Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (10 page)

I shook my head, feeling a twinge of guilt for how I’d regarded Dirk when he was alive.

“This Abilene woman is dangerous, Maggie.” Dad took a deep breath. “Maybe you could ask the bit . . . the witches for help.”

Alice sucked in her breath. Like me, she knew that my father usually referred to my aunts as “the bitches.” Like me, she knew he despised them and would never ask them for help. Like me, she now realized how big a threat Abilene must be.

“And what do you think a control freak, a nymphomaniac, and a recovering addict are going to be able to do to help?” I asked.

“Leslie’s clean?” Dad’s eyes grew round with astonishment.

“She was the last time I saw her a couple of days ago.”

“That’s amazing. Good for her.”

“Good for her, bad for the rest of us.”

“She’s a bit . . . touchy right now,” Alice chimed in helpfully.

“Bitchy is more like it,” I corrected. “But the point is, there’s not much they can do to help. I know they’d want to, but if this Abilene has as much money and power as you say, I can fight her, but I’m not sure I have a chance in hell of winning.”

Chapter Eleven

“W
HICH WAS PRETTY
much what the lawyer said,” I told God, filling him in on what was going on. The lizard perched on the top of his terrarium listening intently.

“When did you go to a lawyer?”

“I left work an hour early, saw the lawyer, and then took Alice to the prison.”

“Quite the day.”

“So the lawyer’s number one suggestion was that I move back into the bed-and-breakfast.”

“Food?” Doomsday panted hopefully from where she lay against the fridge.

I hadn’t known she was even paying attention to the conversation. Instead of trying to explain to the mutt what a bed-and-breakfast is, I tossed her a biscuit. “She said—”

“She being the lawyer?” God asked.

“Yes. She said that if I moved back in with my aunts, it would illustrate that I have a stable home and support system to bring Katie back to.”

“Stable?” God snorted.

“I know. I know. But the lawyer seemed to think it was the strongest weapon I’ve got against this Abilene Plude.”

Doomsday rested her heavy head in my lap. “Back move never.”

I looked to God for translation. He shrugged.

“I don’t understand, sweetie,” I told the dog. “What do you mean?”

“Back move never lady umbrella.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” God groused. “When are you going to learn how to construct a proper sentence?”

“Leave her alone,” I muttered. “I know what she meant.”

“Care to share?”

“I told my Aunt Susan I’d never move back.”

“Never say never.” He imparted it like it was the greatest line of wisdom ever imparted.

I wanted to smack him. Instead I said, “She hates dogs.”

“Oh . . .” God said worriedly.

“Hate Doomsday?” the dog asked.

“She hates dogs in general. Not you in particular.” I realized that wasn’t terribly soothing, but I had to tell her the truth.

“Hate Doomsday?”

“You did chomp on her umbrella,” I reminded her.

She immediately lay down and rolled over on her back. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“I know you are.” I absentmindedly rubbed her belly.

“So it’s going to come down to choosing between Katie and the beast?” God asked, eyeing the dog.

“No.” I buried my head in my hands. “I don’t know. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. I don’t even know whether I’m going to consider moving in with them or not. I mean what would be the point if I’m going to lose Katie anyway?”

The lizard started pacing the length of his enclosure. “But you have to position yourself in the best possible way to win the case.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Happen Doomsday what?” the dog whined.

She looked at me with those big brown eyes, so sad, so scared, and a vise tightened around my chest. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Alone Doomsday?”

I looked to God for help, but he had turned his back on us. It looked as though his shoulders were heaving. The little guy was as fond of the big dog as I was.

“An impossible choice,” I muttered, brushing away the tears that spilled down my cheeks. “It’s not fair.”

“Not impossible,” God said, his voice strained. “Not impossible, just ridiculously difficult and unfair.”

Doomsday got up from the floor and put her head in my lap. Licking my tears from my hands, she said, “Okay.”

I didn’t know what she was trying to tell me, but I threw my arms around her and squeezed as tightly as I could. “Everything will work out.”

“Liar,” God whispered.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
after another night of insomnia, I went to meet Patrick at his favorite cemetery.

