Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

by JB Lynn

  I was too busy worrying that this routine traffic stop would somehow be connected to Patrick or Delveccio. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Maybe I should explain,” I called out to the cop sitting in his car.

  He waved me to approach. The overhead dome in his vehicle was on, and I could finally see him. Thirty-something, dark hair and eyes, a strong chin.

  “You see, my sister was killed in a car accident, and my niece is in the hospital, and I thought it might be the hospital calling.”

  “Was it?” He climbed back out of his car. He wasn’t that much taller than me. I also couldn’t help but notice that his biceps were barely restrained by the sleeves of his uniform.

  “Ummm . . . no. It was . . . a wrong number.”

  “Your driving record is clean.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old.” He flashed a smile so pearly white that I blinked.

  “My apologies, Officer . . .”

  “Kowalski. Paul Kowalski.” He handed me my license and registration. “I’m going to let you off with a warning, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am makes me feel old.”

  “Miss.”

  I knew that he was baiting me, but I was kind of enjoying the flirtation. “Maggie.”

  “It really isn’t safe to talk on the phone and drive, even with a headset. Some studies claim it’s even worse than driving drunk. Which isn’t to say you should start driving drunk.”

  I chuckled. “Of course not. Thank you for your understanding Off—”

  He held up a finger to interrupt me. “Paul.”

  “Paul.”

  “On the other hand, one drink does not a drunk make. My shift ended five minutes ago. Care to join me?”

  “Join you?”

  “For a drink.”

  “You’re asking me out?” This was almost as strange as talking to a reptile, or dining with a hitman.

  Paul Kowalski raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or use my position to influence you. I just thought a drink with an attractive woman would be a nice way to end my day. My shift is over. I meant no offense. Have a safe evening Miss Lee.”

  I briefly wondered if my wanna-be hitwoman status was giving me some sort of glow. Two different men had called me attractive in the past week. Or maybe I was subconsciously following Armani’s advice and had freed my inner-Chiquita. Either way, I’d just been asked out for the first time in a year.

  “Are you single?” I blurted out as he turned back toward his cruiser.

  He turned back around. “Yes.”

  “You’re sure? No wife. No mistress. No girlfriend?”

  “Not unless you count my job.” He walked back toward me. “Does that mean you’ll join me for a drink?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. A breath-taking, heart-breaking smile that would make me the envy of every girl in whatever place we ended up.

  “I have to turn in my car. Change clothes. How ’bout we meet up at Shenanigans over on Lincoln Ave in about thirty minutes?”

  “I’d like that.” I particularly liked that he’d chosen a place a block from my apartment which meant I’d have time to run home and freshen up.

  “It’s a date.” With a wink, he headed back to his car.

  I jumped in mine, set a land-speed record for getting home (something the officer probably wouldn’t have approved of), changed clothes, and applied some smoky eye make-up that I hoped made me look alluring and not like a victim of domestic violence.

  “What on earth are you doing?” God demanded haughtily.

  “I’ve got a date.”

  “A date?” He sounded as though he’d never heard of such a concept.

  “Yes. A man. A woman. A drink. Romance.”

  “I know what a date is. I just didn’t think you went for that sort of thing.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer me.

  I poked my head into the kitchen to see why not. He was lying on his back on the bottom of his cage, all four feet sticking straight up in the air.

  “God? Godzilla?” Panicked, I ran over to his enclosure and lifted the lid. “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t die.”

  I couldn’t tell whether he was breathing. I did notice that the pile of freeze-dried crickets appeared to be untouched. What if I had starved him to death? Katie would never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself.

  “God?”

  “What?”

  Screeching, I stumbled backward, knocking my toaster to the ground as I tripped.

  “What grace,” he drawled snottily, standing up on his hind legs.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “To get your attention.”

  “Well it worked; you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “You can’t even starve a reptile to death. How are you ever going to kill a man?”

  I frowned at him. “I don’t need you putting doubts in my head, Little Guy.”

  He flicked his tail, unhappy about being reminded of his diminutive stature. “You must have asked yourself the same question.”

  Scooping up the remains of my toaster, I made sure not to look at him. “Why do you think I haven’t brought you fresh bugs? You’re my dry run. If I can kill you . . .”

  I stole a quick look at him. His tiny lizard jaw had dropped open. It was nice to have shocked him for once. Grinning, I dumped the ruined appliance in the trash. “I’m going to be late for my date.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” God yelled after me as I strode out of the apartment.

  I tried not to imagine what a lizard would do . . . if it could do something.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A LITTLE WHILE LATER I was sipping a drink with a paper umbrella stuck in it. I wondered if God would like the miniature parasol. It was the perfect size for him.

  It had been forty minutes since Officer Paul Kowalski and I had gone our separate ways. I was starting to worry I was being stood up. I was also starting to worry that the weathered old guy at the end of the bar was starting to ogle me like a starving man eyes a steak.

  Old Dude had just slipped off his chair and was stumbling toward me when Paul walked into the place. I gave a big wave, hoping to attract his attention. The plan backfired when Old Dude waggled his fingers in reply and gave me a toothless grin.

