The Hitwoman in a Pickle (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 18)

by Lynn, JB

  His face was smudged with dirt, his clothing was mismatched and disheveled, and I was pretty sure he’d taken a bath in cat urine.

  Wrinkling my nose at the stench, which was even worse than Aunt Loretta’s perfume, I distinctively rolled away from my former lover with a groan.

  “Sensitive skin!” God bellowed from his hiding spot.

  “Okay, okay,” I moaned, lifting myself into a kneeling position.

  “You’ve got to get out of here, Mags,” Patrick warned on a sharp whisper. “Now.”

  Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t, because DeeDee was excitedly licking his filthy face, panting, “Patrick. Patrick. Patrick.”

  “Oh no,” God moaned. “The repetition thing is contagious.”

  “Down, DeeDee,” Patrick ordered sternly.

  Immediately, the dog did as she was told, giving the illusion that she was obedient, when in reality, she’s a stubborn, first-rate stinker.

  I swayed weakly as Patrick helped me to my feet. Well, technically he yanked me up, and none too gently, hissing in my ear, “You’ve got to get out of here, Mags.”

  “Everything okay?” a male voice asked from behind us.

  Turning, I found Ian standing a few yards away, his gaze focused on where Patrick held my arm.

  “Keep your crazy dog away from me, lady,” Patrick said, a bit too loudly, releasing my arm and ducking his head so that Ian couldn’t get a good look at his face.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, tugging on DeeDee’s leash as I limped toward Ian. I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “The dog walked me this morning.”

  I didn’t know why Patrick was rocking the homeless chic look, but it was obvious he wanted to keep a low profile, and since Ian was the illegitimate son of Delveccio, a mobster the cop/hitman sometimes worked for, I thought the wisest course of action would be to get them, and keep them, apart.

  “Was that guy bothering you?” Ian glared at Patrick’s retreating back.

  “No, not at all. He just helped me to get back on my feet.”

  “Literally and figuratively,” God intoned from the valley of my breasts.

  Ian jerked his gaze toward me, frown lines furrowing his forehead.

  Desperate to change the subject, I pointed to the coffee cups Ian balanced on a cardboard tray, along with what I assumed was a bag of donuts. “Is something on there for me?”

  He nodded and gestured with his chin. “Let’s sit on the bench over there.”

  “Sounds good.” I limped in the direction he’d indicated, pulling DeeDee along. It wasn’t until I’d collapsed on the seat that I remembered that Patrick had wanted me out of the area, but when Ian immediately sat down beside me, I decided that the safest course of action was to stay put for the time being.

  “Do you want me to look at your ankle?” Ian offered as DeeDee sprawled out beneath the bench.

  “Naah, it’s fine. I just twisted it a little.”

  “But if you really hurt it—”

  “I know a good physical therapist,” I joked. The second the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes, wanting to snatch them back. The physical therapist I was referring to was Angel Delveccio, my niece’s former manny, and someone who was probably either Ian’s half brother or first cousin.

  Seeing my pained expression, Ian asked worriedly, “It hurts that much?”

  Snapping my eyes open, I shook my head. “No, of course not,” I said defensively. “I was just focused on how that coffee smells,” I added lamely.

  Taking the hint, Ian put the tray down, removed one of the cups, and offered it to me. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier?”

  I nodded, grabbing the cup. “Tell me what you meant when you said Uncle Thurston is missing.”

  “He’s gone. He didn’t come home yesterday.”

  “And that’s unusual?” I opened my cup and took a sip of the steaming brew.

  “That’s unheard of.” Ian hunched forward, resting his head in his hands.

  I patted his shoulder, ineffectively offering him comfort. Glancing up, I noticed Patrick, shuffling along a few yards away, watching us.

  I grabbed my coffee cup with both hands, not wanting to have to explain who Ian was to the curious cop. “When was the last time you saw Thurston?”

