by J. B. Lynn
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A note from JB:
ABOUT JB LYNN
LINKS TO OTHER BOOKS BY JB LYNN
A Match Made in Mystery
JB LYNN
Praise for JB Lynn’s Novels
"If you love series such as Evanovich's Plum and Bond's Body Movers, you'll love Confessions of A Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman."
-A Chick Who Reads
“…laugh out loud hilarious and totally engaging novel.”
-Night Owl Reviews
“JB Lynn knows how to entertain readers. I can’t wait to see what she has in store for Maggie next!”
-Romance Novel News
“Ms. Lynn writes stories that flow well, make you care about her characters, and make you want to read more. It’s a winning combination for a book.”
-Long and Short Reviews
“…Lynn similarly and masterfully joins the genres of suspense and romance with a tale that is sure to please fans of both. Readers will be anxiously awaiting the next book in this series.”
-LIBRARY JOURNAL
OTHER TITLES BY JB LYNN
Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
The Hitwoman Gets Lucky
The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels
The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness
The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost
The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops
The Mutt and the Matchmaker
The First Victim
Special thanks to
Brenda Rumsey
Diane Wallace
Angelica Jackson
If you haven’t read THE MUTT AND THE MATCHMAKER be sure to check it out!
Prologue
“I need to talk to you.”
Brady barely heard the woman over the music being spun by the wedding DJ. He bent closer to the vivacious Latina. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”
“I said I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Although they’d never spoken, Brady knew who the woman was. Everyone attending the wedding knew she was Armani Vasquez, the matchmaker who’d put his friend Tom together with his new bride, Jane.
As a rule, Brady scoffed at the idea of a matchmaker, but even he had to admit that Tom and Jane were a perfect match. He’d never seen his friend so happy.
“It’s important,” Armani told him. “Life-changing important.”
“Okay, just let me get this drink and then we’ll find a place to talk.” Glancing down at her near-empty glass, he asked, “Can I get you a refill?”
She flashed him a beguiling smile. “Margarita on the rocks, por favor.”
“My drink of choice, too.”
“What can I get ya, buddy?” the bartender asked as Brady stepped up to the bar.
“Two margaritas on the rocks and one pink lady. Can you make that?”
Brady was pretty sure the guy smirked, but he nodded.
“Are you a believer?” Armani asked Brady as the bartender busied himself with creating their libations.
“A believer?”
“In my gift.” There was a challenge gleaming in the eye of the dark-haired beauty.
Brady waved a hand to encompass the entire room before focusing on the bride and groom, who were posing for pictures with their dog, Calamity. “Hard to say you don’t believe with all this happening.”
Armani eyed him shrewdly. “A good argument, counselor.”
He nodded his agreement.
“The lady’s drink,” the bartender announced.
“What makes you think I’m a lady?” Armani asked him with a saucy wink.
The bartender’s mouth dropped open.
Brady moved to pass Armani her beverage, forgetting the beautiful woman only had the use of one of her hands; the other, according to what Tom had told him, had been injured, along with one of her legs, in a Zamboni accident.
She held up her empty glass, indicating she couldn’t take the full one.
“May I?” Mauricio, another friend of Tom’s, sidled up to them, smoothly plucking the glass from Armani’s grip.
“Thank you.” Armani batted her eyelashes at him gratefully while taking the margarita from Brady.
“Always my pleasure to assist a beautiful woman.” Mauricio made a slight bow toward her.
She grinned her pleasure.
Brady picked up his margarita and a frothy pink concoction in a tall glass from the bar.
“Don’t let the pink one go to your head, buddy,” Mauricio teased, nodding at the umbrella-laden, frothy pink drink Brady held before strolling off.
Brady rolled his eyes. “Ha ha.”
“Is he single?” Armani asked as soon as Mauricio was out of earshot.
Brady watched his friend get swallowed up by the undulating crowd on the dance floor. “Widowed. But trust me, he’s not looking for love.”
Armani stared at the spot where Mauricio had disappeared. “Looking and finding aren’t always the same thing.” She eyed the pink lady distastefully before raising her glass to toast. “To a purple people eater.”
Brady stared at her. He’d heard she was eccentric.
She clinked her glass against the pink one he held. “To a purple people eater.” She sipped from her margarita. “Drink up.”
“It’s not my drink.”
She chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief.” She clinked against his margarita.
“It’s my date’s and I really should get it to her.”
She scowled. “Trust me, a woman who drinks whatever that is,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste, “is not the woman for you.” She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. “I know these things.”
