All Fixed Up

by Linda Grimes

  Billy grinned. “Auntie Ro, if you could carry it from the kitchen, I’m sure I can manage it the rest of the way.”

  Mom beamed at him. “Thank you, sweetie. Here, let me find a scarf for your neck.”

  “Never mind that. I won’t be but a minute.” He was out the door before she could start rummaging through the closet.

  Mom hooked her arm through mine and started walking me back to the others. “He’s always been the nicest boy. Full of mischief, but so sweet. I can’t tell you how happy Mo and I are that you two finally realized you loved each other. Do you think he got you a ring?”

  Yikes. “Slow down, Mom. Don’t you have enough on your plate right now?”

  She laughed. “Oh, honey, you’d be surprised at how big my plate is. There’s always room on it for another helping of love.”

  In the living room Thomas and Laura were gushing over the handcrafted cradle Dad had brought in from his garage workshop. Looked like he’d spent every spare minute from the time he’d heard the good news working on it. The lines were simple, in the Amish tradition, and the wood was stained a medium brown, the same color as Thomas’s hair.

  Mom rushed over to them. “Wait … there’s more.” She pulled one last package out from under the tree. She’d taken the precaution of tagging it with her own name, to make sure it wasn’t opened out of turn. “This goes with it.”

  The happy parents-to-be ripped off the paper to reveal a cradle mattress and six fitted sheets.

  “And this,” Auntie Mo said. Her addition was the softest baby blanket ever knitted. (I touched it, so I was certain.) Apparently she’d used every color of baby yarn she could get her hands on, and hadn’t followed any particular pattern. It was gloriously hideous, and I could tell by the way Laura rubbed it against her cheek she loved it with all her heart.

  I must have looked at it expectantly, because Mo slipped another package to me. As I’d hoped, it was a replacement afghan, even uglier than the one I’d lost in the fire. I wrapped it around me like a shawl and told her she was the best aunt ever.

  A big group hug and ten minutes of everyone raving about the cradle and Mo’s knitting later, I began to wonder what was taking Billy so long. I went to the front hall and peeked out one of the sidelights, expecting to see him shooting the breeze on the street with Candy or one of the other agents, testing my “infinite patience.” I saw two SUVs, but no Billy. Maybe he was inside one of them. It was hard to tell with the tinted windows.

  After another five minutes, I stopped being impatient to see my gift and started worrying. It shouldn’t be taking this long. Billy liked to tease me, but I didn’t think he’d take it this far, not when he knew the strain we’d all been under waiting for Loughlin to be caught.

  Maybe I should check …

  I got my coat from the closet and quietly slipped out the front door—no point in getting anyone else jazzed up over what was probably nothing. Candy and her cohort were in the SUV across the street, gratefully sipping Mom’s coffee and chowing down on cinnamon rolls, their firearms within easy reach. When I asked about Billy, they said he’d gone back into the house right after he’d left the box of goodies. They’d watched him every step of the way.

  “He checked his phone as he opened the front door. Looked like he might be reading a text.”

  “Huh. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Or … look, he said he was coming out here to get my present. Could it be something that requires, I don’t know, setting up or special presentation?” He could have sneaked past me while I was preoccupied with the cradle crowd. Maybe he was in the basement right now, preparing a surprise for me.

  “Well, he did seem pretty excited about the present. But if you want me to come check the house again, I will. Joe can hold down the fort out here for a few.”

  Her cohort smirked. “Oh, sure. I’d be happy to sit out here freezing my ass off while you go warm yours. Of course, there might not be any cinnamon rolls left when you get back.”

  Candy practically growled at him. “Touch mine and die.”

  I laughed, pretty sure she was joking. “No need. Stay here and defend your rolls. I’ll track down Billy myself.” And my present, because damn, I was really curious now.

  Chapter 28

  Mom was passing through the center hall on the way to the kitchen when I came in. “Ciel! What were you doing outside? Are Joe and Candy okay? Do they need more cocoa? Coffee? Rolls? Never mind, I’ll send more out when the quiche is done—I know they’ll want to try it. It’s a new recipe. Peanut butter and oysters, with a dash of—”

  Jesus, spare them. And the rest of us. “Mom, have you seen Billy? I seem to have misplaced him.”