  Ian sat back and took the bag of donuts off the tray. “Yesterday morning.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Sitting at the breakfast table, drinking his tea.” Ian unrolled the top of the donut bag, and I sensed DeeDee stirring hopefully.

  “And reading the newspaper,” Ian added.

  “Feed. Feed,” DeeDee panted hopefully.

  As though he understood, Ian ripped a piece off the donut and tossed it to her.

  “More,” she demanded after gulping it down.

  Instead of obeying, Ian held out the remaining treat to me. “Want some?”

  I took it gratefully. “Crullers are my favorite.”

  “I figured.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not the kind of person who’s going to order something covered with icing or sprinkles.”

  I frowned, not quite sure what that meant. Not that he was wrong with his assessment. I almost always chose a cruller or a jelly donut.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Patrick slowly ambling in our direction, so I redirected the conversation to something more important than donuts. “So do you know what story Thurston was reading in the paper?”

  Ian blinked at the change of subject, but to his credit, he kept up with me. “The sports section, I think.”

  “So nothing about politics?”

  Ian frowned and sipped his coffee before he answered. “You think this is about the Concord family?”

  “I have no idea. I’m just trying to figure it out.”

  Ian scowled. “He didn’t want me to make that information about the Concord and Sorvina families public.”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t know what “that information” was. He’d shared the specifics with the reporter, Jack Stern, but neither had told me what the secret scoop was about the connection between one of the most wealthy and powerful NJ dynasties and the organized crime family.

  Considering all of my other problems, I really didn’t want to know, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to bury my head in the sand regarding this particular problem.

  “Maybe he was right. Maybe I put him in danger.”

  “Or maybe he’s sleeping it off in a drunk tank somewhere,” I suggested quickly.

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “This is Thurston we’re talking about, not Archie.”

  I shrugged. “You’d know better than me.”

  A flash of annoyance skipped across Ian’s face. I wasn’t sure if he was frustrated with me, or with Archie, my father, and his brother Thurston, the man who’d raised Ian.

  Before I could ask for clarification, DeeDee barked excitedly, “Patrick.”

  “Leave him alone,” I ordered, glancing over at the redhead who was rooting through the contents of a trashcan.

  Ian followed my gaze. “You know him?”

  “Patrick,” DeeDee panted helpfully.

  I frowned and chose my words carefully, not wanting to say anything to endanger Patrick’s undercover status.

  “He’s helped me with DeeDee,” I said slowly. It was the truth—he’d saved the dog’s life when she’d been attacked, picking her up and rushing her to the vet.

  “Not his best choice,” God drawled dryly from my chest.

  Ian looked at me sharply.

  “He’s not a bad guy,” I added hurriedly, trying to direct Ian’s attention away from the lizard’s squeaking.

  I looked over to Patrick, more so that I wouldn’t have to face Ian’s incredulity.

  That’s when I spotted the threat.

  Chapter Three

  Three teenagers were walking up behind Patrick. One carried a brick, one a long chain, and one a knife
.

  “Look out!” I yelled.

  Patrick looked up from his trashcan rummaging.

  “Behind you!” I warned, jumping to my feet.

  Patrick turned and defensively raised his arm as the kid with the chain swung at him. He partially blocked the blow, but it was still enough to send him stumbling backward.

  The hoodlum with the brick quickly delivered a crushing blow to Patrick’s shoulder, knocking the redhead to the ground.

  All three attackers began to kick and swing at him.

  “Hurt Patrick no!” DeeDee roared, shooting out from beneath the bench and racing toward the group.

  I ran after her, screaming, “Stop! Leave him alone!”

  DeeDee knocked the one with the brick to the ground, but the other two didn’t stop their attack. The one with a knife kept kicking Patrick, who was huddled in a ball, and the chain guy kept swinging.

  So I did the only logical thing. I launched my weapons at him.

  In hindsight, meaning the moment when he turned on me and directed the metal chain in my direction, I realized that a coffee cup and a donut are not the most effective weapons.

