The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman)

by JB Lynn

  “So the knight was dispatched—”

  “Handsome knight.”

  “The handsome knight was dispatched to deal with the monster. He hunted his prey carefully, knowing he’d only get one chance to slay it, but then, just when he was about to dispatch the creature, these idiot townspeople needed saving. So being a knight and all, he was forced to leap to their defense. He still could have slayed the monster, but that’s when this nosy reporter captured his heroic deeds and shared them with all the land to see. And that’s how I became a hero cop.” His tone was so bitter, I flinched.

  I wanted to ask him what he’d done to save the townspeople, but gauging his sour mood, I thought better of it. “But you did a good thing, the right thing,” I reminded him.

  “And I’ve paid for it ever since.” He fell silent.

  Not knowing what to say to make him feel better, I stayed quiet too for a long moment. Finally I said, “Delveccio is trying to get in touch with you.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you avoiding him?”

  “For the moment.” Standing, he offered a hand to pull me to my feet with an effortless tug, moving us so that we didn’t disturb the resting dog.

  Worried that perhaps he thought Delveccio was after him, I pulled away so that I could look him in the eye.

  “Are you hiding from him?”

  He chuckled softly, cupped my cheek with his hand, and covered my mouth with his, effectively ending the conversation. His kiss started softly, teasingly, setting off bursts of pleasure that radiated through my entire body.

  I leaned closer, wanting more. He obliged, increasing the pressure, before meeting my tongue with his.

  Not wanting the kiss to end, I cradled his face in my hands, delighting in all he offered. But soon his mouth wasn’t enough and my fingers traced down the column of his throat and across his shoulders before skimming down the fabric that cotton that covered his ribcage.

  I would have explored lower, but pressing his palm to small of my back, he crushed me against him.

  And still it wasn’t close enough.

  I looped my arms around his neck, desperate to fuse our bodies together.

  Dragging his mouth from mine, he nipped his way up my jawline, sending tendrils of pleasure through my entire body. Pausing to nip my earlobe, his breath, hot and wet, tickled my ear and made my knees go weak.

  Gasping my pleasure, I leaned into him for support. A primitive thrill shot through me as I felt his evident desire for me.

  “Mags,” he muttered thickly, his voice strained.

  “More,” I murmured, trying to pull his shirt from his waistband so I could touch his flesh that was so close and yet unobtainable.

  “Mags,” he groaned, grabbing my hands and pinning them behind my back. “Now isn’t the time.”

  “It’s never the right time,” I protested, shifting my hips to entice him to change his mind.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Stay.”

  “I’ve got this stupid dinner thing.”

  “Dinner?” DeeDee barked, ruining the mood and any chances I had of convincing him to stay.

  I shot her a dirty look as Patrick released my hands and half turned away from me.

  “Dinner?” The mutt sniffed the air hungrily.

  “Bravo, beast,” God drawled, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. “You got them to stop that disgusting mating ritual.”

  I would have given him a dirty look too, and maybe would have tried to stomp on his tail for good measure, but he was hiding in a darkened corner and I couldn’t spot him.

  “All good things come to those who wait, Sugar,” Piss soothed, wending her way between my legs.

  “I’ve been waiting,” I muttered.

  Patrick turned back toward me. “I know you have, Mags. I’m sorry this is so complicated.”

  Reaching out to straighten his tie, I tried to sound nonchalant as I asked, “Is your wife attending this dinner with you?”

  He sucked in a sharp breath.

  I fussed with the knot of the tie some more, not wanting to look him in the eye as I waiting for his dinner.

  “You think I’d do that?” He sounded hurt. “That I’d fool around with you and then take her to there?”

  “Probably.” Considering he’d had two wives when I’d first met him (one had since gotten married to someone else and moved across the country), I didn’t think it was a stretch to imagine he’d go from me to his wife. “Is that what we’re doing?” I countered. “Fooling around?”

