9 The Hitwoman's Downward Dog Read online

  "Hungry," the dog barked.

  Jack glanced at her nervously.

  "You don't like dogs?" I asked.

  "Dogs don't like mail carriers and reporters. We're both always invading their territory."

  "That's not an answer," I told him.

  "I like dogs," he admitted grudgingly. "I used to have a Bichon, but I lost him."

  "Pound dog?" DeeDee asked on a low, terrified whine. She'd spent a little time at the local dog pound, helping me with one of the jobs I'd been assigned by Ms. Whitehat and she hadn't liked it.

  "Lost him?" I asked, wondering if the dog was really lost or had died.

  Jack looked away, staring off into the distance. He crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat before answering. "My ex-wife got him as part of the divorce settlement."

  I blinked, surprised. I hadn't expected that version of lost.

  "I'm sorry," I murmured.

  He shrugged. "She works more regular hours than I do. It made sense for her to have him, but it doesn't mean I don't still miss him."

  Touched by his vulnerability and his obvious love for an animal no longer in his life, I patted his arm.

  He looked down at where my hand rested against his jacket.

  I had to fight the urge to snatch it back and hide it behind my back when his fingers covered mine, sending a jolt of awareness through my entire body. Taking my hand in his, he stared into my eyes.

  My heart beat faster. My mouth went dry.

  I didn't quite register what was happening when something was pressed against my palm.

  "Take it," he urged with quiet intensity.

  Tearing my gaze from his, I looked down to see what IT was.

  I blinked at the rectangular card.

  "It's got all my phone numbers on it," Jack explained. "I wrote my cell phone number on the back. If you're going to do something stupid or dangerous like this again, I want you to call me." He folded my fingers over the card, its sharp edges biting into my skin.

  "Okay," I agreed automatically, even though I'd never use the number.

  Or would I?

  Chapter 11

  Leaving Jack at Armani's house, I broke a couple of minor traffic laws hurrying back to the B&B so as not to raise any suspicions.

  "I like this Jack Stern fellow," God opined from his vantage point on the dashboard. "He seems like a straight arrow."

  "A straight arrow that could uncover the truth about me, or Patrick, or me and Patrick that could result in me going to jail," I griped. "Who'd buy you crickets then?"

  "Him like I too," DeeDee offered from the back seat.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror at her, caught off guard by her response. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't act like you like him."

  "Did neither you."

  "He's dangerous."

  "If you say so," God mocked. "If he's divorced, he's more available than the redhead."

  I squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. "Patrick is not open for discussion."

  "Why not?" the lizard asked.

  "Because I'm not sure how I feel about him," I admitted. Ever since I'd discovered that the cop/hitman's wife wasn't the invalid I'd imagined, some of Patrick's charm had dimmed. Not wanting to continue talking about him, I changed the subject. "There's big news about Katie."

  "What?" God demanded imperiously.

  "The doctors say she's almost ready to leave the hospital. In another week or so, she'll be home."

  The lizard clapped his tiny feet together, but I was filled with a sense of dread.

  Picking up on my mood, DeeDee asked, "Maggie, wrong what's?"

  "Nothing, sweetie," I told her smoothly.

  God narrowed his gaze, peering at me through tiny slits. "Liar."

  I shrugged, pretending to focus on my driving.

  "Out with it," God ordered.

  "With what?"

  "You’re not clever enough to play coy with me," he warned, flicking his tail for emphasis. "What’s bothering you?"

  Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I admitted, "I'm not ready."

  "Ready for what?"

  "For her to come home. For me to be a responsible parent. This was not what my life was supposed to be."

  "You'll be fine," God assured me.

  "What makes you think that?"

  "You'll have me telling you what to do," he declared with confident superiority.

  "Gee, thanks," I muttered sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

  Pulling into the driveway of the B&B, I saw my sister Marlene launch herself off her seat on the front porch to hurry toward me. The overwhelming urge to throw the car into reverse to escape whatever bad news she bore had my fingers curling around the gearshift. Grudgingly, I put the car in the park and got out to face whatever she dropped at my feet.

  "You’ve got to do something." Her eyes were wild with worry. If I didn’t know that her former pimp had died recently, I’d have worried he was after her.

  "Now what?" I asked tiredly, letting DeeDee out of the car. The dog bounded happily into the backyard, seemingly unaware of the tension that was making it difficult for me to breathe.

  "The witches are fighting," Marlene said pitifully. For a second I forgot she was a grown woman, and not the eight-year-old who’d come to me with the same problem decades earlier.

  "I’ll see what I can do." Just like years before, the promise sounded weak. Of course back then the witches, my three aunts, had been arguing about whether to institutionalize my mother, their sister. I had no idea what they were fighting about now.

  "Maybe it’s my fault," Marlene offered.

  "What’s your fault?"

  "That they’re fighting." Her lower lip quivered and her eyes were pools of unshed tears.

  I pulled her into me for a tight hug, wondering how someone so fragile had survived the world of prostitution for so many years. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I assured her, "They can find plenty of reasons to fight that having nothing to do with you."

  "You think so?" she mumbled into my shoulder.