  A timer went off in the kitchen. “Try upstairs. I heard the floor squeaking up there, and everyone else is in the living room.” She scurried off to check her latest avant-garde culinary masterpiece.

  Leaving my coat on the banister, I went upstairs and peeked into every room, including the restrooms and closets. (Pro tip: Never look in your parents’ closet if finding a French maid’s outfit, a Thor costume, and a copy of the Kama Sutra might scar you.) Billy was nowhere to be found.

  My phone buzzed, giving my left boob an unexpected tingle. (Why didn’t pajama pants come with pockets?) I was ready to give Billy some hell, figuring it must be him. But it wasn’t.

  “Ciel Halligan?” The accent was way too Australian for comfort. Loughlin.

  Crap. What should I do? “Yes…” I started swiping the screen, looking for the app Mark had installed for me to record conversations. (Yeah, totally illegal without letting the other party know. I’d let Mark deal with the ramifications.)

  “I hope you’re having a good time with your family. Pleasant neighborhood you have there. Please give your mother my compliments on the tree. It’s the prettiest one on your block. And the fishing line? So clever of your father.”

  A chill went through me.

  “Thank you. I’d invite you over for a closer view, only you might have a hard time getting in.” That hadn’t sounded too shaky, had it?

  “I expect I would. Mr. Fielding has been a royal pain in my backside with all his pet security guards. So I’m afraid you’ll have to come to me instead.”

  “Oh, really. And why would I do that?” I said, keeping my voice pleasant. Just another telephone convo with a murderer.

  “Because if you don’t a state-of-the-art, highly specialized drone will drop a pound or so of C-4 at the base of your parents’ very old brownstone. Doesn’t take much to make those collapse, does it? Could get messy for anyone inside.”

  Crap. He hadn’t given it to the Russians? “What?” I said, trying hard not to let on how badly he’d shaken me. “You’re being ridiculous. You couldn’t possibly…” Could he?

  “Oh, I can. And I will. Thanks to Mikhail Yurgevich’s technology.”

  Jesus. He did have it.

  “I don’t believe you. If you could kill us all as easily as that, you wouldn’t be warning me about it now.”

  “Ask me what I want, Ciel. Ask me why I need you.”

  “Why do you need me?” I echoed automatically, still dazed, trying to stall for time, praying a good idea for dealing with this madman would come to me.

  “I need you because you are going to get me my money from the goddamn Russians so I can get goddamn Bratva off my goddamn back. You are going to perform your fucking magic one last time so I can sell them Philippa Carson.”

  “Why don’t you just sell them the drone instead? Isn’t that what they’re after?”

  “I tried. They wouldn’t take the deal. Somehow they figured out if they control Misha, they’ll get the drone and any other brilliant technology he might come up with in the future. Imagine that. Russians with brains.”

  Same thing Mark had pointed out with his golden goose reference. “Right. But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t you go after the real Dr. Carson? She’s the one you need, not me. Not that I’m suggesting it.”

  “Thanks to yo
ur Mr. Fielding, she has a goddamn arsenal around her, and her idiot husband has been put someplace out of my reach. And since her brother and his children have disappeared, too, I don’t have sufficient leverage to persuade her to come see me without her army of guards.”

  “The way you do with me.”

  “Yes. The way I do with you.”

  I had to keep stalling. “But what good would it do to give them me if Phil is still in the public eye?” I paced the upstairs as I spoke, walking blindly from room to room, keeping my voice low.

  “Oh, I imagine Mr. Fielding will find a way to keep her out of the spotlight while you’re missing, protective as he is about your kind.” The way he said “your kind” made it sound like we were vermin. “You know, at first I thought you should all be wiped off the planet. But now I can see where you might have your uses.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t get to decide who lives and who dies. You’re not God,” I snapped.