  Spearing a hand through his hair, he turned away. “No. She never attends anything. Besides, she’s off on yet another girls’ weekend. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t go from being with you to going to dinner with her.”

  “Dinner,” DeeDee panted hopefully.

  “Shut up,” I muttered. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

  Patrick spun around. “But you asked.”

  “Not you. Her.” I waved dismissively at the Doberman who was giving me her best pitiful puppy look. “She wants dinner.”

  “Awww, are you starving?” Patrick leaned over to pet the dog.

  She sneezed.

  “Is she sick?” The redhead was always concerned with the well-being of my canine companion.

  “She has a cold.”

  “Poor girl.” He rubbed the spot between her ears.

  She grinned her approval.

  “Don’t give her sympathy. If she hadn’t taken off after a bunny and knocked me off my feet and yanked the leash from my hand and worried me sick by running away, she would have already had her dinner.”

  Patrick looked from me to the dog before leaning down to whisper, “I’d be careful, DeeDee. She’s seems to be nursing a grudge against you.”

  The dog flattened her ears and hung her head. “Maggie sorry.”

  “Maggie’s sorry for a lot of things. Including bringing you home, you flea-ridden, grammatically-challenged nincompoop,” God intoned from his hiding spot.

  “Be nice,” I said sharply.

  “She’s trying,” Patrick protested. “Look at her. She knows she messed up.”

  “Make me,” God taunted.

  “Is that your lizard making that noise?” Patrick asked, trying to identify where the sharp, chirping notes were coming from (because to me, God sounds like a snotty, superior Englishman, whereas to every other human it sounds like he’s squealing).

  “Well bless your heart,” Piss purred icily, moving toward a dark corner in full-stalking mode. “If you aren’t nicer to that poor dog, I’ll make you be nice.”

  I was pretty sure I heard an audible gulp from God, then nothing else.

  “Maybe Piss is going to eat the lizard,” Patrick asked, watching the feline’s intense progress.

  “She’d better not.” While Patrick thought the response was meant for him, I was really warning the cat to back off.

  She twitched her tail, looked back at me with a self-satisfied smirk, and changed the direction she was traveling in.

  “Speaking of eating, I’ve got to go.” Patrick tugged at his shirt cuffs. “How do I look?”

  I could have told him the truth, that he looked like a red-headed James Bond, only sexier, but I didn’t. Instead, still miffed he was leaving, I shrugged and said, “Like a hero cop.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Stepping closer, he bent to kiss me. At the last second I turned my head, forcing his lips to brush my cheek.

  He stepped back and looked at me carefully, his gaze narrow, his chin set. His expression was unreadable. I hoped mine was too and that he wouldn’t know how much his leaving stung.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said softly.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  He moved toward the cellar storm doors, his preferred method of entry and exit, so no one spotted his arrivals or departures.

  When he reached the stairs, I asked, “You never said why
you were here.”

  He froze, then turned slowly to face me. “Just because I wanted to see you.”

  Leaving me speechless, he pushed open the doors, bounded up the stairs, and was gone.

  I felt terrible that I hadn’t been nicer to him.

  I’d soon feel even worse.

  Chapter Six

  “Dinner in five minutes,” Aunt Susan called from the top of the basement stairs, rousing me from the shocked state Patrick had left me in.

  “Marlene,” DeeDee reminded me.

  “Thanks.” For a dumb dog, she was sometimes very helpful and she had saved my life more than once. I pat her on the head to let her know I wasn’t still holding her earlier escapade against her.

  “What about me?” God asked.

  “Be nice to the dog and I’ll consider being nice to you,” I countered.

  “You tell him, Sugar,” Piss approved, curling into a ball and tucking her mangled tail under her chin.

  I hurried up the basement stairs, skirted around the dining room where Aunt Leslie was regaling her twin sister, Loretta, with whatever pearls of wisdom she’d picked up at her Narcotics Anonymous meeting, and hurried up another flight, heading toward the bedroom Marlene was currently occupying.

