Diego nodded. “True.” He changed the subject. “So tell me about your family. You’re not married – ” he pointed to my hand “ – at least, I don’t think you are.”
“I’m widowed, actually.”
“My condolences,” he said with concern. “I hope I didn’t upset you by asking.”
“It’s alright. Ed died a couple of years ago. . .cancer. I have a little girl who’s five. My parents, brother and some of my cousins live here too.” I watched him carefully to see if my having a kid bothered him. This date could be over pretty quickly. Hunk be damned, I couldn’t tolerate a man who didn’t love kids.
I looked into his eyes. He wasn’t kidding. And he didn’t race out of the restaurant when I mentioned Romi.
“If your daughter is anything like you, I imagine she’s quite delightful.” Diego smiled, completely relaxed. I took it as a good sign. Make that a very good sign.
“She’s wonderful. Funny, smart and independent. I couldn’t live without her.” Okay, now I was spending too much time talking about it. He might think that I’m one of those freaks who lives vicariously through her children.
“I’d very much like to meet her.” He said. And I adored him for that.
“Another time, maybe,” I needed to change the subject and fast. “So tell me about you.” Nice save.
“Not much to tell, really. Grew up in Sydney, went to university there, and moved here. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in our field in Australia. A friend of mine told me there were jobs here in the States, so I moved here ten years ago and have been in and out of your hemisphere ever since.” Ooooh! He said “in and out!”
“Do you ever go home?” I couldn’t imagine being away from my family. They were pretty cool. Violent, sure, but whose family wasn’t dysfunctional?
Diego ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair and I started to melt. “Oh yeah. Sure. I go back a couple of times a year to see Mum and Frida. Dad passed away a while back, and Sis has a couple of kids now. I’m crazy about my niece and nephews.”
So he loved kids! And his family! I did a lewd end-zone dance in my mind.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know anyone to talk about the murders of famous people with.”
He laughed, by God, and I went all woozy inside, “Right! By the way, I went back and picked up Assassination Vacation. You’re right. It is funny.”
“Well, maybe we could trace her steps someday and have our own assassination vacation.” I choked on my wine – or more accurately, my words. What the hell was I doing making vacation plans with him?
“I’d like that,” he said.
The food arrived, giving me a few minutes to think as I crammed a forkful of pasta into my mouth. For some reason, I didn’t feel that the date was going very well. On the one hand, he was still as gorgeous as I remembered, and he liked kids. On the other hand, I felt like a complete idiot. And that’s never good, according to those quizzes in Cosmo.
“This lasagna is great,” Diego said. “I haven’t had Italian this good since Venice last year.”
“So your client travels a lot?” I managed while twirling my fettuccini onto my fork. He was right. The food was excellent. I could survive on the bread alone. And you could stand a fork up in the alfredo sauce, it was so thick. After all, who needs arteries?
“Yes.” He paused to take a sip of his beer before continuing, “When he was stationed in Europe, we went everywhere.”
“Do you miss that here?”
“Not at all. I’d like to see more of America sometime. But that will have to wait until I retire. I don’t have much time of my own.” He dug his fork into his dinner, “Fortunately, my client doesn’t need me at night back here.”
Don’t blow it! Don’t blow it! “Good. Then I’ll take you out to dinner more often.” Had I really said that? Wasn’t he supposed to ask for a second date? I did the Jonny Quest “Aaayyiiiiiii” scream in my head.
Diego grinned. “I’d like that, Ginny.”
We must have stayed at Antonio’s for three hours. I couldn’t remember having so much fun with someone other than Ed. Diego was charming, smart and funny. It was like he stepped out of a book. No man could possibly be this perfect.
“Ginny?” I froze. Uh-oh. I knew that voice.
“Ginny!” mom said even louder.
I looked up. There they were. My parents.
“Mom! Dad! What’re you doing here?” I said with genuine surprise. Please don’t embarrass me, I prayed silently.
Carolina Bombay drew herself up to her full height of 5 feet, 1 inch, and looked from me to Diego, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone!”
My prayers didn’t work. I guess there really is no God. I looked frantically to my father for support. Dad winked at me and extended his hand. “Larry Bombay, Gin’s dad. Please ignore my wife. I’m working to have her institutionalized.”
Diego laughed as Mom glared at Dad. Then she turned and offered Diego her hand. “I’m Ginny’s mom, Carolina.”
“Diego Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” I saw my mother’s eyebrows go up when she heard the accent.
I would have intervened, but I was completely paralyzed by humiliation. You know, I always thought that if there were a way to kill someone with shame, it would be very effective. Mental note – give that idea some thought some other time.
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?” I repeated with a little force.
“Oh!” Mom looked back at me. “Sorry. We were shopping and decided to get some dinner.” She reached into her bag and pulled something out. “Look what I found for you!”
You know what? It was possible to die of shame. I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating at the sight of what was in her hand. I may have been thirty-nine, but for years my mother had been under the delusion that I was ten years old. She had a habit of picking up the goofiest junk at whatever branch of Hell’s Mall she shops. This happened several times a year. Usually it was crap shaped like the state of Virginia, mostly with my name on it. Other times it was stationary with kittens and my name on it. But now, my mother held out a pair of barrettes with Pugs on them and the name “Ginny” written in puffy paint. Dak had probably called her the minute we left the pet store. Bastard.
