9 The Hitwoman's Downward Dog

by JB Lynn

  "From who? I told you, her boyfriend’s dead."

  "From whoever killed Ike Medd."

  "Listen, Maggie." He took a step toward me, freezing when DeeDee swiveled her head in his direction. "Leave this to the professionals."

  "They’re not here. We are."

  He raised his hands in protest and took a step backward. "This is not my thing. I tell the story. Observe and report. I don’t get involved."

  "Fine." I scooped up the lizard out of the car and placed him on my shoulder, not caring about the way the reporter’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. "You observe and report. I’m doing something. Lead the way, DeeDee."

  The dog bounded into the woods, but before I could follow her, Jack had closed the distance between us and grabbed my arm.

  "I can’t let you do this." His voice was low, but held a strident note of desperation. Worry clouded his dark eyes as he stared down at me, trying to bend me to his will.

  I met his gaze steadily, understanding his reaction was that of a normal person, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It wasn’t just Armani’s life on the line, although that would have been enough. If I failed to rescue Joy Gilbert, who knew what Ms. Whitehat would do to Zeke or even Patrick in retaliation. "You can’t stop me, Jack," I whispered.

  "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

  I’d almost forgotten about the gun I held. "If I have to."

  "You can’t."

  He said it with such conviction and was so wrong, that I had to ask, "What makes you say that?"

  "You’re not the type. You’re a good person."

  It would have been nice if he’d been right, but since I had shot a couple of people, he was dead wrong. Still, it was nice to think that someone, however misguided, thought I was a good person. Tears stung my eyes and my throat closed.

  "Hey, don’t cry." He leaned forward so that his forehead rested against mine. The gesture was both intimate and supportive. "It’s going to be okay."

  Tapping on my cheek impatiently, God said, "I doubt that."

  Jack jumped back startled by the squeaking noise the lizard made. I used his momentary distraction to twist free of his grip and run after DeeDee.

  "Stop!" Jack called from behind me. "Maggie, stop!"

  I didn’t dare risk a glance back at him. If I had, I might have lost my resolve.

  Chapter 22

  DeeDee fell into step beside me.

  "Which way?" I panted, once again thinking I should have taken up my friend Alice’s suggestion that I’d do well to take up jogging.

  "Way this."

  "Is he following?"

  "Who?" DeeDee asked.

  "The rather sane reporter, moron," God sniped. "No. He’s not following."

  I slowed down to a walk, trying to catch my breath, as an aching stitch in my side almost forced me to double over.

  "He did make a reasonable argument about contacting the professionals," the lizard said as I followed the Doberman deeper into the woods.

  "I thought you were the one who said we were wasting daylight," I reminded him.

  As though to prove his point, the woods seemed to be growing darker with every step.

  "Well that’s because I was imagining the challenge of executing a nighttime extraction without night vision goggles."

  I rolled my eyes, which was a bad idea because it meant I wasn’t watching where I was going, which resulted in my tripping over a root or something and ending up sprawled on the ground on all fours.

  My tumble sent the lizard flying. "Aaaaaaah!" I heard him scream as he flew through the air.

  I didn’t hear him hit the ground.

  DeeDee returned to my side and licked my face. "Okay are you?"

  "Find God," I muttered.

  While she went in search of the superior reptile, I attempted to get back up. I was still balanced on my palms and feet when I realized I’d dropped the gun when I tripped.

  I turned my head, looking from side-to-side, trying to find the weapon.

  When I glanced back toward my feet, I was startled to see another pair of shoes.

  Someone was standing right behind me.

  "What the hell are you doing?" a man asked.

  Arching my butt a little higher in the air to get a better look, I caught an upside down glimpse of him and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was tall, dark, and deadly with a scar beneath one eye and a hand curled around the handle of a hunting knife.

  I looked back down at the ground beneath me, trying to get some oxygen to my brain so I could figure out what to say that wouldn’t get me killed.

  My hamstrings burned from the strain of holding the position.