I’m not sure why he’s so fond of the cemetery, maybe because it’s calm and quiet. I think it’s kind of creepy. Doomsday, who I’d taken along for the trip, thought it was a wonderful spot. She ran around happily, sniffing headstones and chasing squirrels.

Seeing her so joyous increased my sense of guilt. What would happen to her if I moved in with aunts? She deserved a good home.

Patrick pulled up in a mud-splattered green Jeep.

“Patrick! Patrick!” Doomsday panted, running over to greet him.

He greeted her enthusiastically, bending down to pet her. “Hey there, beautiful.” He smiled at me over her.

I did my best to smile back.

Worry flickered in his gaze, but all he said was “Hungry?”

“Yes!” Doomsday barked. “Yes! Yes!”

“She is,” I told him.

He chuckled. “I think she’s always hungry.”

Reaching into the Jeep, he pulled out a white paper bag and proceeded to lay an impromptu picnic breakfast on the hood. On a bed of paper napkins he placed a couple of sandwiches, a Styrofoam container of bacon, and two fruit cups.

“Can you get the coffee?” he asked, tilting his head toward the interior of the Jeep.

I did, thinking I’d never had a man in my life take care of me the way he did. He’d probably make a great owner for Doomsday, giving her the kind of home she deserved.

When I emerged from the vehicle holding two cups of coffee, he was feeding the dog a strip of bacon, further cementing the idea in my head.

“You’re spoiling her,” I said.

“I think she had a rough life. She deserves to be spoiled a little.” He threw a piece of bacon and the dog chased after it happily. “You look like you had a rough night.”

Self-consciously I smoothed my hair, wondering how bad he thought I looked. “I had trouble sleeping.”

“Something on your mind?” He handed me a sandwich wrapped in foil.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“The Garcia job?”

“No. I went to see my father yesterday.”

He looked surprised. Every cop in town knew who Archie Lee was, but not every cop knew that when my father called from prison I screened his calls. “He upset you?”

“No. I asked him if he knew anything about Abilene, Katie’s aunt. He said she had a lot of money and power and some lifelong vendetta against Dirk, Katie’s dad.”

He took a bite of his sandwich, circling his finger, indicating I should keep rolling with my story.

“I went to visit a lawyer yesterday who specializes in custody cases. She wasn’t very encouraging. She said that if Abilene Plude could prove she could provide better for Katie’s care, the court might award her custody.”

“And you can’t prove where you get most of your income from,” he said, meaning the money Delveccio paid me for being his go-to killer chick.

“Not to mention my dad is in prison and my mom resides in a mental ward. The only advice she really had was that I move back in with my aunts to show I have a stable family and support system to bring Katie back home to.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“In the worst way.” I looked over at Doomsday, her stub of a tail quivering joyfully as she stalked a caterpillar creeping along the top of a headstone. “If I do, I’ll have to get rid of the dog.” I turned to face him. “Maybe you can take her?”

His eyes flicked from my face to the dog and back to me. “I can’t, Mags.”

“Okay,” I said quickly, trying to mask my disappointment.

“It wouldn’t be fair to her,” Patrick tried to explain. “My hours are crazy. My life is crazy.”

“I understand.” I unwrapped my packet of food, revealing an egg and cheese sandwich on a roll, and took a big bite, hoping to end the conversation.

Patrick sighed. “I feel like I’m always letting you down.”

I froze mid-chew. That was how I always felt when it came to everyone in my life.

“I screwed up with Gary the Gun, refused to kill Katie’s aunt for you, and now I’m not agreeing to give your dog a home.” He speared his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Having finished chewing and swallowing I said, “Everything worked out with Gary, I get why you won’t kill Abilene, and you’re probably right about Doomsday.”

That he didn’t believe me was written all over his face.

Reaching out, I patted his arm. “Really. It’s okay.”

He looked down at where I was touching him. “You’re a complication I hadn’t anticipated, Mags.” His voice had a husky note and when he looked back into my eyes, something I couldn’t quite identify flickered in their depths.

I swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to be.”

