The Hitwoman's Juggling Act

by J. B. Lynn

  “Mike brought me this.” He held out a shiny new penny.

  “That’s Mike, giver of gifts.” I scanned the nearby trees but didn’t spot my avian friend.

  Boy peered curiously at the bag from the convenience store.

  I handed it to him. “Mike thought you might be hungry so I brought some food.”

  He rifled through the contents with the excitement of a kid opening gifts on Christmas morning. “Which can I have?”

  “All of it. It’s all for you.”

  He looked at me then with wide-eyed disbelief. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Reaching into the bag, he yanked out the candy bar, tore it open, and began devouring it.

  “He’s going to ruin his appetite by eating junk first,” God, who stood on my shoulder, complained.

  “I doubt that,” Piss purred. “Can’t you see he’s starving? Even DeeDee isn’t begging for a piece.”

  She was right. For once, the dog wasn’t eyeing the food, hoping to be spared a morsel.

  While Boy ate, she lay quietly at his feet, her head resting on her paws.

  “You should at least make sure he drinks the orange juice,” God huffed indignantly. “Otherwise, he could succumb to scurvy.”

  “I’m going to check out the house,” Piss declared, prancing away.

  “A most excellent idea.” God scrambled out of my bra and ran down the front of my body to follow the cat.

  Boy, watching the lizard’s descent, stopped chewing and watched his progress with open-mouthed amazement.

  “They’ll be back,” I assured him.

  Finishing the candy bar, the boy reached into the bag again.

  “Why don’t you have some of the sandwich or a piece of fruit,” I suggested gently, wanting to make sure he got some nutrition in him. He looked even paler and frailer than the last time I’d seen him. As much as I hated to agree with God, he definitely looked unwell.

  He pulled out the sub. Unwrapped it, sniffed it, and then took a big bite.

  I smiled my approval.

  After chewing, he swallowed and said, “I haven’t shot anything else.”

  “That’s good.”

  “The crow comes every day.” He pointed to Mike, who was sitting in a nearby tree.

  I blinked, surprised I hadn’t noticed his arrival.

  “I think he talks to me, but I can’t understand him.”

  I looked at the black bird for confirmation.

  “What can I say?” he squawked. “He seems lonely. Figured it doesn’t do any harm to jaw with him for a bit.”

  I swallowed a smile. Mike has a tough guy persona, but he’s really a softie at heart.

  Boy watched me closely. “How did you learn to talk to him?”

  A piece of lettuce fell out of his sandwich. DeeDee snapped it up like a piranha going after fresh meat. Then she looked up at me sheepishly. “Forgot sorry am I.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured her.

  “What did she say?” Boy asked.

  “That she’s sorry she ate your food.”

  He considered the dog for a long moment. “Maybe she’s hungry, too.” He tore off a chunk of the sandwich and tossed it to her.

  My heart squeezed at his generosity.

  DeeDee, exercising the most self-restraint I’d ever seen her use, let the food fall to the ground. She made no move to go after it.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “He’s sharing it with you.”

  She gobbled it up. Then licked Boy’s knee and panted, “Thank you.”

  “She said thank you,” I told him.

  “How do you know? How did you learn?”

  I shrugged. “I had a car accident and hit my head and one day I could do it. I didn’t learn how to do it. It just happened.”

  “Too Ian?” DeeDee asked curiously.

  I tilted my head to the side and considered the question. Was my half-brother’s ability to talk to animals unlocked by a head injury, too? My mom had pretty much claimed it was a genetic trait, but I hadn’t been able to do it before my noggin had suffered a significant knock. I made a mental note to ask Ian when his ability had manifested.

  I changed the subject. “Do you go to school?”

  Boy shrugged. “I used to.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “Frank says I’m too stupid to learn so it’s a waste of time.”

  A surge of hatred for the unknown Frank made every muscle in my body clench. I forced myself to take a calming breath before I spoke. “I don’t believe that. Do you?”

  He shrugged and stared at the ground, unshed tears brimming.

  “Boy smart,” DeeDee yipped.

  “DeeDee doesn’t believe it, either,” I told him.

  Impulsively, he bent down to pat her. “Thanks, DeeDee.”

  Two tears splattered against the dry earth beneath him.

  Despite the fact that he was practically waving his sandwich under her nose, the Doberman didn’t show any interest in his food.

  “You’re being watched,” Mike warned from his treetop post.

  I looked around, wondering if the elusive evil stepfather was going to make an appearance.

  DeeDee sniffed the air, alerted by the crow’s warning.

  “Easy,” I warned her, unsure of just how dangerous this Frank fellow could be.

  She sat up, ears twitching. “Here is he.”

  I looked around for a makeshift weapon. Trying to look nonchalant, I slowly got to my feet and picked up a nearby branch. It wasn’t much, but it was something if I needed to defend myself.

  Boy sat on the log, oblivious to the danger, munching on his sandwich.

  “Here is he,” DeeDee repeated excitedly.

  “Stay,” I ordered, thinking it was safer to circle the wagons than to split up.

  But she ignored me.

  She took off for a dense patch of bushes on the other end of the property.