  "Downward dog," I gasped. Then feeling like I was channeling something Aunt Leslie might have said during her pothead days, I continued, "I wanted to take advantage of my surroundings, commune with nature. Be one with the Earth. Feel her energy coursing through me." All that I really felt coursing through me was cold fear with a nausea chaser. As I babbled that nonsense, I slowly stood up, fighting off the wave of dizziness that buffeted me.

  When I was finally able to focus, I asked the man. "Are we near the Wild Dog Retreat?"

  "Not far," he replied suspiciously, but I saw that he was putting his knife back into the leather holder he wore on his belt.

  He tensed up again as DeeDee returned and sat down at my side. "That yours?"

  I nodded. Thinking fast I told him. "She’s my service dog."

  "Service dog? Are you blind or something?"

  I considered telling him that I was, despite the fact we were staring into each other’s eyes.

  "No," I said in a rush, realizing I’d let too much time lapse before answering. "She helps me with managing anxiety. I’ve got it bad, real bad," I warmed to the task. "If it ends with 'phobic,' I've got it, but I hate the drugs. I hate what they do to me. How they make me feel or not feel. Like everything is flat and gray, ya know?" I was no longer channeling Leslie, but my own mother. How many times had these very reasons passed her lips when she didn't want to take her medication? "My old shrink dumped me because of my lack of medication compliance, but the new one, she's into all this natural stuff, which is why I have to get to the Wild Dog."

  By now, the knife-wielding man's eyes had glazed over and he was looking like he'd rather jab toothpicks through his lip than to listen to me talk.

  "So can you tell me where it is?" I glanced around at the encroaching shadows. "Because I'm scared of the dark."

  "Nyctophobia," God supplied helpfully. "Fear of the dark."

  That was when I noticed he was hanging from DeeDee's collar like a rappelling mountain climber.

  The bad guy heard his squeaking and looked at the dog too.

  "And I might start hyperventilating, or screaming, or seeing UFO's or something," I poured out in a breathless rush.

  "Where's your car?"

  I couldn't point him in the direction I'd come from. For one thing, Jack could still be there and I didn't want to put him in danger. For another, all my identifying information was in the glove compartment.

  "I don't exactly know," I said slowly.

  "You don't know?"

  I shrugged and did my best to act like Aunt Loretta, batting my eyelashes and everything. "I don't really have the best sense of direction. Can you help me?" I took a step toward him. In the back of my mind, I wondered what Patrick would think of me totally disregarding his "Don't Get Caught" rule.

  The man tensed but didn't withdraw the knife.

  "I really am scared," I confessed. That much was true.

  "I'll take you to the Wild Dog," he agreed gruffly, "but the dog's gotta stay here."

  "But—"

  "No buts. That's the deal. The dog stays here or you spend the night in the dark, spooky woods. Which is it gonna be?"

  I couldn't refuse the deal without raising his suspicion. "Okay. You stay, DeeDee," I ordered, hoping she knew enough to obey.

  "You're not going to tie h
er up or anything?"

  I shook my head. "I don't believe in oppressive shackling."

  Shaking his head, my tour guide motioned for me to follow him. "Come this way."

  "Stay," I reminded the dog, hoping it sounded like a command and not a desperate plea.

  "We understand," God assured me.

  The man glanced back, looking for the source of the squeaking noise.

  "Is it far?" I asked to distract him.

  "Not far at all." I followed him, wondering exactly what I was getting myself into and how I was going to get out of it.

  Chapter 23

  The Wild Dog Resort did not look like the type of oasis of serenity that most places that advertised in the back of a yoga magazine offered. It looked more like a little fort, complete with a barbed wire fence and an armed guard.

  "Are you sure this is the place?" I asked the man who'd led me there.

  "This is it." As though he sensed I might turn tail and run, he grabbed my arm, his fingers gripping me so tightly I knew I'd bruise.

  Sensitive skin! my mind screamed hysterically. Thankfully, the only sound that came out of my mouth was a gasp of pain.