Covering my hand where it lay against his arm with his own, he slipped his fingers around my wrist, stroking the tender skin underneath in a strangely intimate caress.

My pulse sped up beneath his touch and my breath hitched as he leaned closer.

“Bacon! Bacon!” Doomsday jumped between us, dislodging our physical contact.

I stepped back, unsure whether I was relieved or disappointed by the interruption. I knew getting any more involved with Patrick Mulligan was a bad idea, but there were times when the attraction I felt for him drowned out any semblance of common sense I had.

“Bacon!” Doomsday barked.

“I think she’s hungry,” I said.

The police detective/hitman nodded and tossed her another piece of meat. She swallowed it whole and licked his hand to express her gratitude.

“Thanks for breakfast.” I took another bite of the egg sandwich.

“Someone’s got to feed you,” he muttered. “I’ve got something else for you.” He climbed into the Jeep and rummaged in the glove compartment.

The dog looked at me hopefully so I chucked a chunk of my sandwich in her direction. She gobbled it up with a wolfish grin.

“Here you go.” Patrick reemerged with a necklace dangling from his fingers.

I didn’t think we’d progressed to the stage where he’d buy me jewelry. I wasn’t sure if we’d ever get there and I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression and lead him on. “That’s very nice, but I can’t accept.”

Ignoring me, he held up the necklace and said, “Turn around.”

Even though my better judgment told me not to, I did what he asked.

He stepped behind me, reached over my head, and lowered the large, silver, cylindrical pendant so that it rested in the valley between my breasts. I flinched as the cool metal came in contact with my bare skin. I’d had no idea when I’d thrown on the V-neck T-shirt that morning that it would become the sexiest item of clothing I owned, but suddenly I felt like a temptress, with Patrick standing behind me, peering down my shirt.

And it wasn’t anything like when Harry stares down my shirt. When Harry does it, I want to throw up. Whereas with Patrick, I wanted to throw myself at him.

But I didn’t.

I just stood there, frozen, holding my breath, waiting to see what he’d do next.

“Lift your hair,” Patrick said softly.

Reaching back with one hand, I held my hair away from the back of my neck. I could feel him fiddling with the clasp and then he dropped the chain against my neck.

“There you go.” His breath tickled the back of neck.

I shivered uncontrollably, as my insides turned to molten mush.

Taking my raised wrist, he gently lowered the hand holding up my hair, to my side, causing me to rock back and lean on his chest. My eyes fluttered closed as he steadied my hip with his free hand.

We stood like that for a long moment, neither willing to take the next step, but neither wanting to pull away.

Being so close to him without actually doing anything was a delicious kind of torture. Every nerve in me was on high alert, waiting, but I couldn’t gather the courage to act on the desires screaming through my body.

Finally he cleared his throat. “Make sure you don’t take that off.”

“Why not?”

“It contains the poison you’re going to use to kill Jose Garcia.”

Talk about a mood killer. My eyes snapped open and I stepped away from him as I reached up to finger the pendant.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to accidentally get into it.” He waved in the general direction of the dog.

“Poison?” I asked.

Reaching out, he plucked the cylinder from my fingers, the backs of his knuckles brushing against my sternum. A current of pleasure shot from the contact through my entire body, almost causing my knees to buckle.

Seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on me, Patrick explained. “It’s colorless and tasteless. A drop or two, poured into his drink or something he’s going to eat, and he’ll die within a minute or two of ingestion.”

“Poison?” I asked again. I’d shot a man to death and broken the neck of another with a leg of lamb; poison seemed . . . less violent than what Garcia deserved after all the heartache he’d caused.

“It’s the safest way. There’s no way you can risk trying to get a gun in and out of a place like this. Nobody should look twice at the necklace, but if they do, you can always tell them it’s Holy Water.”

“Holy Water?”

“Are you okay?”

My hormones were in overdrive and I was stressed to the max. “Sure. I just wasn’t expecting the poison angle.”

“Rule Number One: Don’t Get Caught.”

I nodded, even though I personally thought Rule Number One should be: Don’t Fall for Your Murder Mentor.

Rule Number Two should be: Always Listen to Your Gut.