Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

A note from JB:

COMING SOON

The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels

Book 4

JB LYNN

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in

any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except

for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of

the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Baum

Cover by Hot Damn Designs

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given

away to others. If you’d like to share this book (and the author hopes you’ll want to),

please purchase an additional copy for each person. To obtain permission to excerpt

portions of the text, please contact the author at jblynnauthor@gmail.com

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

www.jblynn.com

Praise for JB Lynn’s Novels

"If you love series such as Evanovich's Plum and Bond's Body Movers, you'll love

Confessions of A Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman."

A Chick Who Reads

“…laugh out loud hilarious and totally engaging novel.”

Night Owl Reviews

“JB Lynn knows how to entertain readers. I can’t wait to see what she has in store for

Maggie next!”

Romance Novel News

“Ms. Lynn writes stories that flow well, make you care about her characters, and make

you want to read more. It’s a winning combination for a book.”

Long and Short Reviews

“…Lynn similarly and masterfully joins the genres of suspense and romance with a tale

that is sure to please fans of both. Readers will be anxiously awaiting the next book in

this series.”

LIBRARY JOURNAL

OTHER TITLES BY JB LYNN

Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

The Hitwoman Gets Lucky

The First Victim

Dedication

For the Sisters and The Bowtie Guy

Acknowledgements

I freely admit I don’t know much about fictional Superheroes, but I’m pretty sure I know some in real life.

To the Super Sisters:

Tutu-loving Kate Perry, who writes faster than a speeding bullet and Parisa Zolfaghari, who flies-through-the-air and can whip a manuscript into shape in a single pass. I couldn’t have done this without your unflagging support. Thank you!

To the running Guy Who Wears Bowties because they’re “cool”:

Forever isn’t long enough!

To My Superhero Friends with your Secret Identities:

You know who you are. You’re the ones I call upon in my darkest hours. You’re appreciated more than you know.

To My Super Readers: You guys make all this possible!

Prologue

You know it’s going to be a bad day when your worst nightmare is coming true, Doomsday is excited, and God is lecturing you about silver linings or some such crap.

I dumped the contents of a dresser drawer into a garbage bag.

If you’d asked me a couple of months ago what my worst nightmare was, I would have told you it was the possibility of having to move back in with my meddling aunts, and that’s exactly what I found myself doing.

“You’re doing the right thing,” God told me, as though he could read my thoughts.

I glanced over at the anole lizard, stretched out in the terrarium perched precariously in the middle of my bed. His full name is Godzilla, but he preferred to go by “God”. And yes, I can talk to him. This is a relatively new skill…just one of many I’ve developed since a car accident earlier this year.

“I know I’m doing the right thing. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“Happy DeeDee!” The seventy-pound Doberman Pinscher sprawled in the doorway, whose real name is Doomsday, was excited because I’d told her we were moving to a place that had grass. I’d also told her it was hell on earth, but that particular detail hadn’t registered in her tiny canine brain.

Ignoring her, God said, “You don’t have to like it. You just have to remember that you’re doing this for Katie.”

Katie was the only person I’d do this for. The lawyer I’d hired to help me fight for custody of my niece had made the suggestion I move back in with my aunts. She said it would help to illustrate I could provide a stable family environment for the little girl once she was released from the premium care facility. The car accident had left her with a traumatic brain injury, resulted in the death of her parents, and made me Katie’s legal guardian. It also left me able to converse with animals, but I don’t like to think about that.

Just like I don’t like to think about the fact I’m a hitwoman.

“Are you adopting a homeless motif?” God asked.

“What?”

“Most people treat their belongings with respect when they’re packing for a move. You’re putting all of your worldly possessions into a trash bag. Are you trying out a bag lady look?”

“I’m only moving my clothes, not all my worldly possessions. Everything else is staying here. If you piss me off you can stay here too.”

“God take! God take!” Doomsday panted.

“You’ve upset the imbecile with your threats,” God drawled smugly. “Don’t—“

Before I could finish berating the lizard for being mean to the dog (yes, my life is that pathetic) my alarm clock buzzed. “Crap!”

“You’re going to be late,” God said.

I dropped the half-filled garbage bag on the floor. “Where are my keys?”

“Kitchen table,” he replied. “Don’t forget to turn on the television before you leave.”

Snatching up the remote, I turned on the set and ran from the room.

“True crime!” God shouted. “You forgot to set it to the true crime station!”

Turning around I did his bidding. When I’d first brought him home, the lizard had been fanatical about watching Wheel of Fortune, but now, since he’s my wingman whenever I go off to kill someone, he’s obsessed with true crime shows.

DeeDee isn’t the slightest bit interested in television, so I tossed a rawhide treat in her general direction to keep her occupied. “Don’t gnaw on the furniture,” I admonished as I locked the door to my apartment. A day earlier she’d decided to chomp on the leg of my night table because she’d been bored.

I hurried to my car and raced—well, raced as well as one can when trying to obey traffic laws so as not to attract the attention of law enforcement—across town. My alarm wasn’t set to make sure I got to work on time and it wasn’t to remind me about visiting hours for Katie. The appointment I couldn’t afford to miss was with the local mob boss, Delveccio. I was never sure when I met with Delveccio if I met with Tony or his identical twin Anthony, but I don’t worry about it too much. If the people trying to prosecute him/them for “alleged” crimes can’t tell them apart, why should I even try?

I made it to Apple Blossom Estates, the premium care facility where Katie was a patient, eighteen minutes before visiting hours began. I headed straight for the cafeteria, doing my best to look like a family member killing time before she could visit her loved one. In reality, I was going to find out who Delveccio wanted me to kill.

I still can’t believe I’m a hitwoman. This isn’t how I’d planned my life. Then again, life hasn’t turned out the way I’d planned. When I was a kid I wouldn’t have thought that my mother would end up in a mental institution and my dad in prison. Now that I talk to animals and go around killing people, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up in one of those two places.

Becoming a hitwoman just sort of happened. One moment I was worrying about paying for Katie’s medical care and the next I was being offered a lot of money to kill someone. A very bad someone. Then I had to kill somebody else (also, a very, very bad man) because he’d stood in the way of my payday…well that and he had evidence that could have landed me in jail.

Not long ago I accepted a contract to kill a drug dealer. Again, someone who totally deserved what he got, but what Delveccio didn’t know is that I failed to kill him. When it came down to it, I just couldn’t make the dealer’s family suffer. Fortunately for me, fate intervened in the form of a killer disco ball, so Delveccio not only believed I did the job he’d hired me for, but that I’m very good at it. I took his money and didn’t disabuse him of that notion.

I don’t enjoy killing people, even those who deserve it, and I’d very much like to get out of the situation I’ve found myself in, but I’m also really, really afraid of pissing off a man the local papers have dubbed “The Deadliest Don”.

Plus, I need the money.

Which is why I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria scarfing down chocolate pudding waiting to find out who I was expected to hit next.

“We’re gonna have to stop meeting like this,” Delveccio said, as he slid into the seat opposite me. As usual his shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his navel, revealing way too much greying chest hair, and he reeked of some cologne that no doubt cost more than I made in a week at my real job.

“Do you think we’re being watched?” I glanced around. A couple of nurses were sitting in one corner cackling over a tabloid magazine. A guy who looked to be in his nineties was sitting at another table playing checkers with himself. The only person who seemed remotely interested in us was Delveccio’s steroid-ridden bodyguard, Vinnie.

“No, but rumor has it your niece is gonna get moved.” Delveccio’s grandson is in the room next to Katie’s. We never would have met otherwise.

“That’s news to me.” The mouthful of chocolate pudding on my tongue suddenly tasted like dog crap. I swallowed hard, barely managing to choke it down. After all I’d done to keep her here, they couldn’t kick Katie out, could they?

I did my best to not let my agitation show since I knew Delveccio was watching for a reaction to this bombshell he’d lobbed my way. “So what’s the job?”

Throwing back his head, he laughed. “That’s what I like about you. You’re all business.” He leaned forward so that his forehead practically touched mine. “This one’s going to require some finesse.”

I didn’t say anything. The last job had required me to assassinate a drug lord at a wedding with oodles of bodyguards in attendance. What could be trickier than that?

“I need you to kill a cop.”

Chapter One

I was pretty sure Cop Killing wasn’t covered under the purview of my business arrangement with Delveccio, but when disagreeing with the Deadly Don, it’s prudent to tread carefully. Hoping he wouldn’t notice that my hand was shaking, I lifted another spoonful of pudding to my mouth to buy myself a moment to think. One can only draw out swallowing a non-solid food for so long, so I was forced to say, “I thought we had an agreement.”

“This guy fits your criteria.”

“He’s a cop.” I might be a hired killer, but I still considered the police to be the good guys.

“So is our red-headed friend.”

The mention of Patrick Mulligan, my murder mentor had me gritting my teeth. The last time I’d seen the sexy cop/hitman we’d shared a white-hot kiss and a hotel room, but he’d rejected the idea of taking things further. He’d rejected me.

“This dirty cop,” Delveccio continued, oblivious to my distress, “the one I’m talking about, is a bad guy. A really bad guy.”

“There’s the pot calling the kettle black,” I muttered even though it isn’t wise to insult a mobster.

Delveccio didn’t take offense, instead he chuckled. “I may be a bad guy, but even I don’t go around killing innocent witnesses. I might bribe them, or I might scare them, but you won’t catch me offing a pregnant woman.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. I’d read too many stories about his exploits in the newspaper. Still, I kept my mouth shut.

“This guy is like you.”

I cringed. I would have liked to argue with him, but I knew in my heart he was probably right. I was a paid killer, no better than this dirty cop he was talking about. The thought made me sick to my stomach, and I pushed away the remainder of the chocolate pudding.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” Delveccio reached across the table and covered my hand with his. The cold gold of his massive pinky ring branded me. “I just meant he works on a per-contract basis. He doesn’t have your standards, but he does meet your conditions. I can’t think of anyone else to give this job to…not after the work you did on Garcia.”

That’s the drug dealer he thinks I killed, but I really didn’t. I probably shouldn’t have taken the credit for whacking him, but I hadn’t been able to turn down the payday. Not with Katie’s medical bills multiplying faster than bunny rabbits.

“I don’t think—”

He held up a finger in front of my face to silence me. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you did this one.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly getting the impression I was on very thin ice. “Does that mean you’re not planning on paying me?”

Delveccio leaned back in his seat, observing me through narrowed eyes. “You are one ballsy broad.”

“I thought that’s why you like me.”

“That and because you’re damn good at what you do.”

I smiled tightly, knowing he meant it as a compliment. I’m not proud of my work. I consider it to be a necessary evil, but I don’t enjoy any aspect of it…except for being able to pay for my niece’s care.

“You’ll get paid.”

“So the personal favor part?”

“Means you can’t refuse the request.” Folding his arms over his chest, he tilted his head toward his bodyguard who was engrossed in the study of his bulging bicep. “Otherwise I might have to let Vinnie convince you to do me the favor.”

A chill skittered down my spine that had nothing to do with the hospital’s overzealous use of air conditioning. “So tell me about this cop you want me to kill.”

He glanced at his Rolex. “Visiting hours just started.” He pushed himself away from the table and got to his feet. “Our mutual friend will give you all the details you need. I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

He ambled away leaving me with a half-eaten pudding on the table and a terrible knot in my stomach. I’d been in some pretty sticky situations since meeting the Deadly Don, but this was the first time I’d actually been afraid of the man.

After a few minutes, feeling utterly demoralized by the situation I found myself stuck in, I dragged my way to Katie’s room. I made sure not to make eye contact with Vinnie who was doing push-ups against the wall outside the room Delveccio’s grandson was in.

Katie wasn’t alone in her room. Aunt Loretta and her fiancée Templeton the Rat (okay, not his real name, but he is rodent-like) were playing gin at the end of her bed.

“Hello, Maggie.” Loretta tilted her cheek toward me expecting a kiss.

“Who’s winning?” I asked, pressing my lips into a quarter-inch of face powder. Look up “vain” in the dictionary and you’ll probably find a picture of my aunt. She thinks she’s a sex kitten, but closing in on sixty, she just looks like someone who’s trying too hard.

Blinking her false eyelashes at her opponent/lover, she cooed, “I hope to be soon. But first I have to use the little girl’s room.”

Her stilettoes click-clacked across the floor as she tottered out of the room.

Walking up to the head of the bed, I stroked Katie’s cheek with the back of two fingers. The evidence of the accident, scratches and bruises and an awful skull cast, that had marred her face were now gone. She looked like a four-year-old who was taking a nap. “Wake up, Baby Girl. Aunt Maggie’s here.”

Her eyes snapped open and stared at me, but there was no emotion in her gaze, no recognition.

I did my best to smile down at her. A lump stuck in my throat, preventing me from speaking for a moment. Every day she’d remained in a coma, I’d worried I’d never see her baby blues again. Now I dreaded the possibility that I might never see her smile, or hear her laugh again.

“Damndest thing, that.” Templeton put his cards down on the bed and stood to get a better look. “She didn’t react when Loretta came in or when the nurse was fixing her pillows.”

“Really?” I didn’t believe most of what came out of Templeton’s mouth, but I was intrigued by his observation.

He nodded. “She never opens her eyes when we’re here. Frankly, the sisters have started to wonder if maybe you made up the change in her condition.”

“Sisters plural? Or Aunt Susan?”

He shrugged and looked away. He didn’t need to confirm my suspicion. Aunt Susan had made it clear that she was concerned I was taking after my mother and was losing my mind. She based her assumption on the fact I’ve adopted Doomsday. (She hates dogs.) I was a bit worried that she might not be wrong…after all, I was conversing with animals and going around killing men.

“Are you sure you don’t need help moving in?”

“No thanks.” This was the last night I’d be sleeping in my own bed for a while. The next day I’d be calling my aunts’ bed and breakfast my official residence. “I’m not bringing that much stuff with me.”

“I’m sure Paul would be happy to help you.”

I narrowed my eyes at the man standing on the other side of my niece’s bed. “You’re more of a matchmaker than Loretta is.”

He smiled. “When someone is in love, they want the whole world to be in love too.”

Loretta came back in. “Who’s in love?”

Templeton hurried to her side and wrapped his arms around her. “We are, honeybunch.”

My gag reflex kicked in. I turned away before I retched in their faces.

“Oh, I thought maybe Maggie was in love. You know dear, Paul could help you move in tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s been suggested.”

“And shot down,” Templeton said. “Let’s give these two a little time together, ‘Retta.”

“But we just got here.”

“And it’s Maggie’s day off. Let her get her visit in so the poor girl has the rest of her day free to live her life.”

I mouthed “thank you” to Templeton as he led my aunt away.

Maybe he wasn’t all that bad.

And he was right, I did have plans for the rest of the day, but they had nothing to do with living my life. Rather they were about how to take someone else’s.

Chapter Two

“Bring the dog.”

That’s what Patrick Mulligan had told me when we’d arranged our meeting. I wasn’t quite sure why he wanted Doomsday there, and I almost left her at home just to prove I had a say in what happened in our meetings, but I caved and brought her anyway.

When I’d told God I was bringing the mutt to the rendezvous with my murder-mentor, he’d wanted to come along. I’d refused, explaining that when I finished with Patrick, I’d be heading to the B&B to unload some of the garbage bags full of my belongings. The lizard accused me of abandoning him. I told him to quit whining or I wouldn’t leave the television on for him when I left. He sulked and hid and didn’t even say good-bye when I headed out, balancing a box full of shoes under one arm, while hanging onto Doomsday’s leash with the other.