  I tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip.

  "I need my personal space," I warned him. "You're encroaching on that."

  "Oh," he promised with a leer that made me want to throw up. "I'm going to encroach on a lot more than that."

  "You can't be bringing that lass here, Jimmy," the armed guard with a thick Irish accent told my captor.

  Focusing on him, I realized he was one of the men who’d been at Ike Medd’s apartment, but wasn’t the one who’d chased me. I ducked my chin, hoping my hair would obscure my face from the man I silently nicknamed Buster because of his broken nose. He had so much medical tape across the bridge it had to be interfering with his vision.

  "Boss won’t like it," a non-accented man said.

  Instinctively, I turned in his direction, which was a mistake. He was the man who’d chased after me at Medd’s place and he did recognize me.

  "You!" He pointed an accusing finger. I nicknamed him Bubba since it seemed to go with Buster. "Oh the boss is gonna want to see you." He grinned, opening the gate and allowing us entrance.

  "I'm getting really uncomfortable," I complained. "This is not the experience I was hoping to have."

  Ignoring my protests, Jimmy dragged me to smaller of two buildings housed within the fence. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the heavy door, and tossed me into the pitch-black space without warning.

  Blinded, I stumbled and fell to my knees as the door slammed shut behind me.

  "Crap," I muttered. "Crap, crap, crappity crap." I staggered to my feet, trying to get my bearings.

  "Is that you, chiquita?"

  I froze wondering if I'd imagined her voice. "Armani?"

  "I told you she'd come," my semi-psychic friend crowed triumphantly.

  "You're alive?" I asked incredulously, shuffling in the direction her voice came from.

  "Unless you've suddenly developed the ability to talk to ghosts."

  I hesitated for a second, considering the possibility.

  "Of course I'm alive." Armani laughed. "Have you gone loco?"

  "She's scared," another woman said. "Give her a break."

  "Joy?" I asked.

  "You remember me?"

  "There are a lot of people looking for you," I replied honestly.

  "So the cavalry will be arriving any moment?"

  "I don't know about that," I said carefully.

  "I told you," Armani interrupted. "She's here to rescue us."

  "I'm doing a bang-up job so far," I replied bitterly.

  "I've seen it," Armani soothed. "You rescue us."

  "How?" I asked hopefully. Her visions had come true in the past. Maybe I really could rescue these two women.

  "With a fork."

  "A fork?" I squeaked incredulously.

  "Definitely a fork."

  "I don't have a fork." Hell, I'd left my useless cell phone in the car and lost my gun when I fell in the woods. Realizing that probably wasn't the encouragement my fellow prisoners needed to hear, I changed the course of the conversation. "How did you end up here?"

  "My fault. A string of bad choices," Joy muttered, self-recrimination dripping from each syllable.

  "We all make those," I assured her, thinking of the mountain I'd made. "Why was your place trashed, Armani?"

  "Because I put up a fight." I could practically hear the beautiful Latina raising her chin proudly. "Fools come into my home, try to take my friend. They thought that just because of the Handicapped sticker in my car, I'd roll over. No way."

  I couldn't help but grin, imagining the hell she must have given their captors.

  "Like I said," Joy reiterated. "It was my fault. It was me they were after."

  I knew better than to ask her why. Instead I asked, "And how was Ike Medd connected to all this?"

  Armani let loose a string of Spanish words I didn’t understand. Not that I needed them translated. It was perfectly understandable that they were less than kind.

  I waited for her to finish her tirade before telling her, "That’s great and all, but you didn’t really answer my question."

  "He was my fault," a male voice replied quietly.

  "Aahh!" I jumped, startled since I hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the darkened space. "How many people are in here?"

  "Just the three of us," Armani said.

  I did a quick mental count. Me plus Armani plus Joy equaled three. Was the man a ghost? I balled my hands into fists wishing the thought away. I had enough to contend with, I didn't need wayward spirits thrown into the mix.

  "And you," Armani added.

  "What?"

  "The three of us and you."