  “Shut up.” He gave me an address in a commercial area not far away. “If you leave right now you should be able to get here in seven minutes. If you’re not here, the drone will drop—and detonate—its cargo. If anyone other than you leaves the house in the interim, the drone will drop its cargo immediately. Trust me, they won’t be able to get far enough away to escape the effects of the blast entirely.”

  Jesus. “But I can’t go anywhere alone. The security guards follow me everywhere.”

  “Have one—and only one—of them drive you. My advice? Pick your least favorite. And don’t get any ideas about warning your watchdogs, because if anything happens to me the drone will automatically make the drop.”

  “I still think”—prayed—“you’re bluffing.”

  “You saw what I did to your condo.” I could almost see him shrugging. “You think I’m not capable of this? Seven minutes, Ciel. Leave now. Tick-tock.” He disconnected.

  Fuck! I needed time to think. And time was something I didn’t have. I crept down the stairs, grabbed my coat from the banister, and left the house, careful to make sure no one saw or heard me.

  Candy had the window down by the time I got to the SUV. “What? No more cinnamon rolls?” Her smile was infectious; I couldn’t help but return it, no matter how sick I felt inside.

  “I think Mom has something in the oven for you guys. But, listen, I remembered a present I forgot to pick up. For, um, Billy. I’d feel really bad if his gift to me is better than mine to him, you know? Could I get a ride? It’s not far.”

  “Sure. Hop in. But what’s open on Christmas?”

  “Um … it’s not. I called the owner—he made me something for Billy’s car—and he’s meeting me there. Hoo-boy! I had to promise to pay through the nose, but it will be worth it. Look, can we please go? I need to get back before Billy realizes I’m gone, or he’ll know I didn’t remember”—geez, I was talking as fast as Mom—“and his feelings will be hurt. Hey, I know! Candy, could you go find Billy and keep him distracted until I get back? Don’t tell him I’m gone. Or anyone. Please? I’d be so embarrassed.” I gave her a beseeching look I’d learned from watching Billy.

  “What? Me, go into the nice warm house where more cinnamon rolls are baking?” She grinned at Joe. I didn’t correct her misconception about the rolls. Who would go in for peanut-butter oyster quiche? “If I must, I must. And about time, too. My bladder is about to blow.”

  I swallowed hard and tried not to look at Joe. If Loughlin killed him, I would be responsible for his death.

  Stop it, Ciel. It was him or Candy.

  Even more, it was one of them or everybody in the house. I’d think of something to save him when I got there. In the meantime, I had precious few minutes to decide my best course of action.

  If I went with Loughlin, I’d be sold to the Russians as Dr. Phil. If I didn’t cooperate, he’d blow up my family. No choice there. I’d do it, and worry about escaping later.

  But even if I could get away from the Russians somehow, and drop Dr. Phil’s aura, I might be in Russia. Alone. No ID. No passport. Not knowing the language. (Note to self: learn more languages.) As much as I wanted to think of myself as badass material, capable of saving the day single-handedly, I was totally out of my element. There was only one intelligent thing to do.

  I brought up the voice recording of my conversation with Loughlin and forwarded it to Mark and Billy. I was going to have to trust them to know the best way to handle the situation without getting my family blown up.

  Chapter 29

  The address Loughlin had given me turned out to be a small storefront coffee shop. I told Joe it was where I was meeting the guy who had Billy’s present, hoping he wouldn’t notice I’d failed to mention it earlier. He seemed to take it in his stride. Still, he was alert, gun in hand as we approached the building.

  The door was locked, but it only took a second for a man wearing a cap with the store logo on it to open it for us, stepping back after he did. Joe went in ahead of me. His instincts were good, but not quite fast enough—he only had his gun halfway lifted when the wires hit his face, instantly locking his muscles.

  Loughlin came at him, knife extended.

  “Stop. If you kill him, I swear to God I won’t cooperate, no matter what.”

  I must have sounded sincere, because Loughlin pulled up short. He stared at my face for a few seconds, flipped the knife over, and clubbed Joe on the back of his head, hard.