Apprehensive about seeing Patrick again after his rejection in Atlantic City, I circled the mall twice before pulling into the parking lot, arriving fifteen minutes late. He pulled up in yet another car I’d never seen before and motioned for Doomsday and me to hop in. I’ve asked him where his never-ending supply of vehicles comes from, but he’s always evasive.

I double-checked to make sure my vehicle was locked. There was no telling who might want to steal the box of smelly, used shoes I’d stowed on the floor of the front passenger seat.

Then I opened the door to the backseat of Patrick’s car du jour and Doomsday bounded in. She greeted the red-headed cop/hitman with kisses. Since the headrest separated them, she basically licked the back of his right ear.

I climbed into the passenger seat, taking care not to make eye contact with him. “DeeDee, stop that!” I swatted at her, but she ignored me.

“She’s just excited is all.” He lowered the rear window halfway, effectively distracting the pooch. She immediately stuck her nose through the opening and sniffed the air, which I assumed smelled of the rancid grease from the food court.

“Everything okay?” Putting the car into drive, he pulled away from mall. “It’s not like you to show up late.”

“I had things to do,” I murmured, staring out the window.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

I shrugged. “You’ve been busy. I’ve been busy.”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “How are you, Mags?”

“Fine, and you?” I delivered the response with just the right amount of cool civility…just like I’d practiced in front of my mirror, having predetermined I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself. Again.

Tension filled the car as we both avoided the fiasco that had been our trip to Atlantic City. I’d practically thrown myself at Patrick and he’d politely rebuffed my advances. The memory of my mortification made my cheeks burn.

He glanced sideways at me. “You’re okay with Delveccio’s personal favor?”

I shrugged, secretly glad he wasn’t going to rehash the embarrassing incident.

“Mags?”

“What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot you were watching the road and not me.”

“So…?”

“I don’t see that I have a choice. He threatened to sic Vinnie on me if I don’t do what he asked.”

“Who’s Vinnie?”

“You know, his bodyguard. Big muscle-head guy with the IQ of a gorilla…which, no offense to gorillas, he sort of reminds me of.”

“He didn’t tell you who the target is?”

Patrick’s tone was so deliberately bland it made me grind my teeth. “Let’s say what we’re really talking about here. We’re talking about killing a cop.”

“How’s your niece?”

His abrupt change of topic made my head spin. “What?”

“Katie. How’s she doing?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Can’t get anything past you, Mags.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to get into an argument with you while we’re trapped inside a car.”

“Who said we’re going to argue?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead at the road in front of him. We sat like that, in frosty silence, for a couple of minutes.

Grudgingly, I finally answered his question. “Her condition hasn’t improved much since she opened her eyes. No decline. She just isn’t getting better.”

“That must be frustrating for you.”

Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhaled through pursed lips. “Life is frustrating for me. I hate my job and I really, really, really don’t want to move back in with my aunts, but it’s the best chance I’ve got to hold on to Katie.”

Hearing my litany of woes, Doomsday pulled her head back into the vehicle and licked the back of my neck. I reached back and patted her head, grateful for the canine’s comfort.

“Dogs can sense when someone’s upset,” Patrick said.

“She’d better get used to this being my permanent state.”

Taking his right hand off the steering wheel, my murder mentor patted my knee. “You’re not alone in this.”

Plucking his hand off my knee, I dropped it back in his lap. He’d made his feelings clear in Atlantic City and I wasn’t going to repeat the mistake of mixing business with pleasure. “Where are we going?”

“The barn.”

“More shooting lessons?” Not long after we’d met, Patrick had taught me how to use a gun at the barn. Even though it had only been a couple of months, it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Hand-to-hand combat.”

My stomach fluttered. The last time we’d been at the barn I’d entertained a roll in the hay with him. Of course that had been before I’d discovered he was married…to two women. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea. You need the training, the mutt can run around in the field, and it’ll give you the excuse to hit something.”

“Grass DeeDee!” the dog whined from the back seat.

“Easy, girl.” Patrick reached back to rub her snout. “We’re almost there.”

“I don’t need to hit anything,” I told him.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Are you giving up your apartment?”

“No. My lease is good for another six months. I’m not moving any of my furniture or anything out. Just my clothes.”

“So if you lose custody, you can move out of your aunts’ place.”

“I won’t lose.” I couldn’t. Not after everything I’d done to provide the best for Katie. Not after who I’d become…a woman who killed people for money.

“Okay. Okay.” He turned the car down an unpaved lane.

We were almost there.

“So tell me about this cop I’m supposed to kill.”

Patrick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, turning his knuckles white.

“Do you know him?”

“In passing.”

“And do you think Delveccio is right about him? Do you believe he’s a contract killer who goes around murdering innocent witnesses?”

His nod was so tight it was almost imperceptible. Pulling to a stop outside the barn, Patrick practically leapt out of the car. Opening the rear door, he told Doomsday, “Okay, DeeDee. You can go run, but be a good girl and come back when we call you.”

“Grass! Grass!” the Doberman panted and then took off.

I got out of the car and walked around to the trunk knowing that my favorite hitman would have bags of supplies for us to carry into the barn. Patrick was watching the dog bound away. Once she was out of sight he turned to face me.

Cupping his fingers beneath my chin, he gently tilted my head back so he could get a better look at me. For a second I got lost in his green gaze.

“You look like hell, Mags.” He whispered the words, but they felt like a slap across the face.

Cheeks burning, I jerked free of his grip, and spun away from him. Unwilling to tell him how much his rejection in Atlantic City had stung.

“When’s the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?”

“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.

Chapter Three

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."

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.

Chapter Four

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.

Chapter Five

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.

Leaning weakly against the doorjamb, my eyes filled with tears and my heart ached from her loss. I couldn’t move back into this room so cluttered with memories. I’d have to find another place to stay. Overwhelmed by how much I missed Theresa, I dropped the box.

“Ow!” a voice that sounded suspiciously like an Englishman with a stick up his butt, exclaimed.

I peered at the box. “God?”

“There you are!” Aunt Leslie crowed from behind me.

Startled, I jumped. “Jesus! You scared me!”

Dashing away my tears, I plastered on a smile and turned to greet her. “You look great.”

I meant it. Dressed in black dress pants and a crisp white shirt I suspected she’d liberated from Susan’s closet, she barely resembled the tie-dyed, stoned-out aunt I’d known for so long.

“You have hay in your hair.” She plucked a piece out as evidence. “How did you get it in your hair?”

I shrugged weakly. I couldn’t very well tell her I’d had a romantic date in a barn with a professional hitman. Who was still married to one of his wives.

Peering past me she frowned at my childhood bedroom. “You should paint it all one color. Right now it looks like a bad trip come to life.”

“I was thinking I’d use another room.”

“Nonsense.” Picking up the box I’d dropped at my feet, she carried it into the room. I snatched it away from her before she could dump the contents on the pistachio bed. If God was in there, he didn’t need to be impaled by the ugly ass salmon-colored shoes I’d gotten stuck wearing to the wedding of my best friend Alice. If he survived, I’d never hear the end of it.

Leslie was undeterred from her room makeover plans. “You picked out that pink. You love it.”

“I loved it when I was twelve.” When I’d still had a degree of innocence and hope that the future would be full of dreams come true.

“That girl’s still inside you,” Leslie said.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that girl had been gone a long time. I don’t know whether it was when my mom took up residence in the mental institution, when my dad went to prison, or when my sister Darlene was murdered, but I no longer had innocence or hope. I was no longer the kind of girl who liked pink.

“I have to get to an N.A. meeting, but I’ll be back for dinner.” Picking up the stuffed monkey (fuchsia, of course) on the pink bed, she tossed it at me, as she left the room. I caught it with one hand, juggling the box of shoes in the other. Her footsteps clattered down the stairs, leaving me alone with my memories.

And the lizard.

“You dropped me,” he declared imperiously, scrambling to the top of the box. I let him climb onto my palm and then placed him on the pistachio bedspread.

“She’s right. This room is atrocious,” he declared surveying the space.

“I don’t need your interior decorating advice. What are you doing here?”

“I told you I didn’t want to stay at home alone.”

“So you decided to play the part of the plucky stowaway?” I asked.

“I thought you were never coming back to the car. I thought I might die of heat stroke, or dehydration, or asphyxiation. You didn’t even leave the windows cracked.”

“Because I didn’t know you were in there,” I reminded him. “It’s dangerous to be a stowaway. You could have spent days without water or food. And how the hell did you get out of your terrarium?”

He shrugged.

I gave him my best suspicious glare, but since lizards don’t blink, I was doomed to lose that staring contest.

“She helped you didn’t she?’ I demanded to know.

“Which she would that be?” he asked slyly.

“Doomsday. I’m going to kill that dog.”

Aggravated, I threw the monkey back onto the bed with a little too much oomph. It slid off the opposite side of the bed.

Sighing heavily, I walked around to retrieve it. As I bent down I noticed that one of the floorboards under the bed was loose. Smiling, I shoved it back into place. It had been my secret hiding place when I was a girl. Over the years I’d hidden everything from my favorite doll (when the twins, Marlene and Darlene, were on a teething tear) to my diary.

“Great ass.”

Startled, I jumped up to see who was commenting on my derriere.

Paul Kowalski, the man Delveccio wanted me to kill, the man Patrick said was a bad guy, lounged in the doorway lazily.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I asked, standing up, and turning so that it was impossible for him to peruse my rear end.

“Leslie let me in. She looks good. Clean.”

Paul Kowalski had helped me care for my passed-out aunt a few months earlier, before she’d “hit bottom” and found Narcotics Anonymous and started saying the Serenity Prayer as grace before dinner.

“She is,” I said. His kindness toward her when she was far from her best, was one of the reasons I didn’t want to kill him.

Another reason was that he was a cop. Killing a cop, even a dirty cop, sounded more dangerous to me than, say, pulling off a hit on a career criminal, in terms of Patrick’s first rule: Don’t get caught.

“Good. She’s a nice lady.” He moved further into the room, filling it with his overly-developed muscles and practically perceptible testosterone.

He surveyed the underthings my now-clean aunt had unceremoniously dumped on the bed. “A twin bed? Don’t remember the last time I was on one of those. Did you ever do the nasty in here when you were a teenager?”

My stomach flip-flopped nervously. I had a bad feeling about the direction this conversation was headed. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“Not that I mind,” he said, flashing what I’m sure was supposed to be a sexy grin, but came across more as a predatory snarl. “We wouldn’t take up much space.”

My mouth went dry remembering the white-hot make-out sessions we’d shared.

He stepped closer, looming over me. “We could change that.”

I swallowed hard, a shiver that felt more like fear than sexual attraction snaked down my spine. “Aunt Susan will be back with DeeDee any moment.”

“We could be quiet,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he swooped in and covered my lips with his.

I tried to turn my head away, but he caught my chin, holding me in place with a bruising, punishing grip, as his tongue roughly plundered my mouth.

If Patrick’s earlier kiss had rocked my world, this one terrified me.

I pushed at Kowalski’s chest, desperate to be free of him, but he didn’t budge. He didn’t take the hint. He didn’t stop.

How could I have ever been attracted to this monster?

“Eyes! Throat! Groin!” God coached.

Panic filled me, cutting off my air and making my heartbeat skyrocket. I clawed at Paul’s hand, holding my chin prisoner.

He chuckled, deep and low in his throat, at my escape attempts. He shoved me backwards, hard, so that I fell on the bed.

“Stop,” I gasped as he pounced on top of me, pinning me to the bed.

“Aaaaaah!” God screamed.

I realized he’d been bounced right off the bed.

I lashed out blindly, trying to stop Paul’s attack. “Help!” I screamed so weakly that only God and the fuchsia monkey could hear me.

Paul swung at me and I closed my eyes before the blow connected with my face. The pain was so intense I thought my cheek exploded.

Clapping one hand over my mouth to silence me, he used the other to rip my shirt to shreds as he tore it off my body.

Tears streamed and I whimpered pitifully, knowing I was helpless to stop him.

Pressing his thumb against my windpipe, he looked into my eyes. “I’m going to give you one chance,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “You don’t scream. You don’t whine. You just tell me where they are. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

He lifted his hand from my mouth. “Where are they?”

I sucked in a greedy gasp of air.

He exerted more pressure on my throat. “Where. Are. They?”

“Where are what?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He pressed harder. “I’ve had it with your games. Where are they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got to believe me,” I begged.

“Liar!” He drew back to hit me again.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard a hollow popping noise and then he slumped on top of me.

“Are you okay?” Templeton’s concerned face appeared over Kowalski’s shoulder.

I’d never been so happy to see someone I referred to as a rat in my life.

Loretta’s fiancé pushed the would-be rapist off of me and helped me off the bed.

“Answer the man,” God demanded. He tried to come across as imperious, but just sounded worried.

I bent down to pick him up. He scrambled up my arm, latched onto my bra strap, and settled on my shoulder.

Paul groaned.

“Get back!” Templeton cried, shoving me behind him.

Legs weak, I swayed unsteadily holding onto Templeton’s arm for support. He raised a croquet mallet overhead as Kowalski lumbered to his feet, hatred shining in his eyes.

“Give me that stick, old man,” my attacker demanded.

Instead of obeying, Templeton took a swing at his head.

He missed.

Kowalski grabbed the mallet and effortlessly broke it in half.

“Run!” Templeton urged.

“Run like hell,” God suggested.

Despite my wobbly legs I hurtled down the stairs, Templeton on my heels, Paul thundering behind us. We raced down one flight, then the second.

I’d almost reached the front door when Paul yelled, “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

I skidded to a stop. Templeton didn’t.

He plowed into me and we both ended up a pile of tangled limbs on the floor.

God rolled away. “Hey! I have sensitive skin!”

We all scrambled to get back on our feet until we realized that Kowalski loomed over us, brandishing a deadly looking gun, menacingly. “Now tell me where they are, or you both die.”

At that instant the front door of the B&B swung open.

“Look out!” Templeton and I shouted simultaneously, but a polished wingtip stepped into the foyer, ignoring our warning.

“Aaaah! Don’t shoot!” a strange little man I’d never seen before shouted, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Who the hell are you?” Paul demanded swinging his weapon toward the new arrival.

“Social worker. Unannounced home visit. I could come back at a more convenient time,” the stranger said fiddling nervously with his red, white, and blue bowtie.

“Tell me where they are, or he dies,” Paul threatened.

“I don’t even know what his name is,” I countered, slowly getting to my feet. I eyed Aunt Susan’s oversized umbrella in the corner. It was the closest thing to a weapon I could see. I inched toward it. “What do I care if you kill him?”

Surprised by my answer, Paul swung his attention and weapon back to me. “We are out of time. If you don’t tell me, you die. I’ll count to three. One.” He aimed the gun at my head.

“Help!” God screamed. “Help!”

Only I knew what he was saying. The others ignored the high-pitched squeaking sound.

“She said she doesn’t know,” Templeton reasoned.

“Two.” Paul cocked the trigger, the metallic sound echoing in the strained silence.

“Help! Help! Help!” God shrieked.

This was it. This was the way I was going to die. Listening to the ineffectual screams of a brown anole lizard in a place that smelled of potpourri and furniture polish.

“Th—“

A streak of snarling, snapping black attacked his wrist, sending the gun clattering across the floor.

Doomsday, angrier than I’d ever seen her, drew blood as she clamped down on his flesh.

I dove for the gun as the dog and man fell to the floor, almost crushing poor Templeton.

“Get it!” God shouted. “Shoot him!”

