All Fixed Up (27 page)

His laugh was suspiciously watery, too. “Deal. And worth it, as long as our lives are together.”

We stood there a few minutes longer, digesting our emotions, realigning our relationship's equilibrium. When we finally pulled ourselves apart, Billy said, “Okay, enough about me and my shit. What about you? Are
you
all right?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” I said brightly. “Heck, I wasn't even in the condo when it was torched. My landlord”—I winked—“is taking care of everything. And on the upside, I got a whole new wardrobe out of it from Mom and Dad. I didn't even have to go shopping for it. Hey, counting today, that makes twice I've gotten out of shopping this week. It almost makes up for having to do the whole damn mall with James and Devon.”

Billy listened patiently to my rah-rah-I'm-fine speech. “I'm glad, but that's not what I meant. I knew Thomas would handle your condo. How are you after the skating rink?”

The blood took a nosedive out of my head at the reminder, leaving me wobbly. “How do you know about that?”

He gripped my elbows and held me up. “Mark told me.”

“Mark's been trying to reach you for days. Why'd you answer him now?”

“The message he left this morning said Loughlin had almost succeeded in killing you. I'd ignored all his previous messages because I knew you were safe—”

“And stupidly thought I was better off without you?” I said.

“And, yes,
misguidedly
thought you were better off without me—”

“Stupidly,” I insisted.

He quirked his mouth. “Have it your way. Stupidly. But that message got my attention. So I called him.”

I imagined the conversation, and my stomach constricted. “Did he tell you I killed a man?” I said, my voice flat.

“Yeah. He said you had to—the guy had an ice pick to your chest. Jesus, cuz, is that true?”

I nodded. “I sliced his carotid with the blade of my skate. There was a lot of bl—” I swallowed the word, almost gagging on it. I tried again. “Blood. It g-got in my eyes”—I'd begun trembling badly; Billy wrapped me in his arms—“and my nose and my m-mouth.” And there went the sobs. Goddamn stupid pregnancy hormones. Seemed like every stray thought was an emotional bear trap, ready to snap and set me off.

Billy picked me up and carried me to the couch, and sat, keeping me on his lap. “It's all right, sweetheart. Shh. It's okay. You did great. You hear me? That asshole was going to kill you and you didn't let him. You're fucking
awesome.
”

“No, I'm not. I was scared and I panicked, and got lucky. I pretty much imploded afterward.”

“You wouldn't be human if you didn't. God, I wish I'd been there for you. You don't know how sorry I am I wasn't with you when it happened. That I wasn't the one to slaughter that worthless piece of shit.”

“Huh. You and the owners of the rink,” I said with a weak laugh, getting hold of myself. “I'm sure you would have been able to accomplish the deed without getting the place shut down as a hazardous waste site.”

“No doubt. Snapping a neck isn't usually bloody.”

I pushed myself up from his chest so I could see his face. “Have you snapped someone's neck?” I asked.

He tilted his head, considering me. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do,” I said, fascinated in spite of my churning stomach.

“I have.”

“When? Where? Why did you have to do it? Was it a man or a woman?” Call me morbidly curious, but I had to know.

“Which time?”

“‘
Which time
'? You've done it more than once?”

He shrugged.

“Tell! All of them,” I said, tears turned off like a faucet, my misery brightening at the prospect of company, as misery is prone to do.

“Well, okay, but you have to promise me you won't turn this into some sort of gruesome competition…”

I slapped his chest. But lightly, on account of his injury. “Tell me already.”

“I mean, you do have a competitive streak. I don't want you to feel like you have to go out and break some malefactor's neck just because I have.”

I gave him the evil eye. “I won't have to go far.”

