The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub (5 page)

Chapter Five

I unlocked the door of The Corset noting that the handwritten sign explaining our new, abridged hours was in danger of falling off.

I shivered against the cold. We’d had an unseasonably warm fall and winter, but the weather forecast was finally calling for snow.

I could see my breath even when I was inside the shop.

“Please don’t let the furnace be broken,” I muttered. That’s all I’d need, to call in a heating guy on top of everything else.

Heading into the back, I fiddled with the thermostat until the heat kicked on. “Small miracles.”

I was already behind on paperwork and the rows were looking like a roving band of third graders had ransacked the shelves and racks. I sighed as I looked at the mess. Aunt Loretta was counting on me to keep her business afloat during her recuperation and I was doing a lousy job of it. Retail was not my forte.

“Don’t look so blue. It isn’t a good color on you,” a male voice observed from the shadows.

“Aaaaah!” I screamed, momentarily forgetting that I’m a semi-trained assassin. I grabbed the nearest weapon at hand, which happened to be a red plastic devil’s pitchfork, and brandished it at the intruder menacingly.

He began to laugh. Great bellowing gales of laughter bounced off the shop’s walls.

I lowered the pitchfork when I recognized the laughter. “Dad?”

“Oh Maggie May,” he said, stepping out of the shadows and wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of his eye, “if you could have seen yourself.”

I glared at him, angry that he had the gall to laugh at me when he’d scared me half to death. Then I remembered that I was
really
pissed that he’d attacked Griswald in order to duck out of protective custody.

I threw the damn pitchfork right at his chuckling face.

“Ow!”

The plastic clattered to the floor.

“What did you do that for?” He rubbed his mouth where the weapon had bounced off him. “I’m going to end up with a fat lip.”

“You deserve a lot worse. What the hell are you doing here?”

My dad managed to look as though he was the wronged party in our exchange. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why? What do you want from me now?”

He blinked, and I could tell I’d genuinely hurt him with that question.

“I was worried about you, Maggie May,” he said quietly.

“You shaved.”

He used to look like a benevolent Santa Claus. He looked different without his white beard. I squinted at him, noticing that he had the remnants of a shiner under his left eye.

“Who’s after you?” I asked suspiciously.

“Besides the Marshal Service?”

“What were you thinking, attacking Marshal Griswald like that?”

My father shrugged. “That I had to get out of there.”

“He was doing me a favor, a big favor, by letting me talk to you and you repaid his generosity by being a selfish jerk.” I picked up another pitchfork and waved it at him. “And now you walk in here, claiming to care about my well-being? You don’t care about anyone except yourself.”

He turned an interesting shade of red, but I didn’t know if it was because he was angry or embarrassed. “That’s not true.”

“Right,” I bellowed. “I forgot you love--”

“Everything okay, Maggie?” Angel interrupted.

I’d been so focused on giving both barrels to my father that I hadn’t even noticed him come in. Now he was standing there, bulging biceps surrounded by a sea of lace thongs, watching me like he thought he might need to drag me over to share a room with my mom in the loony bin.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?” I snarled.

“Susan thought you might be hungry.” He held up an insulated bag to prove he came bearing food. “The door was unlocked and I heard voices so…”

“Who the hell are you?” Dad demanded.

Angel seemed like a pretty even-tempered guy, but apparently Archie Lee’s tone rubbed him the wrong way. He balled his free hand into a fist and took a step closer to my father, looking as though he’d like nothing better than to pound him into the ground. “Who are you?” he asked with a deceptive softness that was far more intimidating than a shout would have been.

At heart, my father is a pacifist…or maybe a chickenshit…either way, his true nature took over and he stumbled backward trying to get away from Angel. In his haste, he tripped over the bottom of the closest rack and fell flat on his butt. The rack toppled too, covering him with a pile of feathered boas.

“He’s my father,” I admitted, moving closer to help my dad off the floor.

When I reached for him though, Angel grabbed my arm, ensuring I couldn’t reach Dad.

“Don’t,” Angel said quietly.

I looked up at him, but he was looking at the man flailing around on the floor.

“Why not?” I asked more curiously.

“Sometimes the only way to save yourself is to stop trying to save everyone else.” There was a certain resigned sadness in Angel’s voice.

“Who says I need saving?” I shook free of his grip, but made no move to assist my father, who’d managed to get himself onto his hands and knees.

Angel flicked his gaze from the floor to my face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as though he’d just swallowed most of what he wanted to say. “Does Larry know he’s here?”

