The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (4 page)

Sometimes I forgot that the man I thought of as Delveccio was actually identical twin brothers." Isn't that kind of commonplace for someone in the Delveccios’ position?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but you can't blame the guys for taking it personally."

"And Paul is the hitter?"

"Look at you," he teased with a slight smile. "You've gotten the lingo down."

Glad to see his mood lighten, I coaxed him closer by holding up the container of feta olives.

He hesitated, as though he couldn't trust himself to be near me, but then stepped forward and plucked one of them out of the holder. "Yeah, they think Paul is the hitter."

"Seems risky," I mused, patting the blanket beside me. "A cop taking on a mob boss."

Patrick didn't take my invitation, but Doomsday bounded over. Sitting beside me, she eyed the olives hopefully.

"You can't have any of those," Patrick said, lowering himself to the floor on the other side of the dog. "They'll make you sick."

Dejected, she lay down, resting her head between her outstretched paws.

"So why do it?" I asked.

Patrick stared at me with an expression so startled, I wondered what he'd been thinking.

"Why would Paul take on the Delveccios?" I elaborated.

Patrick blinked, looking decidedly relieved. "I dunno." He looked away. "He's a strange one. I've never been able to figure out what makes him tick."

"You've tried?" I asked, surprised. He'd never made it a secret that he didn't like the other man.

"After you got involved with him," Patrick admitted grudgingly, looking away.

I ate another olive as I digested that piece of information. Had he been jealous of Paul? "I wasn't involved with him."

Doomsday rolled over so that he could give her a belly rub. He patted her distractedly.

“A couple of dates don’t make a relationship,” I told Patrick.

“What does?”

“A connection.”

He swung his head back to look at me, his gaze searching. “You didn’t have that?”

My mouth suddenly dry, I shook my head.

“Why not?”

I heard his unspoken challenge, saw the heat shimmering in his steady stare. He wanted me to say I’d found a connection with him.

I looked away. “There’s something I don’t trust about him. Anger. This violence bubbling just beneath the surface.”

“He
is
a killer,” Patrick reminded me.

I looked back at him. “So are you.”

He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “But I have standards.”

Doomsday whined pitifully, wanting his attention, but for once he was focused solely on me.

I swallowed hard. “Plus,” I continued, pretending I didn’t feel the tension between us. “He lied to me.”

“You’re upset he lied to you, but it wasn’t a relationship?”

“It wasn’t so much
that
he lied, but
what
he lied about.” I ate another olive.

Doomsday sighed, signaling her frustration at being ignored.

He waited for me to continue. He’s like that. Patient.

“I went to visit my father and--”

“Do you do that often?” Patrick interrupted.

I shook my head. “More since the accident.”

He nodded as though he understood. “Okay, so you went to visit your dad and…”

“Paul was there.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “He told me some BS story about being there to appear before a parole board or something, but they don’t meet on Sundays. Do they?”

He shook his head.

“So he lied.”

“And there’s nothing between you?” Patrick leaned closer.

“Nothing. Except the matchmaking efforts of my aunt, which means I’m going to see him tonight for dinner.”

The redhead leaned back. “You’ve got a date with him?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Dinner sounds like a date.”

“This,” I said, waving my hand over the blanket, “looks like a date.”

I waited for him to deny it. He didn’t. He just watched me. My heartbeat doubled.

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” he said finally.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to have a guy in my life who would set up a picnic lunch on the floor of a barn. I wanted to be with this man who could melt my insides with just a look. I did, but being back here reminded me that Patrick lugged around almost as much baggage as I did. When I’d first met him, he was juggling two families and two wives. Now, since one of the women had moved across the country and married someone else, his life was a bit less complicated, but he was still legally bound to another. I might be a hitwoman and a thief, but was I really willing to play second-fiddle to another woman. “You have a wife. And I don’t think I’m mistress material.”

Giving up on either of us acknowledging her, Doomsday got up and went over to the empty bacon container, sniffing it hopefully.

