The Hitwoman Gets Lucky (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 3)

by JB Lynn

  "I do not chirp." God was not amused.

  "He vocalizes," I muttered. I really wasn't in the mood to listen to God complain for the rest of the trip. I suspected he'd forget his promise to be on his best behavior.

  "Tell me again why you're bringing him?"

  When Armani had first seen the lizard propped in the backseat of the car, she'd dropped her overnight bag and screamed about "creepy-crawlies.”

  "I didn't want to leave him home alone," I lied.

  "Why not?"

  "He'd get lonely," I mocked in a psuedo-sympathetic voice I knew would irritate the hell out of the lizard.

  I could feel Armani staring at me, but I kept my gaze glued to the bumper of the car in front of me.

  "You think your lizard gets lonely?"

  "They're social creatures," I said defensively.

  "And you couldn't find anyone else to watch him?"

  I shook my head. I couldn't very well tell her I hadn't tried since he'd practically begged to come along.

  "I worry about you, Chiquita."

  “Me too,” God chirped.

  Once we’d snuck God into the hotel (in a hatbox) and checked into our room, Armani made a beeline for the casino floor. After turning on the TV for the lizard, I went out to the boardwalk in search of a cup of coffee.

  I'm not an outdoorsy type of person, so the salty air blowing in from the ocean did nothing for me, and the constant squawking from the seagulls grated on my nerves. I did however, after passing half a dozen shops selling the "best" salt water taffy, find a place that sold coffee, so my trip into the great outdoors wasn't a total waste.

  I sat on a bench on the boardwalk, sipping my coffee and watching the strange mix of families in beachwear, convention attendees in business-wear, and lovers fused to one another pound the boards.

  Someone sat beside me on the bench. I had to shield my eyes and squint into the sun to see who it was.

  "Where'd you find the coffee, Mags?"

  Dumbly I pointed in the general direction of the java joint. "How'd you find me?"

  "I told you I would." Even though I couldn't see him clearly, I heard the smile in Patrick's voice.

  "But how?"

  "A trick of the trade," he murmured teasingly. "Can I have a sip of that?"

  I handed him the cup, trying not to think about his lips touching the place my mouth had just been.

  "Thanks. Where's your friend?"

  "She said something about showing the one-armed bandits who was boss.”

  "Good. Let's go for a walk." He stood quickly, extending a hand to help me to my feet.

  I'm more than capable of standing up from a bench alone, but I still slipped my hand into his. A jolt of awareness zinged up my arm when we touched.

  He didn't give any indication he felt it too, instead he handed me back my cup. "That way," he said, indicating we should walk in the direction of my hotel.

  "So what's the plan," I asked, trying to focus on the reason I was there: to do a job. I was also focused on not tripping.

  "We need to get a flash drive off a man's key chain."

  "That doesn't sound so hard."

  "Hopefully it won't be."

  He casually draped an arm around my shoulders as we walked. I knew he did it so we’d blend in like all the other couples strolling along, but it still made me feel special. Protected.

  "Why'd you bring the lizard?"

  I forgot to breathe as the heat and weight of his arm seeped into me. I tried to concentrate on my steps. Right. Left. Right.

  After a long moment Patrick said, "It wasn't a trick question."

  "Huh?"

  "The lizard. Why's he here?"

  "My aunts don't like reptiles." It wasn't a lie. "I didn't want to leave him alone."

  "Such loyalty, even to your pets," Patrick chuckled. "It's one of the things I like best about you."

  "One of the things?" The question came out breathier than I'd hoped, probably because I wasn't taking in enough oxygen.

  I could feel the tension in Patrick's body increase exponentially. He didn't answer. We just kept walking. And walking.

  I kept mentally kicking myself for saying something so stupid.

  Finally I asked, "Where are we going?"

  "The mall," he said, indicating the waterfront building glittering in the sun.

  "What's in there?" I asked, relieved he was speaking to me again.

  "Our mark."

  "Mark?"

  "Target."

  "Oh." My heartbeat raced. "Are we going to steal it now?" I wasn't ready. I hadn't prepared. I'd get caught.

  "Relax," the redhead soothed as though he could hear my panicked thoughts. "We're just scoping out the competition."

  5

  He opened the door to the mall, ushering me inside. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the respite from the fresh air and wildlife. I could handle air conditioning, incessant advertising, and the familiar hum of commerce.

  “This way.” Patrick grabbed my hand, pulling me through the mall when I stopped to stare longingly into the candy store. He jabbed at an elevator button impatiently.

  “That won’t make it get here any faster,” I told him. “Where are we going?”

  “To the beach.”

  I frowned. I’d thought I had managed to escape the beach.

  We stood aside to let a mother pushing a stroller exit the elevator before we stepped inside. It was one of those all-glass contraptions. As it slowly began its ascent, I wondered if it was what God’s day-to-day life felt like. If it was, I felt guilty about not letting him out more often.

  “Whatchya thinking?” Patrick asked.

  I couldn’t very well tell him that I was worried about the lizard’s mental health. “I was wondering how many times they have to clean this every day.”