  “Hey, Gorgeous. Sorry I’m late.” Paul cut right in front of Old Dude and placed a kiss on my cheek. Instead of sitting in the seat opposite me in the booth, he squeezed in beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. Claiming me as his own, he shot Old Dude a warning look.

  The old guy shrugged as if to say can’t blame a guy for trying, and shuffled away.

  “Sorry I’m late. My sergeant . . . never mind.” He took his arm off my shoulders.

  I expected him to move to the other seat, but he stayed where he was, his thigh practically welded to mine. He picked up my drink and sipped it, an oddly intimate act, considering we’d met less than an hour before. I’d left a lipstick print on the glass, and his lips overlapped the exact spot where mine had just been.

  “Pineapple juice, coconut rum, and raspberry chambord.” He brought the glass to my lips inviting me to drink. Staring into my eyes as I sipped, he said, “Sex in the Bedroom.”

  I almost choked on the alcohol. Instead I spluttered. Not an attractive look.

  Not that Paul Kowalski seemed to mind. “An interesting choice of drink.”

  Getting my coughing under control, I told him, “It’s the drink special of the night.”

  “I’m going to get a beer. Do you want another of those?”

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. What I wanted was real sex in the bedroom. Too bad this was only our first date. I have rules about these things. No sex on the first date. Or the second. If I still liked the guy by the third, then he had a chance of getting lucky. Unfortunate
ly, I’d found myself bored or aggravated by most of my first and second dates, which explained the current drought I’d experienced.

  Sliding out of the booth, Paul smiled at me before crossing to the bar. He’d changed into tailored jeans and a polo shirt that stretched tight across his massive shoulders. Other women in the bar, even some who were with dates, watched his progress.

  It was kind of thrilling to find out he only had eyes for me when he turned back around. My heartbeat, which had almost returned to normal, sped up again as he drew near.

  Putting his bottle down on the table, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the booth. “Dance with me, Maggie.”

  Shennanigans wasn’t really a dancing kind of place. No one else was dancing. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  Ignoring my protest, he pulled me closer. Looping my hands around his neck, he stared into my eyes as he rested his hands on my hips. Unlike Patrick Mulligan, Paul Kowalski was an easy man to read.

  He wanted me. Specifically, he wanted sex.

  No one had ever regarded me with such undisguised, unrepentant lust before in a public place. Usually the guys I dated practiced a modicum of decorum. They at least pretended to be further evolved than their caveman forefathers.

  Not Paul. His need was primitive, raw, and he was making no effort to mask his desire.

  I knew nothing about the man, including whether or not I even liked him, but I was already calculating how long it would take to get back to my place, when he captured my mouth with his, sealing my fate. This was no getting-to-know-you kiss. It was hot. It was wild. It promised—no, demanded—sex.

  My knees buckled, but Paul had a tight grip on me, imprinting the length of his body against mine. After assaulting my senses and decimating any judgment I might have had left, he lifted his head, letting me up for air.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he growled.

  I couldn’t speak. All I did was nod my head like some wind-up sex doll. Somehow I’d completely forgotten my rule about no sex on the first three dates. Hell, I was about to have sex with a guy I’d met ninety minutes earlier.

  We practically ran out of the bar to Paul’s car. It was like him. Dark and strong and powerful. A muscle car. He opened the passenger door for me, but before I could climb in, he yanked me back toward him, our bodies colliding, my nerves combusting.

  “I don’t usually do this,” he rumbled, his excitement evident as our bodies collided.

  “Me neither.” I panted, tugging his shirt free from his jeans and slipping my hands beneath. His muscles rippled beneath my touch.

  Mirroring my actions, he slid his fingers beneath the hem of my shirt, stroking the sensitive skin of my abdomen, before sliding his hands around me to cup my butt.

  Usually I didn’t enjoy being manhandled like this, especially not in a parking lot where anyone could see, but I decided to go with my inner Chiquita and enjoy the moment.

  He practically shoved me into the car, though he made sure I didn’t hit my head on the way down. That must be a cop thing.

  Hopping into the driver’s seat, he started the engine. The vibration of the motor seemed to shoot right through me. Powerful. Fast. Dangerous.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  It took all my concentration to direct him to my place even though it was just down the block. Once he parked, we raced to my front door. Somehow I unlocked the door, and we stumbled inside, groping each other.

  “That was a quick date,” God grumbled from the kitchen.

  I ignored him. Paul was pulling my shirt over my head.

  “What are you doing?” God asked from nearby.

  Startled, I looked around. He was loose! The lizard was perched on the back of my couch. I must have left the lid off his enclosure. Crap!

  “This is a very bad idea, M&M.”

  I glared at him while Paul tried to unbutton my jeans. Drawing himself up to his full height, the lizard shook his head disapprovingly. He was really killing the mood. I wanted to tell the lizard that I was about to have sex for the first time in over a year. And it was going to be good, passionate sex. With a guy who’d just met me. A guy who found me so attractive he was ready to rip my clothes off.