  “DeeDee!” I yelled after her. “Stop!”

  But she kept running.

  Boy leapt to his feet, looking worried. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” I lied smoothly as he grabbed the sleeve of my shirt.

  “He does not look happy about that crazy mutt charging him,” Mike pointed out.

  I tightened my grip on the branch, torn between wanting to protect DeeDee and the child now huddling behind me.

  6

  The crazy Doberman didn’t even slow down when she reached the bushes. She leapt into them at full speed.

  There was a crash and a grunt and a muttered, “Dammit.” And then nothing for a long moment.

  “DeeDee?” Concern made my voice crack. “DeeDee, you come back here right now.”

  I saw a flash of coppery-red in between the branches of the bushes.

  “Hey, hey, don’t you hurt my dog,” I yelled.

  DeeDee raced out, barreling right toward me. I was so relieved to see her and was trying to get a look at her to see whether she was injured, so I didn’t see the man emerge.

  I heard him, though.

  “I wouldn’t dream of hurting your dog, Mags.”

  Raising my gaze, I found Patrick Mulligan ambling toward me.

  He looked pointedly at the branch clutched in my hand. “Collecting firewood?”

  I tossed away my makeshift weapon and smiled reassuringly at Boy, who was coiled tighter than a rabbit ready to run for his life. “It’s okay. This is my friend.”

  He eyed the approaching man doubtfully.

  “He’s okay,” I promised. “DeeDee likes him.”

  “Loves Patrick DeeDee,” the dog barked, racing back to the redhead’s side and licking his hand to demonstrate her affection.

  Boy relaxed a little. Knowing that his mother was in prison, I didn’t tell him that my friend is a cop. I remembered too well my own fear of law enforcement when I was his age and my dad had been locked up.

  I sat down on the log and patted the spot beside me, inviting Boy to join me and resume eating
his meal. He did, biting into the sandwich he still held. DeeDee returned, once again curling up at the kid’s feet, pretending he wasn’t dangling food right in front of her.

  I was impressed by her self-control and sacrifice.

  I squinted up at Patrick, who’d stopped a few paces away. I could tell he was taking in Boy’s physical state, and that, like me, he was appalled by it. I waited for him to speak, even though I was dying to know what he was doing there.

  Finally, he said, “How do you two know each other?”

  “I shot her bird,” Boy admitted before I could answer.

  Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You have a bird now, too?”

  “I’m nobody’s pet,” Mike cawed from his perch in a nearby tree. “Nobody puts Mikey in a cage.”

  I pointed at the squawking crow. “Mike. We’re buddies.”

  Patrick looked at the bird and shook his head. “You shot it?”

  “With a BB gun,” I explained quickly, not wanting him to think the kid was a violent felon in the making.

  “We’re all buddies now,” Boy said, the note of hopefulness in his voice tightening around my heart like a noose.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Friends,” DeeDee panted, leaning her head against his knee.

  He offered her the last of his sandwich. She eyed it longingly but looked at me for permission to take it.

  I nodded.

  She gently took it from the child before wolfing it down.

  I reached into the bag, pulled out the orange juice, still keenly aware of God’s scurvy worries. Opening it, I handed it to the kid.

  Patrick watched the exchange carefully, an emotion I couldn’t identify shining in the depths of his green gaze.

  “So you were just in the neighborhood?” I prompted, wanting to know what he was doing there.

  Patrick nodded. “Taking a walk.”

  I gave him a look, letting him know I didn’t believe that for a moment, but he didn’t react. “It’s such a nice neighborhood,” I drawled sarcastically.

  Boy rummaged through the contents of the bag and pulled out the banana. “Can I keep this for later?”

  “You can keep all of it for later.” I smiled as his eyes grew wide, even though my heart was breaking.

  Boy sat up at attention when, in the distance, a church bell tolled. He suddenly looked worried.

  “You should go,” Boy said. “Frank will be back soon.”

  I nodded slowly, hating to leave him, but not having another option. I slowly got to my feet as he threw his arms around DeeDee’s neck and hugged her tightly.

  “If you need anything, you let Mike know,” I told him, ignoring the questioning look Patrick shot me.

  “I’ll watch over him,” the crow pledged from his perch.

  When the child released the dog, I said to her, “Go tell the others we’re leaving.”

  Obediently, she raced toward the house.

  Puzzlement drew Patrick’s eyebrows together, but I pretended not to notice.

  “I’ll be back to visit soon,” I promised Boy.

  He nodded and picked up the bag of food as DeeDee, followed by Piss, with God riding on the cat’s back, hurried toward us.

  With one last wave to the forlorn boy, I followed Patrick out of the yard via the route he’d entered.

  “Things are worse than you think,” God said when we reached the street.

  “My car’s around the corner,” I told Patrick.

  “I know.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared up at him. “Were you looking for me?”

  “I always know where you’re at, Mags.”

  I frowned, not sure if that was the sweetest or creepiest thing I’d heard. “How?”

  “I’ve got a tracker on your car.”

  I dropped my hands to my hips. “You what?” My voice cracked with indignation.

