The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (3 page)

“The day before Darlene died,” I muttered. My breath caught in my throat when I realized I’d said the words out loud. It was an awful thing to say, it was a terrible truth to live with, but most of all, it was horrible to have shared that nugget of information with another living soul. I closed my eyes and wished to be struck by lightning, for the earth to swallow me whole, or to die of an aneurysm. My wishes never come true.

“You haven’t slept for….years?” He sounded almost as appalled as I felt.

“I’ve slept. I just haven’t had a decent night’s sleep.” I’d been plagued with nightmares about my younger sister’s murder for longer than I cared to remember.

“Maybe if you talk to Marlene…”

The mention of my murdered sister’s twin, who’d run away from home years earlier, was too much for me. I put my hand to my stomach and leaned weakly against the car, feeling as though I’d been punched in the gut.

“She took off when she saw me at the hospital. She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me.” Marlene had left the family years earlier and had made no effort to reconnect. I knew she blamed me for her twin’s death. I blamed myself too.

“Aw, Mags.” Grabbing my shoulder, Patrick gently spun me toward him. I stared steadfastly at the unbuttoned collar of his moss-colored polo shirt and the sprinkling of red hair spilling out between the V. He pulled me closer, so that my cheek rested on the soft cotton and I could hear the steady beat of his heart. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. Enveloped in the warmth of his body and the scent of the mint Lifesavers he’s always sucking on, the rest of the world and all of my troubles faded into nothingness. I could have stayed there forever, cocooned in a kind of peace and safety I’d never known.

Until seventy pounds of dog jumped up, knocking us apart.

“Bad dog!” Patrick scolded, pushing her off of him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She whined, immediately lying down and rolling over in a show of supplication.

The color drained from Patrick’s face. “What the hell?”

“Gary the Gun beat her,” I explained. A blackmailing hitman, Gary the Gun was the second person I’d killed. Not that I got paid for it…something that still irks me to no end. He was Doomsday’s former owner, but she’d turned against him and saved Patrick’s life. That was why I’d adopted her, despite the trepidation of my Aunt Susan.

Patrick bent over and held a hand out toward her. “Easy, girl.”

“You just startled her,” I told him. “She’s fine. DeeDee, give Patrick a kiss so that he knows you’re not scared of him.”

The dog happily leapt to her feet, pranced over to the hitman, and licked his hand.

Patrick knelt so that he was eye level with her. “I’m sorry, DeeDee. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’d never hurt you.” He scratched behind her ears. “Look, I brought you a treat.”

“Patrick…” I warned. I’d told him before I didn’t like the way he spoiled her.

Ignoring me, he popped open the trunk of the car and pulled out a Styrofoam “to go” container. “Bacon.”

“Bacon?” I practically shrieked. No wonder she never wanted to eat her dry kibble.

“Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!” Doomsday ran around him in tight circles, her little stump of a tail waggling.

Patrick tossed a couple of pieces to her, which she wolfed down without bothering to chew. “Don’t worry, Maggie. I brought you a treat too.”

“Bacon! Bacon!” The dog sat back on her haunches and begged.

“Did you teach her that?” I asked.

“Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” He threw her a couple more slices. “That’s all for now. Go and play.”

Doomsday licked his hand in thanks and dashed off, grinning ear-to-ear, which made her look like a crazed, ferocious beast.

“Sometimes I think she understands every word we say.” Reaching into the trunk, Patrick pulled out a small gym bag and held it out to me.

Although stuffed to the point of bursting, it was pretty light. Too light to be holding guns.

I decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to confirm his suspicion. “Okay, we’re out of the car. Tell me about the cop.”

Rummaging in the trunk like he was panning for gold, Patrick’s face was hidden from view. “You’re not going to like it.”

“I already don’t like it.”

Slowly he straightened and faced me. “Remember that old saying about not shooting the messenger?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my stomach had started to roil.

“You’re going to hate this.” He studied my face for a long moment as though gauging whether I was about to attack him. “I’m sorry. It’s Kowalski.”