  "They don’t even need reality to fight," I assured her, stepping back, out of the hug so that I could see her face. "Right?"

  She nodded, seemingly half-convinced that I was telling her the truth.

  "I’ll take care of this," I promised her. "Don’t you worry about anything." Gently I led her back into the B&B. She immediately scurried up the stairs toward her room, while I, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, marched into the dining room, determined to be the voice of reason.

  But it wasn’t the sisters who were fighting. It was their men, or more specifically Aunt Loretta’s fiancé and Aunt Susan’s ex-boyfriend Bob. The two men circled the dining room table, spewing insults at one another.

  Susan and Loretta were huddled in a corner, clinging to one another, twittering shrilly as they watched the macho display in horror.

  "Shut up!" I roared at the top of my lungs.

  It wasn’t subtle or polite, but it was effective.

  The room fell silent as the four of them stared at me in shock.

  I glared at them all, daring them to utter a sound. None were brave enough to take me on.

  "Sit down before you fall down, Templeton," I ordered Loretta’s other half. "You look terrible." Not long before, he’d ended up in the hospital as a result of something stupid Bob had been done. While there, Templeton had suffered a severe allergic reaction to a medication. He hadn’t fully recovered and looked as though it took all his strength to remain standing.

  Obediently, Templeton sank into the nearest chair.

  "Now," I said in a quiet tone that made it clear I was pissed. "You’ve scared poor Marlene. Are you trying to make her leave us again?"

  "Of course not," Susan gasped.

  "Then who wants to tell me what’s happening here?"

  Disengaging herself from the death grip Loretta had on her arm, Susan stepp
ed forward, wringing her hands. "It was nothing, dear."

  "Nothing?" I looked back and forth between the two men who’d been shouting at one another. Both hung their heads guiltily and wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

  I frowned at Susan, waiting for an answer.

  She shrugged helplessly. "It was all a big misunderstanding."

  "Oh yeah?" I challenged, not believing her.

  "Yes. It was nothing."

  I looked to Loretta for confirmation. She shuttered her gaze behind her fake eyelashes.

  I looked to Susan again, wanting her to tell me the truth, needing to hear it, no matter what it was.

  She remained silent.

  "Wow," I muttered bitterly. "You haven’t lied to me that blatantly in a long time."

  Susan winced, but remained silent.

  "Armani’s missing, Katie’s being released from the hospital in a week, and you’re lying to me."

  "I’m sorry," Susan apologized weakly.

  It wasn’t enough. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled out of the dining room and down into the basement.

  Chapter 12

  Piss, sprawled out on the sofa, watched me with her good eye. "What happened to you, Sugar?"

  Unable to speak because of the painful lump in my throat, I shook my head.

  "Did you lose them both?"

  It took me a second to figure out what she meant. Groaning loudly, I raced to open the cellar storm doors. Sure enough, DeeDee was there waiting to be let in.

  She almost bowled me over as she bounded inside. "Hungry."

  "In a second." I ran up the stairs into the backyard, slamming the storm door closed behind me. "I’m never going to hear the end of this," I warned myself.

  Running over to my car, I yanked open the door and peered inside.

  "You. Forgot. Me." Disdain dripped from every syllable that came out of God’s mouth.

  "I was distracted," I told the lizard, hoping he’d drop the matter.

  "You forgot me."

  "I’m sorry."

  He narrowed his reptilian eyes at me. "Sorry? I could have died."

  "I don’t think so," I countered defensively.

  "Carbon monoxide poisoning. That could have killed me."

  "But the car wasn’t running."

  "I could have suffocated."

  "But the car isn’t airtight," I argued.

  "Hypothermia." He waved his tail triumphantly. "I almost succumbed to the elements and all that would have been left of me was the weathered husk of my corpse."

  "I should be so lucky," I told him.

  He dropped his tail at that and turned away, sulking.

  I took a deep breath and silently counted to ten before I addressed his sullen back. "I’m very sorry I forgot you here."

  He shook his head from side-to-side but refused to look at me. "No you’re not."

  "I am." I meant it, if only because if I hadn’t forgotten him, I wouldn’t have had to beg for his forgiveness.

  He must have heard the truth in my voice because he turned to face me. "How will you make it up to me?"

  "Make it up to you?"

  "You must perform an act of contrition."

  "Right away?" I asked, thinking that finding Armani and figuring out what to do about Katie were higher on my To-Do list than stroking the oversized ego of a miniature lizard.

  "No," he granted benevolently. "You can have some time to figure out how best to win my favor."

  "Awesome," I murmured. "Now can we can go inside?" I extended my hand to lift him off the dashboard

  Scrambling onto my palm, he said, "I thought you’d never ask."

  "It’s been a hell of a day." I closed the car door and walked across the backyard. I’d almost made it to the cellar door when I got the feeling I was being watched. I glanced at the house and couldn’t see any well-meaning relatives keeping an eye on me. A chill skittered down my spine.

  "Hey, Mags," a familiar voice called softly from behind.

  Every muscle in my body contracted as the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in before my brain recognized the source.

  "Ow!" God bellowed.