  “You get in more trouble than anyone I’ve ever met,” the redhead soothed. “Just think of it as kind of a security blanket.”

  “I don’t need a security blanket,” I spat, outraged that he was treating me like a child who needed taking care of.

  “No?” There was a challenge in his voice and a hard glint in his eye.

  My back stiffened. “No.”

  “Do you have any idea who that boy’s father, Frank, is?”

  “Stepfather,” I corrected.

  “I know! I know!” God called.

  Patrick looked down and registered for the first time that a squeaking brown anole lizard was riding on my one-eyed cat. He blinked twice as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “Trouble,” God and Patrick answered simultaneously.

  “A ha!” God declared victoriously. “Independent confirmation.”

  “It’s never good news when someone agrees with him,” Piss meowed pitifully. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

  Patrick glanced around. “We shouldn’t be standing here discussing this.”

  “You’re right,” I told him coolly. “I promised Armani I’d take her to get something to eat.” I headed toward my car.

  “But—!” Patrick protested. “We have to talk.”

  “You should have no problem finding me,” I sniped back.

  “It’s for your own good, Mags,” he called after me.

  I flipped him the bird and not the kind with two wings.

  7

  God didn’t get the chance to tell me what kind of trouble Boy’s stepfather represented because the moment I got in the car, I got a call from Jack Stern. I was so surprised to see the reporter’s name on my caller ID that I answered the call as I started the engine.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” was Jack’s charming greeting.

  “Shocking,” God muttered from where he lounged on the car’s dashboard. “That’s something that never happens.”

  For a brief moment, I considered hanging up on Jack and claiming afterward that the call had been dropped. I really didn’t have it in me to deal with yet another problem.

  “Are you there?” the reporter’s gravelly voice asked through the car’s speakers.

  “I’m here,” I admitted grudgingly, pulling onto the road and heading toward the hotel.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “So you said.”

  “It’s about Patrick Mulligan.”

  Instinctively, I glanced in my rearview mirror to see if the redhead was tailing me. I was alone on the quiet suburban road. “What about him?” I asked in a tone that I hoped sounded more noncommittal than panicked, even though I was freaking out at the idea of a problem with my murder mentor.

  “I like Patrick,” Jack began slowly. “He’s always struck me as a decent guy.”

  I remained silent. I agreed that Patrick is a decent guy, but Jack is a straight arrow, law-abiding citizen, and Patrick doesn’t fall into that category, despite the fact he’s a cop.

  “And I don’t know how to bring this up to him without messing up our arrangement.”

  “You mean, him being your source in the police department?” I asked as I made another turn toward the hotel.

  “I have multiple sources,” he replied huffily.

  I rolled my eyes. Not the best thing to do while driving, judging by the shriek of dismay God let out as we almost veered off the road.

  “But yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t want to do irreparable damage to our working relationship.”

  “So why call me?”

  “There’s something between you two,” Jack said.

  “Ha!” God scoffed from the dashboard.

  I shot him a warning look before returning my gaze to the road in front of me. The reporter wasn’t wrong. There was a lot between Patrick and me. I’d learned how to kill from him, we’d saved each other’s lives, and we’d had sex…not to mention that despite my best intentions, I still nursed a bit of a crush on him.

&
nbsp; I didn’t say any of that to Jack. He took my silence to be tacit agreement.

  “So I was thinking maybe you could talk to him,” Jack continued carefully.

  “About what?” I asked, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t involve anyone with the name of Delveccio.

  “His girlfriend.”

  I was so surprised by that answer that I almost sideswiped a car I was driving past.

  “Watch where you’re going,” God admonished. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

  “Leave her alone,” Piss warned on a high-pitched meow. “Let her drive.”

  “Is that a cat?” Jack asked.

  “I’m driving,” I told him.

  “With a cat?”

  “Yes, my cat is in the car.”

  “Too me!” DeeDee barked excitedly.

  “And my dog,” I admitted before Jack could ask the obvious.

  “Why?” the reporter asked.

  “Because they needed to get out of the hotel room,” I snapped.

  Jack waited a long beat before speaking again. A wise choice, considering I was busy wringing the life out of the steering wheel. “How are you doing, Maggie?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Again, he waited a beat. “And the rest of your family?”

  “Are you interviewing me now, Jack? Are you going to do some human interest story on the after effects of having your family home blown to smithereens?”

  “Sugar,” Piss warned softly.

  I ignored her, liking the sense of outrage that was building in me. It was more energizing than pretending that everything was just peachy.

  “My aunts are driving me crazy, my sister is pissed off that she’s had to open her home to a couple of them, and Armani is so spooked that she needs to sleep with a light on. Was that the kind of heartwarming scoop you were hoping for?” Pulling up to a red light, I slumped back in my seat, exhausted by my little diatribe.

  “I was asking as your friend,” Jack answered quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You can give me a break and not ask me to do anything about Patrick or his girlfriend or whatever the problem is. You can take care of it yourself, instead of dumping it in my lap when I already have a million problems of my own.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.”

  The fact that he didn’t argue with me or plead his case caught me off guard. “What?”