The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman)

by Lynn, JB

  I awkwardly extended my left hand, unable to shake with my right because I held a sleeping lizard. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Withers. I know this looks bad, but I promise you, I can give Katie a stable home.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  I winced, realizing he’d not only been shot at by a guy I’d dated, but he’d met my aunts. My heart fell and I almost dropped God.

  “Hey,” the lizard groused drowsily. “Pay attention.”

  Withers cocked his bald head to the side, examining the lizard.

  “Pet therapy,” the mobster supplied helpfully. “You think something like that would help my boy?”

  Withers shrugged and then walked away to make a note in the file the marshal handed back to him.

  Patrick’s phone buzzed and he followed the social worker.

  “You really took a chair to the guy’s head?” Marshal Griswald asked with grudging respect.

  I nodded.

  “Good for you.” He switched his focus to Delveccio. “So you really do owe her?”

  The mobster nodded.

  “And you won’t let any harm come to her niece?”

  “I don’t hurt kids,” Delveccio growled, deeply offended.

  “Okay,” the marshal agreed. “My guys outside, yours in.”

  “You should take this,” Patrick said, marching toward me, holding out his phone. “It’s the vet’s office.”

  I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Either you take her, right now, or I’m going to kill her,” the veterinarian’s assistant Monica shrieked.

  “If you hurt my dog….” I began, but stopped when I saw the alarmed look Patrick gave me. “I’ll sue,” I finished lamely, deciding it wasn’t a good idea to threaten to kill someone in front of US Marshals.

  “Piss!” she screamed. “I’m going to kill the cat. I’ve already got the syringe filled.”

  I gripped the phone tighter and started to ball my other hand into a fist.

  “Ow!” God protested. “Delicate skin. I have delicate skin.”

  “Leave Piss alone,” I said into the phone, which garnered me strange looks from the marshals and mobster. “I’ll be right there. I think. Wait. Hold on a sec.” Pressing the phone into my shoulder so she couldn’t hear the conversation I asked, “Can I go?”

  “You call your dog Piss?” Delveccio asked, appalled.

  “It’s a cat,” Patrick explained.

  “Oh,” Delveccio nodded sagely. “That makes sense. Cats are a whole other ballgame.”

  “Leave?” I demanded of Marshal Griswald. “Yes or no?”

  He nodded. “As long as Mulligan takes you.” He looked to Patrick for confirmation.

  “As long as the department is authorizing overtime, I’m taking it,” Patrick said.

  “I will be there in fifteen minutes,” I said into the phone. “Don’t you dare hurt that cat.” I handed the phone back to Patrick. “Let’s go.”

  We hurried through the hospital.

  “You cannot bring home that carnivore,” God ordered.

  “Kowalski was spotted,” Patrick said at the same time.

  I stumbled at the mention of my attacker’s name. Patrick grabbed my elbow to keep me from pitching forward. I shook loose from his grip immediately, not deserving kindness from the man I’d falsely accused of allowing someone to hurt Katie.

  “I was just trying to help,” Patrick muttered, stopping in his tracks.

  “I know,” I said, slowing my steps. When he didn’t follow, I was forced to stop, turn and face him.

  “Uh oh, he doesn’t look happy,” God said.

  That was putting it mildly. Patrick, hands on his hips, glared at me through narrowed eyes.

  I swallowed hard, a guilty lump cutting off my air supply. “I don’t deserve your help,” I said, hating the way my voice cracked.

  He shook his head and stepped closer. “Where do you get these crazy ideas?”

  “Good question,” God interjected.

  “The things I said.” I carefully laid my fingers against his face, tracing the welts I’d left. “What I did.”

  Tilting his head, pressing his cheek against my hand, he offered me a half-smile. “Maybe I’ll let you make it up to me.”

  His suggestion ignited a hot flush throughout my body, which was immediately cooled when he yanked himself away as a nurse, studying a chart, bustled past.

  “So about Kowalski,” clearing his throat, Patrick rubbed his cheek where I’d touched him. “Couple of beat cops saw him go into your place.”

  “So he’s in custody?” I asked hopefully. That would be one less thing to worry about.

  “Afraid not. He got away.”

  “There’s only one door to my place,” I reminded him. “How the hell could he escape?”

  Patrick shrugged. “Internal Affairs is looking into it.”

  “Meaning the cops let him go?” I stopped walking.

  “He ransacked your place looking for something.” Patrick turned around to face me. “He’s got friends on the force, but so do I. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I started moving again. I might not be able to keep myself safe, but there was still time to save the cat.

  “That was smart back there,” Patrick tried to change the subject as we walked. “Telling Griswald up front you’ve got a relationship with Delveccio, and supplying those details about the kid in the next room was brilliant. Made it seem like everyone knows everyone’s business there.”

  “They do,” I said as we stepped outside. “If he talks to the nurses, they’ll all tell them they’ve seen Delveccio and I together, but if the marshal asks he’ll find out I’ve spent just as much time with the family members of other patients.”

  “Does he really like pudding?” Patrick asked.

  I chuckled. “He certainly does.”

