by Lynn, JB
“Maybe they were too busy warning off my date since he never showed up.”
“If he does show up, you should hire a PI to check him out.” I began to accordion-fold the upper right corner of the paper placemat.
Armani frowned. “Is that what you did with Angel?”
“That’s different.”
“Right, because you had the hot manny living under your roof. No reason to check him out.”
I smoothed out the paper. “Do you really think that Griswald would have let anyone with the last name of Delveccio through the door without thoroughly vetting him?”
She sighed heavily, knowing as well as I did that my Aunt Susan’s fiancé, U.S. Marshal Lawrence Griswald, was not the type to allow a criminal anywhere near my family. (The only exception being my dad, but I think he’d learned his lesson with him.)
I refolded the placemat, careful to follow the creases pressed into the paper. “Hire a PI.”
“Why?”
The challenge in her voice made me sit up a little straighter. I took my time, trying to decide which answer would upset her the least.
I could make the case that with her permanently deformed hand and leg (the results of a terrible Zamboni accident that could have easily been avoided if she’d just paid closer attention to her guides telling her “Ice, Ice Baby”) that she wasn’t the perfect specimen that most online dating candidates seemed to aspire to find.
Or I could point out how her last boyfriend, Ike Medd, had gotten her kidnapped and himself killed. If I hadn’t been there to bail her out…
The waitress arrived with our food. She put the plates down and asked apprehensively, “Can I get you anything else?”
I don’t know which of us was more relieved when Armani said, “No, thanks.”
As Armani mixed the chocolate syrup and pickle relish, I had to look away.
“You’re a lottery winner. Gold diggers will be coming out of the woodwork. I’m just saying, hire a PI to make sure this guy is who he says he is. You don’t want to end up with someone who just wants you for your money.”
Armani snorted. “Why not? It’s worked for rich white dudes for generations.”
I shrugged, unable to argue with her logic.
“Besides,” she drizzled the chocolate and relish mixture, which resembled lumpy mud, over the strawberry shortcake, “I know he’s the real deal.”
“How?” I averted my gaze, unable to bear witness to the perversion being committed against the food. “Did the spirits give him the all clear?”
“He’s a self-identifying sapiosexual.”
I winced and closed my eyes, thinking I probably didn’t want to know what the hell that is.
I may kill people for money, but Armani’s got a much more sexually adventurous attitude than me. Some of her stories about her exploits are more startling than the list of people who’ve tried to off me. Still, I had to ask. “What’s a sapphosexual?”
“Ninny. Nitwit. Nincompoop,” the lizard groused from his hiding place in my bra.
Armani raised her eyebrows at the squeaking. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s practicing his alliteration skills,” I replied drily.
“Numbskull,” God added for good measure.
“It’s sapiosexual,” Armani corrected. “He’s turned on by my intellect.”
“Huh?” I asked eloquently.
“He’s sexually aroused by this.” She tapped her forehead.
I’m pretty sure that my mouth dropped open. “That’s a thing?”
She nodded, shoveling shortcake, relish, and chocolate syrup into her mouth.
I had to look away before the food combo made me puke.
“Maybe you should learn from her,” God suggested, his voice echoing in the valley between my breasts. “Try a healthy relationship based on a connection that isn’t solely based on sexual chemistry. You might be happier.”
Ignoring him, I picked up my sandwich and gave Armani a stern look. “All that means is that you should hire a really clever PI to check him out.”
“Why?”
“Because a guy who says he finds smarts sexy seems suspicious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as much a starry-eyed romantic as the next gal.”
“Believe her,” God interjected. “She thinks a polygamist assassin is her soul mate.”
Plucking my shirt away from my chest, I stared down at him. “Shut. Up.”
“It’s true,” the lizard replied defiantly.
“I mean it. Shut up. Or you’re going back in the car.” I didn’t need him reminding me of my foolish dalliance with Patrick Mulligan when I was in the middle of advocating for Armani’s safety.
He stuck out his tongue but stayed silent.
Even though she could only understand my side of the conversation, Armani chuckled.
I glared at her.
“You were telling me how you’re a romantic at heart,” she prompted, a twinkle in her eye.
“What I’m saying is that while I’d love to believe that a guy could fall for the essence of a woman, we both know men are biologically programmed to respond to physical assets.”
Armani shook her head. “Cynic.”
“Realist.” I bit into my sandwich.
“Besides, he’s so into brains, he’s got an X tattooed right here.” She tapped the space between her eyebrows. “As he says, ‘to remind him where the treasure is’. Cool, right?”
My mouth dropped open. “Cool? It’s creepy. He sounds like a serial killer. You must have him checked out.”
“I won’t hire a PI.”
I tilted my head to the side as I chewed, wondering how I could convince her to protect herself.
“But I’ll hire you.”
I swallowed, remembering the RV debacle. “To do what?”
“Check him out.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head for emphasis. I squinted at her, wondering if she’d gotten bonked on the head during the robbery. That would explain why she was acting crazier than usual.