My fingers had just closed around the butt of the weapon when I saw the flash of silver arcing through the air. It moved so fast that I didn’t register what it was until I heard Doomsday’s yelp of agony.

Releasing Kowalski’s arm, she twisted away from him as he raised the bloodied knife again to plunge it into her.

I didn’t aim. I don’t even know how my finger found the trigger, but I squeezed off a shot in their general direction. The explosion echoed in the room.

Templeton rolled into a ball on the floor, covering his ears and the social worker dropped to his knees. (I’m pretty sure he wet his pants). Kowalski froze mid-swing at my dog.

The shot missed its intended target, but was enough of a distraction that Doomsday was able to get away.

“Federal officer!” a voice shouted from outside. “Put down your weapons.”

Startled, I turned toward the booming voice. Kowalski took off toward the back of the house.

“Owwwww,” Doomsday whined pitifully.

“She’s hurt!” God cried.

“Put down your weapons,” the voice ordered again.

“Maggie?” Doomsday gasped, rolling over on her side.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Rushing to her, I put down the gun and searched for her wound. Bile rose in my throat and ice cold fear pooled in my gut as I felt her warm blood on my hands. “No, please no.”

“We’re unarmed,” Templeton shouted, unfurling from his possum position on the floor.

“You’re going to be okay,” I promised DeeDee. The pain I saw in her eyes broke my heart.

I was dimly aware of another stranger, this one twice the size of the social worker, bursting through the door, gun drawn. “U.S. Marshal. Is he here?” the new man asked.

“He went out the back,” Templeton answered. “That way!” He pointed in the direction Kowalski disappeared.

The marshal took off, determined to hunt him down.

Another man stepped in behind him, but didn’t give chase.

Weapon drawn, Patrick Mulligan, wearing dress pants and a sport jacket, wordlessly swung his gaze over Templeton and the social worker before staring down at me.

I didn’t know why he was there, but I was glad he was.

“Help me,” I begged.

Stowing his weapon in his holster beneath his jacket, he crouched down beside me, his eyes searching my face, then my body, then my face again. “You’re safe,” he said gently.

“She’s hurt!” I wailed “Please help me.”

Patrick glanced down at the dog for the first time.

“Patrick?” she panted softly.

Reaching out, he pet her side softly. “Easy, girl.”

I cradled her head in my lap.

God clambered up onto her snout so that he could look her in the eye. “You’re going to be okay. Just breathe, DeeDee. Breathe.”

The other man ran back in. “He’s in the wind. Never even saw him.” He looked down at the injured dog. “What happened?”

“DeeDee kept him from shooting Maggie,” Templeton supplied. “But then he stabbed her.”

“DeeDee’s the dog?” the other man asked.

The poor mutt took a pained, wheezing breath.

“Please don’t let her die,” I begged Patrick.

“There’s an emergency vet clinic a couple of blocks away,” he said. God jumped off as Patrick scooped the dog, all seventy pounds of her, to his chest, and stood up.

“You can’t…” the other man protested.

Patrick gave the man a hard look. The marshal stared back, not about to relent.

Doomsday whined softly.

The marshal’s face softened. “Go.” He opened the door for Patrick. “Hurry.”

I followed closely behind.

“Hey!” God yelled. “What about me?”

I reached down and lifted him in my palm.

“Ma’am,” the marshal said, attempting to block my way. “You can’t go with them.” He eyed the lizard suspiciously.

“My dog’s dying. I’m going,” I told him with a lot more bravado than I was feeling.

“We can answer any questions you have,” Templeton offered. “Let her go.”

Shaking his head, the marshal stepped aside, letting me pass. “Mulligan, you get her statement.”

“Will do,” Patrick agreed, breathlessly, as he maneuvered down the front steps cradling DeeDee.

“Maggie?” Doomsday called softly.

“I’m coming. I’m right behind you,” I answered.

“God?” She whined.

“We’re coming.” God assured her. “We’re right here. Just breathe.”

“Pick-up truck,” Patrick told me.

I hurried to the black pick-up parked in front of the house.

“Open the back and I’ll lay her down,” Patrick said.

I fumbled with the latching mechanism for a long moment, but then lowered the gate. He gingerly laid her down. “It’s a short ride, sweetheart,” he told her. “Just hang in there.” Removing his sport jacket, he bundled it up and laid it under her head, leaving his gun exposed.

I tried to scramble up beside her, but the adrenaline that had fueled me this far deserted me, leaving me weak. I fell backward and would have hit the ground if Patrick hadn’t caught me.

“Easy, Mags,” he whispered in my ear as he steadied me. “She’ll be fine back there. You can ride in front with me.”

“Let me ride with her,” God said.

“Sensitive skin?” I asked.

“What?” Patrick asked, cocking his head to the side.

“The lizard,” I muttered. “He’s got sensitive skin.”

“I don’t understand,” Patrick said.

Ignoring him, I focused on God.

“She needs me,” the little guy said bravely.

I placed him on the bed of the pick-up. He scampered over to her head and started whispering in her ear.

Patrick frowned. “You are way too attached to that lizard.” He led me to the front of the truck.

I looked up at him, wanting to thank him for being there, for taking care of Doomsday, but no words came.

Slipping off his holster, he started unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt beneath.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “We have to hurry.”

“Margaret?” Aunt Susan’s voice was high and panic-filled.

I turned to see her running toward me, horror etched on her face. I’m not sure what scared me more: her expression, or the fact I’d never seen her run before in my life.

“Margaret, what happened?’

“She’s hurt,” I said waving toward Doomsday. “Stabbed.”

“You…you….you’re covered in blood,” Susan stammered.

“DeeDee’s,” I assured her impatiently. I didn’t have time for explanations. I had to get my dog to the vet.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” Susan said, reaching for me.

I recoiled and then looked down at myself to confirm her claim that I was shirtless. At least I’d worn a decent bra.

Patrick handed me his dress shirt. While I pulled it on, wrapping it around me, he spoke kindly and firmly to my flustered aunt. “Ma’am, we need to get the dog medical attention. There’s a U.S. Marshal inside who’ll be able to help you.”

Taking my elbow, he half-lifted me into the passenger seat of the truck.

“But Margaret…” Susan protested.

Patrick leveled his gaze at her. “I give you my word. She’ll be safe with me.”

Susan must have seen the truth in his promise because she backed up a step toward the house. “Take care of her.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hurrying around the pick-up he jumped into the driver’s seat.

I watched in the side mirror as Aunt Susan raised her hand in a wave as we drove away.

Chapter Six

We didn’t speak as we raced toward the emergency veterinary clinic. Patrick leaned forward, focusing on his driving, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

I collapsed into the seat, feeling too weak to sit up. A chill settled into my bones. No matter how tightly I pulled the shirt around me, I got colder and colder.

Pulling into the parking lot of the vet’s office, Patrick didn’t even bother with a parking spot. Slamming the truck to a stop, he was out and picking up DeeDee before I’d even reached for my door handle.

“Mags?” Patrick called. “I need you to open the door.”

Obediently I slid out of the truck.

“Don’t forget me,” God called.

I scooped him up from the bed of the truck and hurried toward the building listening to DeeDee pant, “Ow. Ow. Hurt. Hurt,” with every step Patrick took.

Practically ripping the door from its hinges, I screamed, “Help! My dog’s been stabbed. Please help.”

I stumbled into the waiting room with Patrick following close behind.

There was no one there.

“Hello?” I yelled. “I have an emergency.”

No response.

“Help!” God shouted, clambering up my arm and draping himself over my shoulder like a living epaulet. His voice didn’t carry the way he thought it did and it certainly didn’t sound commanding to anyone other than me. To the rest of the world it sounded like a pitiful squeak.

“Police!” Patrick shouted, much louder than I had.

“Tired,” DeeDee sighed in a tone that indicated she was giving up.

My blood ran cold. Whirling around to face them, I called her name. “DeeDee.”

She lolled helplessly in Patrick’s arms, her head hanging over his elbow. Her eyes drifted closed. I grabbed her snout and shook it gently, “Don’t go to sleep.”

“Mags,” Patrick said gently.

“Do you hear me, DeeDee? Don’t you dare go to sleep.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know,” I murmured. “You were so brave.”

“Maggie save?” She licked my hand.

“Yes. You saved me. Now I need you to be brave a little bit more and stay awake.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Stay awake,” Patrick urged.

As we spoke, a one-eyed cat with a scarred face came to watch us from an interior doorway.

“Carnivore!” God screamed in terror. “Don’t let it eat me!”

The furry meat-eater flicked a disinterested look in his direction before she focused on the dog. “She’s hurt bad,” the cat meowed. Her voice had a definite Southern twinge.

“Where’s the vet?” I asked her.

The cat arched her back, the version of a feline shrug. “Banging boots in the back.”

“Show me,” I said.

She flattened her one good ear.

“Please,” I begged. “She’s dying.”

“This way.” Tail held high, she pranced away.

“You can’t trust a beast of prey,” God opined from my shoulder.

Ignoring him, I followed my new feline friend down a narrow hall that smelled of antiseptic and wet dog.

Realizing Patrick hadn’t moved, I turned back. “Come on,” I said, waving him forward. “She’s taking us to the vet.”

Patrick stared at me worriedly. “You know you’re talking to a cat, don’t you?”

“See?” God crowed triumphantly.

Even though I knew Patrick hadn’t meant what God thought he did, I didn’t correct the lizard. Deciding it wasn’t the time to try to explain that I can talk to animals, I left Patrick standing there and chased after the Southern girl.

“In here, Sugar.” She pawed a door.

I went to open it.

“Manners!” she hissed. “Knock first. They’re not going to like you barging in on them.”

I knocked hard. “Hello! Is anyone there? I need help. My dog’s been stabbed.”

“Just a sec,” a startled sounding man shouted.

“I’ll be damned,” Patrick muttered from behind me. “You found him.”

“I found him,” the cat meowed. But he didn’t understand her.

“Everyone gets lucky once in a while,” God muttered, unwilling to give the cat credit for a job well done.

The door opened and a man in a white lab coat emerged, his hair mussed, his horn-rimmed glasses askew. “I’m Doctor Felton. What seems to be the problem?”

“Hurt,” Doomsday complained.

Felton focused on the injured animal cradled in the red-headed cop’s arms. “In here. Quickly. Quickly.”

Patrick gently laid her down on the cold, steel exam table. The room smelled worse than the hallway had. It was like the odor of the suffering and fear of animals who’d passed through the space hung in the air.

My stomach roiled traitorously and I suddenly felt light-headed.

“Steady,” God whispered in my ear. “Keep it together.”

“What’s her name?” Felton asked, grabbing a stethoscope and holding it to her chest.

“DeeDee,” Patrick and I answered simultaneously.

A middle-aged woman burst into the room from what I was pretty sure was a supply closet. “How’s the patient, doctor?” she asked, delivering the line like it was straight out of a 1950s soap opera.

“Her lungs are clear. Her heart’s steady, but a little weak.” Felton palpated the dog’s belly gently.

DeeDee groaned. Bending over, I lay my cheek against hers, offering what little comfort I could.

“Quite the gash.” The vet bent to examine it more closely. “What happened?”

“She was stabbed,” I whispered. Now that she was in the hands of a competent professional the horror of what had happened began to sink in.

“She needs surgery.”

“Will she…is she going to…?” I couldn’t bring myself to ask if she was going to die.

“I won’t know how extensive the damage is until I get in there,” Felton said. “Monica could you prep the patient, please?”

“Yes, doctor.” The woman practically curtsied before disappearing back into the closet.

“It’s okay, DeeDee,” I whispered soothingly. “You’re going to be okay.”

“You’re in good hands,” God told her.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until I saw my tears splash against the steel.

“You need to leave now, Miss…?”

“Lee,” Patrick supplied. He tried to wrap an arm around my shoulders, but I jumped away. His gaze narrowed and his mouth flattened into a hard line, but his voice was soft and gentle when he spoke. “We have to get out of the way so they can work.”

“Trust me, Sugar,” the cat purred, wrapping herself around my legs. “The Doc’s the best.”

I looked down at her. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Mags. I’m sure,” Patrick whispered, thinking the question was meant for him.

“Sooner you’re outta here, the sooner he can help her,” the cat meowed.

“That actually makes sense,” God agreed grudgingly. “You need to get out of here. You should tell him about the rats and the phone call.”

Ignoring his reminder about previous threats, I told DeeDee, “These nice people are going to take care of you.”

“Promise?” She panted softly.

“I promise.” I stroked her head twice and then stumbled toward the doorway, my vision blurred by tears.

“I’ll stay with her,” God offered.

I stopped near the doorway and put him down on the floor.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he glared at the cat. “I warn you. I’ve studied all of the Karate Kid movies so don’t try anything funny.”

Her gaze narrowed and her whiskers twitched. “Bless your heart honey,” she drawled. “There’s not enough meat on your bones to bother.” Holding her head and tail high, she pranced out of the room.

Patrick and I followed closely behind. I collapsed into a plastic chair in the waiting reception area. I started to shiver uncontrollably as the shock of it all set in.

“Maybe you should button the shirt,” Patrick suggested.

I glanced up. He stood over me, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression guarded. His t-shirt was covered with DeeDee’s blood.

Looking down at myself, I tried to button the shirt, but my hands were trembling. I fumbled helplessly. Tears of frustration pricked the back of my eyelids.

“Can I help you with that?” Patrick asked me carefully.

Nodding, I stood up like a child waiting to be dressed.

Silently he stepped forward and started with the button closest to the hem of the shirt. I could have sworn that his hands were shaking too, but he succeeded in getting it through the hole.

Standing so close to his strength and body heat chased away the worst of the chill that had gripped me.

He worked his way up the shirt, taking care to pull the fabric away from me so that he didn’t accidentally brush against me.

“I ruined your shirts,” I murmured as he fastened the button below my breasts.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” It seemed like the least I could do.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” With an efficient twist, he closed the gap in the fabric over my chest.

I shook my head.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

Leaving the top button of the shirt undone, he gently lifted my chin so that he could look at my face.

His gaze roamed over me, focusing on my cheek. He lifted a hand, as though to touch it, and I flinched.

He froze, his gaze ricocheting to my eyes. “Mags.” Loaded with pain, it was half-plea, half-lament.

I looked away, covering my injured cheek with my palm. “It’s nothing.”

I thought he’d argue, but instead he took a step back, giving me space.

I missed the warmth his body put out.

“We’re going to have to talk about it,” he said gently.

I nodded. Not liking it, but knowing it was necessary. I sank back onto the plastic chair.

His cell phone buzzed, offering me a moment’s reprieve.

“I’ve got to take this.” Patrick held up his phone. “You’ll be okay sitting here?”

I nodded.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.” Shooting me one last worried look, he hurried outdoors with his phone plastered to his ear.

The cat jumped up onto the seat beside me.

“Thank you for your help finding Doctor Felton,” I said.

“You can really understand little ol’ me?” she meowed.

“I can.”

“And you can understand the dog?”

“Yes.”

“And the uppity lizard?”

I bit back a smile. “Him too.”

The cat considered this for a long moment. “Do the other humans know?”

I shook my head.

“Not even your man?”

“I don’t have a man.”

“Honey, are you trying to tell me that he,” she turned in the direction of the door Patrick had exited, “isn’t your man?”

“He’s not.” I didn’t have the strength to explain that he had a wife.

She twitched her tail. I noticed it was missing its tip. “Either you’re lying to me or you’re lying to yourself. The way he looks at you…” She trailed off. “Not that it’s any of my business.” She turned away as though she were suddenly disinterested in the conversation.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Who’s asking?” she asked, suddenly all attitude.

