All Fixed Up

by Linda Grimes

  I called up the canines, managed to get a tear started, and ripped it the rest of the way with a good hard yank. It didn’t take Billy long to free his ankles and unwind the tape from my wrists.

  “Now what?” I said, untaping my ankles. The rumble of the vehicle made it plain we were moving at a good rate, so even if we could get the door open, it wasn’t like we could jump out and escape. At least I hoped that wasn’t what Billy had in mind.

  “Now we start looking for anything useful. You take that side. Feel every place—it’s too dark to rely entirely on our eyes. And be careful—you don’t want to ‘find’ the wrong end of something sharp.”

  We started at the front, working our way down both sides, laying hands everywhere from floor to ceiling. At the back corner I felt something plastic and boxlike, with a hinged lid. When I lifted the lid, there wasn’t much doubt what it had been used for. A camping toilet. When you kidnap two young children, you’d better have lavatory facilities close at hand. It looked—and smelled—like the kids had made use of it. Poor things. No telling how long they’d been kept in here. Good thing it wasn’t summer, or they would have roasted.

  “I found a portable toilet,” I said. “Used.”

  “Oh, good. For a second I thought it might be you, and I was about to be concerned.”

  “Shut up. What have you found, smart-ass?”

  “Half a case of water, some sodas, and what appear to be crackers. Where’s a good tire iron when you need it?”

  “Well, at least we won’t go thirsty. Or hungry,” I said.

  “Or wet our pants.” He made his way over to me and put a can of soda in my hand. “Drink up, cuz.”

  “I’m not thirsty.” Besides, I didn’t want to fill up my bladder. The idea of using the camping toilet was not appealing.

  “I need the can.” He’d already popped the top of his and was downing it.

  “Why?”

  He slurped out the last few drops, flattened the can in the middle, folded it back and forth a few times, and pulled it apart at the crease, after which he compressed the top and inserted it into the bottom, lining up the sharp edges and flattening them together. Then he wound some of the duct tape around the bottom and tested the grip. “Voilà! Sharp edge, relatively sturdy. Alas, not much good for stabbing, but if we get close enough to slice it’ll work brilliantly. Come on, drink up so we can make yours.”

  I felt a little dizzy at the thought. I’d had quite enough of slicing people. “Um…”

  “Cuz, I want you as armed as possible when those guys open the doors. We only have one shot at surprising them. If we screw it up, it looks like a trip to Russia for us. Don’t know about you, but I’d rather spend the holidays at home.”

  Good point. I popped my top, took a big slug, and almost spewed. “Grape soda? I hate grape soda. Ugh. It tastes like watered-down cough syrup.”

  “Really? Huh. Mine was cola. Sorry, I couldn’t see in the dark.” It wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see his grin.

  “I’d wipe the smile off your face if I were you, buster. I’m going to be armed in about thirty seconds.”

  He laughed and took the can from me, downing the rest of it before making my shiv. “Careful of the edge. It doesn’t look like much, but it will open up your skin like a razor blade. I found that out the hard way when I was ten and practicing my manly squashing of beverage containers.”

  I tested the feel of it in my hand. It was remarkably easy to grip by the bottom of the can, and if you held it right, it wouldn’t be obvious. Infinitely better than nothing, especially against two burly armed guys, but …

  I swallowed, memories of hot blood pouring over me flashing into my mind. “Billy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.”

  I felt two strong hands on my shoulders. “Ciel, you will be able to do any fucking thing necessary to get out of this. Because I can’t do it alone, not against both of them.”

  I nodded.

  “Now, they’ll still have their guns, and it won’t take them long to realize we’re no longer taped up. So, as soon as the doors open, we’re going to…”

  I listened attentively to his plan. “Simple. Almost Stooge-ian. I like it.”

  He laughed. “Stooge-ian? Since when do you appreciate the tremendous trio?”

  “Since Brian enlightened me as to their genius.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story there somewhere.”

  “Oh, there is,” I said, and proceeded to share, stretching it out, because no telling how much time we had to kill.