“Why not?”
“I’m not a professional.” I put my sandwich down.
“You can say that again,” the lizard muttered.
Armani raised a shoulder. “It’s either you or nobody.”
I scowled, feeling like she was manipulating me again. “Fine.”
“You’ve got seventy-two hours.” She extended her good hand so that we could shake on the deal.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Chapter Two
The sun was rising when I drove Armani down the street where she lived. She’d taken forever to eat her chocolate-and-relish doused strawberry shortcake and finally admitted as we turned the corner that she was nervous to return home.
“So, come stay at the B&B,” I suggested.
“Really? Is there room?” The relief in her voice was evident.
“There’s always room for paying customers.” I slid her a sideways look before adding, “Just kidding.” We so rarely had paying customers that it wouldn’t seem right to charge her, even though she could well afford it.
“I don’t mind paying.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re practically family.” I pulled to a stop in front of her place. “Do you want me to come in with you while you pack a bag?”
Armani nodded emphatically.
We got out of the car and started to approach her front door—that’s when I saw the damage to the doorframe. The wood was splintered and the paint chipped. The door hung slightly askew.
I grabbed Armani’s arm to stop her. “Somebody’s broken in. Here.” I shoved my phone and keys at her. “You wait in the car and call 9-1-1.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m just going to take a peek to see if they’re still here.” I physically turned her around and pointed her toward my car. “Go.”
I waited until she’d reached the vehicle before I headed toward her place.
“You should arm yourself.
” God scrambled up my bra strap and took up a vantage point on my shoulder.
Usually, I’m inclined to argue with the little guy, but the suggestion made a lot of sense, so as I crept toward the back of the building, I picked up a trash can lid and a thin piece of lumber.
“Are you going to inflict splinters on the perp?” God drawled.
“Shh.” I crept forward and peered into Armani’s kitchen window. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but I spotted a tall, blonde guy, his back to me, rummaging through Armani’s junk drawer. I let out the breath I’d been holding, relieved that it wasn’t my dad or Thurston who would be charged with breaking-and-entering when the cops arrived.
“What’s he looking for?” God whispered.
“How the hell should I know?” Knowing Armani’s penchant for mixing mismatched items, I guessed that her kitchen junk drawer was filled with condoms, TV remote controls, and fabric softener sheets.
I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I guessed from his body language that he wasn’t too thrilled with what he was sifting through.
Suddenly, he tensed and stood up straight, and I knew why. A police siren was quickly approaching. The man bolted toward the front of Armani’s home.
“He’s escaping!” God yelled.
“I can see that,” I muttered, pushing off the wall and breaking into a run.
“Stop him!” the lizard commanded.
“I’m trying,” I panted, rushing around the corner of the building.
The guy blew through the front door, causing it to swing wildly on its damaged hinges.
“Don’t let him get away,” God urged.
I could hear the police car’s siren, but the vehicle wasn’t in sight.
The shaggy-haired blonde guy looked right at me, his lips curling into an angry snarl as he snapped open a switchblade.
“Stop!” I called with more bravado than brains. “Citizen’s arrest!”
That’s when he rushed me.
Now you’d think, that being a semi-professional assassin, I’d have gotten accustomed to people trying to do me physical harm, but no, it scares me half to death. Every. Single. Time.
So when Blondie charged, I retreated. Just not effectively.
I stumbled over a demented-looking garden gnome and landed flat on my butt, losing hold of my sliver of lumber.
The impact bounced the lizard off my shoulder, and he flew through the air screaming, “Sensitive skin!”
I didn’t even get to see where he landed because Blondie was still advancing. I scrambled to my feet and held the lid of the garbage can in front of me like some sort of Gladiator’s shield.
Blondie didn’t seem to think the plastic would protect me.
That’s when the car horn blared.
Distracted, Blondie looked for the source of the sound, which was Armani, pressing my car horn for everything she was worth.
Considering how poorly I’d done obeying my flight instinct, I decided it was time to fight. Tightening my grip on the lid, I plowed into the man like a linebacker tackling an opponent.
Well, maybe I wasn’t that strong. Or graceful. Or effective.
I meant to put him on his ass, but all I managed to do was knock him off balance a little.
The blade glinted in the dawn’s light as he swiped the knife in my direction.
“Feint right!” God called from wherever he’d landed.
I leaned right. Blondie followed.
“Your other right, idiot biped!” God bellowed.
Tilting to the other side, I wildly swung the trash topper at him, trying to knock the weapon out of his hand.
He easily sidestepped the blow, bouncing on his feet like a deranged boxer.
The sirens grew closer. The car horn was so insistent that neighbors, who had not yet had their morning coffee, were starting to turn on the lights and look out.
My blonde attacker glanced around nervously, aware he was about to get caught. With one last half-hearted jab in my direction, he spun and ran away.
Relieved, I slumped over, resting my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“Pick me up before I get trampled by the fuzz,” God ordered.
Looking down, I found him standing on my foot. “The fuzz?” I mocked.