  I got into the passenger seat of the car while Patrick rummaged around in the trunk. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, he offered me a small orange plastic box.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Usually I carry extra ammo in it, but I figured the lizard must be sick of standing in your hand.”

  “He’s a good man,” God intoned.

  Patrick smiled at the squeak. “I guess you don’t get lonely with him around.”

  I didn’t answer. I just let God climb into the box.

  “Ahh, heaven. It’s dry. Your hands sweat.”

  Rolling to a halt at a stop sign, Patrick took the box from me and carefully laid it on the floor behind my seat. “He should be good there.”

  “Let’s hope so,” I muttered.

  “Are you okay, Mags?” the redhead asked.

  “Define ‘okay.’ My aunt’s sobriety sponsor is some sort of Black Widow ninja, Dad’s still on the loose, Kowalski trashed my place, and Marlene has walked out of my life. Again. Does that sound okay to you?”

  Patrick squeezed the steering wheel. “You’ll get through this. We’ll get the dog. We’ll get the cat. And we’ll get through this, I promise.”

  “You know I don’t believe in promises, right?” I challenged.

  He looked at me with a strange intensity. “But I believe in you.”

  I fell silent hoping he was right, but fearing his faith in me was displaced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We pulled into the parking lot of the B&B with Doomsday sprawled across the back seat and Piss curled in my lap.

  Templeton walked out of the The Barn and waved a greeting. He strolled over to the car as Patrick gingerly lifted the injured dog out.

  “Welcome back, girl.” Templeton stroked her snout fondly. She reciprocated by licking his hand.

  Bending down, my aunt’s fiancé peered into the car and spotted Piss. “I’m not sure you want to go in there,” he warned. “It’s bedlam.”

  “Bedlam?” Patrick asked.

  “That Griswald fella is back and grilling Leslie about her N.A. spon
sor and my Loretta’s being overly protective of her sister, in my opinion. Which is why I was banished out here. Because I dared offer my opinion.”

  I felt a pang of sympathy for Templeton. No one came between the sisters, even if they were in the right.

  “I’ll bring the dog into the kitchen and then come back for you,” Patrick pledged.

  “Susan is in there cooking up a storm, banging pot lids and slicing things with abandon,” Templeton warned.

  “Hungry,” DeeDee whined softly.

  “I’ll be careful,” Patrick promised, moving toward the house.

  I got out of the car, clutching Piss to my chest.

  “What’s her name?” Templeton asked, rounding the car to get a closer look at the bundle of fur.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “She hasn’t told me yet.”

  He nodded like that made perfect sense.

  He really wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday,” I began.

  He raised a hand to silence me. “Don’t bother, Maggie.”

  I blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”

  “I know you hate me. Don’t bother to feel obligated to thank me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I said a tad too quickly.

  “You don’t like me,” he countered.

  “I barely know you.”

  He offered me a rueful smile. “You didn’t like me before we even met. You’ve had a hard life. I know that. I accept that. And you deserve to be happy, but so does your aunt. If you really feel the need to express your gratitude, just try not to show how much you despise me. It upsets Loretta.”

  Before I could come up with a suitable reply, he strolled back toward The Barn, leaving me alone, hugging the cat.

  “What’s not to like about him, Sugar?” she asked curiously.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. He’d defended me at Alice’s rehearsal dinner and saved me from Paul.

  Hearing Aunt Susan fussing over DeeDee, I took advantage of her distraction, zipped through the house, and snuck Piss into my childhood bedroom.

  Everything was back in its place, all evidence of the fight with Paul Kowalski removed. The box of shoes God had stowed away in wasn’t even visible. No doubt Aunt Susan had straightened up.

  I closed the door so she couldn’t get out and then put Piss down on what had been Theresa’s bed. “So here’s the deal,” I lectured. “My aunts are not animal people so you have to be on your best behavior. That means no destroying anything. No singing all night. And absolutely no peeing in shoes or any other inappropriate vessels. Do you understand?”

  She stretched lazily, testing the bed cover with her claws.

  “Please,” I begged. “I’m doing my best here, but my life is a mess. I need your help to make this work. No peeing and no shredding. Okay?”

  She looked up at me with her one eye, “You treat me right, I’ll do whatever you want, Sugar.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you thanking the cat for?” Patrick asked.

  Whirling around, I realized he’d opened the bedroom door and walked in carrying a tray laden with food and drink. God was curled up in the bottom of a crystal bowl, sleeping.

  “Close the door,” I whispered. “You should have knocked.”

  He backed into it, pushing it shut. “I did.”

  “He did,” the cat confirmed.

  “When you didn’t answer I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep, so I figured I’d just peek in. You were talking to the cat.”

  He raised the tray. “Where do you want this?”

  I pointed to the other bed. “You can put it on there.”

  Moving gracefully across the room, he carefully laid it on the bed. “Susan figured you should eat something and I agreed with her.”

  The cat sniffed the air. “What about me?”

  As though he understood her, Patrick pulled the top piece of bread off a turkey sandwich and held out the meat. “C’mere, kitty,” he coaxed, crouching down.

  Piss jumped off the bed and went to nibble daintily on the offered morsel.