“All right, all right. The first time was on my third job for the spook—see, you're already ahead of me there, so you can relax.” The teasing glint in his eyes was wrong on so many levels, but humor—even when it was of necessity dark—was a coping mechanism that tended to work for me, and Billy knew it. “I was filling in for a midlevel diplomat on an overseas trip. I can't tell you which country, or Mark would have to kill
me.
One day, my driver took the scenic route to our destination. Along the way we met up with a man who obviously meant us no good. The diplomat's wife and five-year-old daughter were with me. The wife was shot between the eyes before I could do anything to stop it, and the bastard was about to do the same to the girl. He turned his back on me. I had an opening and I took it.”

Billy had lost the humor as he related the story, and by the end was looking grim. I guess dark humor will only take you so far.

“How did you feel afterward?” I asked.

“Immediately? Good. Pretty damn heroic, in fact. Later? Sick to my stomach. Small price to pay for saving a little girl's life.”

“Did you throw up?” I asked. Billy had a really strong stomach, so if it had made him vomit, it would be a good indicator of how much it had affected him.

He tugged my hair. “Yes, smarty-pants. I did. By the way, it takes a lot more force than you might imagine to break someone's neck, so don't go getting the idea that you could have stopped your attacker that way and avoided the mess. You did the only thing you could do under the circumstances.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. “You said ‘first time.' How many more?”

“One. But it was a bit more … deliberate. I'm not sure you want to know.”

I looked at him, waiting.

He finally nodded. “Okay, but remember—you asked. It was the same diplomat. I'd thought it was odd that the man who'd killed his wife hadn't put me out of commission right away—most attackers will take out the man first, to avoid exactly what happened. I could only figure the attacker had reason to believe the diplomat wouldn't fight back. Mark did some digging, and found out he'd set the whole thing up to get rid of his wife.”

“That's horrible,” I said.

Billy nodded. “Worse, the daughter was seen as collateral damage. Being a diplomat, the guy couldn't be brought to justice through official channels—it would have amounted to the dreaded ‘international incident,' which naturally had to be avoided at all costs, at least according to Mark's higher-ups. But they were willing to turn a blind eye if some sort of tragic ‘accident' happened to the guy. Say, a mugging gone awry. I volunteered to be the accident. Mark didn't want to let me—he said it was different from killing in the heat of the moment, and he didn't want me to go there. I did it anyway.”

I was quiet for a minute, absorbing what he'd told me. I came to the conclusion he'd done the right thing. “Was it?” I said at last.

“Different? Yeah. I was prepared. Told myself I was protecting the girl. I still believe that. And, no, I didn't throw up that time.” Billy hesitated. Swallowed. “But Mark was right. The planning, the preparation … it adds a layer of … I don't know if I'd call it guilt exactly—the bastard deserved it. Maybe ‘culpability' is the word I'm looking for.”

I took his face in my hands and kissed his forehead—lightly—offering him the same absolution he'd given me.

“So, shall we start a tally board or what?” he said, quirking his mouth. “Should there be extra credit for coming close to biting the big one? Or according to how big an asshole they are? We could color code it for evilness, black being for the most heinous villains we dispatch, of course. And maybe partial credit for roughing someone up? On a sliding scale, depending on how much blood is drawn. I should at least get a gold star for those neo-Vikings last summer.”

I tried not to laugh—but yeah, dark humor. It helped. This was the Billy I loved, warped humor and all. He understood me, and I thought I understood him, too. I saw the pain beneath his joking, and I couldn't give up on him.

But if things were going to work between us, we had to maintain our hard-won openness. I took a deep breath. “There's something you should know. I told Mark I'm pregnant … and that it might be his. Not likely, but possible.”

Billy closed his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down once as he worked to compose his face. When he opened his eyes, I saw acceptance, if not complete understanding. “Well, I'm hardly in a good position to complain, am I? And what did Captain Honorable do? Propose?” Billy said, attempting humor.

I just looked at him.

 

Chapter 22

Comprehension hit Billy's face like a hammer. “My God, he did, didn't he?”