  * * *

  A leg-cramping stretch of time later, we sat close to the doors, occupying ourselves by playing Twenty Questions while we waited for the truck to stop. After Billy’s fourth turn, I had to laugh. “You can’t always be an erogenous zone.”

  “But there are so many good ones,” he said.

  “You’ll run out of them eventually.”

  He grinned wickedly. (Well, I assumed it was wicked. It was a little dark to say for sure, but it usually was in conversations like this.) “I haven’t yet, have I?”

  “Fine,” I said, and cut to the chase. No point in wasting questions. “Are you a body part?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you something I would be touching right now if we didn’t have to stay alert for our big escape?”

  “No. Although I suppose it’s possible…”

  “Yes or no only. Are you something you would be touching if we didn’t have to stay alert for our big escape?”

  “Definitely. Over and over and over again…”

  “Yes or no. Hmm. You’ve already been a dick—”

  “I believe the proper term is ‘penis.’”

  “That’s not what you called it. Now, shush. I’m thinking. You’ve already been a nipple and a ‘love bud’—speaking of proper terms.”

  “Come on. You have to admit it sounds much more appetizing than—”

  “Hush! Now, let’s see. Are you a vagina?”

  “Well, I prefer ‘tunnel of love.’ But, technically, the answer is no.”

  How I could giggle so much in this situation was beyond me. But that was Billy for you. “Are you located inside a vagina?”

  He groaned. “Don’t I wish!”

  “Is that a no?” I said.

  “No, it’s a yes.”

  “Are you difficult to find, and considered by some to be mythical?”

  “By amateurs maybe.”

  “Aha! You’re a G-spot!” I said triumphantly.

  “Congratulations! You got it in six. Your turn. Try not to be boring this time.”

  “National monuments are not boring. They’re educational,” I said primly.

  “Can you see me yawning? No? Trust me, my mouth is wide—” He cut himself off, tense and listening, all business in a flash. “The truck is slowing. Get ready.”

  I patted my soda-can shiv, reassuring myself it was within easy reach, and picked up another can, as did Billy. When the truck lumbered to a stop, we were as prepared as we could be.

  The lock rattled. We shook our soda cans. As the door started to move, I squeezed the tip of my finger under the ring of the pop-top. I squinted against the glare when the door rolled all the way open, pulling back on the ring with a nervous energy that ripped it right off the can. I aimed left, Billy aimed right. The spray hit each of our targets right in the face.

  Their hands flew up, trying to protect their eyes. The guns they held were, for the moment at least, not pointed at us. Billy dropped his can, grabbed his shiv, and rose to his feet in one smooth motion. I followed suit, though possibly not as smoothly. Dr. Phil’s body was taller than I was used to driving in combat situations.

  Billy jumped, kicking the gun out of Mr. Tall’s hand and knocking him to the ground. He had the shiv to the guy’s throat before the soda was done fizzing.

  I kicked, jumped, and somehow managed to land on Shorty’s back when he spun to go after his gun. He didn’t stop, not even when I put my shiv to his neck
. Argh. “If you make me cut you I will laugh as you bleed out! You hear me? Laugh.”

  Huh. Dr. Phil’s voice could sound creepy-scary when you pushed it, kind of like that possessed girl in The Exorcist. Who knew?

  Shorty froze. He seemed to take my threat seriously.

  Meantime, Billy had retrieved Mr. Tall’s gun after apparently deciding Mr. Tall needed a nap. Being otherwise occupied, I hadn’t seen what he’d done to put the big man so thoroughly to sleep. Could’ve been a Vulcan nerve pinch for all I knew. Whatever it was, I was going to get him to teach it to me as soon as we were out of this mess.

  “Why don’t you get the duct tape, kotyonok? But pick up the other gun first,” Billy said, reverting to Misha’s Russian accent, using the endearment I knew from Phil’s file meant “kitten.”

  “With pleasure, my love.” I pointed it at Shorty, enjoying the fear in his eyes more than I probably should. But I knew my schadenfreude wouldn’t last long. I just hoped the postadrenaline shakes held off until after the police arrived.