“I’m Maggie.”

“Do you know pompous jerk’s name?”

I grinned. “If you mean the lizard, his name is Godzilla, but he prefers God for short. And the dog is Doomsday, but she prefers to go by DeeDee. So now you know who all of us are, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Why do you care what my name is?”

I squinted at her. “Because we’re having a conversation. I like to know who I’m talking to.”

“I’m not telling you my name. It’s not like you’re ever going to see me again.” She leapt off the seat and headed back toward the exam room.

I glared at her retreating back. I had enough on my mind without worrying about a moody, one-eyed cat. Like my dog dying…DeeDee could be dying in the next room. The thought brought tears to my eyes.

As though she heard my thoughts, the cat glanced over her shoulder at me. “I’ll check on her.”

I bent over in my chair, hugging my knees, as the pain of DeeDee’s possible death stole my breath. I’m not a religious person, but I squeezed my eyes shut and said a fervent prayer that she’d be okay.

“Mags?”

I opened my eyes to find Patrick kneeling on the ground in front of me. Concern shadowed his gaze.

“Are you up to telling me what happened?”

“Did they catch him?”

Something flickered in his green gaze. He leaned back on his heels, searching my face.

“Catch who?”

“Paul,” I whispered. I looked away, feeling like an idiot about not listening to the warnings of God or Patrick when it came to my bad choice in dates.

“He’s the one who hurt DeeDee?”

I nodded, choking down the painful lump that rose in my throat as I remembered her pained yelp as he’d stabbed her.

“What happened to you?” Patrick asked quietly, as though speaking louder might spook me.

“He had a gun and he kept asking me to tell him where they were.” My voice shook as I remembered the madness gleaming in his eyes as he’d leveled the gun at me.

“Where what were?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. He just kept asking and pointing the gun and he was going to shoot me and I was going to die and it smelled like furniture polish. I hate furniture polish. It—“

“You need to take a breath,” he interrupted with authority. “Take a second to focus.”

I focused on breathing. In and out. In and out.

Still crouched in front of me, he said quietly, “Look at me, Mags.”

Realizing I’d been looking everywhere in the room but at him, I dragged my gaze to meet his. He regarded me steadily.

“I want to take your hand,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to scare you. It’s your choice.” Slowly he extended his hand, palm up.

I eyed it for a long moment. I knew full well that if I refused the invitation, he’d accept it. He’d always allowed me to call the shots in our relationship.

Slowly, carefully, I slid my hand into his.

He curled his lightly around mine, offering support without trapping me. “Tell me what happened.”

“I told you. He had a gun. He wanted something.”

“He hurt you?”

I shook my head.

“What happened to your shirt, Mags?”

I snatched my hand back as I remembered how helpless I’d felt with Paul on top of me, ripping my shirt off.

Instead of trying to reclaim my hand, Patrick sank onto the floor, sitting cross-legged below me. “Take your time,” he urged slowly.

I looked away, not liking the pity in his gaze. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me,” I muttered.

“Something crappy happened to you. Should I feel happy?” he countered.

“I just don’t want pity. I hate pity.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“Because it means I’m some kind of victim.”

“Were you?”

I shook my head.

“Really?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked gently. “You think I’ll think less of you?”

Surprised, I glanced at him.

“I won’t,” he promised. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t.”

And I believed him.

“You’re going to have to tell somebody. Me, or Marshal Griswald, or another cop. You’re going to have to tell your version of things to someone.”

“What do you mean my version?” I asked defensively.

Patrick raised his hands in surrender. “Griswald’s already taken the statements of your aunt’s fiancé and the social worker.”

“Oh.” I thought about that for a second. “So you already know what happened.”

“I know what they say happened. I want to hear it from you.”

I looked away, unable to say the words aloud.

“Kowalski attacked you?” Patrick prompted gently.

I nodded, wringing my hands nervously.

“Did he rape you?” His voice was no more than a strained whisper.

I shook my head.

“You’re sure? Because if he did, there are things you should do…including go to the hospital.”

“He tried,” I admitted. “He probably would have succeeded, but Templeton clocked him with a croquet mallet.”

I half-smiled at the memory. It was the second time Templeton had unexpectedly come to my rescue. The first had been at the rehearsal dinner before the wedding of my friend Alice and her fiancé Lamont.

“Guess you were lucky he was there,” Patrick said quietly.

I nodded.

“I wish I’d have been there,” Patrick admitted grudgingly. “If I catch Kowalski, he’s a dead man for laying a hand on you.”

If anyone else had said such a thing, I’d have thought they were blowing hot air, but I knew Patrick meant every word he said.

“Can I ask you something?” I started. “If you weren’t there to save me from Kowalski why’d you show up?”

Patrick stretched out his legs against the ugly yellow linoleum. “We were looking for your father.”

“My father?”

Patrick eyed me thoughtfully. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?”

He sat a little straighter and leaned closer. “Your father escaped from prison.”

Chapter Seven

It took me a second to figure out what he was talking about.

In that moment the cat returned. She stood behind Patrick. “Doc seems to think your girl is doing well,” she meowed.

“Good,” I said.

“Good?” Patrick asked. “You think it’s good he broke out of prison? Half the force is out hunting him and his buddies down.”

I shot a dirty look at the cat, who was licking her paw, her eyes mocking me since she knew I’d said ‘good’ to her and not the man who was ranting about my escapee dad.

“Do you have any idea how complicated your life is at the moment?”

Considering I was talking to him and a cat, I thought I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t tell him that, I just shrugged.

“The marshals are going to be all over you. They take escaped convicts very seriously.”

“I didn’t help him escape,” I told him indignantly. “If you remember, I was with you when you got the call.”

“I know that.” He spiked his fingers through his hair, a sure sign he was agitated. “I tried to get out of going to your aunt’s place, but I’ve worked with Griswald before, so there was no way I could refuse….and then we got there and we heard a gunshot…” He trailed off, turning his head to look away as though the memory caused him physical pain. “And now you’ve got Kowalski thrown into the mix, looking for who knows what….there’s no telling what he’ll do next.”

My heart stuttered. “W-what do you mean?”

Patrick turned back to look at me. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

“What did you mean you don’t know what he’ll do next?”

Patrick shrugged. “He’s a loose cannon. He was willing to kill you in front of witnesses to get what he wants.”

I jumped out of my seat, startling both Patrick and the cat. They both jumped backwards.

“I have to go.” Panic was cutting off my air supply, so the words came out as a squeak.

“Easy, Mags,” Patrick soothed, slowly getting to his feet. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“What about Katie?” I asked.

He tilted his head to the side. “I’m sure she’s fine. The doctors and nurses are taking good care of her.”

Rushing toward the exit I asked, “What if Paul thinks she has whatever he’s looking for?”

“Crap,” Patrick muttered. “Let me give the vet my card. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

As I headed outside, he moved toward the exam room.

“Are you coming back for them?” the cat asked, jumping in my path. “That’s what she’s going to ask, when she wakes up. Or being a dog, she’ll probably say something like, ‘Maggie back me for?’ bless her heart.”

I skidded to a stop, so I didn’t accidentally step on her. “Of course I’ll be back. I just have to go and make sure my niece is safe.”

The cat narrowed her gaze to tight slits. “Isn’t that the way it always is? Humans trump animals?”

“Look,” I told the cat. “She’s in good hands. I’ll be back for her.”

“Of course you will,” Patrick said, taking my elbow and propelling me outside, effectively ending my conversation with the suspicious feline. “We’ll go to the hospital, get a guard posted on her room, and then we’ll come back for DeeDee.”

He helped me into the pick-up and then burned rubber as we raced out of the parking lot.

“She’s at Apple Blossom Estates,” I told him. “That’s over—“

“I know where she is.”

I blinked. “How?”

“I’ve made it my business to know everything I can about you. I know where your niece lives, the due date of your best friend Alice, and where Jewel is.”

“Her name’s not Jewel,” I corrected automatically. He was talking about my sister Marlene, who’d run away from home after her twin, Darlene, had been murdered, and who hadn’t been heard from since…until I’d seen her outside Katie’s room a few weeks earlier.

“What I don’t know,” Patrick said, ignoring the fact I’d corrected him, “is what Kowalski wants. What he’s willing to kill for.”

“I don’t either.”

“You’re sure?” He sounded suspicious.

“I told you, I have no idea. But the way you’re talking, I think you do know, or at least have an idea.”

He sighed heavily, taking a turn so swiftly the wheels squealed in protest. “I think it’s more than a coincidence that the day your father breaks out of prison, Kowalski…” He glanced over at my bruised face. He winced. “Kowalski hurts you.”

I thought about that for a second, remembering how just a few hours earlier in the barn, though it felt like a decades-old memory, I’d confided I’d been suspicious about running into Kowalski at the prison.

“You think this is my dad’s fault?” I asked slowly.

“I think he’s probably involved,” Patrick admitted heavily. “If you can figure out how, maybe we can stop them both.”

Sinking back in my seat, I tried to come up with a connection for the rest of the ride to Katie’s facility.

Slamming to a stop in the No Parking Fire Zone, we leapt from the truck. We raced through the quiet halls of the medical institution, Patrick following three steps behind. Rushing past the nurses’ station, I saw Vinnie, Delveccio’s nephew and hired muscle, flirting with one of the women by flexing his bicep. That meant that Delveccio was in the vicinity, but I didn’t care. I kept heading for Katie’s room, intent on keeping her safe from Paul. A shiver of foreboding skittered between my shoulders when I realized her door was closed. It was never closed.

I was so focused on the door that I didn’t notice the man in the suit standing beside it, until he caught my arm as I tried to barrel past him.

“Ow!”

His grip hurt, as he practically yanked me off my feet.

“Let me go!” I kicked him in the shin.

I’m not sure which of us it caused more pain. Kicking someone while wearing sneakers was not the brightest idea I’ve had. We both wobbled, reaching to rub our respective injuries.

“Let her go.”

The man in the suit and I both froze. Slowly, we turned to find Patrick glowering at us.

“Let her go.”

The angry, uncompromising command would have scared me even if I hadn’t known he’s a secret hired killer.

It must have spooked the man in the suit too, because his grip on my arm loosened. He didn’t let go though. “US Marshal,” he said, using his free hand to reach into his suit jacket.

Patrick moved faster, knocking my arm free of the marshal’s grip, and pinning him against the wall with an arm against his throat.

A gaggle of gossiping nurses gathered to watch the exchange. Vinnie joined them.

“Jesus,” I muttered, remembering how Patrick had pledged to kill Kowalski for laying his hands on me. “Rule Number One.”

Patrick slid a sideways glance at me, not appreciating that I was reminding him of his Don’t Get Caught rule.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Delveccio had stepped into the hallway to find out what all the commotion was about. I didn’t think it was a good idea for the mob boss to see the hitman lose his cool. “Who are you?” I demanded of the marshal. “What are you doing by my niece’s room?”

“Easy,” the marshal wheezed. “I was just reaching for my I.D.”

Patrick patted down the front of the man’s jacket. Removing his arm from the man’s throat, he took a step back, resting his hand on the butt of his gun.

There was a collective gasp from the rubber-necking nurses.

“Take it out,” Patrick ordered. “Slowly.”

The marshal did as he was told. “U.S. Marshal Frank Weller.” He held out his credentials for Patrick to study.

They looked legitimate to me. Then again, I hadn’t really bothered to look at the last set of U.S. Marshal credentials flashed my way the last time my father had taken an unsanctioned vacation from the big house.

Releasing his grip on his gun, Patrick reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his badge. “Detective Patrick Mulligan.”

“And I’m Maggie Lee,” I said, not to be left out of the conversation.

“I know who you are, Ms. Lee,” the marshal said, pocketing his identification.

“Then you know that it’s my niece lying in that room.”

“I know, ma’am. That’s why I’m here.”

I leaned against the wall weakly. “She’s in danger?”

The marshal, a tall, thin man, about thirty, watched me carefully. His angular face reminded me of a fox and I got the distinct impression he was as crafty as one. “You tell me, Ms. Lee, do you think Archie Lee would hurt his own granddaughter?”

I stared at him. “My dad?”

He waited.

“Are you crazy?” I asked.

“He was convicted of murder,” Marshal Weller reminded me.

“But he didn’t do it,” I argued.

Weller’s expression turned hard. No doubt he’d heard countless family members of criminals declaring the innocence of their loved ones.

“She isn’t here because of her father,” Patrick interjected. “She was attacked by a police officer earlier. He hasn’t been apprehended and Miss Lee was worried about the safety of her niece.”

"Her niece is safe," Weller said.

That didn't do much to allay my fears. "I want to see her."

"Just let her in," Patrick urged.

The marshal stepped aside, but before I could open the door to Katie's room, Aunt Leslie burst out.

"What's all this commotion?" Leslie asked.

"It's a long story," I started. "Is Katie...?" I trailed off as a woman about my age wearing a red dress so tight it looked as though it had been shrink-wrapped onto her curves, stepped out behind my aunt.

"Leslie?" the woman asked on a sexy whisper.

"Who the hell is she?" I demanded.

"This is Blanche," Leslie said. "My sponsor. Blanche, this is my niece, Margaret."

"It's a pleasure," Blanche practically cooed. "I've heard so much about you."

I gritted my teeth. No doubt Leslie had regaled her Narcotics Anonymous meeting with the story about how I'd told her to hand over the key to my place after she'd passed out against my front door. That had been her 'bottom' that had caused her to seek help for her drug problem.

"Your aunt says you hold a unique place in her life." Blanche said it with a smile, but I was pretty sure I detected disapproval in her tone.

"Funny," I muttered. "She's never mentioned you, Blanche." She didn't look like a Blanche. A Blanche should wear billowing chintz. I knew just looking at her that this woman wouldn't be caught in anything billowing, let alone chintz.

"Margaret!" Leslie exclaimed unhappily.

I didn't care that she thought I was being rude to her sponsor. I had other things to worry about.

"Let me get this straight," I said, addressing the marshal who was eyeing Blanche appreciatively. "You let my aunt's N.A. sponsor in, but you won't let me see my own niece? I'm her legal guardian."

The marshal bristled. "The nurses assured me that Leslie is on the approved family list."

"And I'm not?"

"You are, but with your connection to Archie Lee..."

I stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."

"He just thought having Leslie there as a steadying influence would be helpful," Blanche purred.

I glared at her. "Why don't you try following the 'Don't speak unless you're spoken to' rule?"

"Margaret," Leslie gasped. "She's my--"

"She's a complete stranger to me and I won't have her talking about what's best for Katie," I snapped.

"Maybe everyone should just take a breath," Patrick interjected hastily.

I frowned at him.

“This really isn’t helping.” His expression was all but unreadable, but I could see a warning shimmering in his steady stare.

I forced myself to take the suggested breath, knowing he was right. Fighting in the hallway wasn't helping me to get what I wanted.

Pushing past Leslie and Blanche, I got into Katie's room.

She rested in the big bed, against the white sheets, looking so small and helpless. Her eyes were closed and she clutched Dino, her stuffed dinosaur.

My heart squeezed at the sight of her. Hurrying to her bedside, I bent over and brushed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here, baby girl," I told her.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

"Aunt Maggie is here." I took her hand in mine. She felt cold.

Releasing her, I went to the foot of the bed and unfolded the afghan Aunt Susan had knit for her. I layed it over her small, still body tenderly. "Snug as a bug in a rug." My voice was choked with tears as I tucked it under her chin.