Deciding it was best to play along with the slightly wacky woman, Brady agreed, “So I’ve heard.”
Armani flashed a self-satisfied grin. “My reputation precedes me.”
“So what’s this important thing you need to tell me?”
“I already did.”
Brady blinked. He considered himself to be a reasonably intelligent man, but he was struggling to follow this conversation despite that fact he’d only had one beer.
“Purple people eater.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have to find someone who can give you one.”
“What is it?”
Armani shrugged. “How should I know?’
Brady stared at her, totally confused.
“Keep asking and you shall receive,” Armani intoned. With that, she limp-shimmied into the crowd of dancers, leaving Brady holding a pink lady and wondering what the hell had just happened.
Chapter One
Squeezing her phone, Amy stared at the yellowed postcard taped to the corner of her dresser mirror.
Closing her eyes, she imagined herself standing amid the rolling green hills in the photograph as she told the man on the other end of the call, “Sure.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Adrian Bucker sounded pleased. “I knew I could count on you. See you at four tomorrow.”
He disconnected the call. Amy opened her eyes, focused on the postcard again, and lowered the phone.
She hadn’t wanted to agree to Adrian’s request, but she knew it was what Aunt Bea would have expected. Besides, her Ireland Fund was lower than she’d like. She traced the letters on the postcard with the tip of her finger. I R E L A N D
She knew that the other side contained a short note. “Miss you, my bonny lass.”
A love note from her father to her mother. It was the only part of him Amy had ever known, since he’d died before she was born.
On her deathbed with her last pained breath, her mother had demanded that Amy go to Ireland when she turned twenty-eight.
Desperate to ease her mom’s suffering during her final moments, Amy had agreed to the promise.
Sighing heavily, she dropped her hand to her side. “It shouldn’t be so hard to take one great trip when you’re twenty-eight,” she told her reflection before turning away.
She looked down as something rubbed against her shins. Bending over, she scooped up an oversized tabby cat. “You, Pippin, are one of the reasons my fund is low. Do you have any idea how much your surgery cost?”
Instead of answering, the cat rubbed the top of her head against the bottom of Amy’s chin.
Holding the cat close, Amy sank down onto the bed. “Then again, you are good company.” She surveyed her efficiency apartment. It had seemed a whole lot homier before someone had broken in the month before and stolen her laptop, which had doubled as her TV. Now, stripped of some of its first world technology, the small, utilitarian space seemed even more depressing.
Feeling tears pressing against the backs of her eyes, Amy shook her head. “No need to feel sorry for yourself.”
The cat kneaded her chest, trying to comfort her.
“I’m okay.” Amy dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m okay. Just tired.”
She carefully placed the cat on the comforter before scooting up to lay beside her. “A little rest will solve most of life’s problems,” she murmured, repeating the words her mother had used so many times.
It had been a long day, and now that she’d agreed to help out Adrian at the restaurant on her day off from her job at the hospital, it was going to be a longer week than she’d anticipated. Curling up, the cat pressed against her, and Amy closed her eyes, searching for the rest that so often eluded her.
She’d just drifted off to sleep when she was startled awake by heavy footsteps climbing the stairs toward her apartment.
Leaping off the bed, she grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall. Grasping it firmly, she held her breath, waiting to hear who was visiting her.
The rap against the door was sharp and quick. “Amy?” a familiar voice called. “It’s me. Let me in.”
Exhaling, she tossed the bat on the bed, crossed the room, and unlocked the three locks on her front door. “Hey, Diego. What’s…?”
The question died on her lips as she got a good look at the man on the other side.
Normally tall, dark, and handsome, Diego was hunched, bleeding, and in pain.
Wordlessly, Amy stepped aside, ushering him in. He stumbled to one of the chairs in her kitchen and sank onto it with a groan.
Amy closed the door and threw all three locks, knowing full well that the locks hadn’t stopped the thieves who’d broken in and stolen her stuff and surely wouldn’t be a deterrent to whoever’d done this to Diego. She cleared her throat, endeavoring to sound calm as she asked, “You want me to call 9-1-1?”
“As if,” he teased weakly.
Shaking her head, Amy moved to her bathroom, snagging the first aid kit she kept under the sink before joining him in the kitchen.
She got a better look at him under the glare of the fluorescent lighting. His T-shirt was dirty, the collar torn. His lower lip was swollen and there was a trace of blood smeared across his chin. A nasty-looking bump bloomed over his eyebrow.
“What happened?” She put the kit down on the vinyl tablecloth-covered bridge table that served as her dining area and went to the freezer.