  Chapter 26

  Mark was sitting up in the hospital bed, champing at the bit to get dressed and get out, waiting to be released by the company doctor who’d been sent to see him. The doctor, a slight elderly man with more hair on his eyebrows than his head, was currently conferring with the ER doc who’d been taking care of Mark until Uncle Sam had taken over. They were waiting for lab results to tell them precisely what Rudy had given Mark. All Mark knew was that it had been injected with something like an EpiPen. He’d only been able to get in two or three good punches to Rudy’s midsection before blackness descended.

  Billy had called one of his Agency contacts right after we’d finished taping up our former captors, using way more tape than they’d used on us. (Intelligence: learning from your mistakes. Wisdom: learning from someone else’s mistakes.) He’d told the contact to get somebody out to the auditorium immediately, if not sooner. Mark and the venue proprietor had been found tied up and unconscious in a supply closet and brought to this hospital. Mark had awakened before we got to the hospital, and apparently hadn’t been the most genial and cooperative of patients, judging by the looks on the nurses’ faces.

  Once we’d been assured of some privacy in Mark’s room (the nurses were only too glad to leave him to us), Billy and I explained why Rudy had done what he did. Mark’s face had remained hard while we were talking, and even now I couldn’t pick up a clue as to how he’d be dealing with it. One thing was certain—he was not happy. Whether he would accept Rudy’s children being taken as a mitigating factor was still up in the air.

  The kidnappers were now in the custody of Agency officials. We’d stayed right where we were until the men in the black SUVs had shown up to take them off our hands. One of the agents had driven us to Dr. Phil’s house, where we’d dropped our assumed auras. Dr. Phil and Misha were both “invited” to come to a local Agency facility to answer some questions. Mark was currently frothing at the mouth to talk to them. To Rudy, too, though he’d apparently disappeared into the ether with Simon and Phoebe. Couldn’t say that I really blamed him.

  “Billy, could you do me a favor and track down my clothes? And my phone. I mean, I’ll walk out of here in this hospital gown if I have to, but I’d like it better if I can avoid mooning strangers in the elevator.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. For the sake of the strangers.” Billy grinned and left.

  Mark waited until he was safely out of earshot to address me, quietly. “Have you started your period yet?”

  Whoa. Blunt much? I felt a blush rising to my cheeks. “I … I … no. But I’m sure I will soon. The tests were all negative.”

  “You weren’t wearing your patch when we were together”—trust him to be so annoyingly observant—“and had received a dose of fertility hormones.”

  “True, but I’d only had the patch off for a short while. I’m sure I’m fine.”

  “Look, you and Billy have obviously worked things out. But I want you to know if there are consequences to the other night, and Billy isn’t okay with it, my offer still stands.”

  I swallowed. Twice. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. I’ll tell you when … um, when you can stop worrying.”

  “Why didn’t you get married when you were at the city clerk’s?” Again with the blunt.

  “Al or Candy?”

  “Both. They work for me. Did you think they wouldn’t tell me?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose not. Doesn’t matter now anyway.”

  “It does to me.” Mark’s eyes were intent.

  I sighed. “Al brought me flowers, and I realized I couldn’t get married without my dad walking me down the aisle. It wouldn’t be right.”

  He nodded. Understanding, I thought, but also a little … disappointed? Had he been hoping I hadn’t been able to go through with it for another reason?

  “Mark, listen—” I stopped myself when I caught sight of Billy in the doorway.

  He carried a short stack of clothing sandwiched between a pair of shoes on the bottom and a cell phone on top. “Where did you find this suit, anyway? Big Lots? Seriously, your hospital gown is more flattering.”

  Mark summoned a grin. “Are you dissing my fade-into-the-background working-stiff clothes? I’ll have you know I paid seventy-nine bucks for that suit.”

  “Worth every penny. As are your—Payless?—loafers.” Billy handed him the stack.

  “Thanks, bud. I owe you.”

  “You do. Ten dollars, to be precise. That’s how much I had to give an orderly to tell me where they were hidden.”

  “Why’d they hide your clothes?” I said.