For a moment she seemed to recognize me, but then her eyes drifted closed.

Resting my forehead on the mattress beside her, I tried to gather my strength. I wasn't sure I had much left. When I lifted my head, I saw Patrick staring at me, his expression worried.

Offering him a weak smile, I dashed away my tears as I straightened.

"Tell her," Blanche urged, pushing Leslie into the room.

"You hurt my feelings," Leslie burst out childishly.

I hung my head. "I'm sorry."

"You have no idea how hard she's working to stay clean," Blanche berated.

I stared at the tiles of the floor and counted to ten trying to maintain my cool.

"You have no right to sabotage her progress," Blanche continued.

I balled my hands into fists, fighting for control of my temper.

"Ma'am," Patrick interceded in his most professional tone. "I don't think this is the time for this. Perhaps, if you'd step outside..."

A small smile tugged at my lips. Of course Patrick was coming to my rescue.

"She's acting like a spoiled brat," Blanche opined.

"I think I made a mistake allowing you in here," Marshal Weller muttered. "Please step out of the room."

I glanced up, surprised that he was offering me a reprieve.

Blanche glared at me. "If you cared about your aunt--"

"Out!" Weller barked. "Unless you want to be charged with interfering in an investigation."

"What investigation?" Leslie asked as the marshal escorted her sponsor from the room.

I stared at her. Sometimes she still acted as though she were permanently stoned. "There's a man with a gun outside the room. Didn't you wonder why?"

She shrugged. "He asked me my name and then ushered me inside."

I looked back down at the floor. This time I counted to twenty.

Chapter Eight

"Ma'am," Patrick said, saving me from having to offer the explanation. "There was a prison break earlier today. Archie Lee was one of the prisoners who escaped."

"Oh," Leslie said. "My sister will be happy to hear that."

"Why's that?" Marshal Weller asked, reentering the room.

"Because every time Archie Lee gets the chance to mess up my mother’s life he takes it," I groused.

Leslie shook her head. "No. You don't understand. Those two, my sister and Archie, they're soulmates. Nothing can keep them apart. Not time. Not distance. Not circumstance."

"Not prison walls," I joined in mockingly. "Not manhunts."

"We get the idea," Patrick interrupted.

"I hate to see you so bitter," Leslie murmured. "You'll find love someday."

It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to not look in Patrick's direction. I had nothing left to keep myself from saying, "Like you did?"

"I had a true love," Leslie confessed dreamily.

Patrick, fiddling with his cell phone, stepped out of the room.

I stared at her incredulously. Her twin, Loretta, the sister who'd been married a zillion times, was the one who usually spouted nonsense about true love. "You did?"

She nodded. "Despite what you think, Maggie, you don't know everything about your family."

I was inordinately glad she was calling me Maggie again. It meant she was no longer furious with me. No one, except Aunt Susan, called me Margaret unless they were mad at me. I'd have felt even better if Patrick was in the room. His absence made me feel unmoored. I leaned against Katie's bed needing the support.

"So you think Archie Lee will go find his wife?" Weller asked.

I gave him a hard look. "Are you telling me you're not having her watched? That you don't have someone stationed outside of her room too?"

He had the good sense to look away. "It's not my investigation."

"I'm sure Griswald has her covered, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to check," Patrick suggested helpfully, stepping back into the room.

Nodding, the marshal stepped into the hallway, pulling out his cell phone.

I nodded my thanks to Patrick, certain that he knew that I wasn't worried about my father reaching my mother, but I was concerned that Kowalski could go after her.

"What happened to your face?" Leslie asked suddenly. "And why is there blood on that shirt?"

I bit my tongue to keep from saying, "Can't get anything past you."

Patrick, taking my silence for an unwillingness to answer, filled in the blanks. "She was attacked by Paul Kowalski."

Leslie cocked her head to the side. "Surely not.”

“He did.” I stared at her, willing her to believe me.

“But he’s such a nice young man,” she said, unable to wrap her head around the idea.

"Psychopaths can be charming," Patrick muttered darkly.

Leslie raised her eyebrows at him before turning her attention to me. "Is that true?"

"That psychopaths can be charming?" I asked. "I guess so. I mean look at Ted Bundy."

Leslie shook her head. "But why would Paul attack you?”

"Probably because I deserved it," I drawled sarcastically, angry that it had taken her so long to notice I was hurt and she still hadn't asked if I was okay.

Leslie stiffened. "That wasn't what I was saying."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe you need to go ask Loretta's clone what you should be saying."

"Who?" Leslie's confusion would have been comical if I hadn't been so pissed.

"Blanche. She's like a younger version of your twin," I spat out. "She's a sexpot who's telling you what to think, what to say, how to act."

Leslie shook her head in denial, but I could tell she was considering what I'd said.

"You need a new sponsor, Aunt Leslie. That one," I jerked my chin in the direction of the hall, "is not good for you."

Weller walked back through the door. "There's a marshal on your mother."

"I hope he's not too heavy," I quipped.

Patrick chuckled softly.

Weller frowned at him. “Griswald said you'd probably have a picture of this dirty cop I'm supposed to keep an eye out for."

Patrick held out his cell phone for the other man to examine. "He's bad news. Shoot first, ask questions later."

Weller eyed him suspiciously. "So much for the boys in blue looking out for one another."

Patrick stared at him impassively.

After a long moment Weller said, "My orders are to stay with the little girl."

Patrick swung his gaze to me. "Marshal Griswald has requested I bring you back to the B&B, Miss Lee. He has some questions for you."

I nodded, appreciating how he managed to come across as solely professional. It gave me a glimpse of how he juggled all his different lives.

Turning to Leslie, he said politely. "Do you need a ride home, ma'am?"

She shook her head. "I'll stay here."

Looking down at Katie sleeping peacefully, I said softly. "I think you should go home. Aunt Susan was very upset and I'm sure Loretta will be too once she finds out Templeton was almost killed."

"How?" Leslie asked.

"Kowalski," Patrick supplied. "You're all being placed under protective custody until he's caught. Marshal Weller will stay here with the girl. There's a team watching over your mother. More officers are at the B&B. That should keep everyone connected to you safe."

While it sounded as though he was reporting what was going on to Leslie, I knew he was doing his best to reassure me.

I nodded my understanding. "We should go back," I told Leslie. "Let’s go.”

Afraid I’d lose my resolve to leave Katie, I barreled past them all and into the hallway.

I promptly slammed into Delveccio's hired muscle, Vinnie. No doubt he'd been lingering outside the door, eavesdropping for his boss.

"Hey!" he shouted. To his credit, he didn't let me fall on my ass in the hospital corridor. Grabbing my arm in a vise-like grip, he held me up like a dangling, raggedy doll.

I shoved at his muscle-bound chest. “Hey, yourself.”

Vinnie looked to his boss, who was lounging in the doorway of the room next to Katie’s, to see what to do about me. Patrick and Weller reached for their weapons.

“Let me go or you’re going to get yourself shot,” I whispered to Vinnie. Raising my voice, I said loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, “Sorry about that. My fault. Thanks for catching me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Delveccio’s imperceptible nod.

I patted Vinnie’s shoulder. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

He sneered, making it clear I didn’t have a chance in hell of doing him any damage. He dropped my arm and I pretended to wobble unsteadily for a second. I stole a quick glance at Delveccio’s expression as I pretended to regain my balance.

He didn’t look happy.

I had to think fast. It was bad enough I had a rogue cop gunning for me and that the US Marshals were tracking my escapee father. I couldn’t afford to have the reputed head of a crime family pissed at me too. My life was already too dangerous without throwing a homicidal mob boss into the mix.

“Look,” I continued in my overly loud voice as I looked at Katie’s room. “I told you, Marshal Weller, I don’t know where my father is. And I told you, Detective Whatever-The-Hell-Your-Name-Is, Paul Kowalski attacked me. I’m the victim here.”

Patrick played along beautifully. “I understand, but there are still official questions you have to answer.” Ignoring Delveccio, he marched toward me. “You’ll have to come with me.”

Turning away, I caught Delveccio’s eye. He nodded his approval before slipping back into his grandson’s room.

Patrick and I hurried through the hallways, back toward the pick-up, Aunt Leslie following on our heels, ignoring the calls of Blanche who was shouting after her.

“You need to calm down,” Patrick whispered through gritted teeth. “If you lose it, all of this could blow up in our faces.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. If it goes badly I’ll take all the blame.”

He frowned at me. “That’s what I’m afraid of. We should go back to the B&B before Griswald gets suspicious.”

“I have to get to God,” I insisted as we stepped outside.

“You are talking about the lizard, right?”

“Of course.”

“I’m starting to think you’re way too attached to that thing.” Yanking open the passenger door to the pick-up, Patrick offered me a hand up.

I took it and he half-lifted me onto the seat.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“I’ll live.”

“For now.”

I wondered if his “for now” was a warning about Paul coming after me to finish what he’d started or if he was worried Delveccio might sic Vinnie on me if I messed this up any more.

I had to push the thoughts aside and shove my butt to the center of the truck cab, so that there was room for Aunt Leslie in the passenger seat.

“We’ll go to check on the dog,” Patrick announced climbing into the driver’s seat and cranking the truck’s heater to max. “Then we’re going to get this mess sorted out.”

He spoke with conviction, but I had my doubts. Sandwiched between my nervously twittering aunt and my determined murder mentor, I had a sinking feeling that things were going to get messier.

Chapter Nine

Returning to the vet’s parking lot, Patrick pulled to a stop between the lines of a parking spot.

Leslie eyed the place in horror. “I can’t go in there.”

Patrick hopped out of the pick-up.

“Okay.” I patted my aunt’s hand sympathetically, thinking she might be squeamish about DeeDee’s blood. “You can stay in the truck.”

“There are drugs in there,” she whispered.

Doing my best to not roll my eyes, I muttered, “So wait here.”

Awkwardly I slid over the seat and climbed out the driver’s door with a little assistance from Patrick, who took my hand and helped me down as though I was a fairy princess alighting from a magic carriage.

“You could wait out here too,” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

I shook my head, a lump rising in my throat. Doomsday had gotten hurt protecting me. It was my responsibility to check in on her. But I couldn’t tell Patrick any of that because I was pretty sure I’d burst into tears if I tried to speak and I had to be strong now. The dog deserved that.

Stepping around so that he could look directly at me, he studied my face. “Are you sure? You really don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

He frowned, signaling he hadn’t appreciated the false note of cheerfulness I’d injected into my tone, but he didn’t argue.

We walked toward the building side-by-side.

“After we check on her we’re going to have to go back to the B&B,” Patrick warned. “Griswald’s going to ask you a lot of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Hard to say. I’d imagine most of them will have to do with your father.”

“But I don’t know anything. It’s not like he told me of his plans to escape,” I said.

“Then just tell him the truth. It’s a lot easier to remember than a lie is.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob of the vet’s office. “And what am I supposed to do if they ask about us?”

“Rule Number Four: Deny Everything.” He winked at me as though he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned we were about to be caught, covered my hand on the doorknob with his own, and pushed the door open.

Dr. Felton’s assistant, Monica, the woman he’d been banging boots with, straightened a rack of brochures about fleas, heartworm, and a host of other pet maladies. Glancing over at us as we walked inside, she said, “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She quickly disappeared from the waiting room.

Patrick’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display and said, “It’s Griswald. I’ve got to take this.” He went back outside to answer the call, leaving me alone in the reception area.

The one-eyed cat, keeping her body pressed against the wall, crept into the room. “You came back.”

“Uh huh.” I sat down on a chair and patted the seat beside me, inviting her to join me.

She narrowed her gaze suspiciously.

“How’s DeeDee?” I asked.

The cat leapt onto the chair next to mine. “Doc says she’s tougher than she looks.”

I thought about how Doomsday had tangled with her previous owner Gary the Gun and then with psychopath Paul, both times to save me. “She’s a loyal friend,” I told the cat. “I can be too. Want to tell me your name now?”

Ignoring me, the cat lifted a paw to her mouth and began licking it.

I tried another tacttack. “Are you a patient or do you live here?”

“I live here. I live there. I make my way in the world,” she said a tad haughtily.

I nodded. “I used to dream about a life like that. I wanted that kind of freedom, but I was always too afraid to go for it.”

“Why?” she asked curiously, her good ear twitching curiously.

I shrugged. “It’s silly.”

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“It’s too embarrassing to tell a stranger,” I said, looking away.

She kneaded my leg, her claws pricking lightly through my jeans. “I want to know.”

I looked back at her, staring into her one eye. “I was afraid I’d be too lonely. I mean my family is crazy and all, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them.” Tears filled my eyes as I confided, “I don’t have much left.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, continuing her march in place against my thigh.

“My sister Theresa died in a car accident earlier this year, my mom’s in a mental institution, my dad’s in prison, and my sister Marlene hasn’t spoken to me in years because she blames me for her twin, Darlene, being murdered.” I wiped away the tears that were now flowing freely down my face.

My feline friend nuzzled her head into my arm, offering me comfort. “I’m so sorry, Sugar.”

“I can’t lose DeeDee, I just can’t.”

“You’re not going to. She’ll pull through.” The cat climbed into my lap, curled into a ball and began to purr.

I stroked her silky coat. “You think so?”

“Doc Felton is the best,” she assured me. “Not that I’d admit that in public.”

We both looked over as Patrick came back inside.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Soft,” I answered.

He frowned. “I meant the dog.”

“I haven’t seen her yet, but I have a good feeling,” I told him.

The cat purred her approval.

Patrick settled into the seat the cat had vacated. “We can’t wait here long. I’ve got to get you back to Griswald.”

“Is there something new about my dad?” I asked.

“Nothing yet.”

Doctor Felton strolled into the reception. He came to an abrupt stop, a look of shock on his face.

The cat’s comforting purring stopped.

Fear lanced my heart and I trembled. “What is it?”

“You’ve got piss on your lap!” he exclaimed.

Certain I’d misheard him, I asked, “What?”

“Piss,” the doctor insisted. “Piss is on your lap.”

“He means me,” the cat explained.

I looked down at her, then back at the vet. “You mean the cat?”

He nodded. “We call her Miss Piss because she peed in the spare set of shoes I keep in the back.”

“That’s a horrible name.” I looked down at the cat. “Tell me what your name is.”

“It’s a cat,” Patrick reminded me. “It can’t talk.”

The cat had the audacity to wink at me, at least that’s what I think she did with her one good eye, before jumping off my lap and stalking away. “I’m going to relieve myself in his shoes,” she purred naughtily.

“I’ll take you to see your girl,” Doctor Felton offered.

Patrick and I followed him into a different room than we’d been in earlier. She was in a large crate on the floor, lying on her side, eyes closed.

I knelt down to stroke her snout through the bars. “Hey, DeeDee.”

She stirred groggily.

“Let her sleep,” God whispered.

Squinting, I realized he’d tucked himself below her chin.

“How’s she doing?” Patrick asked the vet.

“It’s a good thing you got her here when you did. She would have bled to death without surgery, but now that she’s stitched up, I’m hoping she’ll make a full recovery.” The vet crouched beside me. “The lizard is yours?”

I nodded.

“Gotta say, I’ve seen some odd inter-species pairings in my practice, but I’ve never seen two buddies like them. He stuck by her the whole time.”

I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “I’m not surprised.” As much as he groused about her grammar, God was fond of the grammatically-challenged beast.

“She’ll have to stay here overnight,” Dr. Felton straightened and stepped away. “And probably tomorrow too, but we’ll keep a close eye on her and give her our best care.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“Since you’re not a regular client we’ll need you to fill out some paperwork,” he said.