  “Hey, Marlene,” I said, rapping softly on the door, trying to catch my breath. “Wanna come down to dinner?”

  She opened the door, markedly less sullen than she’d been when we’d talked earlier. “Hey.”

  “Orange pork chops,” I enticed. “Come on down.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Are they poisoned?”

  “Considering they’re your favorite, I’d say Aunt Susan made them as a peace offering. What do you say? Will you meet her halfway?”

  Marlene nodded slowly.

  I grinned, knowing that Marlene’s decision would make Susan happy.

  “On one condition.”

  My grin wavered.

  “You have to stay at the table with me. You can’t leave me alone with the witches,” Marlene bargained. “They keep trying to get me agree to work at The Corset.” She shuddered.

  Understanding her revulsion, I agreed, “Sure.” It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Our aunts could be a bit overwhelming at times.

  Marlene followed me downstairs into the dining room.

  We arrived just in time to hear Loretta reveal, “…even without a little blue pill.”

  “T.M.I.,” Marlene muttered.

  “Get used to it,” I chuckled. Practically all that came out of Aunt Loretta’s mouth was too much information.

  Leslie clapped with delight when she spotted Marlene. “Oh goodie. Susan will be so pleased. Sit here beside me.” She patted the chair seat invitingly.

  “You promised,” Marlene reminded me as she dutifully walked over to the seat and slumped down in it.

  “Leslie was telling me all about your friend Elana’s prediction,” Loretta said.

  “Armani,” I corrected. I’d already corrected her about Armani’s name a number of times at the wedding of my friend Alice. It hadn’t sunk in then, so I didn’t hold out much hope that she’d get it this time either.

  “Such a talented designer,” Loretta gushed.

  “My friend’s name is Armani, not Elana.”

  Loretta blinked her false eyelashes at me. “Oh. Why did you introduce her to me as Elana?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “Why would I tell you to call her by the wrong name?” I didn’t bother to mask the tinge of annoyance in my tone.

  “I don’t know,” Loretta huffed, “but I specifically remember that when you introduced us, you called her Elana.”

  “No she didn’t, dear,” Templeton, Loretta’s fiancé and a man I still didn’t completely trust despite all he’d done for me, announced mildly as he walked into the dining room, then slid into the seat beside his beloved.

  Loretta scowled at him, which made the make-up at the corners of her mouth crack. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Templeton assured her. “Mary was the one who said her name was Elana, not Maggie.”

  “Never trust anything a mental patient tells you,” Marlene interjected.

  “Marlene!” Susan’s sharp retort seemed to ricochet off the walls like a stray bullet.

  Raising her chin defiantly, my little sister tried to stare down the woman who’d scared us half-to-death when we were kids.

  Taking my responsibilities as a peacekeeper seriously, I stepped between their budding staring contest under the guise of taking the steaming tray of pork chops from my aunt.

  “Or an addict,” Aunt Leslie enthused, oblivious to the tension that permeated the room. “Never trust what a mental patient or an addict says.”

  Shaking her head, Susan practically shoved the tray at me before spinning on her heel and storming back into the kitchen.

  “You’re sure they’re not poisoned?” Marlene eyed the food distrustfully.

  “Don’t start,” I warned. Trying to get the conversation back on a more neutral topic, I smiled at Loretta. “You were saying something about the prediction?”

  Loretta nodded. “I’d like her to give me a reading. When can you get her here?”

  “Well it’s not like she’s in the habit of making house calls…”

  Loretta frowned.

  “But I’ll see what I can do,” I hurried to assure her, knowing full well that Armani was more than a little fascinated with my dysfunctional family and was always willing to accept an invitation to the B&B. “Did you want a reading about something in particular?”

  Loretta slid a sideways glance at Templeton, who was already spearing a pork chop. “Finding something.”