“Paul?” I don’t know why I was surprised. At the back of my mind I’d suspected as much when Patrick had refused to name the intended victim in the car.

“Paul Kowalski.”

Paul Kowalski, the cop Loretta and Templeton were busy playing matchmaker over. Paul Kowalski, the guy who I would have slept with a few months ago if I hadn’t remembered I had a gun stuffed beneath my mattress. The former date with a bad temper. The cop who I was pretty sure had pulled me over a few weeks ago just to scare me. The same Paul who was going to be at the B&B that night for my “Welcome Home” dinner because Aunt Loretta had invited him without consulting me first.

I threw the gym bag at Patrick’s head.

Patrick ducked and the gym bag landed with a soft thud on the ground behind him.

He tilted his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. “You took that well.”

Ignoring him, I brushed past him intending to scoop up the bag, but he grabbed my wrist. I closed my eyes as a pleasant tingle shot up my arm, spreading warmth throughout my traitorous body.

“Look,” Patrick said gruffly. “I know you feel something for the guy, but trust me, he’s not the one for you.”

Opening my eyes, I looked up at him. His green gaze was stormy, his chin rock solid. Usually I found his expression unreadable, but today it was a billboard of frustration. A thrill shot up my spine, knowing that I’d elicited this emotional reaction.

A devil inside urged me to push him further. “I do feel something for him.”

I watched in fascination as the muscle in Patrick’s jaw twitched and his gaze hardened. “So you’re saying you won’t do the job?” His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

“Are you going to be the one to do Delveccio’s dirty work if I refuse?”

Releasing my wrist he spun away from me.

He’d once told me he’d never hurt me. I waited for him to repeat that promise, but he didn’t say anything. Pulling a duffle bag from the car, he grabbed the dog’s bacon and headed into the barn.

I stood alone for a long moment considering my options. I didn’t have many. I could either follow him inside or I could wait outside.

DeeDee loped over, sat at my feet, and sniffed the air. “Bacon?”

“He took it inside.”

She eyed the barn longingly, but stayed by my side. “Upset Maggie?”

I nodded.

She nudged my hand with her head, offering comfort. “Patrick with upset?”

I thought about that for a second before answering her. Patrick had treated me fairly the entire time I’d known him and had enabled me to provide the best possible care for Katie. He wasn’t the one who wanted Paul Kowalski dead, though I didn’t think he’d mind that the other cop was out of the picture.

“It’s complicated,” I told the dog.

“Why?”

I shrugged. How could I explain that the idea of killing a stranger or a long-ago acquaintance was easier to wrap my head around than the thought of offing a guy I’d made out with? Instead I pet the dog’s head and said, “Why don’t you go see if he has more bacon for you?”

With a lick to my hand, she bounded toward the barn. Bending to pick up the gym bag, I followed slowly, trying to figure out how to make amends with my murder-mentor. I decided that,
“I’m sorry I threw the bag at your head
” was probably a good start.

My prepared apology evaporated the moment I stepped into the barn. Patrick had set up a picnic of sorts on the floor. A blanket was stretched over the straw and a collection of delectable goodies was spread out, the scene lit by battery-operated candles. If we weren’t there to discuss the business of killing a man, I’d have thought it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.

Yet he’d made it clear in Atlantic City, after we’d robbed a professional thief, that he didn’t want me. The whole thing made my head spin.

“Hungry?” he asked from where he stood in the corner with the dog, his face obscured by shadows.

“You’re teaching hand-to-hand combat using cheese and olives?” I joked weakly.

Putting the Styrofoam container on the ground so the dog could finish its contents, he walked slowly toward me. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Why? I threw this,” I hefted the bag for emphasis, “at you.”

“But you missed.” He offered me a half-smile. “Sit. Eat.”

I shook my head eyeing the spread, wondering if it was my last meal—like people get on Death Row. I hadn’t agreed to kill Kowalski. It would make sense for Delveccio to have me whacked out here in the middle of nowhere.

I glanced at Doomsday, wondering if she’d save me if Patrick attacked. Maybe all these special treats he brought her had been part of his plan. Would she choose helping me over bacon? I wasn’t sure.