“That’s his genteel way of saying you owe him beaucoup bucks,” the cat meowed, winding her way between my ankles.

I resisted the urge to ask her if she’d ruined the good doctor’s shoes.

Patrick bent down so that he too could pet the sleeping dog. Gently, he said, “We should go.”

I asked God. “Do you want to stay here or go with me?”

Thinking I was talking to him, Patrick laid a hand on my shoulder. “Neither of us can stay. We have to go.”

“I’ll stay,” God said. “I don’t want her to wake up and be afraid.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, slowly getting to my feet.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied, assuming I was speaking to him.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the cat pledged.

“You only have one eye,” God taunted.

“Careful,” the cat warned, “or you’ll end up as my midnight snack.”

“Be nice,” I admonished.

“Fine,” God sighed.

The cat just twitched her tail.

“Of course we’ll be nice to her,” the doctor said, clearly offended.

Shaking my head, I looked at DeeDee once more before leaving the room.

Since I’d left the B&B without my wallet, Patrick gave Doctor Felton’s assistant his business card and assurance that I’d be back to settle the bill the next day.

We walked outside and stopped to watch Aunt Leslie who was standing beside the truck, legs spread, eyes closed, arms outstretched toward the sky.

“What the hell is she doing?” I muttered.

“Looks like Warrior Pose,” Patrick said.

I shot him a sideways glance.

“Yoga,” he explained. “She’s in Warrior One.”

“And how do you know so much about yoga?”

He shrugged. “I’ve taken classes. It’s good for you. Strengthens the body. Calms the mind.” He looked down at me. “You should try it. It would do you good.”

“I thought I was supposed to learn hand-to-hand combat,” I reminded him.

“You could do both. Yoga teaches you body awareness, which would make you better at pretty much everything.”

I frowned. “I’m not the bend-myself-into-a-human-pretzel-type.”

Opening her eyes, Leslie spotted us. Lowering her arms she called, “Is she okay?”

I nodded.

She smiled. “That’s good news.”

“It may be the only good news you get today,” Patrick reminded me.

Nodding my understanding, I trudged toward the pick-up truck. It had been a difficult day, but the most challenging part was about to happen. I had to remember when to tell the truth and when to deny everything.

Chapter Ten

Yellow and black police tape fluttered across the front entry of the Bed and Breakfast.

“Why’s that there?” Leslie asked as Patrick parked the pick-up on the side of the street.

“The foyer is a crime scene, ma’am,” Patrick answered.

“It’s not a foyer, it’s a parlor,” she corrected, climbing out of the truck.

“I’m not going to be able to help you in there,” Patrick whispered as I moved to exit after her.

“I know.” Sliding out of the truck, I squared my shoulders, prepared for whatever Marshal Griswald had to throw at me.

Leslie and I walked toward the back entrance arm-in-arm, with Patrick trailing behind. As we got closer to the kitchen, I caught a whiff of cinnamon.

“Aunt Susan’s baking,” I chuckled.

“It’s better than Loretta making another batch of her love muffins,” Leslie said.

Together we turned to Patrick and said simultaneously, “Don’t eat the love muffins.”

He blinked. “Okay. Why not?”

Leslie and I shared a loaded look.

“You really don’t want to know,” I told him. “Just avoid the love muffins at all costs.”

We walked in the back door and were greeted with the muffled hum of voices. Following the sound into the dining room, we found Loretta and Templeton sitting at the table, Aunt Susan standing at the sideboard polishing a silver candlestick, Bob, Aunt Susan’s boyfriend, pouring coffee, and Marshal Griswald eating a still-steaming oatmeal cookie.

“Maggie!” Loretta cried, jumping to her feet, rushing over to me, and wrapping me in a real hug instead of showering me with air kisses the way she usually does. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I wheezed, choking on the scent of her cloying perfume.

She hung onto me tightly, either because she was doing her damndest to asphyxiate me, or because she was really that upset.

Looking over her shoulder at Aunt Susan’s drawn expression I decided it was probably the second.

Squeezing Loretta back, I said, “I’m fine. Really.”

“We’re so relieved to hear that,” Bob boomed. He’s a big guy who owns a construction business and nothing about him is subtle. “Aren’t we, Susan?”

She nodded tightly, rubbing the poor candlestick with undue vigor. “How’s DeeDee?”

“The vet thinks she’s going to recover,” I said.

“Lucky she came in when she did,” Templeton interjected.

Remembering how close to shooting me Paul Kowalski had come, I nodded.

“We were halfway down the block and she just took off,” Susan murmured. “She yanked the leash right out of my hand and took off at a dead run, like she knew you needed her help.”

I thought about God’s screams for help. While they hadn’t made much of an impact on human ears, I wondered if the dog’s superior hearing had picked them up. If he hadn’t stowed away in the box of shoes, Doomsday might have been too late to save me. I shivered at the thought.

“I’m very glad you’re okay, Miss Lee,” Marshal Griswald said, “but I do need to ask you some questions.”

For the first time, I focused on the U.S. Marshal charged with bringing my father in. While he had the fit body of a younger man, the silver hair glinting at his temples and the lines around his alert, brown eyes made him look closer to fifty than forty.

“She’s pale,” Susan said, stepping between the marshal and I. “She needs to eat something.”

“Coffee?” Bob held up the pot.

I nodded. “Please.”

“And she should put on a sweater,” Leslie suggested. “The girl’s trembling.”

Griswald’s eyes narrowed speculatively.

I swallowed hard and lifted my chin, not wanting him to think I was shaking because I was afraid of him. “I am cold,” I admitted.

“I’ll get you something warm to put on.” Leslie hurried out of the room.

Loretta pushed me into the chair opposite Marshal Griswald.

Taking the cup of coffee Bob had poured, Susan pressed it into my hands. She stared deeply into my eyes, searching for something.

I offered her a weak smile.

She nodded slightly, as though satisfied by what she saw. “I’ll make sandwiches.” She glanced around the room. “I’ll make them for everyone. It’s been a long day.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Her gaze landed on a spot behind me. “You need a clean shirt too.”

I glanced over my shoulder before I realized she was focused on Patrick.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“Nonsense. Bob can give you one of his,” Susan insisted.

“No problemo,” Bob said, lumbering out of the room. “Back in two shakes.”

“I’ve decided it’s easier to just go along with them, Mulligan,” Griswald drawled dryly. “Take the shirt. Eat the sandwich.”

Patrick inclined his head at Susan. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“And stop calling me ma’am,” she muttered. “It makes me sound like I’m the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.”

Susan bustled into the kitchen as Leslie swept back into the room.

“Oh Lord,” Loretta groaned. “Not that thing.”

“It’s warm,” Leslie countered, holding out a southwestern poncho, complete with horses and a Western motif straight out of the Seventies.

“It was ugly forty years ago and it’s ugly now,” Loretta railed.

“And forty years ago I let you tell me what to do, but I’m not letting you do it now,” Leslie told her twin. To illustrate her point, she placed the poncho over my head and yanked it down as though I were a three-year-old who couldn’t dress herself.

“Ladies,” Templeton interceded. “Emotions are running high. Don’t you think—”

“Shut up,” Loretta and Leslie told him simultaneously.

“Hey!” I interjected. “He’s just trying to help.”

The twins stared at me. No one had ever heard me come to the defense of one of Loretta’s loves before.

I frowned back at them. “Templeton helped me before, he’s trying to help you now. Give him a break.” I tugged the poncho the rest of the way down. “Discussion over.” I glared at each of them in turn, daring them to oppose me.

Bob shambled in holding out a blue flannel shirt to Patrick. “Hope this does the trick, Buddy.”

Patrick took it. “Thanks.”

“I’ll show you where the powder room is so that you can change and freshen up,” Leslie offered, hurrying out of the dining room.

Patrick followed after her.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Loretta groused.

I hung my head knowing that, despite my best effort, there was no way to prevent their argument about the poncho from escalating into World War III.

“Why don’t we all help Susan with the sandwiches,” Templeton suggested gently. “That way Maggie can answer Marshal Griswald’s questions.”

“Much obliged,” the marshal said.

Templeton, Loretta, and Bob disappeared into the kitchen.

Exhausted, I slumped in my chair.

“Is it always this…?” Griswald trailed off searching for a word.

“Insane?” I supplied helpfully. “Pretty much.”

He chuckled. “I was going to say intense, or maybe crowded.”

I nodded. “Yes to all.”

“So you know why I’m here?” the marshal asked, clearly not convinced I wasn’t just as crazy as everyone else in the house.

“Archie Lee escaped from prison. You’re trying to catch him.” I hoped my facial expression didn’t give away how conflicted I felt about that. If, as my father claimed, he didn’t commit the crime he was serving time for, I felt like I didn’t want him to get caught.

Griswald nodded, studying my face.

“And either you love my aunt’s cookies, or you’re pretty sure he’s going to show up here.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Patrick and Leslie re-enter the dining room. I didn’t acknowledge them, hoping that if I ignored my aunt she’d go away. I kept my focus on the marshal.

Taking the hint, Leslie disappeared into the kitchen.

“The cookies are great,” Griswald said, helping himself to another to illustrate his point. He held the plate out to Patrick. “You’ve got to try them.”

Shaking his head, the redhead settled into the seat beside the marshal. “No, thanks.”

Griswald shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He turned his inquisitive gaze back to me. “I’m curious as to why you’d think I suspect your father will show up here.”

I took a sip of coffee to fortify myself, savoring the familiar bitter notes for a long moment before I answered. “For one thing, you came here. For another, you’ve stayed for what? Hours, right?”

He took another bite of cookie.

“Not to mention the last time he escaped from prison they caught him here.” I nodded my head toward the kitchen. “Aunt Susan’s favorite vase was broken in the chaos. She was not happy.”

“Duly noted. I could just be here to gather information,” the marshal said.

“Then why wait around?” I asked.

“Maybe I was waiting for you.”

“Then you’ve wasted your time,” I told him. “I didn’t know he was planning to escape. I have no idea where he’s gone.”

“And you haven’t been in touch with him?” Griswald asked.

I shook my head.

“Have you seen him recently?”

I took a second to sip of my coffee, Patrick’s advice to tell the truth ringing in my ears. “A couple of weeks, maybe a month ago.”

“You’ve visited him in prison numerous times over the past couple of months,” Griswald countered in an accusatory tone.

“That’s right,” I agreed.

“According to the Visitor Records you hadn’t seen him for years and suddenly you show up a few times right before he escapes. You can see how I’d find that to be a suspicious coincidence, can’t you?”

I gulped more coffee. “My sister Theresa was the one who visited him,” I explained slowly. “I started going to see him after she died in a car accident a few months ago.” I didn’t bother to tell him that I’d gone to ask my father for ill-gotten funds to help pay for Katie’s medical care.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Griswald murmured. “Earlier you said he hadn’t killed anyone. I’m wondering why. I mean, he was convicted of killing that teller during the bank robbery.”

I shrugged. “I was in shock? I had just been shot at.”

The marshal considered me for a long moment. “But you seemed so positive about it.”

I got the distinct impression that my standing with Marshal Griswald was on shaky ground. I fought the urge to look to Patrick for guidance. The last thing I needed to do was make the marshal more suspicious. I focused on the dregs of my coffee instead, choosing my words carefully. “I know what my father is. He’s a thief. He’s a professional liar.”

“But he’s your father,” Griswald said gently.

I nodded, looking away. “Maybe that’s why when he claimed he didn’t do it, I believed him.”

“Did he say who did?”

Surprised, I looked at the marshal. He was hanging on my every word. “Are you telling me he didn’t do it?”

Instead of answering me, he asked another question. “Why do you think he picked today to escape? Is it some special anniversary? A date that’s significant to him?”

I thought about it for a moment. As far as I knew, it wasn’t an important date. “I don’t think so.”

“He’d ended up in the hospital infirmary more than once since you started visiting him,” Griswald said.

“So you think it’s my fault?” I asked, shocked.

“I think that hours after Archie Lee escaped from prison, a police officer was willing to kill you over something he thought you had,” the marshal said carefully. “So while I don’t think you’re involved, I do believe you’re somehow connected to what’s going on.”

Completely forgetting that I was doing my best to keep Griswald from becoming suspicious of my relationship with Patrick, I looked right at my redhead murder mentor, needing to know if he agreed with the marshal’s assessment.

Patrick’s expression, set in stone, was unreadable.

“You don’t have anything to fear from Detective Mulligan,” the marshal hurried to assure me. “I’ll vouch for him. He’s one of the good guys.”

I nodded, dragging my gaze back to the marshal.

“He helped you take care of your dog,” Griswald reminded me.

“I don’t know what you think I know,” I began.

The marshal held up his hand to silence me. “I don’t think you know anything. I think if you did, you’d have told Kowalski and you’d be dead right now. I suspect that what’s going on right now is bigger than you, bigger than your father. You asked me earlier why I’ve stayed here for hours?”

I nodded.

“I’m not really after your father, Miss Lee. I’m after much bigger fish. He’s just the bait.”

“Maggie doesn’t like fish,” Leslie announced, breezing back into the room with a platter stacked with sandwiches. “The tuna is on the other plate.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Griswald’s bewildered expression at Leslie’s out-of-left-field comment.

Oblivious to his reaction, Leslie continued, “This plate has peanut butter and jelly, well, not really jelly, but orange marmalade. Do you like marmalade?” she asked Griswald.

“Um, sure, I guess,” Griswald said, obviously thrown by how quickly the conversation had gone off track.

“What about you?” Leslie demanded of Patrick.

“Not particularly,” the redhead replied calmly.

“Then I hope you like tuna.” Leslie put the platter down in front of Griswald. “Or if you don’t like that, than Maggie’s Special.”

“What’s that?” Patrick asked.

I glanced quickly at him, but his attention was on my aunt.

“Cream cheese and eyeballs,” Leslie replied.

“What?” Griswald asked sharply.

“Olives,” I explained quickly. “When I was a little kid I called them eyeballs.”

“Oh.” Griswald relaxed in his chair.

“Susan said to remind you to wash your hands before you eat,” Leslie said.

I looked at the US Marshal sitting across from me. “Things will be a lot easier if I just do what she wants.”

He nodded his okay.

Getting to my feet, I moved toward the powder room down the hall, as Leslie asked, “So do you like tuna? Because they say there’s mercury in it and…”

I smiled. If Marshal Griswald thought he was going to figure out where Archie Lee was hiding out from anyone in this crazy place he was mistaken.

Chapter Eleven

Not only did I have a deranged cop trying to kill me and a prison-escapee father on the loose, but the next day I had to go to work at Insuring the Future.

I had to go to work.

My aunts had hovered over me all night. I knew they were worried about me, but they were driving me crazy. The idea of being cooped up with them all day in the B&B was too horrible to consider, so first thing in the morning, before the sun even rose, I went to talk to the police officers stationed in the parlor to tell them of my plan to go to work.

I felt sorry for the two young men assigned to protect us. I’m sure that when they signed up for the Police Academy they’d imagined chasing down criminals, instead they were stuck sucking in the fumes of furniture polish and potpourri. Marshal Griswald and Patrick had given them specific instructions about our protection before they’d left the night before.

Soft snoring greeted me from the settee of the parlor. I almost went back upstairs so that I wouldn’t disturb the slumber of my would-be protector, but then I caught a glimpse of red hair.

Tiptoeing into the room, I crept closer to see whether it really was Patrick sprawled out on the antique furniture.

