THE HITWOMAN UNDER PRESSURE (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 15)

by JB Lynn

  "I have faith in him," I assured him.

  "Come on out," the gunman invited.

  "Just a sec," I called.

  Gino and Zeke edged the dresser away from the door.

  “Keep your head down,” Gino urged.

  "Be careful," Zeke murmured as I sidled past him and pried the door open.

  Slowly, taking care not to upset or startle the man who had a gun pointed at me, I stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind me.

  If ever there was a guy who could be the poster boy for an insane asylum, it was the one I faced. Wild hair, darting eyes, spittle at the edges of his mouth, and hands that shook harder than a flag in gale force winds. I knew he was nuts the moment I saw him. My blood ran cold as I focused on the trembling gun aimed at me.

  The irony that I could die here, in the halls of the place I most feared ending up, was not lost on me.

  "Just breathe," Patrick said softly.

  Tearing my gaze away from the weapon, I looked for him. His eyes were reassuring. His jaw was determined. His grip on his own gun steady.

  Buoyed by his presence, I squared my shoulders, took a breath, and returned my focus to the man threatening me. "I'm Maggie," I said quietly. "What's your name?"

  "Adam."

  "What's got you so upset, Adam?"

  His eyes stopped darting around as he fixed me with an intense gaze. "I don't belong here."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrick slide slightly closer.

  Knowing it was important to keep the gunman talking, I asked, "Where would you rather be?"

  "Prison."

  I blinked. My mom says some ridiculous things that make no sense to anyone but her, so I'd been prepared for an off-the-wall response, but I hadn't been expecting that. "Why would you rather be in prison?"

  "Because I'm dangerous." He waved his gun to illustrate his point.

  "I can see that," I agreed. "But if you want to go to prison, wouldn’t it be better to surrender than to have this face-off with the police?"

  He considered that for a moment.

  "Maybe you have something to confess to," I continued, watching as Patrick slowly moved ever closer. "Here's your opportunity."

  "I already told the doctor what I did," the man complained. "He didn't believe me."

  "I'll believe you," I promised.

  "Me too," God declared from my shoulder.

  His squeaking startled Adam and the gun jerked in his hand.

  I stopped breathing.

  "Great," Adam muttered. "Now I'm hallucinating on top of everything else."

  "You're not hallucinating," I hurried to assure him. "There really is a lizard on my shoulder."

  "Why?"

  I shrugged. "I take him everywhere."

  "Why?" he asked again.

  I chuckled. "Can't say for sure."

  Adam's gaze narrowed. "Can't? Or won't? Are you nuts or something? Is that why you walked out here?”

  I slowly shook my head, unsure of what I could say that wouldn’t agitate him.

  “What kind of crazy person is willing to sacrifice herself to protect strangers?” he asked.

  “My mother’s in that room.” I tilted my head in the direction of the door I’d emerged through. “I’d do anything to protect my family.”

  “Anything?”

  I nodded, thinking that committing murder had to qualify as anything.

  “Maybe you belong in here,” Adam said.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t like I hadn’t already had that exact thought multiple times since the car crash that had left me with the ability to talk to animals. “Maybe.”

  “You really are crazy.”

  "You were going to confess," I reminded him gently. "Did you still want to do that?"

  He nodded.

  "I'm listening," I said encouragingly.

  "Why do you care?" he asked suspiciously.

  "For one thing, I don't want to end up dead. For another, I don't want you to get hurt."

  "You don't even know me."

  "I don't have to know you to see that you're hurting," I said quietly. "Whatever it is you're carrying around is eating you up inside, making you miserable. I'm here to listen."

  "I almost think you care," Adam said with something that sounded like amazement in his voice.

  "I do." And it wasn't a lie. Sure, I thought the guy was nuts, but I also believed that he was tortured by something. I knew what it was like to carry that kind of thing around. I genuinely wanted to relieve him of his burden.

  Slowly, he lowered his gun.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrick raise his.

  "Where do you want to begin?" I asked softly, desperate to keep Adam calm and by doing so keep him alive.

  Adam shifted his weight nervously from side to side, deciding whether or not to confide in me.

  I offered him a supportive smile, hoping to banish his fears. "Take your time. Why don't you tell me where it all began?"

  “At the governor's mansion," he blurted out.

  "What happened there?"

  He ran his free hand through his wild hair, as if the action would free the thoughts that were tormenting him.

  "You can tell me," I coached gently.

  He nodded. "I—"

  I didn't hear the shot and, for a moment, I couldn't figure out what was happening. I didn't realize that I was being sprayed with his blood, or the reason that he was crumpling to the floor was because he had been shot.