I looked back at the cheese and olives. Maybe they were poisoned.

I shook my head, annoyed with myself, knowing they weren’t poisoned, that was just old, paranoid thinking on my part. I knew Patrick would never hurt me, but the idea of sitting down with him for an intimate nibble was almost as dangerous.

I needed time to think this out, to plan an escape. “I’d rather have the training.”

He shrugged. “Your choice.”

He lunged at me.

Swinging the gym bag at him, I screamed. An ear-piercing, “oh-my-god-there’s-a-spider-on-my-head” shriek.

Ripping the bag from my grasp, he said, “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Backing away from him, I called, “Doomsday!”

“Maggie?” She asked in her high-pitched, sing-song voice.

“Help!”

Patrick lunged at me again, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around so that my back was to him. Wrapping one arm around my waist and another around my neck, he trapped me against the length of his body. Even as I struggled to free myself, I noted that, as always, he smelled of mint Lifesavers and soap.

The dog lay down and watched us as intently as the lizard watches TV. Big help she proved to be.

“You panic too easily,” Patrick whispered in my ear.

“I tend to do that when someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You know I won’t hurt you,” he said, loosening his grip.

“So my death will be quick and painless?” I tried to wriggle away.

He shifted his grip, pulling me closer. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?’

“Doing what?” I tried to twist free, but his grip was unshakeable.

“Thinking the worst of me.” An unmistakable sadness filled his tone. “Imagining I’m going to harm you.”

I grew still. “Can you blame me?”

“I’ve had plenty of chances to hurt you and I haven’t.”

I thought about how he’d rejected me in Atlantic City, about how much that rejection had stung.

As though he heard my thoughts, he murmured, “I know you’re mad at me, but I want you to know I’ve done everything in my power to protect you, Mags. You’ve got to believe that.” The note of desperation in his tone made his voice ragged.

I thought about how he’d helped me take out Gary the Gun and how he’d somehow managed to convince Katie’s paternal aunt to drop her custody case. “I believe you,” I said slowly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot just behind my ear.

My knees almost buckled at the sensation.

Sensing my weakness, he tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me tighter against him, making me aware of every inch of his body pressed against mine. "Delveccio doesn't know about you and Kowalski."

"H-he doesn't?" It was hard to concentrate on the conversation with him nuzzling my neck.

"No. For him, this contract is strictly business." Shifting his hold on me, Patrick no longer had his arm looped around my neck. Instead his thumb traced the sensitive column of my throat.

"W-what about y-you?" I asked breathlessly.

"What about me?" His thumb drifted upward, over my chin, to lightly brush the bottom edge of my lower lip.

His teasing touch set off a firestorm of tingling pleasure. "Is it strictly business for you?" I gasped.

Dropping his hand away, he leaned his forehead against the back of my head. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist, leaning into me.

I didn't dare move. I didn't dare breathe. I just waited, trying to ignore how right it felt to be held by him.

"Nothing that involves you is strictly business," he murmured finally.

Releasing me, he turned away, arms crossed over his chest, every muscle tense.

I stayed rooted to the spot, unsure whether it was a good idea to pursue the line of conversation. Things had been simpler between us when we had a professional relationship. Every time we veered into personal territory, they became more complicated. My life was complicated enough.

"That's not poisoned, is it?" I asked waving toward the food on the blanket.

"What? No!" He didn't turn back toward me, but I could tell from his tone I’d offended him.

"It looks good." I moved toward it, hoping that by breaking the inertia that gripped us, the uncomfortable tension would dissipate. "You got all my favorites."

He didn't respond or move as I sank to my knees on the blanket. Absentmindedly, I popped an olive stuffed with feta cheese into my mouth. I took a second to savor the salty-goodness before I tried to drag the conversation back to business. "So why does Delveccio want Paul dead?"

For a second I thought Patrick wasn't going to answer, but then he stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and turned to face me. His expression was somber. "Rumor has it someone's taken a contract out on the Delveccios' heads."