Without the barrier of the dog between us, Patrick leaned close. So close I could feel the heat rising from his body. He brushed his lips softly against mine before pulling back to look in my eyes.

“I thought I was dead inside.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

I got the distinct impression he was sharing his deepest secret with me.

“And then I met you, Mags.” Tenderly cupping my cheek with his palm, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “The woman who ‘
stopped, dropped, and rolled
’ to take out a bad guy.”

We both smiled at the memory of my unorthodox method of taking out Alfonso Cifelli, the son-in-law of mob boss, Delveccio, when he tried to smother his son in the hospital.

“I’ve tried to keep my distance, not take advantage of you, to do the right thing,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb across my lips.

I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. That would explain the sudden wooziness I experienced.

“But it doesn’t feel right. All I want, all I can think about, is you.”

I took a shallow breath.

He waited. For me to kiss him. For me to respond to his declaration. For what, I’ll never know.

“I--” I began.

His phone buzzed, interrupting me.

“Ignore it,” he said.

“It might be important,” I countered. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts, to figure out what to do about the most romantic moment of my life.

Scowling, he whipped out his cell phone. “It’s work.”

“Answer,” I suggested. “I won’t make a peep.”

“Mulligan,” he growled into the phone.

He listened intently for a minute, his expression growing darker by the moment. “Uh huh. Forty-five minutes tops.” Turning off the phone, he jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve got to go.”

I stared at him dumbly.

“Now.” Bending down, he grabbed my hands, yanking me unceremoniously to my feet.

Off balance, I caught myself against his chest. I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my splayed fingers.

“There’s been a prison break,” he explained, setting me away from him. He hurriedly folded the blanket and all the delectable goodies into a ball.

I winced at the loss of delicious food.

“It’s all hands on deck. I’ve got to get to the station and get my assignment.”

I marveled at the way the man juggled his law enforcement career with his illegal activities. No doubt he’d use the same skill set to manage a wife and a mistress. The thought made me frown.

Catching my expression, Patrick speared a finger through his hair, signaling his frustration. “I really am sorry, Mags.”

“Things happen.”

Doomsday rushed over to see what all the commotion was about and to snag a piece of cheddar that had dropped from the blanket.

“In the car.”

I wasn’t certain if the command was meant for me or the dog, but we both complied.

After dumping the gym bag, duffle bag, and blanket into the trunk, the police detective jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car. He’d driven maybe fifty yards when he slammed on the break, startling me and sending Doomsday slamming into the front seat.

“Ow,” she whined.

“Sorry, girl.” Patrick reached over the seat to pat the mutt’s head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Everything,” he muttered.

Leaning over, he claimed my lips in a hard, possessive kiss that rocked me to my core.

“Mmm,” he murmured, “Salty and sweet.”

Just as suddenly as he’d stopped the car, he tore himself away from me. He drove fast, glaring at the road ahead like it was his mortal enemy. The trip back to the mall was quick and silent.

“Mad Patrick?” Doomsday asked timidly from the backseat.

I couldn’t answer her, but I did reach back to rub the spot between her eyes, offering soundless reassurance that everything was okay. Even though I wasn’t so sure it was.

I practically jumped out of the car the moment we pulled into the spot next to my parked car.

Patrick didn’t even turn to watch us leave despite Doomsday’s softly woofed, “Bye bye.”

I closed the back door and moved to slam mine shut, but at the last minute I stopped myself. Leaning back into the car, I said, “Be careful.”

“You too,” he muttered, still staring straight ahead.

I closed the door and watched him roar off.

“Us back he?” Doomsday panted worriedly.

“I hope so,” I murmured, trying not to think about the danger he’d be in chasing down escaped criminals.

“Now?” The dog climbed into the back of my car.

“We’re going to the B&B,” I told her.

A scary place.

A place I’d need to be careful.