  Patrick reacted faster than I did. He slammed into me at full force, driving us both into the ground.

  The breath was knocked out of me, and a shooting pain in my back made me yelp.

  "Hold your fire!" Patrick bellowed, keeping me pinned to the ground with his body weight, hovering over me to provide a shield. It was oddly comforting to have his familiar weight on me, to smell the mixture of cologne and wintergreen mints that was uniquely his.

  For a moment, everything seemed to go silent and then, just as quickly, the world was filled with a cacophony of police officers storming the hallway.

  Remembering the little guy, I moaned, "God."

  "Stay still, Mags," Patrick whispered in my ear.

  "God," I called again. "Where are you?"

  The lizard didn't answer me, or if he did, I couldn’t hear him over the cacophony of voices that filled the hallway. Men were shouting, my mother was screaming, Zeke was calling me, and Patrick was asking, "Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay," I answered breathlessly.

  He eased his weight off of me, making it easier to breathe. "You scared the hell out of me, Mags." The rough concern in his voice made it clear that even though we’d broken up, he still cared about me.

  A lump rose in my throat as I wondered if I’d made a mistake letting him go so easily.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to think like that. He may be sweet and sexy, but our lives were too complicated and he didn’t make me happy.

  "You didn't have to shoot him," I said.

  "I'm not the one who did.” His voice was loaded with controlled anger.

  He rolled off of me, and jumped to his feet. "What the hell was that?" he said to the first uniformed officer who reached us.

  The other man shrugged. "Not sure. You okay?"

  Instead of answering him, Patrick reached down and offered me his hand. Shakily, I slid my fingers into his, and allowed him to pull me to my feet.

  "Maggie? Maggie?" Zeke yelled from inside my mother's room.

  "I'm okay," I shouted back.

  My mother continued to scream in the background.

  "Can I go to her?" I asked Patrick.

  He nodded tightly.

  Turning, I moved toward the room. I stopped abruptly and looked back at him. "You should probably know that there're other people in the room too."

  "Okay," the redhead said.

  I glanced around at all the cops milling in the hallway. "I wouldn't want anyone else to get shot."

  Patrick sq
uinted at me, realizing that I was trying to warn him about something without telling anyone else what was going on. "Let's check on your mother."

  Together we moved to her door. "Open up," I ordered. "The coast is clear."

  We heard scraping and dragging noises as they moved the dresser away from the door. Finally, it popped open.

  Zeke jumped out and grabbed my hand. "You're okay?"

  "Never better," I quipped.

  "You're a mess," someone drawled disapprovingly.

  "God!" I was relieved to see him perched on Zeke’s shoulder. “You’re okay.”

  "Feathers!" Mom screamed, before collapsing into a heap on the floor.

  No one moved toward her since she'd finally fallen silent.

  “The lizard scooted under the door when all hell broke loose," Zeke explained. "He ran straight to me. I guess that means he likes me."

  "Actually," God said, "I figured that he was the least murderous of the group."

  "Interesting mix of people you have in here," Patrick murmured, his gaze locking on Delveccio’s.

  The mobster gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment.

  Gino looked nervously from his boss to Patrick.

  "Mr. Delveccio and my mother are old friends," I explained stiltedly.

  Patrick glanced at my mother, who was on her back, examining her fingers with the same fascination as a baby. He rubbed the back of his neck, signaling his frustration.

  “You have blood all over you," God informed me.

  I glanced down at my shirt and saw that he was right. My stomach roiled. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath. “Can I get cleaned up?"

  Patrick shook his head. "They’ll need to take some pictures of you first." Leaning backward, he shouted into the hallway, "I need some pictures."

  I balled my hands into fists, trying not to get overwhelmed by the fact that I was covered in a man's blood. Not that this was the first time I'd ended up like this, but at least I'd known I was going into battle that time. This time the only thing I'd been prepared for was my mother's histrionics.

  "If you'll all wait here," Patrick said with exaggerated professionalism, "an officer will be by to take your statement. Thank you for your cooperation."

  Two hours later, when Zeke and I returned to the B&B where I live with my extended family, they'd already heard about the excitement. My sister, Marlene, flew off the front porch when she saw us pulling into the driveway. Aunt Susan followed at a slightly more sedate pace, but her face too was pinched with worry.

  "Are you hurt?" Marlene asked as I climbed out of the car.

  I shook my head. "I'm fine."

  Throwing her arms around me, she squeezed so tightly, I was afraid I might end up hurt.

  Trying to breathe through my sister’s embrace, I met Susan's gaze. "See? It was safer for me when I didn't visit Mom."