  Realizing I’d balled my hands into fists, inadvertently crushing him, I forced myself to relax.

  "I have sensitive skin," the lizard groused.

  Ignoring him, I turned to search for Patrick Mulligan, grateful for the shadows that would hide my expression. I managed to sound calmer than I felt. "You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that."

  "I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I was coming to visit you."

  "Visitors use the front door," I reminded him, deciding it was better to tap into the anger I was nursing against him for refusing to help me find Armani than to blurt out I was glad to see him.

  "You know the rules," he chided gently.

  Patrick Mulligan’s rule number one was "Don’t Get Caught," which was why ever since I’d moved into the B&B, he’d been sneaking in the storm cellar door. Things had been much simpler for our rendezvous when I had my own apartment, but a mad bomber had destroyed it.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "I wanted to talk to you."

  "About what?" My words were short and clipped conveying my unhappiness with him.

  "I wanted to talk to you about your friend."

  "The one you won’t help me find?"

  "Patrick?" DeeDee whined from behind the other side of the cellar door. "Patrick?"

  Glancing around nervously, the redhead suggested, "Maybe we should talk about this inside?"

  Knowing that I’d never hear the end of it from the dog if I didn’t let her see him, I nodded.

  He opened the door and motioned for me to walk in ahead of me. He wasn’t being a gentleman, he wanted to make sure there was no one there waiting for me who might catch him in the act of sneaking in.

  "Is there anyone else in here?" I asked Piss as I descended the stairs.

  "Just us, Sugar," she purred.

  "The coast is clear," I told Patrick before carrying God over to his terrarium.

  "First you forgot me, then you almost crushed me," the lizard griped.

  Knowing it wasn’t the ideal time to apologize for my irresponsibility, I placed him down carefully and turned around.

  Patrick was sitting on the couch with DeeDee on one side of him and Piss on the other

  He stroked them both and they in turn looked up at him adoringly.

  "Traitors," I muttered beneath my breath. Sure, he was handsome and charming and had come through for me in the past, but hadn’t they gotten the memo that I was none too pleased with Patrick Mulligan at the moment?

  After all, he was choosing to stay with his wife, who was engaged in an affair with another woman whose husband had tried to kill him. Sure I might have my quirks and a bizarre family, but surely, if he truly cared, he’d choose me over that insanity.

  "Brian Griswald is helping me look into Armani’s disappearance," I said in a rush, needing to make it clear that I wasn’t the one adoring the cop/hitman. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I hoped it would be enough to goad Patrick into thinking he should have done something to help me.

  "Good." He nodded his approval.

  Not exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.

  "What about Jack Stern? Is he helping you?" Patrick’s voice was deceptively bland, but the corners of his eyes tightened when he asked the question.

  "Sort of," I admitted.

  "Sort of? Do you really need me to tell you that the guy’s job is to investigate crime and report the truth? Do you want him finding out the truth about you?"

  "Is that why you are friends with him?" I countered snippily.

  "I met him through police work. How do you know him?"

  "I met him at the hospital."

  "Where you meet regularly with a known crime boss," the hitman pointed out.

  He had a point there, but I wasn’t about to let him win anything in this conversation, so I didn’t react.

 
; "Be careful with him," Patrick warned. "He’s a black-and-white kind of guy and wouldn’t understand the gray area we operate in."

  "I don’t understand the gray area you operate in," I countered.

  He raised his eyebrows. "You don’t? I thought our gray areas kind of blend together, being people who kill for money and all."

  I winced. It might be the truth, but I still didn’t like thinking of myself as a hired killer. "I’m talking about your wife."

  "It’s complicated."

  "So you’ve said."

  He stopped petting the animals and leaned forward. "I care about you, Mags."

  And I believed him. But I wasn’t sure it was enough.

  "Why else would I be here?" Patrick pressed, trying to convince me his feelings were real.

  "You wanted to talk to me about Armani?" I reminded him, pointedly leading the way out of the quicksand of our relationship.

  "Are you angry at me?" he asked quietly.

  "Yes."

  He blinked, taken aback by the succinct, blunt answer, but I have to give him credit, he recovered quickly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No."

  "So this is going to be a monosyllabic conversation?"

  I shrugged.

  "Mad, Maggie, you?" DeeDee panted worriedly.

  "Not at you, honey," Piss assured him with a chugging purr. "She’s none too pleased with this tomcat, though I must admit I found his declaration kind of romantic."

  It would have been nice if she’d made a show of siding with me, but instead she rubbed the top of her head against Patrick’s palm.

  He sighed, rubbing his other hand over his face as though that would erase the tension between us.

  I lifted my chin, refusing to apologize or do anything to improve the mood.

  "So about Armani," Patrick began, resigned to the fact nothing between us was going to be resolved any time soon. "The reason I can’t help you find her is that I’ve been assigned to another case. A high-priority case. A police officer has gone missing."

  "Yeah?" I asked like I didn’t care, like I didn’t already know Joy Gilbert was in danger, like she and Armani didn’t have a connection. There was a time when I would have told Patrick everything I knew without bothering to take a breath, but not now. Now I played my cards close to the vest, collecting information rather than sharing it.