Aunt Susan was sitting on the porch when I pulled up outside the Bed and Breakfast. She looked cross.

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard to make sure I wasn’t late for dinner. I was a couple hours early.

Climbing out of the car slowly as she marched down the stairs toward me, I braced myself for whatever lecture she was going to deliver.

“That man,” she complained.

“Which man?” I asked wondering if she’d had a spat with Bob Waites, the man she was dating.

"Templeton," she growled, naming her sister Loretta's fiancé.

Relieved that it wasn't me she was upset with, I relaxed, leaning back against my car. "What did he do now?"

"He's emptying the barn."

The barn is actually an oversized garage painted barn-red behind the B&B. It's stuffed with about thirty years of junk.

"He thinks that there are a lot of antiques back there that should be catalogued and appraised."

I thought about the dusty contents. "He's probably right."

"But he's pawing through my things." She was so distraught I half expected her to stamp her foot in protest.

"So tell him to stop. It's your home. They're your belongings."

"Oh no," she shook her head so hard I was surprised she didn't give herself whiplash. "It's been made very clear to me that this is not
my
house, but
our
home. Those aren't my things, but
our
things. Loretta's insisting that he have carte blanche to do whatever the hell he pleases, my wishes be damned."

Shocked by the level of animosity in her tone, I blinked dumbly at her, unable to compose a response. I'd never heard her speak so angrily about any of her sisters. Usually this level of frustration was reserved for my father, deservedly so, since she'd been left to raise his children after he'd gotten himself thrown in prison.

"That man," she growled again, "is ruining everything."

"I'll talk to him," I pledged, needing to do something to help her.

She brightened slightly at that. "You will?"

I nodded. "I'll talk to Loretta too."

"You're a good girl, Margaret." She patted my shoulder awkwardly.

"Good dog!" Doomsday barked from inside the car, startling us both.

"Hello, DeeDee," Aunt Susan practically cooed, her bad mood forgotten when she spotted the mutt. She opened the rear door of my car and the dog bounded out happily, sat at her feet, and licked her hand in greeting.

"I'll take her for a walk, show her the neighborhood." Susan snatched up her leash.

I gave Doomsday a stern look. "Be good. No chasing after squirrels. Be on your best behavior."

"Okay. Okay," the dog panted.

"The only one in the house right now is Leslie," Susan told me as she and DeeDee started off to survey the neighborhood.

Opening my trunk, I took the box filled with my stinky shoes, and trudged up the stairs into the Bed & Breakfast. As always it smelled of potpourri and furniture polish.

Stopping in the parlor, I put the box down and examined the wedding picture of my mom's parents. They looked so happy, so normal. How had they raised such a crazy set of women?

I'd sworn I'd never live with my aunts again, in this place with its lace curtains and shining silver, and yet here I found myself, ready to move back in. It's funny what desperation will drive you to do. Or love.

When Katie's aunt on her dad’s side had sued for custody of her (a suit that was dropped because of some mysterious dealings of Patrick done on my behalf) the hospital social worker assigned to Katie had started asking questions about her home situation. Rather than risk losing my niece, I was giving up my freedom and moving back in with my aunts who are a “spectacular support system”…at least that’s what I told the social worker.

Sighing heavily, I picked up my bag and climbed the two flights of stairs to my childhood bedroom. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle. I pushed the door open, flipped on the light, and stood in the doorway for a second, catching my breath.

Half the room was pink. Pink walls, pink curtains, and a cotton candy pink bedspread draped over a twin bed. The other half of the room was purple and green. The walls were a deep plum and the curtains and spread on the other twin bed were the color of pistachio ice cream. It was a nauseating combination.

Standing in the threshold, I observed the room I’d shared with my older sister, Theresa, (Katie’s mom) fondly. We’d shared so many secrets and dreams under the cover of darkness, as we lay in our respective beds, whispering and giggling into the early hours. We’d had our share of fights in this room too, over chores, and boys, and choices.