  I let out a shaky sigh of relief, knowing the other occupant was still in the land of the living.

  "I brought Medd," in the unseen man continued. "Joy was spending a lot of time talking to Armani. I needed to know what they were discussing."

  The more he spoke, the more convinced I became that his voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

  "So it wasn't true love," Armani complained bitterly. "I was set up from the beginning."

  Hearing her hurt, I murmured, "I'm sorry."

  "Not as sorry as Medd will be," Armani pledged. "When I get out of here, I'm going to make him pay."

  "I don't think that's going to happen," I said gently.

  "Oh yes it will, you watch."

  "He's dead."

  The silence in the darkened space was more uncomfortable than nails across a chalkboard.

  "How?" Joy asked finally.

  "I'm not sure. All I know is that they found his body floating in the river."

  "Son of a bitch," the man muttered. "My crazy father is going to kill us all."

  My gut tightened, cutting off my breath. That's why the voice was familiar. I was trapped with Lucky O'Hara. The man Patrick had once asked me to steal a flash drive from. The one Ms. Whitehat had told me to save Joy from in the first place. Suddenly, I was grateful for the pitch-black surroundings, otherwise the adopted son of the O'Hara family would recognize me from our time together in Atlantic City, and I really didn't want to explain myself in front of Armani and Joy.

  Remembering Delveccio’s story about Lucky’s adoptive-grandfather’s demise, I was inclined to think he was right.

  "You don't know that," Joy hurriedly assured him. "We're still alive."

  "Only because they don't have what they want. Once they do, we're expendable," the man countered.

  "But, just like I predicted, Maggie's here to rescue us," Armani reminded him cheerily.

  "How's that going?" the man asked sarcastically.

  "Don't be such a downer, Lucky," Armani snapped.

  "Are they looking for us?" the detective asked.

  "Yes. Lots of people."

  "And yet you're the one who found me?"

&nbs
p; "Well to be honest, I was looking for Armani, finding you was just a bonus of sorts," I replied weakly.

  "And does anyone know where you are?"

  I thought of Jack. "Sort of. I’m really confused though about how you ended up here."

  "It’s Joy’s fault," Armani said quickly, but without malice.

  "True." Joy sighed.

  "You were just doing your job," Armani soothed.

  "Could you please just explain," I demanded impatiently.

  "I collared Lucky," Joy began.

  "That’s me," he called.

  "Guessed that," I muttered.

  "But instead of pressing charges, I convinced him to go to work as my C.I."

  "Criminal Informant," Armani helpfully, even though I didn’t need the explanation since I’ve picked up a lot of crime lingo through osmosis since God watches so many investigative television shows.

  "And it was going great," Joy continued. "He gave me information. I made busts."

  "But then I decided I wanted out," Lucky interrupted.

  "Out of the C.I. thing or out of the family business?" I asked.

  "Both. But it wasn’t like either side was going to be eager to let me go."

  Thinking about the hold Ms. Whitehat had over me, I murmured, "I understand."

  "So we decided that if he got me some really great information, I’d help him get out," Joy explained.

  "And did you?" I asked.

  "Well duh!" Armani moaned her exasperation. "Why else would we have ended up here? But it’s all okay, since you’re here."

  I fervently wished I had her faith that I was going to get her out this mess.

  "So what’s the plan?" she asked.

  Before I had a chance to answer her, we heard footsteps outside the door.

  Chapter 24

  "C'mon out, yoga princess," Jimmy demanded from the other side of the door.

  "Who's that?" Armani whispered.

  "Me." I stumbled toward the door as it swung open. The beam of a flashlight was beamed at my face, blinding me. I raised a hand to block the light and my wrist was grabbed. Yanked unceremoniously outside, I tripped, landing on my knees as the door was slammed shut, separating me from those I'd come to rescue.

  "How's your phobia?" Jimmy mocked.

  I almost didn’t hear him because I was so distracted that a pitchfork lay on the ground in front of me. A fork. Just like Armani had predicted.