Kathleen.”
He shrugged, a merry twinkle in his black-lashed eyes. “Did I? Guess I’d better call her Kathy, just to be on the safe side. Come on—you need to get out more. Relax, have a little fun.”
True, but that didn’t mean I was up for a pity date. “Can’t. I have finals coming up. I should hit the books.” Not that I would, mind you. Careful phraseology: the asbestos that keeps my pants from catching on fire.
“Want me to take any of them for you?” he offered. He’d do it too—as me—and ace them. Of course, then I’d hear about it until I drew my last breath.
“You trying to make up for foisting Molly and her hoodlum friends off on me? No, thanks. I’ll muddle through my exams somehow without cheating,” I said pointedly.
He smiled broadly, not in the least perturbed by my implication. “Now, now. Don’t be a sore loser. It’s not my fault you didn’t consider all the loopholes before you wagered your valuable time.”
I shot an evil grin back at him. “Loopholes, huh? In that case, don’t be surprised if there are sightings of you at the make-a-teddy place picking your nose and wearing that darling chartreuse sweater-vest your mom knitted you for Christmas last year.”
His eyes narrowed menacingly. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Not only would I dare, I’ll make sure there’s photographic evidence,” I said, feeling more gleeful about the situation.
He pulled up in front of Thomas’s condo, looking like he couldn’t decide between laughing and shoving me out of the car before it stopped rolling. Laughter won. “You’re learning, cuz. Guess I’ll be chaperoning Molly and the brat pack myself.”
He pulled my ponytail by way of good-bye, waited until I was safely at Thomas’s front door, then peeled out with a merry wave. Poor Kathy might be destined for heartbreak, but at least her journey there will be exciting, I thought with an indulgent smile. Billy could—and most often did—drive me crazy, but I never for an instant doubted his friendship.
“Ciel? Is that you?” Thomas called as soon as he heard me close the door.
He met me in the front hall, looking every bit the rising legal star he was. He took after our dad, which made him medium tall, medium dark, and over-the-top handsome. He’d probably paid more for the suit he was wearing than I had for my entire wardrobe. (Granted, jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies don’t cost all that much. But still.)
He looked a little peeved. He didn’t like not landing new accounts, and I knew for a fact he hadn’t added my phony contact to his client list.
“I thought you were coming next weekend,” he said after a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Did you? Huh. I must’ve had the dates confused.”
“You have a friend waiting. Mom told her you’d be here. Apparently, you told Mom the right date.” He led me to the living room, not seeming especially happy about my visitor.
When I saw who it was, I understood. Not that I felt the same way—I was thrilled.
“GD!” I shouted, pulling her into a hug that could have been embarrassing, considering my nose accidentally landed in her cleavage, but it wasn’t. We’d known each other since we were the self-proclaimed Royal Dorks of the Seventh Grade. She’d been Giant Dork, and I was Tiny Dork, abbreviated as GD and TD, because initials were dorky cool. I hadn’t seen her since she’d gone off to college, but the years evaporated as soon as my eyes landed on her. Golden-haired, tall, and slim, she’d outgrown her dorkiness a lot better than I had.
She laughed. “TD, I swear to God, if you motorboat me, I’m going to kill you.”
I snorted, pretty much achieving exactly what she’d warned me against. I pulled away hurriedly, but it was too late—we were both helpless with laughter. We fell onto the expensively distressed leather sofa, unable to gather ourselves until Thomas cleared his throat. Then the disapproving look on his face set us off again.
“Can I get you something to drink, Ciel?” he said, more resigned than impatient. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around the two of us together about a million times before, all through my middle school and high school years. “Addison, may I freshen yours?”
Addie pulled herself together before I did. “Thanks, Thomas. I still have plenty.”
I looked from my now flushed and slightly disheveled friend to my impeccable brother. “I’ll have what she’s having,” I deadpanned—which, of course, tipped us over the edge yet again.
While Thomas fixed my drink (cranberry juice with a splash of club soda, our seventh-grade favorite—the most sophisticated drink we could think of back then), I asked Addie what brought her to D.C. “Shouldn’t you be out in Bumfuck, Idaho, finishing up your degree and banging your cowboy? I thought we were meeting up back home after graduation.” Her mother still lived in the same Manhattan neighborhood as my parents.
She waited to answer until after Thomas handed me my drink and escaped upstairs with one last mildly disapproving glance at me. He liked to pretend his baby sister didn’t know words like Bumfuck and banging.
Once
he was safely out of earshot, seriousness washed over Addie, chasing away all vestiges of giddiness. “I have a favor to ask. A huge one.”
“You got it,” I said without hesitation.
“Maybe you’d better wait until you hear what it is.”
“Anything,” I said. “You know that. You don’t even have to ask—just tell me what you need.”
She let out her breath, relaxing by a fraction. “You’re the best, Ciel. But this could be asking too much, even for a fellow Royal Dork.”
“Oh, come on. Nothing is too much to ask of a fellow Dork.” I made my dork face at her, hoping to lighten her up again.
She hesitated.
“Damn it, GD, just tell me already. Don’t make me motorboat you again,” I said sternly.
A smile flitted across her lips. “Okay, here goes.” She took a deep breath. “I need you to kill somebody for me.”
I laughed. She didn’t.
“Wait, are you serious?” I said. Thinking back to my conversation with Mark earlier, I had to tamp down a wave of nausea. I had a fresh understanding of how to go about killing someone and a newfound desire never, ever to do it.
A spark of devilish humor flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before it could reassure me. “No, I’m not. But I thought anything I asked after that would seem easy by comparison.”
My eyebrows rose on a wave of relief. “Now you have me curious. Spill it.”
She nodded once as if convincing herself to go ahead. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “You remember when my dad died?”
I nodded. Addie’s father had been an adaptor like my parents—one of the reasons she and I had bonded as kids. He’d been killed in a car accident when we were in high school. Her mother was not an adaptor, and Addie took after her. If she was at all envious of my ability, though, she had never let it show.
“Things were okay for a while after that. I’m not saying it was easy, but we managed. Until Queen Bitch of the World showed up on our doorstep and wouldn’t leave, that is.”