I was no psychologist, but I was fairly certain that Mom did this to pretend I was still her innocent baby, in spite of what I did for a living. No excuse. Not this time.
Diego looked at the barrettes, then at me, his right eyebrow arched in what I hoped was amusement.
“Um, thanks, Mom.” I grabbed the barrettes and shoved them in my purse. For some reason, I could never throw this stuff away. It occupied a dusty box in the darkest corner of my attic. The only thing she had ever given me that I did use, was a coffee mug that said Virginia is for Lovers. I really liked that.
At the moment, I was pretty sure I looked shell-shocked. Dad gave me a look, then grabbed Mom by the arm.
“Come on, honey, we should get a table.”
“Maybe we could join them?” She pointed at the two other chairs.
My eyes flew wide open and I sent my father the following message, telepathically, Get her out of here before I tell Diego I’m adopted! Dad immediately dragged Mom away.
“Oh my God, Diego! I’m so sorry.” I could feel the blush all over my face.
Diego waved it off. “No worries. Remember my sister? Mum doesn’t even have to be around to embarrass her. All anyone has to do is ask her for her name.”
In spite of his sincerity, I still was shaken from the great barrette incident. I mean, did she really think I’d wear them? I had short hair, for Christ sake! Really short hair!
Diego leaned closer. “Gin, really, don’t fret about it. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.” But I was convinced Mom had blown my chances of getting to second base with Diego tonight.
We would’ve stayed longer, but the waiter forced us out. I considered killing him for ending my date before I could reduce
the damage Mom had done. But it wouldn’t do to murder someone in front of my future husband.
Diego walked me to my car. He was just starting to make his move and kiss me, when he froze, a frown crossing his lickable features. He reached for his belt, pulling out a cell phone.
“Damn,” he said quietly. “It’s my client. I have to take this.” Diego looked at me as if to see if that was okay. I nodded, and he answered his phone.
I could’ve heard what he said, but I was easily hypnotized by his eyes, which were on mine in spite of his conversation. He had this dark, hungry look. I recognized that. That was a good look! As soon as he snapped off the phone, I reached up and kissed him.
Diego kissed back. Yaaaaaayyyyyy! His lips were soft, needy. He tasted like the mint he’d gotten from the waiter. Diego pulled me to him, his lips against mine. I seriously considered swooning.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, his forehead against mine. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll make plans, okay?”
I nodded like a puppet. His kiss totally threw my mojo off. He waited until I got in the car and drove away. I only hoped that in my blissed-out, aroused state I wouldn't drive into a house on the way home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
John Smith: What's new?
Eddie: Same old, same old. People need killing.
-Mr. & Mrs. Smith
“Alright, we want details!” Liv and Dak faced me with their arms crossed. I had just gotten back from taking Romi to school and found them on my doorstep. Apparently, Liv had told Dak about my date last night. Assassins are such nosy bastards.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?” Dak asked.
“Because I made the decision to call him after you left.”
“Well?” Liv asked. “Who is he?” She enunciated each word as if I were three years old.
I sighed and took another drink of my coffee. I had a mild headache from the two bottles of wine I consumed. “His name is Diego. He’s Australian. I met him at the bookstore.”
“Ooooh! A man with an accent!” Liv squealed.
Dak rolled his eyes. “And?”
I shrugged. “What?” I knew I was pissing him off, and it amused me.
Dak sighed with frustration. “Details! I want details!”
I pointed at him. “Do I ever ask you for details of your dates?”
“No. But they don’t seem to be as important to me as this guy is to you.”
I arched my right eyebrow. “How can you tell?”
Dak counted on his fingers. “One, you haven’t dated since Eddie died. Two, Liv said you were out for four hours. . .on a weeknight. And three, you’re hiding something.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You’re an idiot. I’m not hiding anything. I’m just not telling you everything.”
“And there’s a difference?” Dak asked.
“Yeah, there is.”
“Do I have to put you both in time out?” Liv pushed us apart. She turned to me. “We’re just curious. And we’re happy for you. That’s all, Gin.”
Liv knew which buttons to push. But I was afraid to tell them too much. It wasn’t real yet. At least not to me.
“What do you want to know?” I offered my olive branch.
“How about his name, Social Security number and mother’s maiden name?” Dak asked.
“Right. Like I’d let you do a background check on him.” And he would too.
“How about just a little info?” Liv asked gently.
“Okay. He’s probably our age, gorgeous as all get out in that tall-dark-handsome kind of way. He’s very funny and smart and likes kids. Happy?”
“What does he do for a living?” Dak asked.
And there it was. The thing I didn’t want to tell them. Why? Because there was a teensy, weensy chance that there could be, in the way distant future, a slight conflict of interest there.
“He’s a bodyguard.” I couldn’t lie to them. Dak and Liv knew me too well.
“A what? Gin! Are you crazy?” Dak jumped in.
“Now, Dak, we don’t know that it’ll be a problem,” Liv said.