“
I
didn’t know he was here until a couple of minutes ago,” I retorted.

“Larry?” Dad boomed from the floor. “As in Lawrence? Lawrence Griswald?”

“Yes,” I said without looking away from Angel. I’d never seen him like this, tense, angry, ready to spring.

Dad scrambled to his feet. “Who is this punk that he knows Griswald?”

Angel swiveled his head in my father’s direction. “What did you just call me?”

I felt the need to physically throw myself between them. Putting my hands against Angel’s chest, I prepared to push him away if he made a move toward my father. Of course that would have been like me trying to push a battleship, but I had to at least try.

“Stop it, both of you.” I wanted it to be a command, but it sounded like a desperate plea.

Since my back was to my father, I don’t know how he reacted, but Angel’s gaze snapped to my face. His dark gaze was harder than usual, but he did as I asked.

He handed me the insulated bag.

I took it grudgingly.

“I’m starving,” Dad interjected.

Angel scowled at him, but now that my father knew I’d protect him from the younger man, he just smiled in return.

Angel shook his head. “I should go.” He threw one more sharp look at my father. “Be careful, Maggie.”

As he turned to leave, I found myself grabbing his hand. He halted, surprised by the gesture. He looked down, a puzzled expression on his face as though he couldn’t figure out what our interlocked fingers meant.

“Stay?” I asked, my voice squeaking with uncertainty.

His gaze bored into mine. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” my father whined.

I didn’t answer them, mostly because I didn’t really know myself. Instead I changed tactics. “Why are you here, Dad?”

“I told you, I wanted to see you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see you. I want you to leave.” I pointed dramatically at the door to make my point.

Dad looked disappointed. “I don’t suppose you have any cash on you?”

I stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

He shrugged. “I’m broke, Maggie May.”

“You should have thought of that before abandoning Witness Protection.” I squinted at him. “Is that why you were really here? To rob the place? Grab some quick cash?”

“Borrow. Loretta won’t mind.”

I eyed the pile of boas on the floor wondering if they’d be strong enough to strangle him with.

“At least give me enough to get something to eat,” Dad cajoled. “You wouldn’t want your dear old dad going hungry, would you?”

I thrust the insulated bag Angel had brought at my father. “Out.”

He took the bag and scurried toward the front door. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the trees the day after tomorrow.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out!” I shouted as he left the shop.

I stared at the last spot I’d seen him, feeling my pulse pound in my head. For a moment I wondered if this was the reaction Aunt Susan had whenever my father was around. If it was, it was a miracle she hadn’t had a stroke.

Finally I turned my attention to Angel who was standing with his arms crossed against his chest.  As usual, his Navy t-shirt looked ready to burst at the seams. He watched me carefully.

“Don’t you ever wear a coat?” I asked.

He blinked at the random question. “Only when it’s cold.”

“It’s cold.”

He shook his head, deciding to silently disagree. Probably a wise choice since I was itching for a fight.

“Are you going to tell Griswald my father was here?”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s none of my business.”

“I might tell him,” I muttered, bending down to pick up the closest boa, a hot pink number laced with rhinestones.

Angel squatted down to pick up the fallen rack, righting it effortlessly.

“That probably sounds incredibly disloyal,” I continued, draping the boa on the rack. “Turning your own family in to law enforcement.”

“I get it.”

I glanced over at him. He was picking up a white and silver boa. “You do?” My voice cracked with surprise.

He straightened and met my gaze. “Weird for someone from a mob family?”

I shrugged.

“I like the idea of doing the right thing, even if it’s not the popular thing. Know what I mean?”

Considering I’ve killed a few really bad guys, I understood better than he could ever know. I nodded. Deciding this could be a dangerous line of conversation, I changed the topic. “I guess I owe you dinner considering I gave it away to my father.”

Angel chuckled. “I thought that was a unique solution.”

“He and Susan may despise one another, but he loves her cooking, so it wasn’t like I sent him away completely empty-handed. I can order us a pizza or something.”

“I’d like that.”

Something about the way he said that made my stomach flip-flop a little. I couldn’t afford to get involved with him, and besides, I had a thing going with Patrick, but he was a handsome guy who excelled at coming through for me in a pinch. Still, it wasn’t right.

“It looks like a typhoon hit this place,” he commented easily as though he sensed my sudden tension.

I glanced at the mess surrounding us. “Organization isn’t my strong suit.”