He looked younger and more relaxed in repose. He hadn’t shaved recently and beard stubble covered his chin, blurring the lines around his mouth. A strand of hair fell across his forehead and my fingers itched to smooth it back in to place.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, I reached out to brush it off his skin. My fingers had barely made contact with the errant lock, when his eyes snapped open.

I froze as he caught my wrist in his hand.

He looked around the room the same way I had, to see if we were alone. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep.

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered as he stroked my pulse-point with his thumb sending a delicious shiver of sensation up my arm.

Without releasing me, he sat up in a smooth, fluid motion. He tugged gently on my wrist so that I sat beside him.

“W-what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Keeping you safe,” he murmured. He turned over my hand, studied my palm, and began tracing my lifeline with his thumb. “You didn’t think I’d leave you unprotected, did you?”

I couldn’t think of much at all with him touching me like that. “There were other officers here.”

“They’re still here. Last I checked they were playing poker in the kitchen.”

“So why are you here?” I asked.

“I was worried about you.” He raised my hand to his lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the inside of my wrist before he lifted his green gaze to meet mine.

My heart somersaulted happily, but then a self-preservation instinct kicked in and I yanked my hand free of his grasp. “Don’t you have a wife to worry about? Isn’t she going to wonder where you’ve been all night?”

He snorted his disbelief. “If she was ever home she might wonder.”

“What do you mean?” I’d been under the impression ever since I’d found out about his wife that she was a bedridden invalid.

“She’s off at some spa getting some holistic treatment,” he practically spat out.

“Holistic is bad?” I asked, confused.

“Holistic is code for a Girls’ Weekend,” he muttered, looking away.

I got the distinct impression that the words coming out of his mouth meant something completely different to me than they did to him. “Girls’ Weekends are unacceptable?”

He was silent for a long moment. “You did a good job alleviating Delveccio’s fears in the hospital yesterday.”

I blinked, feeling like I’d just experienced an even more severe bout of conversational whiplash than even my aunts were capable of. “What?”

“He would have gotten nervous with that marshal posted next door to his grandson’s room. It was smart to give him the heads up that they were looking for your father and not at him.”

“I understood that,” I said, a tad irritated. “I meant why did you change the subject so abruptly.”

“It’s complicated,” he muttered.

Before I could push him or he could elaborate, we heard a chair scuff across the kitchen floor. Patrick leapt up and was across the room before one of the officers I’d met the night before walked in.

“Morning,” the young man greeted me with a smile.

“Good morning. I was just telling Detective Mulligan that I’m going to work today,” I said in a rush.

“And I was just telling Miss Lee that I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Patrick replied in a voice tight with disapproval.

The smile on the younger cop’s face disappeared as he sensed the tension in the room.

“I’m not staying here. The witches will drive me crazy,” I insisted.

“Witches?” the cop asked sounding alarmed.

“My aunts,” I muttered, not about to explain that my escapee father had called them “the bitches” when I was growing up.

“No offense, lady,” the cop said, “but I’m pretty sure they could drive anyone crazy.” He’d had his own run-in with the meddling sisters the night before. It hadn’t been pretty.

“Fine,” Patrick agreed. “I’ll ask Griswald if you can go to work.”

“Tell him I’m going,” I ordered before stalking out of the room.

I don’t know what Patrick said to Marshal Griswald, but a few hours later I was escorted to Insuring the Future by the young cop, who assured me a squad car would be patrolling the area keeping an eye out for both my father and Paul Kowalski.

I hate my job answering phones and taking auto insurance claims, but I almost (almost) had a swing in my step as I approached my desk.

“Chiquita!” my best work friend, Armani Vasquez called the moment she saw me. She waved me over with her good hand. Her other hand, mangled in a run-in with a Zamboni, dangled at her side.

“Morning.” I plopped my butt onto the edge of her desk.

Standing, she threw her arms around me, yanked me to her, and squeezed tightly. Too tightly. She cut off my air supply.

“What’s up?” I asked gasping for breath as I tried to extricate myself from her one-armed-grip-of-death.

“You need a tug hug,” she said, releasing me.

“Come again?”

“I pulled tiles for you,” Armani explained.

Armani is an inaccurate semi-psychic, but enough of her predictions have come true in some warped fashion or another, that I now pay attention to her fortunetelling.

“What did they say?” I asked. Some people read tea leaves, Armani reads Scrabble tiles, seven at a time.

“Tug hug.”

“Tug hug?” I asked.

“Two G’s, an H, two T’s, and two U’s. TUG HUG,” she explained. “And then I saw the paper and I knew it was right!”

“Paper?” I asked, a sinking feeling in my gut.

“The manhunt for your father. It’s on the first page.” She picked a copy of the newspaper off her desk and waved it in my face.

I closed my eyes not wanting to see the mug shots of my father and two other escaped prisoners. First the social worker had shown up unexpectedly during Kowalski’s attack and now it was public knowledge that my father was a convicted felon on the loose. “The front page?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you had such badass genes in you,” she said with something that sounded like awe in her tone.

I opened my eyes just in time to see Harry, our boss with pepperoni-breath pop around the corner.

His eyes grew wide with horror when he saw me and I imagined him firing me on the spot saying something like ‘Insuring the Future can’t have its reputation sullied by the likes of you.’ But when he opened his mouth, that’s not what came out. “Oh my god,” he exclaimed softly. “Are you okay?”

Realizing he was staring at the giant bruise blossoming on my cheek, I hurriedly assured him. “It’s not that bad.”

“Do you want ice or something? Or a steak?” he asked. “I think boxers put raw steaks on their bruises.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine. Really.” I blinked away tears. I wasn’t sure why I was crying. Maybe it was because my family’s mess was splashed across the front page of the paper. Or maybe it was because my boss, who was usually a first-class jerk who I’ve thought about killing on more than one occasion, was being nice to me. Or maybe it was because the thought “If I had a raw steak, Doomsday would eat it” zipped through my brain and then I remembered she’d been stabbed.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked with genuine concern.

“You don’t look fine,” Armani said, siding with our boss for the first time in history.

Dashing away the tears, I nodded. “I just need to keep busy. I need to get on the phones.”

Before I could move, Armani yanked me to her again in a “tug hug”.

“If you need extra breaks, take them,” Harry urged helpfully.

Disentangling myself from my friend and skirting my way around my boss, I made my way to my desk, turned on my computer, put on my headset, and got to work.

I spent over ninety minutes doing my, “Thank you for calling Insuring the Future. This is Maggie. How can I help you?” routine, ignoring the curious looks from my co-workers, who were no doubt gossiping about me.

I was starting to think going to work had not been the best idea after all.

I answered my umpteenth call. “Thank you for calling Insuring the Future. This is Maggie. How can I help you?”

“Don’t hang up, Maggie May,” a familiar voice said.

I didn’t hang up. I did look around furtively to see if anyone was listening in on my conversation.

“Are you there?” my father asked.

“I’m here.”

“I need your help,” he said.

“You need to turn yourself in, Dad,” I whispered into the phone. “Your face is plastered on the front page of the paper and U.S. Marshals showed up at the B&B.”

“The bitches must be pissed,” he said.

“No, actually, they’re more worried than pissed,” I corrected angrily. “Paul Kowalski tried to kill me yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Kowalski. Paul Kowalski.”

“Who the hell is he and why would he want to kill you?”

“I dunno, Dad,” I raged in a whisper. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t know a Kowalski.”

That cooled my righteous anger like a fire being doused with water. “You don’t?”

“No, honey, I don’t.”

“Oh.” I fell silent for a moment wondering if Griswald was wrong about a connection between Dad’s escape and Kowalski’s attack.

“I need your help, Maggie,” my father said quietly.

“No,” I replied quickly. “I have marshals at the door, cops spending the night in the witches’ kitchen, and, for all I know, they’re listening to this call right this minute. You need to turn yourself in. I can’t help you.”

My father fell silent.

I looked around my office to see if anyone had noticed my ranting. It didn’t appear that anyone had.

“How did you get this number?” I asked curiously.

“You think I didn’t know where my daughter works?” he asked, sounding hurt.

I wondered if he had any idea I moonlight as a hitwoman.

“I can’t help you,” I insisted quietly. “Just turn yourself in.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Remembering my discussion with Griswald I added, “Did you mean it when you claimed you didn’t kill that bank teller?”

“You believed me?” he asked, shocked.

“Just tell me, Dad,” I pleaded. “If you didn’t do it tell me who did.”

“Can’t do that, kiddo. It would put you in more danger than you’re already in. And I can’t go back to prison, they’ll kill me.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Can’t tell you that either, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Dad, I told you. I can’t. I—“

“I need you to go see Marlene,” he interrupted.

My mouth went dry. I’d seen my sister a few weeks earlier outside of Katie’s hospital room, but she’d run away from me when I’d tried to engage her in conversation.

“Maggie?” Dad asked.

“M-Marlene and I don’t talk,” I said slowly. “We haven’t for years. She blames me.” A familiar sense of guilt squeezed my chest.

“Blames you for what?” Dad asked.

Blinking rapidly, trying to hold back tears, I tried to speak, but couldn’t as my throat closed painfully.

“Maggie?”

I forced out a whisper. “Darlene’s death.”

I held my breath waiting for him to say that my younger sister’s murder wasn’t my fault. I hoped he’d say it wasn’t my responsibility. I needed him to offer me absolution.

Instead he said, “Tell Marlene to tell you where the treasure chest is.”

Tears ran down my face, dripping onto my desk. My finger hovered above the disconnect button, not wanting to talk to him, knowing that he blamed me too.

“Take the key and get the contents,” dad continued, oblivious of my suffering. “Then—“

“No,” I interrupted.

“Maggie May don’t be like this.”

“Turn yourself in, get yourself killed, I really don’t care,” I told him coldly. “I’m not doing anything for you.” With that I hung up the phone, put my head down on my desk, and began to cry loudly and uncontrollably.

I was dimly aware of Armani hurriedly limping over.

She pulled me into a “tug hug” whispering, “Easy, Chiquita. Just breathe. Breathe,” as my crying devolved into hiccupping sobs.

Harry hustled over. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about my dog,” I blubbered. “I don’t want her to die because of me too.”

“Where is she?” Harry asked.

“At the vet,” I cried.

“Why don’t you go see her?” He suggested. “Take the rest of the day off.”

I looked up at him through a haze of tears.

“Paid,” he offered, obviously eager to get rid of me.

“You should go, Chiquita,” Armani urged.

Nodding, I wiped my tears away, grabbed my purse, and stumbled out of the office, avoiding the curious stares of my co-workers.

It wasn’t until I got out to the parking lot that I remembered that I didn’t have a car because the young police officer had driven me to work.

I stood there in the middle of the lot unsure of what to do.

A red sports car with tinted windows pulled up in front of me. I worried that it was Paul. It was just the kind of vehicle he’d drive, a showy muscle-car with sex appeal. The window began to roll down and I wondered if I’d be facing the barrel of a gun.

I swallowed hard, determined to show him no fear.

“What are you doing out here, Mags?”

I let out a shaky sigh of relief before I countered, “What are you doing here?”

Patrick shrugged. “Keeping an eye out for Kowalski. You’ve been crying?”

I half-turned away. “I must look a mess.”

“I’ve seen you look worse,” Patrick teased gently.

Despite myself I smiled. “You sure know how to make a girl feel better.”

“Seriously, Mags. What are you doing out here?”

I looked back at him. “I want to see Doomsday.”

Tilting his head toward the passenger seat he said, “Get in.”

While I walked around the car and climbed inside, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed it. “It’s Mulligan. Margaret Lee is intent on seeing her dog,” he said in his most policeman-like voice despite the fact he was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt.

I bit back a smile.

“Yes. Understood,” he said into the phone before disconnecting the call.

“Marshal Griswald would like me to accompany you wherever you want to go, ma’am,” he mocked. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Can we go see her?” I asked hopefully.

“Of course,” he agreed. “On one condition.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“That we go to lunch afterward and you eat something. You only had coffee this morning and you only ate half of an eyeball sandwich last night.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

He nodded. “I get that. I really do, but you need to keep your strength up.”

“But we see the dog first, right?”

“Right.” He pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Some.” I didn’t tell him I’d had a hell of a time dozing off knowing that Paul Kowalski wanted to kill me and was on the loose or that the one time I had managed to drift off I’d woken from a nightmare, gasping for breath. “My father called me,” I blurted out.

Patrick glanced at me and then returned his gaze to the road. “Did he call your cell or the house phone?”

“He called work.”

He nodded approvingly. “What did he want?”

“I told him to turn himself in, but he refused. He thinks they, whoever the mysterious they are, will kill him.”

“What did he want?” Patrick asked again patiently.

“I hung up on him.”

We rolled to a halt at a stop sign. Patrick twisted in his seat to get a better look at me, “What did he want?”

Unwilling to look at him, I stared out at the traffic whizzing by. “He wants me to see Marlene,” I muttered grudgingly.

“Why?”

I shrugged. “How the hell should I know? I never understand what he’s up to. It’s not like I’m ever privy to his grand plans.”

A car behind us honked its horn.

Patrick carefully pulled through the intersection.

Neither of us spoke the rest of the way to Doctor Felton’s office, each lost in our own thoughts, wrestling with our own questions.

“I’ll have to take another job with Delveccio just to pay for DeeDee’s emergency surgery,” I finally mused aloud.

“Kowalski’s kill fee should cover it,” Patrick said darkly, his hands squeezing on the steering wheel like he wished it were the other man’s throat.

Grinding his teeth, he parked the sports car in the same spot we’d parked in the previous day.

“So what did you think of my family?” I asked as we climbed out of the car. It was an admittedly lame attempt to lighten his mood, but it was all I could come up with on short notice.

“They’re...” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “…intense.”

I chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

“They love you very much,” he added softly.

I shrugged.

“C’mon,” he said, reaching out to grab my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “You’ve got to know that.”

“I know I’m the only one left,” I murmured, looking away. “That’s why it seems like they love me.”

“They don’t seem,” Patrick corrected. “They really love you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He stepped in front of me so that he could look into my eyes. “You really don’t believe it.”

“I believe it,” I said quickly. “It’s just that Darlene was Leslie’s favorite, and Marlene was Loretta’s, and Susan and Theresa always had a special bond, so I was always the odd one out.”

“So you’re your mother’s favorite?” Patrick asked.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Well it sounds like your aunts’ favorites corresponded to their own place in the family. The twins each gravitated toward a twin. Your Aunt Susan was the oldest and so identified with Theresa. You’re the second-born and so is your mom, right?”

I nodded dumbly wondering when and why he’d memorized my family tree. I never got to ask him though, because at that moment a terrible scream came from inside the vet’s office.

Chapter Twelve

Whirling around to face the building, Patrick drew his weapon. “Get back in the car,” he ordered.

Ignoring him, I followed closely behind as he approached the building.

There was another scream.

He charged the door.

I stayed on his heels.

“Police!” he shouted, throwing the door open and leaping into the waiting area, gun drawn, stance aggressive.

“Shoot it!” the vet’s assistant, Monica, screamed, brandishing a broom at poor Piss, the cat, perched on top of a filing cabinet.

Patrick lowered his gun. “Ma’am, I don’t think…”

Monica swung the broom at the cat, who yowled her displeasure, leapt from the filing cabinet, and scrambled across the floor to hide under a table laden with “Spay or Neuter Your Pet” literature.

Monica chased after her, jabbing at the cat like some insane chimney sweep.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Stop that!”

Ignoring me, she took another vicious swipe at the trapped animal.