Dak rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. Won’t be a problem! He just happens to be a bodyguard in a small city where my immediate family of assassins lives! I’m sure there won’t be any conflict of interest there.” Wow. He was pissed!
“I didn’t know that when I met him! It’s just what he does. It’s not like he’s FBI or a cop.”
Okay, I’d admit to that one time I’d had a date with a Fed by mistake. But it had never come back to haunt me, and there’d been no second date. (Relax. I didn’t kill him.)
“At least she had a date!” Liv interjected.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Now, that doesn’t make me sound pathetic at all!”
Poppy padded into the room and looked at us. Apparently, we’d woken her up. Finding nothing interesting, she waddled to her food dish and began eating.
“See what you did? You woke the baby!” I yelled at Dak.
Dak waved his hands in the air. “Okay, fine. I’m overreacting. I’m glad you’re seeing someone. Even if he is body armor.” Body armor was what we called bodyguards. They usually slowed the process of hitting our target with bullets.
“I accept your apology,” I said rather magnanimously.
“So.” Liv popped a Hostess mini-muffin in her mouth. (The girl never, ever gained weight.) “Are you going to see him again?”
“Did you get laid?” Dak cut in.
I threw my hands into the air. “Yes,” I said to Liv. Then I turned to Dak. “Not yet, not that it’s any of your business. Besides, he’s only here for six months, then it’s back to Europe with his client. I can’t imagine us having a long distance thing after - goddamnit! It’s only been one date! Why am I telling you all this?”
Liv looked to Dak. “She’s a little defensive, isn’t she?”
“No shit,” he responded. “She needs to get laid.”
“I’m right HERE!” I shouted. I hated being ignored. “And there’s nothing to discuss!”
I scooped up the fat pug puppy, walked out the back door, and set Poppy down in the yard. I followed her while she used my lawn as her personal toilet, then brought her back in. Liv and Dak were waiting for me.
“Okay, we’ll change the subject.” Dak smiled. “What’s the job?”
I blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The job! Who’s Vic?”
“What?” I had no clue.
Dak stared at me, “The envelope I gave you yesterday! Who’s Vic?”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten about that. Vic was the name we gave our victims, kind of like a secret code. Not the most difficult code to crack, but we’re kind of lazy. “I didn’t open it.” I had forgotten about the hit. I’d been too wrapped up in Diego’s eyes - I mean, Romi’s (and Poppy’s) training.
“I’ll open it later.” We had a couple of weeks. And I needed to focus on other things first.
“You have to do it before the reunion,” Dak pressed.
“I know.” I scratched between Poppy’s ears. “I’ll get to it. When have you ever known me to screw up a job?”
“Never,” Dak mused, “but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Out.” I pointed to the door.
Liv fondled the pug’s ears, then smiled as she grabbed Dak by the arm and pulled him out of my house.
“Now, you, I like,” I said in a baby voice to Poppy. She wiggled in my arms. “You don’t ask any questions.” I set her on the floor and walked into the living room. The pup trailed me, trying clumsily to climb onto the couch next to me. I lifted her up, and she snuggled onto my lap, promptly falling asleep.
The envelope sat on the end table, unopened. I supposed I shouldn’t leave it there, but I was getting careless these days. I picked it up and turned it around in my hands, giving myself one nasty paper cut.
“That’s enough for you,” I said as I set it down and sucked on my finger. Th
ere was a lot to think about. A hit that had to be taken care of, the family reunion, training Romi, housetraining Poppy, and an impending second date with the delectable Diego.
I thought about the kiss he had given me last night. It had been perfect in every way. I wanted more. When would he call? Oh yes, he had said today sometime.
Now, assassins don’t usually sit by the phone waiting for Australian bodyguards to call them for a date. Okay, so I was breaking that rule. I knew there would be a second date, followed by a third, fourth, all the way to 100 if I could make it happen. How many days are there in six months? Something like 180-186, I would imagine. Minus the reunion time and, of course, I’d be working some of the time too. Hmmm. . . this relationship had to move fast in order for first date plus consecutive dates to equal mind-blowing sex.
Okay, so I’d break with convention and wait by the phone today. Poppy snored loudly on my lap. It wasn’t like I could move anyway.
And that’s where I sat for four hours, waiting for the phone to ring and my bladder to explode. Funny business, this dating thing. Finally, I had to get up to pick up Romi from school. Diego hadn’t called. Bastard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mr. Newberry: I visualized you in a haze as one of those slacksters, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes I've been seeing in Newsweek.
Marty: No, no, no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with lead pipe cruelty, mercenary sensibility. You know... sports, sex, no real relationships. How about you - how have the years been treating you?
Mr. Newberry: Well you know me Martin - still the same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed...
-Grosse Pointe Blank
Dak had been right. I’d spent all day waiting for Diego to call. And I hadn’t given up yet, as evidenced by the cordless phone sitting next to me. However, I had a job to do and that monkey would be on my back until I did it.
Now, with Romi in bed and Poppy curled up with her, I had some time to check out the hit. It was just an ordinary manila envelope, nothing special, no scary seal in blood red wax. You weren’t expecting that, right?
Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4) Page 4