  Templeton froze momentarily, the hunk of meat hanging precariously over Susan’s lace tablecloth.

  “Finding what?” Marlene asked.

  Her question seemed to set Templeton in motion again, but I could have sworn the empty serving fork shook as he returned it to the platter.

  “None of your beeswax,” Loretta replied. “And nothing for you to worry your pretty head about.”

  “Who’s worried?” Susan asked, re-entering the dining room. This time she carried a bowl of mashed potatoes, melting butter pooling on top of the mound. She looked at Marlene suspiciously.

  “It wasn’t me,” my sister declared, throwing up her hands defensively.

  “This smells amazing,” I said, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “You must have peeled a million potatoes.”

  “Templeton gets the credit for that.” Slipping into her seat at the head of the table, Susan smiled her thanks at Loretta’s beau.

  “If there’s one thing the Navy taught me, it was how to peel a mess of potatoes.”

  “How I’d have liked to see you in your uniform.” The sigh Loretta let out was loaded with regret.

  Marlene sniggered.

  Susan tried to silence her with a sharp look, but I saw the corners of her mouth quirk upward.

  “Were you in the service for long?” Leslie asked.

  “Not long.” Templeton cut his meat with measured, precise slices. “I was terribly seasick.”

  “Which is why he won’t take me on a cruise,” Loretta pouted.

  “Poor you,” Susan muttered.

  Marlene raised her eyebrows at me. I shrugged, indicating I had no idea what was bugging Susan.

  “Just because you can’t hold onto your man,” Loretta snapped, “doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy mine.”

  Susan’s mouth flattened into a hard line.

  My heart sank. I’d liked Susan’s boyfriend Bob the Builder. He’d seemed a lot more normal than anyone else I knew and Susan had seemed happy with him.

  “You just complained that he’s not taking you on a cruise,” Susan mocked. “Is that your definition of enjoyment?”

  Templeton cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

  Wanting to let the poor guy off the hook he didn’t deserve to be on, I blurted
out the first thing that popped into my mind. “So I guess I shouldn’t call about that job?”

  Susan snapped her gaze over to me. “Of course you should call her. It’s a wonderful opportunity.”

  “But I wouldn’t want to make things awkward for you.”

  “Despite what your aunt seems to think, Bob and I are happy.”

  “Pffff,” Loretta puffed disbelievingly.

  “We are, dammit,” Susan practically roared.

  We all flinched.

  “If you say so,” Loretta acquiesced weakly.

  Everyone fell silent. The only sound was the rhythmic scraping of forks and knives against plates as everyone focused on eating, not daring to speak.

  Susan didn’t eat. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move.

  Afraid to breathe for fear of upsetting the tenuous balance in the room, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. I could have sworn her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

  Finally the uncomfortable silence was broken by Marlene. “Awesome dinner.”

  We all raised our gazes from our plates to her face.

  I don’t know what everyone else was thinking, but I was wondering if she had a death wish.

  Ignoring everyone else, Marlene focused on the cook. “Thank you, Aunt Susan. The pork chops are even more delicious than I remembered.”

  The compliment, gracious and sincere, caught Susan off-guard. She blinked and her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

  “And thank you for peeling all those potatoes.” Marlene grinned at Templeton as she helped herself to a second serving.

  The atmosphere in the room lightened and I finally felt like I could breathe again. “She’s right. Everything is delicious.”

  “That’s only because you live on olives and frozen meals,” Susan half-joked, half-lectured.

  Aunt Loretta tsk, tsked before saying, “All that salt will make your face bloat, Maggie.”

  I had bigger worries than whether or not my diet caused me to retain water, but I nodded as though Loretta had just passed along the wisest advice I’d ever heard.

  “An ounce of prevention…” Loretta began, “oh how does that go?”

  “Is worth a lifetime of being disease-free,” Marlene answered proudly.

  “Save us,” Susan muttered. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. That’s what Benjamin Franklin said.”