  Thankfully, years of Double Dutch jump roping finally paid off as I successfully ducked the chain arcing through the air.

  Still, the wielder of the weapon wasn’t about to quit and he wound up to take another shot at me.

  Instinctively, I backed away, accidentally bumping into the knife holder.

  “You kill. You kill,” DeeDee snarled menacingly at the brick-carrying teen she’d pinned to the ground.

  As the chain was raised over the head of the guy who was after me, the sickening sound of bone crunching against bone filled the air.

  The chain guy crumpled to the ground. Knocked out by Ian’s punch.

  “Tha—” I began to thank my brother as an arm snaked around my neck and I saw the glint of a blade out of the corner of my eye.

  Even if I hadn’t had a knife pressed against me, I would have known I was in deep shit from the expressions of horror and frustrated impotence that flashed over Ian’s face.

  “It’s okay,” I reflexively reassured him.

  “Shut up, bitch,” my captor demanded.

  “Maggie?” DeeDee whined worriedly.

  “Police,” Patrick said in his most authoritative tone.

  I slid my gaze sideways to see him. He’d gotten to his feet, his badge hanging from his neck, plain to see. His gun was pointed toward me.

  “You’re under arrest,” Patrick continued. “Lower the weapon and no one needs to get hurt.”

  “How ’bout you put that gun away before I slice her?” the teen shot back.

  My gaze ricocheted from Ian’s worried, helpless expression to DeeDee, who looked ready to spring to my defense.

  “You okay, Mags?” Patrick asked, drawing my attention back to him.

  I met his green gaze for a split second and found the combination of concern and determination to be reassuring.

  “You okay?” he asked again.

  I swallowed hard, hating the way the motion increased the pressure of the knife against my skin. “Just peachy.”

  “Shut up.” My captor tightened his grip.

  “Don’t panic,” God whispered. “I’ve got this.”

  “Uh oh,” DeeDee panted.

  I didn’t disagree with her assessment. I didn’t think the little lizard stood much of a chance against the dangerous sociopath threatening my life. But it wasn’t like I was in any position to argue with the little guy.

  “Just be ready,” God said. “On the count of three. One.”

  I held my breath and stared at Patrick, trying to mentally signal him that something was about to happen and he should be ready.

  “Two,” the lizard intoned dramatically.

  I wondered if everyone could hear the pounding of my heart since it was deafening to me.

  “Three!” The lizard ran up the arm of the goon who was holding me hostage yelling, “Die, cretin! Die!”

  And I’ll be damned, but it worked. Kind of.

  My attacker was so distracted by a squeaking lizard scuttling up him that he loosened his grip.

  At that moment, Ian leapt at us, grabbing the wrist of my captor.

  Not to be left out of the action, DeeDee jumped off her captive and, standing on her hind legs, snapped her teeth in the man’s face.

  “Okay, okay,” the guy surrendered, dropping his knife and releasing me.

  Ian twisted the man’s wrist behind his back and forced him to his knees.

  “Once again, I’ve saved the day,” God declared from the man’s shoulder.

  Feeling the phantom discomfort of the knife against my throat, I rubbed my neck nervously.

  “It’s over,” Patrick said softly as he finished handcuffing the brick carrier.

  “Are you okay?” Ian asked me while twisting his captive’s wrist.

  “Hey, that hurts,” the man complained.

  “Man bad. Man bad,” DeeDee growled in his face, causing him to tremble with fear.

  “Easy, DeeDee,” I ordered.

  Obediently, she backed off, but not before gobbling up what remained of the cruller.

  Chapter Four

  I’m not quite sure how he did it, but somehow, in the chaos of Patrick calling in for backup and DeeDee threatening to rip the throat out of each and every one of the attackers, and God demanding to be returned to the “pillowy comfort” of my bra, Ian disappeared.

  I didn’t even notice he was gone until Patrick asked, “Where’s your friend?”

  I kind of froze, considering I was in the middle of dropping God down my shirt. “Huh?”