“Don’t play superior.” He flicked his tail. “You’re the one who doesn’t know her left from her right.”
Chapter Three
The cops were tag teaming me with dirty looks. First, Detective Brian Griswald would glare at me. Then, when he looked away to talk to the uniformed cops, Detective Patrick Mulligan scowled in my direction.
I understood why Brian would be perturbed. No doubt he thought I was interfering with his case, but I had no idea why Patrick was bent out of shape. I had no idea why he was even there.
The beginnings of a headache began to throb between my eyes.
Brian walked over to the car, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed heavily. “I was hoping that the next time I’d see you was at a wedding.”
Armani, who was standing beside me, clapped her good hand against her thigh excitedly. “Behold the power of PMS!”
Brian stared at her, horrified.
I took pity on the poor man. “Psychic Matchmaking Service. PMS.”
“How is Stephanie? I didn’t know you were engaged,” Armani said.
“We’re not. I mean, she’s good, but we’re not engaged,” Brian answered in a rush.
Armani stuck out her lower lip in a childish pout. “But you said wedding.”
“I meant my uncle’s,” Brian replied weakly, looking to me for help.
I nodded slowly. Considering that one of my recent pulls of Armani’s magic tiles had spelled “elopers”, I suspected that there might not be a wedding ceremony.
“None of that is the point,” Brian said, exasperation tingeing his tone. “The point is, you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again.” He stared at me pointedly as though he expected me to confess to some kind of wrongdoing.
For once, I hadn’t broken any laws, so I just blinked at him innocently.
I glanced over his shoulder at Patrick, who stood off in the distance pretending to be engrossed with his phone. I could tell he was listening to every word of the conversation.
“I was just bringing Armani home,” I told Brian defensively.
“And you took on a burglar,” Armani added.
I shot her a dirty look, unhappy she was undercutting my innocence act.
Brian tapped his foot impatiently.
“I happened to disturb a burglar,” I elaborated grudgingly.
“Happened to?” Brian raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
I nodded.
“She told me to wait in the car and call 9-1-1 and then she checked it out,” Armani supplied helpfully.
I gave her an incredulous look, barely believing she’d thrown me under the bus like that.
“So you KNEW something was wrong,” Brian crowed victoriously.
“Well, yeah, the door’s broken.” Armani pointed at her damaged front door.
“And we immediately called the police,” I told the cop pointedly.
“Why didn’t you wait in the car?” Brian asked.
I shrugged.
“And how did you end up in a physical scuffle with the suspect?”
“It wasn’t a scuffle,” Armani corrected. “It was a badass takedown.”
“And yet, the suspect escaped,” Brian replied drily.
“Not from a lack of effort on my part,” I snapped. “Maybe if the cops had gotten here quicker…”
“Maybe if you hadn’t spooked him,” the detective countered.
“I didn’t spook him. He heard the sirens and bolted.”
“And that’s when you attempted your…” he paused to look at Armani, “epic takedown.”
“Badass takedown,” she corrected.
Brian rolled his eyes. “Foolish attempt,” he countered. He looked at me. “You could have been hurt…or wors
e.”
I looked down at the ground, knowing he was right.
“I’m assuming that since there was a physical altercation that it wasn’t your father who committed the break-in?”
“No,” Armani answered for me. “Tall guy. Blonde hair. Some kind of tattoo on the back of his hand.”
“Back of his hand?” he parroted sharply.
Armani nodded.
He looked to me for confirmation.
I nodded my agreement.
“Yeah, a heart with something through it…a knife?”
The detective turned and waved my favorite redhead over. “You two know Detective Mulligan?”
“Hi, handsome,” Armani purred.
“Ms. Vasquez,” Patrick replied with a warm smile. “Always a pleasure.”
“Not for me,” Brian muttered. More loudly, he ordered, “Tell Detective Mulligan what you saw.”
“Well,” Armani began. “When we got here, Maggie noticed my door.” Again, she pointed to her front door for dramatic effect.
“Skip ahead to the tattoo,” Brian begged.
Armani frowned but complied. “He had a tattoo on the back of his hand. I was in the car, blowing the horn, so I couldn’t see it too clearly, but Maggie says it was a heart with a knife.”
Patrick looked at me intently. “Could it have been a dagger?”
I nodded. “Sure. Short handle with a blade.”
Patrick and Brian shared a worried look.
“What?” I asked, my own anxiety ratcheting up. “Why is that important?”
“Police business,” Brian said officiously. “No need to concern yourself, but we will need you to work with a sketch artist to create a representation of it.”
“No need to be concerned?” Armani practically screeched. “He breaks into my house and knocks Maggie to the ground, and you’re telling me not to be concerned.”
“I think he meant that the police will handle it,” I interjected, trying to calm her.
Brian shot me a grateful look.
“You were assaulted,” she protested.
“Technically, I tripped. He never actually made physical contact with me,” I said mildly. “I hit him with the lid, but he never hit me.”
