Maggie Lee (Book 10): The Hitwoman's Act of Contrition

by JB Lynn

  “You’re going to make it through this,” she whispered in my ear. “I know it’s scary, but if anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

  “Sensitive skin!” the lizard warned.

  “Thanks, Aunt Leslie,” I murmured, disentangling myself from her. “I appreciate that.”

  She gave me a watery smile. For a moment, I thought she was going to cry, but she shook her head and composed herself. “Where are you off to now?”

  “The pet store.” I hoped that getting God his meal would distract him from whatever his act of contrition demand was.

  Leslie nodded, then looked at me thoughtfully. “You need to de-stress before Katie comes home.”

  Again, not a bad idea. If she was still smoking pot, I might have asked her for some just so that I could mellow out for a few hours, but I decided that, given her current clean state, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “I’ll work on something,” she pledged.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “But I want to.” She nodded emphatically. “Susan helps with your physical needs. Loretta’s helping with your financial. I’ll be in charge of your spiritual needs.”

  That did not sound like the best of ideas.

  But I didn’t have the heart to say so.

  God was surprisingly quiet as we made our way across the hospital parking lot.

  He didn’t even say anything when I gently placed him in the paper cup, stuffed with a silk scarf (for his sensitive skin), that I kept just for his transportation.

  Wordlessly, I put my seatbelt on, started the car, put it in gear, and pulled forward. Suddenly, another car darted in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes.

  “Idiot driver,” I muttered.

  The other car stayed where it was, blocking my path.

  I tooted my horn, trying to get the offending vehicle to move.

  Instead of doing that, the other driver rolled down the window. A familiar face peered out at me.

  “Patrick!”

  The redhead mouthed “Follow me” and waved for me to pull out behind him.

  “I’m never going to eat again,” the lizard sighed dramatically.

  “Later,” I promised.

  “Pfffft.”

  I followed Patrick’s car across town. As I drove I popped a couple of mints, finger-combed my hair, and worried about when the last time I’d bothered to shave had been.

  I shouldn’t have worried. Our final destination was an alley behind a strip mall.

  God, who by this time had clambered up onto the car’s dashboard, took in the surroundings and drawled sarcastically, “Mulligan takes you to the nicest places.”

  “Shut up.” I said it without moving my lips since Patrick was approaching. “Please,” I added for good measure as I climbed out of the car.

  “Don’t you dare leave me in here again,” God warned.

  I turned to look back at him. “I won’t.” I promised. Forgetting him in the car was what had saddled me with this act of contrition thing in the first place.

  When I spun back, I was so happy to see Patrick that I couldn’t help but grin goofily at him.

  He didn’t smile back.

  He just closed the distance between us with an intense gleam in his green eyes.

  For a second, I thought something was wrong and I backed up into my car.

  And that’s where he pinned me.

  With a kiss.

  Without a word, he captured my mouth with his own, drinking me in as greedily as a man who’d been lost in the desert.

  Not that I minded. It felt nice to be wanted. More than nice.

  His body pressed against mine, the delicious weight trapping me against the car, as he branded me as his own. He tasted like the mint lifesavers he was so fond of chewing.

  As our tongues tangled, he slipped a hand under my shirt, splaying his fingers across the bottom of my ribcage. Gasping with delight, I mimicked his actions, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. I swallowed his groan of pleasure as I worked my fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  Suddenly, he pulled away, ending the kiss as abruptly as it had begun. He moved a step back and we stared at one another as we each tried to catch our breath. Pulling a roll of Lifesavers from his pocket, he put one on his tongue and held the pack out to me, an offering.

  The only sound between us was him crunching on the wintergreen candy as I shook my head no.

  “Well hello to you too,” I finally managed to joke weakly. “It’s been a while.”

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mags. I didn’t mean for that to go that way.”

  “I’ve had worse greetings.”

  A half-smile played at his lips. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “I feel the same way.” Disdain dropped from every syllable God uttered.

  Bending over, Patrick peered into the car. “Hey, little guy.”

  The lizard didn’t respond.

  “Bring him in,” Patrick suggested. “Don’t want him to roast in the car.”

  That’s the kind of guy this hitman was, the kind who cared about the well-being of animals.

  Reaching into the car, I scooped God up. He ran up my arm to perch on my shoulder.

  “This way.” Patrick led the way deeper into the alley and around a dumpster to a door marked Do Not Enter.

  “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” God intoned.

  Pulling out a key, Patrick unlocked the door and stepped inside. I followed.

  “It’s not much,” Patrick apologized.

  “There’s an understatement,” the lizard said.

  For once, I agreed with him. The furnishings in the small room consisted of two mismatched hardback chairs beneath a bare bulb.

  “What happened to your other place?” I asked. It at least had boasted a fridge and a sofa.

  “I’ve still got it.” The redhead indicated I should choose a chair. “I just like to switch things up.”

  Considering I’d never seen him drive the same vehicle twice, that made sense.

  “Do you use this for interrogations?” I asked, sitting down on the nearest chair.

  “What?”