  “The guy you were getting all cozy with. Where is he?”

  I looked around and realized he was right, Ian was nowhere to be found.

  I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

  “Gone Ian,” DeeDee panted.

  “Impressive how you manage to state the obvious,” God mocked.

  All three of the attackers looked up at my squeaking chest.

  “What are you looking at?” I glared at them until they all looked away.

  “Reinforcements are here,” Patrick said, jutting his chin in the direction of a pair of uniformed police officers hurrying toward us.

  “Were already here reinforcements.” DeeDee whined her hurt that he hadn’t recognized her contribution as a member of the reinforcements.

  “Is she hurt?” Patrick asked worriedly, glancing at the dog.

  “She’s insulted you don’t consider her to be part of the cavalry,” I replied.

  Patrick’s eyes widened. Not that I could blame him. I’m sure me voicing the hurt feelings of a dog sounded strange.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  I wasn’t sure if the apology was directed at me or the dog, but it seemed to appease DeeDee, who immediately sprawled out on the ground and stared up at him adoringly.

  Patrick glanced from her to the approaching cops. “Can you go wait over there?” He pointed to the bench that Ian and I had previously occupied.

  “Sure.” I picked up DeeDee’s leash from the ground. “Come.”

  Amazingly, she complied and allowed me to lead her to the bench.

  Once we were out of Patrick’s earshot, I asked, “What do you think happened to Ian?”

  “I think he was abducted by aliens. The truth is out there, you know.”

  “Oh shut up,” I muttered. I looked at the Doberman. “Too bad you’re not a bloodhound.”

  “Ian may not be related to Archie, but he did seem to learn some of his disappearing tricks,” God said.

  Sitting down on the bench and surveying the surrounding area, I couldn’t disagree with him.

  I watched as Patrick dealt with the uniformed cops who hauled away the bad guys like they were last week’s trash.

  Once they’d left, Patrick walked stiffly toward me, obviously uncomfortable.

  “I’ve got to take your official statement.” He ginge
rly settled himself onto the bench beside me and stared off into space. DeeDee licked his hand and he stroked her head distractedly.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten involved, Mags.”

  Knowing he was in pain, I suggested gently, “Maybe you should go to a hospital and get yourself checked out.”

  He turned and gave me a withering look.

  “Don’t even try it,” I retorted. “I saw how hard those guys were kicking you.”

  He winced. “So you had to rush in like the cavalry and rescue me?”

  “Along with DeeDee,” I reminded him.

  “And your friend,” he added pointedly.

  I looked away, feeling like I was on shaky ground. Ian didn’t want anyone to know about our relationship and I didn’t want to reveal his secret.

  “He cares about you,” Patrick said softly. “That much was obvious.”

  “It’s complicated,” I whispered, not daring to look at him.

  He sighed. “Everything with you always is.”

  I chuckled at that truth.

  “So hypothetically speaking,” Patrick began carefully, “if I, as a cop, were to ask you who he is, would you tell me?”

  I frowned and considered my answer. “Hypothetically, will you put me in jail if I don’t give you that information?”

  Throwing back his head, he laughed. A move that drew the attention of nearby park goers. Most of them scurried away, frightened of the homeless man guffawing on the bench.

  Grabbing his ribs, he groaned in pain. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Don’t lock me up,” I countered.

  “Do you have any idea what our mutual friend would do to me if I did that?”

  I looked at him, surprised that he’d brought Delveccio, the mob boss we both sometimes did work for, into the conversation.

  Staring into my eyes, Patrick shook his head. “You really don’t know how fond the old guy is of you, do you?”

  “We get along…”

  He snorted. “You ‘get along’ with him better than anyone else in his organization.” His gaze narrowed. “And I haven’t figured out why.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing that was another secret I had to keep from him. Out of loyalty to Delveccio, I couldn’t very well disclose the fact that the mobster had once been in love with my mother. Or that there was a very good chance that Ian was the product of that love match.