  “It’s cheap and tawdry, and you deserve better than this,” God lectured.

  I waved for him to go away. He didn’t budge. He just stayed there staring at me.

  “Bedroom,” I gasped. Grabbing Paul’s hands, I pulled him after me as I headed for my bed. I could close the door. That would keep the lizard out. It would keep him from watching us.

  We were halfway down the hall when God reminded me, “The gun is under the mattress.”

  That stopped me cold. There was no way I could have sex knowing the gun was there and that Paul Kowalski could find it at any moment, like some twisted version of “The Princess and the Pea.” Crap!

  “I can’t . . .” I said breathlessly. “I can’t.” I pushed him away from me.

  He stared at me uncomprehendingly. I’d caught him off guard. The poor man probably wasn’t accustomed to a woman putting on the brakes so abruptly.

  “I can’t do this. It’s too much. Too fast.” And I’ve got a Magnum under the mattress.

  He blinked.

  I could practically see the gears in his brain spinning. He was trying to figure out how to change my mind. He reached for me and I jumped back.

  My brain was in charge again. I couldn’t afford to let my body control my choices, and I knew that if I let him touch me, I’d make decisions driven by lust, not logic. I couldn’t afford to do that. Too much was riding on my actions. I had to remember Life Lesson One: Don’t get caught.

  Having a cop catch me with a gun was a definite no-no.

  No matter how much I wanted him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I MUST HAVE LOOKED pretty ragged when I pulled in beside the Golden Arches the next morning, because the first words out of Patrick’s mouth were, “You look like hell.”

  “You’re a charmer.”

  “Come for a ride.”

  I parked my car and climbed into his truck. It smelled like coffee. Hot, strong coffee. I stared longingly at the large cup in the cup holder.

  “That’s for you.” Patrick pulled away from McDonald’s as I greedily gulped down the java juice. “You can have one of those breakfast-sandwich-things, too, if you want.”

  “Thanks.” I ripped the wrapping off an egg sandwich. It smelled almost as good as the coffee. The man was awfully good to me.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “You got pulled over.”

  “You thought I’d tell them about you?”

  He shook his head. “I thought you’d call back.”

  “I got busy.”

  He glanced over at me, frowning. “What did they stop you for?”

  “Talking on the phone with you.”

  “Did you get a ticket?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you don’t know who stopped you.”

  “Paul Kowalski.”

  “You know his name?” If it was possible, Patrick’s voice got even softer than usual.

  “He told me.”

  “Why?” He didn’t sound happy that I was on a first-name basis with a cop other than him. I guess I couldn’t blame him.

  “He asked me out.”

  “Kowalski asked you out?”

  “You don’t have to make it sound quite so unbelievable.” I knew I wasn’t the most attractive Barbie in the dollhouse, but even I could occasionally land a date.

  “Did you accept?”

  I nodded. Remembering how I’d accepted everything else he’d done to me, I felt my face grow warm.

  Patrick Mulligan has the observational skills of a detective. He didn’t miss my tell-tale blush. Putting the truck into park, he twisted in his seat to get a better look at me. He pressed the back of his hand to my burning cheek, before sighing heavily.

  “What?” I said defensively. “I�
��m not allowed to date?”

  “Just be careful. Kowalski doesn’t exactly have a reputation for dating. This job . . . it can make people reckless. Do things they wouldn’t normally do.”

  I took a giant swig of coffee to keep myself from saying, Like have sex?

  “Let’s walk and talk.” Patrick climbed out of the truck before I had a chance to tell him I was pretty darn comfortable sitting right there with my coffee and breakfast.

  I scrambled out after him, only to freeze when my feet hit the ground.

  We were smack dab in the middle of a cemetery.

  I eyed the graves wondering if one was about to become mine. Maybe Patrick had decided I was too much of a liability, what with my getting pulled over by the cops the night before.

  His footsteps crunched along the gravel as he rounded the vehicle and came toward me. I readied myself to throw the remains of my lukewarm beverage in his face. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all I had. The gun he’d given me was still in my house. I’d wrapped it in a sweater and placed it in the washing machine, just in case Paul Kowalski returned for another visit.

  “I like this place,” Patrick said, putting his hands in his pockets and surveying the land like an old-time rancher surveying his spread. “It’s always so quiet. And there’s history here. Real history.”

  It didn’t sound as though he was ready to kill me, so I took another bite of the sandwich.

  “Do you have any phobias or superstitions I should know about?”

  I thought about it for half a second before I ruled out my preternatural aversion to anything that involved Tom Hanks. I decided not to mention it. “No.”

  “Are you afraid of dogs?” Patrick began weaving his way between the headstones.

  I followed. “Not particularly.”

  “The number thirteen?”

  “My lucky number.”

  “Afraid of heights?”

  That made me smile. “Nope.”

  Glancing back at me he cocked his head. “Why the grin?”

  I scowled at him. I was not in the mood to be hassled.