  I pointed to the bare bulb and the sparse surroundings. “It would make a great interrogation room.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You have a lot of experience with interrogations?”

  “Maybe this is an interrogation,” God whispered in my ear.

  I tensed at the thought, but decided to ignore him. “Why did you turn the Krout job down?”

  Patrick settled himself into the seat opposite me, his knee brushing against mine, sending a shiver of awareness through my body. “Did you accept it?”

  A niggle of irritation settled between my shoulder blades. First, he showed up out of nowhere, after having dropped out of my life without warning. Now he wasn’t answering simple questions.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and met his gaze steadily. Sure, I’d let him kiss me senseless, but that didn’t mean I was a total pushover.

  Amusement sparkled in his green eyes. “I didn’t take it because there are too many LEOs after him right now. Rule Number One…”

  “Don’t get caught,” we said simultaneously.

  He grinned. “You were listening.”

  “Who are these Leos?” I asked.

  “Law Enforcement Officers. He’s got a lot on him. Which is why he’s holed up on the family estate. No judge wants to cross the Krout family by issuing a search warrant. And no prosecutor wants the case unless it’s airtight. So everyone involved is stuck in a holding pattern.”

  “Except his mother.”

  Patrick cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

  I shrugged. “She’s the one who took out the contract.”

  Patrick rocked back in chair, surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “Delveccio told me.”

  “He told you?”

  My irritation grew. Anno
yed that he was shocked that the mobster confided in me, I snapped. “I asked. He answered. That’s how communication usually works.”

  Patrick blinked. “Guess I deserved that.”

  “And more,” God opined from my shoulder.

  Patrick looked at the squeaking lizard, a strange expression on his face. “Did you see the paper today?”

  “I saw,” I admitted.

  Leaning forward, Patrick grabbed my hands. Clasping them in his own, he hung his head and said quietly, “That’s got to count for something, right? Me taking action. Doing what’s necessary to move our relationship forward.”

  I shrugged. I knew he was confirming that he’d killed the husband of his wife’s lover, the man who’d poisoned him, but I didn’t consider it the grand, romantic gesture he thought it was. In fact, it was kind of creepy. What would happen to me if we broke up?

  “Such a stand-up guy,” God drawled, confirming my feeling that I wasn’t comfortable with the idea that Patrick had killed someone to make his own life better. I’d thought we had a code, only killing those who deserved it. Sure he’d killed the guy who had poisoned him, but I wasn’t sure that it was the same.

  Patrick released my hands and slowly sat back so he could get a better look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re offering a dead body in lieu of a dozen roses,” I joked weakly.

  He frowned. “You don’t even like roses, do you?”

  I looked away, disconcerted that he knew me so well. “You can’t just sidestep the issue, Patrick.”

  “I took too long,” he said softly.

  I swung my gaze back to meet his. “Maybe.”

  Nodding, he swallowed hard. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but my wife has already declared she’s leaving me in six months when the insurance money for her lover’s husband comes through.”

  “Should I offer congratulations?” I mocked. “And I’m confused. Did you do this for us or for her? Because you wanted to set her up with a nice little nest egg? Or did you do it so you wouldn’t get hit with a massive alimony bill?”

  He winced.

  “Bull’s-eye!” God chortled.

  Patrick let out a shuddering sigh. “The two of them will run off and have their happily ever after together and that’ll leave me free for you.”

  The anguish in his voice cut at me. Despite my doubts, I reached out and put my hand on his knee, offering comfort. “I know you’re trying.”

  He covered my hand with his. “I really am. This will free us up to be together. I’ll be able to help you find out what really happened to Darlene.”

  The mention of Darlene, Marlene’s twin, who everyone thought had died years ago, but I’d recently come to believe might still be alive, made my stomach flutter with hope. “Really?”

  Patrick patted my hand. “No matter what happens between us, I’ll help you find out what happened to her.”

  Was it any wonder I was in love with the man?

  Chapter 5

  After leaving Patrick, I went to the pet store and picked up a bag of live crickets before heading back to the B&B.

  The entire drive home it sounded as though they were singing the chorus of “Staying Alive.” I did my best to ignore them.

  Pulling into the driveway, I spotted Armani’s car. Instead of going in one of the main doors, I used the storm cellar door to let myself into the basement, not because I was avoiding my friend, but because I was afraid Aunt Susan would freak out if she knew I was bringing living insects into the house.

  “Gotta! Gotta!” DeeDee insisted as she ran up the stairs as I walked down them.

  Piss, stretched out on the couch, remarked, “Doesn’t matter if you’ve been gone for five minutes or eight hours, that dog, bless her heart, thinks you’ve been gone for weeks.”

  “Time and grammatically challenged,” God griped.

  “Maybe you should feel some compassion toward her,” I suggested, carefully putting the lizard into his terrarium.

  He puffed out the orange skin beneath his chin. “She unplugged the TV.”

  “That music is annoying,” Piss interjected.

  “Then stick your head in the toilet,” God suggested.

  The cat narrowed her good eye. “Someone’s hangry.”

  The lizard flicked his tail. “That isn’t a word.”