He lifted me gently off his lap and set me beside him. Stood, shaking his head in apparent amazement. “On the minuscule chance one of his little tadpoles got to your egg instead of mine.” He was at the bar, already pouring a drink. “Gotta hand it to the guy, nobody does ‘hero' better than he does. So, when's the big day? Am I invited?”

I would have been mad if it hadn't been so obvious he was in pain. I was, however, plenty exasperated. “Don't be stupid. I'm not marrying Mark.”

“Why not? You love him—don't look at me like that. You know you do. Maybe not as much as you love me—I'm not so modest I won't concede that—but he's better husband material. Well, if you don't mind his dangerous career choice. But then again, what's danger to Superman? No doubt bullets bounce off him.”

“Oh, like
your
jobs aren't dangerous? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I'm not marrying
anyone
,” I ground out. “God, you are such an idiot. How I can still love you beyond reason is incomprehensible!”

I stomped off to the kitchen and got myself a glass of water. He followed. Leaned over me from behind again. “Beyond reason?” he said softly.

“
Yes.
What reasonable woman would put up with you?” I might have sounded grumpy.

I felt his lips touch a sensitive spot behind my ear. “Ciel, at the risk of repeating myself … I'm sorry. And I hope you didn't mean it about not marrying anyone, because you know our mothers will have us at the altar five seconds after they find out.”

I spun around to face him. “God, Billy, we can't tell them! They'll plan a
wedding.
”

“Horrifying,” he said, the humor popping back into his eyes.

“You
know
I hate weddings!”

He ran his fingers through my hair, finishing with a tiny tug. “We could always elope.”

“We can't—they'd kill us,” I said, conveniently forgetting that a moment before I wasn't going to get married at all.

“They'll forget all about it once they hear about the baby.”

True. “But what if it
is
Mark's?” I said. “How would you feel then?” It had to be asked.

A slew of emotions flitted over his face. “Honestly? I think more relieved than anything else. If you're worried I wouldn't love it, all I can say is you're wrong. I would love any child of yours. Even”—he smiled ruefully—“mine. But I admit I would be a more relaxed father if I knew the baby wasn't loaded with my genes, like some kind of ticking time bomb.”

Something we'd obviously have to work through. Later.

A determined look settled over his face. “Come on. Let's do it right now.”

“
What?
Are you crazy? It's not like going out for ice cream, Billy.”

“Sure it is. We can get a license at City Hall. Hell, they can probably make it official right there. And then we
will
go for ice cream. Or maybe hot chocolate would be more in keeping with the weather.”

“But—”

“You know once our mothers find out you're pregnant they won't rest until we're married. Why not do it on our terms? Think of it as the anti-wedding,” he said.

It did make sense, and he was right about our mothers. “I don't know…”

He hit me with the Doyle eyes. Big, blue, and beseeching. What choice did I have?

You do have a choice
, my inner troublemaker said as an image of Mark appeared in my head. Mark hugging my belly instead of running away from it. Mark offering me whatever I needed without hesitation, no matter what it cost him personally.

Shut up!
I thought back—loudly—at the meddlesome bitch.
Billy had a reason for running. He came back—that's the important thing. And those eyes …

I swallowed hard. It was one thing to keep what I'd done with Mark from Billy if I was honestly trying to spare his feelings. And I
was.
But didn't he deserve to know all the facts, no matter how painful, before he committed himself to something as serious as marriage?

“Billy, there's something else I think you better know.”

He held a finger to my lips. Closed his eyes briefly and gave a small shake of his head. “The
only
thing I need to know is that you love me. I don't need to hear more.”

I pulled his hand away. “I
do
love you, you know I do. But you should know—”

“No. I … I don't want to know anything except that you love me. That's all that matters to me, Ciel.”

I nodded, blinking back tears, and looked down at my pretty lambswool sweater. Rudolph's nose was still flashing. “Well, I
am
wearing white.” I took a deep breath. “What the hell. Let's do it.”