“Classified.” Diego fumbled with the latch on the kit.
Amy shot him a dirty look. He never talked about his job, telling her it was safer for her not to know, but she knew it was dangerous. Too dangerous. Twisting and cracking the ice cube tray, she spilled blocks of ice into a clean dishtowel with undue vigor and thrust the combination at Diego.
He took the improvised ice pack from her and pressed it against the knot on his forehead, a move that revealed a long cut slicing down his forearm.
She took a minute to wash her hands, using the time to compose herself as the shock of his sudden appearance wore off. She turned back to him. “You look like hell.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s what you always say.”
He did his best to grin at her, a maneuver that was normally charming, but now just looked painful.
She stuck her tongue out at him and then opened the first aid kit.
He chuckled. “You look tired, Amy.”
“Don’t try to make it like I’m the one with a problem here.” She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and tore the foil open, the sharp scent filling the air. “You’re the one who shows up after a month of no contact looking like you’ve gone a couple rounds with Rocky Balboa.”
“You think I could last multiple rounds with Rocky? I’m touched.”
“I think you’re dumb enough to try.” Flicking the wipe open, she moved it toward his injured arm. “Ready?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry about being out of touch.” The last word came out as a pained hiss as she swiped the wound with antiseptic. “But you know if you ever need me, you can call that number.”
Six months earlier he’d programmed what he called a “secure” number into her phone if she needed to get in touch with him in case of an emergency. She’d never called the number. She didn’t even know who would answer if she did.
Amy wiped away the dried blood. “This isn’t too deep, but you should cover it.” She reached for a roll of white gauze.
Leaning forward, Diego grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
She looked from his hand covering hers to his dark eyes, fringed by impossibly thick lashes, and saw the concern shimmering there. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
He squeezed her hand gently, then released her. “You’ve been working extra shifts at the hospital.”
She plucked the gauze out of the case and unwound a bit. “Is that an educated guess?”
He shook his head. “Just because you don’t know where I was doesn’t mean I don’t know where you were.”
A painful lump rose in her throat. She’d been feeling so alone in the world, especially after Aunt Bea’s passing, that she’d forgotten that Diego was always there for her. She wrapped his arm in silence, not trusting herself to speak.
When she was done, Diego asked, “What’s with all the time you’ve spent at the restaurant?”
She shrugged. “Adrian’s needed extra help.”
He snorted his disbelief.
“He’s been short-handed since Bea…” She couldn’t bring herself to say “died.” “Since Bea’s accident.”
“Because people don’t want to work for him since he’s such a jerk. That doesn’t mean you have to pick up the slack.”
Amy focused on closing up the first aid case. “She wanted me to.”
“Bea was a great lady, but she wasn’t perfect. She had a blind spot where Adrian was concerned. You’re not obligated to continue her bad choices.”
Even though she knew in her heart he was right, she still sniped. “You’re not one to talk
about bad choices.”
Chastised, Diego sank back in his seat. Pippin immediately jumped into his lap and began purring loudly.
“At least someone’s glad to see me,” he teased lightly, stroking the cat.
Feeling guilty, Amy muttered, “I’m glad to see you. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to fight.”
“You got any aspirin?’
She frowned. “If you’ve got internal bleeding…”
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender. “No aspirin. Can I have the bed?”
Amy glanced longingly at the spot she’d tried to nap in not long before. “Sure. Just watch out for the bat.”
Chapter Two
Brady pulled his Lexus into the parking lot and eyed the restaurant dubiously. The faded awning that stretched above the front door said Busy Bea’s, which meant he was at the right place.
Shaking his head, wondering what Eric had gotten him into this time, Brady pulled into the nearest parking spot. It was easy to find one. Despite its name, the place wasn’t particularly busy, especially considering the sun was setting and it was officially Saturday night.
Climbing out of the car, he tried not to stare at the homeless man pushing a shopping cart loaded with who knew what past the parking lot’s entrance. Feeling self-conscious in his custom-tailored suit and Italian shoes, Brady locked the car and hurried inside.
Allowing his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness, he paused. The scent of garlic and onion tickled his nose and his stomach growled in response. He’d worked through lunch and realized he was ravenous. He looked around, but didn’t see anyone.
Suddenly, a young woman carrying an oversized basket filled with flatware wrapped in napkins, rounded the corner, almost running into him.
She stopped just short of a head-on collision. “Sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. Her dark-eyed gaze narrowed as she looked him up and down.
He fought the urge to straighten his tie, even though she was the one wearing a hairnet and dirty apron.