  “I’ve seen your place,” Patrick teased. “I don’t think they’re going to hire you for the job any time soon.”

  “My place isn’t that bad.” It wasn’t going to pass any white-glove tests, but it wasn’t like it was a full-blown pigsty.

  “You live on the edge of chaos.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Thankfully I didn’t have to since the elevator doors opened.

  It didn’t look like a beach. It looked like an upscale food market.

  “I don’t see a beach.”

  Patrick jutted his chin, indicating where we were headed. “It’s on the opposite side.”

  I don’t even like seafood, but the aromas wafting from the restaurants we passed had my mouth watering. I sniffed the air certain I smelled steak.

  I didn’t even smell the sand or sea, but suddenly we were at a beach. Of sorts.

  A line of beach chairs faced the floor-to-ceiling view of the Atlantic ocean. People sat transfixed watching the ocean ebb and flow, shoes off, toes buried in the inches of sand that lined the area.

  This was my kind of beach.

  “Let me guess,” Patrick said, as I marveled. “You didn’t have lunch.”

  “I was busy.”

  “We’ll get something later.”

  “I can’t.”

  He looked at me, surprised.

  “I promised Armani I’d have dinner with her. Something about roller-blades…”

  “Dessert then?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky, as though it was the most enticing thought to ever cross his mind.

  I swallowed hard and looked away, remembering how amused he’d been earlier when he’d flirted with me.

  “That’s him.” Patrick was suddenly all business.

  It took me a second to change gears from wanting to melt into a puddle of desire to dealing with cold, hard facts.

  Especially when the facts, at least as I could see them, made no sense.

  “Who?” I asked dumbly. There was only one person in my line of vision and he certainly didn’t look like a Lucky O’Hara.

  “Him.”

  I squinted. The increased focus didn’t clarify things one bit. “Hi
m?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I stared at the lone man sitting playing a game on his phone. I looked up at Patrick to see if he was pulling my leg. His expression was unreadable. He was going to make me work for it.

  “The twelve-year-old?” I asked.

  “He’s twenty.”

  I still wasn’t convinced we were even talking about the same man. “The Chinese guy?” I whispered.

  “Uh huh.”

  “His name is Lucky O’Hara?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “He’s Chinese.”

  “He was adopted.”

  “Oh.” I tried to wrap my head around the idea. “So he’s adopted by an Irish family and they named him Lucky?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And nobody thought that was weird? Or I don’t know…moronic?”

  Patrick shrugged. “Maybe they thought they were lucky to get him. Or maybe they thought he was lucky to find a family.”

  I thought about it a moment longer. “I’ve never even heard of Chinese boys being adopted by Americans.”

  Patrick speared his fingers through his hair. “Seriously? We’re going to have a discussion about the socio-economic conditions in China? Or adoptive family dynamics instead of scoping out the damn job?”

  I took a step back, trying to remember if he’d ever said a cross word to me before. “I’m sorry.”

  Patrick dropped his hand, clenched his jaw, and closed his eyes.

  I waited a beat, unsure of what to do.

  “I’m the one who should apologize.” Opening his eyes, he stared at me intently. “It’s just that this is so important.”

  “Okay,” I assured him. “I’m all business from now on.”

  “Thanks.” He switched his gaze over to Lucky. “See the chain hanging out of his pocket.”

  “Yeah.”

  “One end of it is attached to the flash drive I need and the other to a pocket watch.”

  I wondered why a twenty-year-old carried a pocket watch, but didn’t dare voice the question since I was doing my level best to come across as a professional criminal.

  “We’ve got to figure out how to get it from him,” Patrick said.

  I snapped my gaze from the chain back to the hitman. “You don’t have a plan?”

  “Not yet. I’m winging it.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  6

  “At the Copa! Copacabana!”

  I winced as I unlocked the door of our hotel room.

  Armani was in the shower, and had been for a while if the fact the room was as humid as the freaking rainforest was any indication.

  God was huddled on the bottom of his traveling case, covering his ears. “She never stops!” he shouted.

  “You’re the one who insisted on coming along.”

  “Oh, bite me,” the lizard groused.

  Ignoring him, I flopped on the bed. “Lucky O’Hara is Chinese.”

  “What?” God asked, uncovering his ears as though he hadn’t heard me right.

  “He’s Chinese. Or Chinese-American. And he’s twelve, not really twelve, twenty.”

  God licked his eyeball. Lizards can’t blink. They lick their eyeballs. Gross, right?

  “Start again,” he said, as though he were speaking to a simpleton. “And this time try not to act like you spent too much time in the sun and your excuse for a brain has fried.”

  “They fell in loooooooovvvvvvve,” Armani wailed from the bathroom.

  “Love is a battlefield!” God shouted back.

  I rolled my eyes, sorely tempted to just abandon them both. “Lucky O’Hara is of Chinese descent, but adopted by an Irish-American family. According to Patrick, he’s twenty….but I think he looks like he’s twelve.”

  “And your big, bad hitman couldn’t handle mugging a twelve-year-old himself?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he knows karate.”

  “Karate is Japanese, you idiotic biped.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because. I’ve seen The Karate Kid and Karate Kid Two and The Next Karate Kid.”