  She didn't crack a smile at my lame joke. Instead, she glared at Zeke. "How could you let this happen?"

  He blinked, surprised by her attack.

  "It wasn't his fault," I interjected. "We had no way of knowing that Adam would be there."

  "Who's Adam?" Marlene asked, finally releasing me.

  I sucked in a greedy breath.

  "The hostage taker," Zeke explained.

  "The dead man." My voice cracked and tears filled my eyes. You'd think that a contract killer would be unaffected by death, but Adam’s was affecting me deeply.

  Susan, Marlene, and Zeke all watched me with a mixture of horror and pity.

  Susan recovered first. "Why don't you go splash some water on your face? I'll make us all a nice snack."

  "I want to take a shower." I walked toward the house, not waiting for anyone to respond.

  I heard Zeke explain, "She was standing next to the man when he was shot and ended up with his blood on her. She cleaned herself up with wipes, but it makes sense she really wants a shower."

  I marched into the house before I heard a response to his revelation and made my way to the basement stairs.

  "Maggie! Maggie! Gotta! Gotta!” DeeDee, my sweet and loyal, but oh-so-ditzy Doberman pinscher, panted as she charged up the stairs to greet me.

  "Back, beast!" God thundered, scrambling out of my bra where he'd been hanging out, to perch on my shoulder. "The last thing she needs is your bumbling antics."

  The dog skidded to a stop.

  "What's got your britches in a knot?” a honeyed Southern voice purred as Piss, the one-eyed cat, surveyed us.

  "She almost died," God answered snootily.

  "Happened Maggie what?" DeeDee whined worriedly.

  "She tried to defuse a hostage situation," God replied with something that sounded a lot like pride in his voice.

  "And the hostage taker tried to kill her?" the cat gasped.

  I finished walking down the stairs and collapsed onto my couch. The animals gathered around me.

  "No," God corrected. "The police did."

  Piss flexed her claws. "Why would the police try to kill her?"

  "They weren’t trying to kill her, they were killing him.” God's irritation was evident.

  "Alive Maggie?" The Doberman plopped her chin onto my thigh and stared up at me with heartbroken eyes.

  "Of course she's alive, you imbecile. She's right there in front of you. What kind of moronic question is that?" the lizard ranted.

  "Would everyone please shut up?" I groaned. "I just need a minute or two of peace."

  "Good luck finding that here, sugar," the cat meowed.

  “Gotta, gotta,” the dog whined softly, proving her point.

  I let the dog out the storm cellar doors into the backyard and retreated to the shower after placing God in his glass terrarium.

  I let the water cascade over me for a long time, but it didn't wash away the memory of Adam’s death. I couldn't help but wonder what he'd been about to tell me, and my paranoid self wondered if someone had shot him in order to ensure his silence. Despite the hot water, I shivered at the idea.

  When I stepped out of the bathroom, Piss was curled up beside God's enclosure. They both fell silent when I emerged, but it was obvious they’d been deep in conversation.

  "What?" I asked.

  God looked away.

  The cat licked her paw, pretending not to hear me.

  I got dressed in clean clothes, picked up my bloodied ones, and tossed them in the trash before letting the dog back inside.

  Then, I took a deep breath, stiffened my spine, and forced myself upstairs to where everyone was waiting for me. DeeDee trailed behind, though I didn't know if it was to lend support, or just because she was hungry.

  "Much better," Aunt Susan declared running her gaze up and down me when I entered the kitchen. "Hungry?"

  "Not really."

  "Hungry, hungry," the dog panted eagerly.

  "You'll feel better once you've eaten something," Susan decided.

  "Yes!" DeeDee barked.

  "Can we feed the dog?" I asked tiredly.

  Susan nodded. "I'll do it, you go have a seat."

  Marlene and Zeke sat at the table in the dining room. Marlene greeted me with a smile. Zeke wrinkled his forehead, as though the sight of me pained him.

  "Feeling better?" Marlene asked with a smidge too much cheer.

  I nodded. It was easier than telling her the truth.

  "Susan made pinwheels," my sister told me excitedly.

  "Great," I said dryly, unable to summon enthusiasm about round sandwiches.

  "You want something to drink?" Zeke asked, reaching for the water pitcher.

  "Please." I sank into a seat and stared glumly at the empty plate in front of me.

  "Did you have a nice visit with Mom?" Marlene asked.

  "We got taken hostage," I reminded her with a little bit of hostility. "How nice could the visit have been?"

  Marlene shrugged. "You don't have to be nasty about it."

  I clenched my jaw shut to prevent myself from saying, "You don't have to be stupid about it."