  “She’s so polite,” Patrick marveled.

  She swallowed her food, wiped her mouth with her paw, and then said, “I’m a Southern lady.”

  “You’re sure Susan said we could eat in here?” I asked. “We were never allowed to take anything up to our room when we were kids. Not even a glass of water.”

  Patrick shrugged. “She said the quieter, calmer atmosphere up here would be better for your appetite. Gotta say I agree with her.”

  “It’s bad down there?”

  “Have some,” he held up a mug of vegetable soup to me. “Susan said you should eat this first, otherwise you won’t eat your veggies.”

  I took the cup from him and perched on the side of the other bed so that we were facing one another.

  Patrick took a sip from another mug of soup. “I’ve known Griswald a while. I’ve seen him chase down and interrogate hardened criminals, but I’m pretty sure your aunts may be his match.” He looked around the room. “Interesting color-scheme.”

  “I shared this room with Theresa. She got to decorate half and I did the other side. Unfortunately our aesthetics weren’t complimentary.”

  “Which side was yours?” he asked. Before I could reply, he said, “Scratch that. The pink, wanna-be-princess side, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “It looks like you. Sweet. Dreamy.”

  I laughed. “Me? Sweet and dreamy?”

  He nodded, putting his cup back on the tray. “Yeah. You try to hide it behind that rough, tough exterior, but inside you’re all rainbows, ballerinas, and unicorns.”

  “I can think of a lot of people who’d disagree with you.”

  Leveraging himself off the bed, he crossed the space separating us and knelt in front of me. “But they don’t know you like I do, Mags.”

  The intimacy of his tone and the intensity of his gaze as he studied my face made my body flush with unexpected heat.

  I looked down at him, the scratch marks I’d left on his face looked red and painful.

  “Someone who’s sweet and dreamy wouldn’t have attacked you like I did,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. I looked away, ashamed at what I’d done. “I’m so sorry.”

  I would have removed my hand, but he trapped it against his face with his own, flattening it so that his stubble scratched my palm.

  “I don’t think you’re all sweet and dreamy,” he said, using his other hand to gently turn my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re also one of the most passionate people I’ve ever met. Sometimes that gets you into trouble.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I snorted.

  “But I like it,” he murmured, sliding my hand across his face so that he could press his lips to the sensitive skin at the inside of my wrist.

  A delicious tingle of sensation zipped through me.

  “I flipped out and I blamed you,” I protested weakly. “I hurt you.”

  “We have matching war wounds,” he teased softly. Released my wrist so he could trace the outline of the bruise on my cheek.

  Reminded of how stupid I’d been about Kowalski, I twisted away from Patrick’s touch.

  He rocked back on his heels, giving me space, watching me closely. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have….not here…in this room…”

  The guilt in his voice lanced through me.

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” I tried to explain. “Not that way. I was just thinking I’d been so stupid when it came to him.” Agitated and not liking the worry I saw in Patrick’s gaze, I jumped to my feet, moving away, leaving him kneeling on the floor. “It was all a set-up right? Him pulling me over in the squad car that first night?”

  He slowly got to his feet. “Probably.”

  Pacing nervously, I nodded. “But I didn’t see that. I had no clue.”

  “Whoever these people a
re, they had a plan that’s a lot bigger than you could have imagined,” Patrick said softly.

  I stopped pacing and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “They had Kowalski working you, that Blanche woman insinuating herself into Leslie’s life, and who knows what else going on.”

  “I appreciate you trying to let me off the hook, I really do,” I told him in a rush, my voice high and strained. “But the fact is that when I met him, I actually believed he was attracted to me, when all he really wanted was what he thought I had. You tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. This is all my fault.”

  “Don’t do this,” Patrick said, his voice low and anguished.

  “Don’t do what?” My voice cracked on a note bordering hysteria.

  “Don’t let him win. Don’t shortchange yourself.” He took a step toward me to offer comfort I sorely didn’t want. “Don’t—“

  “Shut up,” I moaned.

  “Don’t think for one moment,” he continued relentlessly, moving so close I could feel his body heat along with his anger, “that I tried to warn you about Kowalski because I suspected he was up to something.”

  Surprised, I stared up at him. A storm of emotion crackled in his eyes as he stared down at me. Transfixed, I couldn’t move, couldn’t protest.

  “My motives weren’t good or pure. I wasn’t looking out for your best interest,” he confessed, self-disgust dripping from every syllable.

  “W-what are you saying?” I asked, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

  “I did it because I was jealous.” He bent to whisper in my ear. “I did it because I couldn’t stand the idea of him touching you.”

  Everything in my body spontaneously melted and I swayed unsteadily.

  Patrick pulled me to him, whether to keep me upright or because it was an excuse to touch me, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just reveled in the way my soft curves filled in the spaces between the hard lines of his body. If heaven existed, it was being held in this man’s arms.

  Suddenly he twisted away, leaving me bereft and left to fight gravity on my own. He sat down on the bed, burying his head in his hands.

  “I keep screwing this up,” his tone raw and bitter.

  “Are they always like this?” Piss drawled incredulously from the spot on my dresser she occupied.