  “Hungry plus angry equals hangry,” the cat countered.

  “Cut it out,” I warned Piss. “You’re just winding him up for sport.”

  She grinned and winked her good eye.

  God missed that exchange since I was dangling the clear plastic bag containing crickets over his enclosure. If he’d had lips, I’m sure he would have licked them.

  I dumped the bugs into the terrarium, ignoring the frightened cries of the bugs, and slammed the cover on top to keep them contained just as DeeDee returned.

  “Hungry,” she panted.

  “Isn’t everyone?” Piss drawled. “She ate my tuna this morning.”

  I glared at the dog. “Is that true?”

  She lowered her head and wiggled her stump of a tail.

  I sighed. I opened a can of cat food and put it out for Piss before ordering the dog upstairs.

  “Hungry,” she reminded me as we entered the kitchen.

  “So you’ve said.” I threw a handful of dry kibble into her bowl and followed the sound of Armani’s laughter into the dining room.

  “Hey, chiquita,” my friend called the moment she spotted me.

  “Hey. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  The note of forced cheerfulness and the dark circles under her eyes said something else.

  “Loretta was just telling me the funniest story of two people who got stuck together in her changing room at the lingerie shop.”

  I grinned weakly, sinking into the nearest seat. “Oh yeah?”

  “Good thing I stock plenty of lubricant,” Loretta tittered.

  I closed my eyes. Was The Corset really my best job option?

  “Well, I should get going. Money isn’t going to make itself.” Loretta tottered out of the room in her stilettos, throwing air kisses like a deranged beauty pageant winner.

  I waited until she was gone before returning my attention to Armani. “What’s up?”

  She shrugged.

  Pushing myself out of my chair, I moved to a seat closer to her, ignoring DeeDee who’d wandered into the room and was sniffing under the table for fallen crumbs. “Want to talk about it?”

  “They disappeared.”

  “Who?”

  “Joy and Lucky.”

  I’d helped Joy and Lucky escape during Armani’s rescue. I wasn’t surprised that Lucky O’Hara, a member of the O’Hara crime family who’d turned into a police informant, had disappeared. I was, however, unnerved by the news that Joy, his police department contact, wasn’t back to her regular life.

  Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen or heard from Jack Stern, the reporter who’d been involved in the mess, either. A sickening sensation roiled in my gut. What had happened to them?

  I’d assumed that Ms. Whitehat’s ninjas had ferried them to safety, but what if something horrible had befallen them?

  A surge of guilt clawed at my throat, cutting off my air supply.

  Sensing my distress, DeeDee put her head into my lap and stared up at me with worried eyes.

  “She’s called me,” Armani confided.

  “Who?” I gasped.

  “Joy. She says she’s okay, but I miss her.”

  My anxiety eased a bit. I sucked in a breath. If Joy was okay, there was no reason to think Jack and Lucky weren’t too.

  Suddenly Armani was shaking a purple cloth bag under my nose. “Pull.”

  “I don’t—” I protested.

  “Pull!”

  Grudgingly, I reached into the bag and removed seven Scrabble tiles. This was the way my semi-psychic friend foretold the future, through bizarre, often unclear messages spelled out in seven letters.

/>   I put my pile of pieces on the table and, using her good hand (the other was injured in an unfortunate accident with a Zamboni machine), she laid them out in alphabetical order.

  E F G I O R V

  We stared at the grouping for a moment.

  I said the first thing that made sense to me. “Give for.”

  “Maybe,” Armani mused. “But I think it’s forgive.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “Forgive.”

  “Forgive who?”

  She shrugged. “That’s for you to find out.”

  I frowned. In the beginning, I’d ignored Armani’s crazy messages and warning, but more often than not, they proved helpful, and had even saved my life more than once, so now I took her predictions seriously. “Do you think I need to ask forgiveness or that I need to forgive someone?”

  She shook her head. “Your message. Your solution.”

  I stared at the letters, wondering if this was a message that meant I should ask little Dominic for his forgiveness for killing his father.

  “So about the job situation,” Armani began, interrupting my thoughts.

  I looked up at her, more willing to take her career advice than to try to figure out what I needed to atone for.

  “I’m quitting.”

  “Huh?” I asked, trying to figure out how to change mental gears. “I know that you’re upset about what happened, but do you really think this is the best idea?”

  “I already told Harry.” Armani tossed her hair defiantly. “So don’t even try to talk me out of it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m going run a psychic matchmaker business. I’m pretty good at it. I have a successful track record. Tom and Jane, Brady and Amy, Alyssa and Pete to name a few. I’ve got the gift.” Her voice rose to a near-shout by the end, as though by raising her volume, she could convince me of her abilities.

  “Of course you do,” I soothed, biting my tongue and not mentioning that her own love life was a disaster. “But to make a living at it. What are you going to live on?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Really?” The idea of Armani thinking ahead was about as foreign an idea as Loretta wearing a turtleneck.

  “Ye of little faith.”

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that her plan could involve something illegal. While I regularly engaged in activities that could cause me to end up in jail, I wanted better for my friend. “Tell me about this plan of yours.”