  The Taser stopped sending its jolts of electricity. Joe stopped twitching and fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “If you want to keep him alive, pull him to the back room.” Loughlin sounded like he didn’t care one way or the other. “But you better hope there’s something to tie him and gag him with back there, or he’s dead. Remember, you still have a lot of other lives to consider.”

  I glared at him. I couldn’t believe I had found him attractive the first time I met him. His ugly soul seemed to shine through his eyes now. “Yeah, and you have Bratva and your life to consider. Don’t push me too far.”

  “Do it. Now.”

  I picked up Joe’s feet and started dragging. Between his wool coat and the freshly waxed floors, it wasn’t as hard as it could have been, even though he was kind of a big guy. Or maybe all my workouts had paid off in stronger muscles.

  The shelves didn’t have any handy rope, but they did have aprons. I cut the ties off several of them with some blunt-tipped scissors I found, wound them together, and used them to bind Joe’s hands and feet. I made sure I did an excellent job of it, because Loughlin was watching me closely and I didn’t want to give him any reason to reconsider leaving Joe alive. Finally, I cut a thick strip from one of the aprons and worked it into Joe’s mouth, knotting it snugly in the back. He wouldn’t be going anywhere when he woke up.

  “Enough. We’re leaving.” He’d exchanged his knife for a small handgun while I was working on Joe. Guess he still didn’t trust me.

  My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I tried to hit “ignore” without being noticed, not wanting to tip Loughlin off to its presence, but apparently he had excellent hearing.

  “Answer it. Put it on speaker phone. Let’s see if you’ve done anything stupid.”

  It was Billy. My heart thumping, I swiped the screen. “You’re on speaker.”

  “Hi, cuz. In a bit of pickle, are you? Where are you, the back room?” His voice was purposefully light, but I could hear the underlying tension.

  Loughlin lunged for me, realizing at the same time I did that Billy must be close. “You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, you little bitch!”

  “Yeah. He has a gun,” I yelled over him, fast. Loughlin slapped the phone out of my hand and pulled me in front of him.

  “Duck, Ciel. Now,” Billy said from behind the door. His voice was followed instantly by the door crashing open. I tried to bend over, but Loughlin had one arm around my neck and his gun to my head. So I stomped on his foot, and elbowed his gut with as much force as I could muster.

  The crack of a gunshot was
the last thing I heard before everything went black.

  * * *

  A sharp sting on my cheek woke me. Who the hell was slapping me?

  “Ciel. Cuz. Are you okay?” Billy’s face hovered over mine, paler than I’d seen it since the day of the pregnancy test in Houston.

  I pushed myself up. “I’m fine.” Loughlin lay on the floor beside me, his head bent at an odd angle.

  Billy nodded once, and then was beside Joe, checking his pulse, pulling off his gag, cutting the binding at his wrists and ankles. Joe didn’t show any signs of coming around. After a second, Billy came back to me and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. We have to go.”

  “Wait—are you okay? I heard a shot.”

  “So did I. Scared the shit out of me. Fortunately, you threw his aim off. I couldn’t risk shooting him—thought I might hit you by mistake, the way you were twisting in the breeze—so I had to resort to the old tried-and-true neck twist. Luckily, I’m a fast son of a bitch when I’m scared shitless.” He paused briefly to give me a hard kiss. It tasted like relief. “We’re going to have to work on that passing out thing of yours, though.”

  “Hey, his elbow was clamped around my neck! He cut off my air.”

  “I’m just glad he didn’t cut it off permanently. Now, come on.” He pulled me toward the door he’d just kicked down.

  I tugged him to a stop. “We can’t leave Joe here—he could be seriously hurt. Loughlin hit him really hard.”

  “You can call for an ambulance from the car. Right now we have to go. Mark needs backup.”

  Shit. “The drone. Can you stop it?”

  “If we can bring it down before somebody sends the signal to the blasting cap.”

  We were there in under three minutes, according to the phone I kept holding after I called 911, but it felt so much longer. On the way over, Billy told me nobody except Mark and his agents knew anything about the drone. There was no point in panicking the family when we couldn’t risk evacuating the house for fear it would cause whoever was controlling the drone for Loughlin to set it off before everyone was out.