  Mark twisted his mouth wryly. “It’s what they do when you threaten to leave against an Agency doctor’s orders. Okay, anyone who doesn’t want to see my pale fuzzy butt better leave. Wait for me downstairs. I may need you when I talk to Dr. Carson and her husband.”

  I stopped myself before I blurted out his butt wasn’t fuzzy at all, but from the amused look Billy was giving me, the thought might have been plain on my face.

  * * *

  Dr. Phil looked as shocked as I’d ever seen her. Misha was looking a bit gob-smacked himself. They were seated in a small parlor in a safe house on the outskirts of Houston, having a cup of coffee with Mark. They ignored the cookies on the coffee table.

  Billy and I were watching from behind a small two-way mirror. It was framed on the parlor side, and so looked more like a regular mirror. Still, it wasn’t likely to fool anyone with half a brain, and both of Mark’s “guests” kept glancing at it nervously.

  My eyes kept darting back to the cookies. They appeared to be chocolate chip, and not from the grocery store shelf either. Bakery, or possibly even homemade. How could anybody sitting next to those, sipping coffee, not eat one? Or, you know, half a dozen?

  “Is that your stomach growling, cuz?” The amusement in Billy’s voice was plain.

  Damn, I was starving. “Maybe. But a gentleman wouldn’t comment on it.”

  He hugged me from behind. “A gentleman wouldn’t do a lot of the things I do.” Leaning his head down close to my ear, he whispered the less-than-gentlemanly activities he had planned for later, some of which included feeding me cookies. And ice cream. Naked. Unless, of course, I preferred him to act like a gentleman.

  I squirmed. “It’s possible gentlemen are overrated.”

  Billy laughed and turned up the volume on the speaker a tiny amount. “Shh. I think we’re supposed to be paying attention to this.”

  “In that case, stop breathing on my neck. It’s distracting.”

  Dr. Phil put down her coffee cup, folded her hands in her lap, and looked Mark right in the eye. “You’re saying it should have been me. From what you’re telling me, it would have been me, if not for my kidney stone.” Her voice sounded tinny coming from the speaker.

  “That’s what your brother told my colleagues,” Mark said. Calm. Cool. Professional.

  I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. “Why’d
he have to tell her? Can’t he see it’s upsetting her?” I knew how it would make me feel if one of my brothers had planned to set me up like that.

  Billy gave my hand a small squeeze, like he understood what I was thinking. “That’s the idea. He wants her upset. It’s harder to hide what you know when you’re emotionally off balance.”

  Phil stared for a minute into the middle distance. Finally she nodded, accepting what Mark had told her. “I understand why,” she said at last, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “His kids were in danger. He didn’t have a choice.” She looked at her husband, the love blooming in her eyes. Was she thinking of her own future child?

  “Where is he now? Where did he take the kids?” Mark’s demeanor still showed no outward emotion.

  “I don’t know. And that’s the God’s honest truth. I imagine he’s taken them somewhere they won’t be found by the Russians.”

  Mark gave Misha a hard look. “We’ll be talking more about the Russians later. For now, tell me about Alec Loughlin. I suppose you don’t know where he is either.”

  Misha shook his head. “No. He came to me at my office—once—after he failed to capture Ciel on the day of the flight. He kept ranting about government-controlled imposters and how they’d replaced ‘his’ Phil with some sort of alien. He wanted to know if I was in on it. Held a knife to my throat and demanded to know where the real Phil was, so he could do what he was paid to do.”

  “Did you tell him about adaptors?” Mark wasn’t bothering to keep the steel out of his eyes, or his voice, anymore.

  Misha had started to sweat. “I told him to take me instead. I was the one the Russians really wanted. He said no, they had insisted on Philippa because without her they would never be able to control me.” Misha leaned forward, extending his hands toward Mark in a gesture that begged for understanding. “They were right. There is no way I would let them control my company, and what it does for the United States. But if they had Philippa…”

  “Did you tell him about adaptors?”

  “Yes! I had to. He would have slit my throat and gone after Philippa.”