  “They made a third Karate Kid?” I asked, amazed.

  “Starring Oscar Winner Hilary Swank.” The lizard drew himself up to his full height and demonstrated the “stork” pose immortalized in the films.

  “You’re cheating,” I told him, unimpressed. “You’re using your tail to balance.”

  Godzilla dropped out of the stork pose and tapped his foot impatiently at me. “You haven’t told me yet why Patrick needs you to help rip off this Lucky O’Hara.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And do you know why he wants to steal the flash drive?”

  I shook my head. I’d been careful to avoid asking the hitman that question. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. Otherwise it was probably safer for me not to know.

  Armani, wrapped in a black silk robe, her gorgeous hair perfectly done, emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of honeysuckle-scented steam. “You’re back, Chiquita.”

  I nodded, trying not to gag from the sickeningly-sweet scent. God had no such compunctions. He gagged and retched and carried on dramatically. I ignored him.

  “Good. Let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.” Armani smiled, oblivious to the lizard’s distress. “Wear that zebra you bought.”

  “Zebra?” I asked dumbly.

  “I like it. It’s sexy. You should have no problem catching a man wearing that.”

  “Wearing a zebra?” I asked, totally befuddled.

  “Animalistic. Call of the wild, baby.” She clawed the air with her good hand. Then picked up a brush and began stroking her hair.

  Feeling like I’d stepped into a Twilight Zone episode, I looked over at God to see if he had any idea what she was talking about.

  “The redhead broke in and hung something in the closet. Woke me from my nap. The man’s a menace.”

  That explained how he’d known I’d brought God to Atlantic City.

  I got off the bed and peeked inside the closet. Sure enough, a zebra-print dress hung there. I snuck a quick look at the tag. It was my size. I wondered if Patrick had looked at the tags of my clothes or if he’d guessed at the size. The first seemed sort of creepy, the second kind of sexy, knowing he’d have had to study my body to make an educated guess.

  “I’ll do your make-up,” Armani declared.

  “I don’t think—“ I began.

  “It’ll be fun, Chiquita,” she promised. “We’ll pretend we’re on one of those makeover shows, turning the ugly duckling into a swan.”

  “So you’re saying I’m ugly?”

  “I’m saying,” she said, pointing her hairbrush at me for emphasis, “that you don’t make the most of what you got.”

  Forty minutes later she’d done her best to play up what she thought were my assets.

  “Go look in the mirror,” she ordered, standing back to admire her handiwork.

  I approached the mirror with trepidation, not wanting to know what she’d turned me into.

  The zebra-print dress hugged my curves making me self-conscious as I crossed the room.

  My breath caught in my throat as I took in my reflection. Accustomed to hiding behind its length, I’d balked when she’d insisted on pinning my hair up in an elaborate style, but I had to admit that the few tendrils she’d left framing my face gave me a soft, sexy look.

  My eyes, usually a drab brown, seemed like endless dark pools, because of the five-alarm fire kind of smoky make-up she’d applied.

  To balance the look out so that I didn’t look overly made-up, she’d swiped on a generous dab of lip gloss, which gave the illusion I’d just been kissed.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Lifting my hand to my cheek, I brush a stray hair away. “I don’t look like me.”

  “And that’s a good thing.”

  I frowned at her. “You’re not doing much for my ego.”

  �
��You look hot, Chiquita. Let’s go find us some men!”

  “I don’t really—.”

  “Speaking of which,” Armani continued, bulldozing over my end of the conversation, “we should have a signal to let each other know the room is being used.”

  “Used?” I gulped.

  “Whoever gets back to the room first with their man will hang the Do Not Disturb sign out.” Disappearing back into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her.

  “Take me with you,” God demanded.

  “What?”

  “It’s bad enough I’ve endured her singing, there’s no way I’m going to be forced to witness her bizarre mating rituals.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to come along,” I reminded him again.

  “You’re not leaving me here.”

  “I can’t carry a hat box around the casino,” I muttered. “And I didn’t bring a purse.”

  He mulled that one over while I pulled my black heels out of my suitcase.

  “I’ll ride in your bra,” he declared triumphantly.

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll ride between your boobs. They’re soft aren’t they?”

  My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation.

  “Hurry up,” he ordered. “Plop me in there.”

  “You can’t ride between my breasts,” I said in the most reasonable tone I could muster.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because?” he mocked, sneering.

  “Because that sort of thing isn’t done.” I winced as I realized I was parroting a phrase Aunt Susan had subjected me to a million times.

  “Going around killing people for money isn’t done either,” the lizard reminded me.

  “Can’t smile without you…” Armani crooned from the bathroom.

  “If she’s that pitchy when she sings, imagine the noises she makes in the midst of carnal lust. You’ve got to take pity on me.” He hung his head, doing his best to look pathetic.

  “What if you suffocate?” I asked, hating the way my resolve was crumbling.

  “Without youuuuuuuuuu.”

  “If I get into trouble I’ll bite you,” God pledged solemnly.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip, agonizing over the decision.

  “Hurry,” he begged. “Make up your mind before she comes out again.”