Pushing past Patrick I yanked the broom from the other woman’s grip, raised it overhead and threatened, “How would you like it if I chased you around with this?”

Monica paled.

Reaching around me, Patrick plucked the broom from my fingers. “I think everyone should calm down.”

“I hate that cat,” Monica spat. “Hate her.”

I crouched down and eyed poor Piss who was trembling against the back wall. Her one good eye was a narrow slit, watching me warily.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” I coaxed. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“I’m going to kill her when I get the chance,” Monica promised from behind me.

Turning, I glared up at her. “Maybe you need a job where you don’t work with animals.”

“That’s not an animal. Piss is pure evil,” the woman countered, incensed.

“Maybe you could go tell the doctor that Miss Lee is here to see her dog,” Patrick suggested.

“Fine!” the vet’s assistant flounced away down the hall.

I turned my attention back to the cat. “C’mon out. It’s safe. I’m not going to let her hurt you.”

“Promise?” she mewled weakly.

“I promise.”

She crept forward and sniffed my outstretched hand before shoving her head against my palm.

I stroked her soft fur soothingly. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

She moved closer, standing up on her rear legs so she could rest her head against my knee. I rubbed the spot behind her good ear and she arched her back contentedly.

“Okay if I pick you up?” I asked.

“Yes,” she meowed softly.

Gently scooping her against my chest, I stood up. “There you go,” I soothed softly. “You’re safe now.”

Suddenly aware that Patrick was watching, I looked over self-consciously at him.

Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the wall, a bemused expression dancing in his eyes.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head. “With everything else going on, you still manage to be compassionate to a cat.”

“It’s easier than being nice to a person,” I countered quickly.

Leveraging himself off the wall, he stepped close to me. “You’re pretty amazing, Mags.”

A warm flush spread from my chest to my face. Needing to hide my reaction to his compliment, I snuggled my nose into the cat’s fur.

“Do you think I can pet her?” Patrick asked. He held the back of his hand up to her face so that she could sniff him.

“What do you think?” I asked the cat. “He won’t hurt you.”

“Okay,” she meowed softly.

“I think it’s okay,” I told Patrick.

Moving slowly, so as not to startle her, Patrick gently stroked the side of her face near her injured eye.

She purred her delight.

“I think she likes us,” Patrick murmured.

I looked up at him, thinking I liked “us” too.

“DeeDee’s doing great,” Doctor Felton announced, bursting into the waiting room. Halting abruptly, he stared at us. “You’re holding her. No one ever touches Piss.”

I looked down at the cat purring in my arms. “Why not?”

Shaking his head, the veterinarian motioned for us to follow him. “DeeDee should be able to go home tomorrow. I just want to keep an eye on her for another day to make sure no infection sets in.”

“Maggie! Patrick! Maggie!” DeeDee woofed excitedly when she saw us.

Doctor Felton opened the door to the crate DeeDee was in. Grabbing her collar so she couldn’t leap out and hurt herself he urged. “Easy, girl.”

I dropped to my knees in front of her so that she could excitedly lick my face. The cat squirmed in my arms, but didn’t jump away despite the big dog’s proximity.

“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie,” she panted. She looked up expectantly at Patrick. “Meat?”

I laughed. “I think she’s hungry.”

“Sorry, girl,” Patrick patted her head. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

“Hungry,” she whined softly.

“Has she had anything to eat?” I asked the vet.

“A bit,” he answered.

“She ate a whole bowl,” God intoned. “I on the other hand haven’t had anything.”

I looked around trying to figure out where he was hiding. Finally I spotted him in a corner. “What are you doing over there?”

“The beast tried to crush me,” he complained.

“You have a very vocal lizard,” Felton said.

I sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You seem to have a real way with animals,” he continued.

I shrugged. It wasn’t like I could tell him that I can communicate with them.

“Maybe you’d like to adopt Piss?” the vet asked hopefully.

The cat stopped purring. Her body went rigid.

“No!” God shouted. “We agreed, no carnivores!”

“I don’t think…” I began.

Piss squirmed out of my arms, jumping to the floor.

“It’s just that I’m moving out of my own place and in with my aunts,” I tried to explain.

“I get it, Sugar,” she drawled, slinking away. Her Southern twang was thicker than usual, signaling how upset she was.

“She’d make a good outdoor cat too,” the doctor opined desperately.

“She’s a sweetheart, but she’s blind in one eye, missing half an ear, and it looks like something ate the end of her tail,” Patrick said drily. “Somehow I don’t see her coming out on top in a street fight.”

“Please,” the vet begged. “She’s been here over a year and no one will take her. Monica, my assistant, hates her.”

“Meaning when they argue about me, they don’t bang boots,” Piss hissed cattily.

“I’ll give you a discount on the bill for your dog’s surgery,” the vet bargained. “A good discount. A great discount.”

I bit my lip feeling sorry for the cat doing her best to hide her heartbreak and look like she didn’t care about the outcome of the conversation.

“I’ll throw in a year’s worth of cat food and flea collars,” the vet negotiated.

“No carnivores!” God shouted.

“Shut up!” I yelled back at him.

Startled, the vet snapped his mouth shut.

“Not you,” I muttered. “God.”

“God?” Felton asked, perplexed.

“God!” Doomsday barked.

“The lizard,” Patrick supplied helpfully. Walking over to my reptilian housemate he crouched down and held out his palm so that God could climb on it.

They’d bonded when we were in Atlantic City.

“What’s wrong, little guy,” Patrick asked. “Is DeeDee getting all the attention?”

God clambered onto his hand and squeaked.

At least to Patrick and the vet it sounded like a squeak. To me it sounded like, “I forbid you to bring that carnivorous creature into our home.”

“I have to think about it. I have to talk to my aunts. Can I let you know tomorrow?” I asked.

“Absolutely not!” God thundered/squeaked.

“If you take her tomorrow, and never, ever bring the cat back, I’ll take care of the dog’s entire bill,” the vet offered, sweetening the deal even more.

His desperation made me nervous. “Just what is wrong with her?”

“Nothing!” the cat lifted her tail, twitching it like she was doing some sort of royal wave or something.

“Well,” the doc admitted grudgingly, “she is difficult.”

“Maybe because you call her Piss,” I countered.

“And she’s been known to engage in destructive behavior,” he admitted.

A vision of Piss ruining my aunts’ antique furniture made me wince.

“Only after that awful woman shot me with water, or chased me with the broom, or put out that horrid…” she shuddered violently, “…horrid seafood cat food that she knows I despise.”

“Home take?” Doomsday whined softly.

“Doctor Felton says you have to stay one more day,” I told her, resting my forehead against hers. “Then I’ll take you home.”

“Stay God?” she panted worriedly.

I looked to the lizard, waiting to see what he’d do.

“I’ll keep an…I’ll watch over her tonight,” Piss offered.

DeeDee’s ears perked up. “Sing?”

I frowned, not relishing the idea of singing to the dog in front of my murder mentor or the vet.

“She means the caterwauling carnivore,” God explained. “She yowled all night. The tone deaf mutt loved it.”

“Maybe he’s hungry,” Patrick said, holding God up to his face to peer at him closely.

“He is,” I replied.

“Okay, so I’ll be back tomorrow to pick up DeeDee and to let you know about…” I bent down to look the cat in her good eye and whispered so that only she could hear, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me your name?”

She regarded me with stony, sphinx-like silence.

“I’ll let you know about the cat,” I told the vet.

I pressed a kiss to DeeDee’s snout. “Be a good girl. Rest and do what the doctor says, okay?”

“Okay,” she panted.

Patrick patted the top of her head with his free hand while God looked down at her from his perch on Patrick’s other hand.

“Until tomorrow, beast.”

“God bye.” She climbed back into her crate and lay down, resting her head on her front paws.

I rushed out before my heart broke or I started crying again.

I waited beside the red sports car for a few minutes until Patrick came out. When he did, he was carrying a tissue box, which he held out to me.

“I don’t need that.” I lifted my chin defiantly, not wanting him to think I was a crybaby.

“God’s in here,” he said.

“Take me home!” God yelled. “Feed me crickets!”

I grabbed the box from Patrick.

“Earthquake!” God shouted.

I stared down at him through the opening in the cardboard. “You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t played stowaway,” I reminded him sternly. “So quit your bellyaching.”

“It’s a lizard, Mags,” Patrick raising his eyebrows, reminded me, climbing into the driver’s seat.

I got into the car. “I know that.”

“Sometimes, the way you talk to animals, it’s like you think they can understand you,” Patrick said, his concern for my mental health evident.

“Of course they don’t understand me.” The forced laugh I made sounded more like the caw of a dying crow than genuine amusement.

“Smooth,” God mocked.

“You could take the cat,” I said to Patrick. “She likes you and cats can be left alone for long periods of time.”

“I don’t need a cat,” Patrick said, pulling out of the parking lot.

“I know you don’t need one,” I wheedled, “but she could use a home.”

“Where to?” Patrick asked, effectively ending the cat conversation. “The B&B or the hospital?”

“God’s food is at my apartment.” I told him.

“The hospital,” God demanded imperiously. “I want to see Katie.”

Sighing I told Patrick, “But I don’t think he’ll starve if we go to the hospital first.”

“Okay.”

“You really don’t have to play chauffer for me all day,” I said. “If you drop me off at the B&B I can get my car.”

“No can do,” he said.

“Why not?”

“For one thing, Griswald wants someone on you 24/7.” Pulling to a stop at a red light, he gently touched my bruised cheek. “For another, Kowalski is still out there. Besides,” he joked, “I’m on the clock and am getting paid time-and-a-half to babysit you.” He returned his attention back to the road as the light turned green.

I relaxed into my seat feeling protected.

“Have you told him about the rats yet?” God asked as though he sensed I was growing complacent.

I shuddered at the memory of the dead rats that had been nailed to the front door of my apartment weeks earlier.

“Cold?” Patrick asked.

“Just a chill,” I choked out.

He glanced at me worriedly, then focused on his driving.

“So you haven’t told him?” God prompted.

I shook my head slightly, hoping Patrick wouldn’t notice my communication with the lizard.

“You should. It might be an important clue,” the lizard said knowingly. “He can do a better job protecting you if he has all the facts.”

I frowned, knowing he was right. I took a deep breath, and blurted out, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter Thirteen

“So weeks ago you come home and there are dead rats nailed to your door and you didn’t think to mention it?” Patrick asked, stalking across the visitors’ parking lot of the hospital.

I chased after him, trying not to jostle the tissue box. “You were away. You’d taken Daria,” I said defensively reminding him of the road trip he’d taken with his college-aged daughter so that she could be with her mother.

“And you didn’t think to mention it when I got back?”

“It was only one time.”

Coming to an abrupt halt, he spun around. I careened into him and would have fallen over if he hadn’t grabbed my arms to keep me upright. He glared down at me with more than a hint of anger in his gaze. He shook me, as though he wanted to shake some sense into me.

“Careful!” God yelped.

“What else haven’t you told me, Mags? What else are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” I twisted free of his grip and continued walking toward the hospital entrance. “It’s just that not everything in my life is your business.”

“Tell him about the phone call,” God urged.

Patrick fell into step beside me. “I get that you need your privacy, but when somebody nails dead rats to your door, you should tell me,” he said with forced calmness.

“Tell him,” God prodded.

“Well then.” I stopped at a crosswalk to let a delivery van speed by before crossing the road to the hospital entrance. “You’re probably going to say I should have told you about the phone call too.”

“What phone call?” Patrick asked, now eerily calm.

I started across the crosswalk. “Some guy called my house phone.”

“The one you keep under the bed?” Patrick asked.

My cheeks burned as I remembered the time we’d rolled around in that bed. “Yes. He called and said, ‘We want the jewels. Tell the rat we want the jewels and if we don’t get ’em, his family is gonna pay.’ and then he hung up.”

I’d crossed the road before I realized Patrick was no longer beside me. I turned back and saw that he was still on the other side of the road, staring into the distance.

“He’s probably counting to ten,” I muttered.

“I said you should have told him at the time,” God reminded me.

Patrick crossed the road. “When did you get the call?”

“A couple of weeks ago. Right after you got back.”

“On your home phone?”

I nodded.

“I’ll look into getting the incoming calls traced.”

My cellphone buzzed.

I thrust the tissue box at Patrick, so I could get the phone out of my pocket. “Hold him.”

I glanced at the display.

My heart stuttered.

I started to shake.

“Who is it?” Patrick asked worriedly.

“The hospital,” I said, taking off for Katie’s room at a dead run.

I was barely aware of God screaming, “Ow! Ow! Slow down!” as I raced through the hospital with Patrick, carrying the lizard-in-a-box, on my heels.

Flying past the nurses’ station I ignored them calling out to me.

Rounding the corner, I barreled into Katie’s room at top speed.

I was barely able to stop when I saw the blood streaked across the floor. I looked to Katie’s bed and found it empty. Her monitors were overturned, the visitor’s chair was on its side, and Aunt Susan’s afghan lay on the ground. There had been a struggle.

A cold sense of dread overtook me as I realized that US Marshal Weller hadn’t been standing guard in the doorway.

In an instant I’d known what had happened. Paul had gotten to Katie. He’d hurt her. Maybe he’d killed her.

I’d lost Katie too.

My heart stopped.

I fell to my knees and screamed.

It was a scream straight from my soul. A scream so intense it tore up the inside of my throat, leaving the flesh raw.

And then I was crying.

Great heaving sobs that shook my whole body, threatening to tear me apart.

“Mags,” Patrick yelled as though from a great distance. He knelt down pulling me against him.

“No!” I shrieked. Turning all my pain and anger on him, I lashed out, slapping his face, pummeling his chest. “You said she’d be safe! You said she’d be protected.”

“Maggie stop it!” God yelled.

I ignored him, continuing to beat on Patrick who made no move to stop me. “You promised,” I wailed. “I hate you!”

His stoic acceptance of my attack angered me even more.

“It’s not his fault,” God called out.

“I’m going to kill you!” I howled, wrapping my hands around his throat.

“Stop it!” a woman screamed, close to my ear. “Stop it, Maggie!”

I ignored her too, intent on hurting Patrick.

Suddenly my scalp burned and my head snapped back. The woman was yanking my hair, pulling me off Patrick.

Grabbing her wrist with both hands I struggled to free myself.

“She’s okay,” the woman insisted breathlessly. “Katie is okay.”

Trying to make sense of her words, I twisted to get a better look at my assailant.

She looked back at me with eyes that were both familiar and unrecognizable. “She’s safe, Maggie.”

All the fight left me and I slumped to the ground. Resting my cheek on the tile floor, I stared at the blood.

Releasing her grip on my hair, she knelt in front of me. “She’s safe.”

I looked up at her, convinced that I was in shock and hallucinating.

“Breathe, Maggie,” she urged.

“And don’t start screaming again,” God suggested, walking into my line of vision. Grabbing my chin, he pulled himself up onto my face. “You scared me half to death. Who is this woman who had the good sense to pull you off Patrick before you seriously hurt the poor man?”

“Marlene?” I whispered, not sure I could trust my own eyes.

She nodded. “Can you sit up?”

She helped me move into a sitting position.

God scrambled over my face, climbing on top of my head.

Raising a trembling hand, I reached out to touch my younger sister, something I hadn’t done in years. Her cheek was soft, and warm, and real beneath my fingers. She looked so much older than I remembered, so much harder, so much sadder.

The image of her as a teenager, tugging on my sleeve at the carnival, asking me if I’d seen her twin, Darlene, danced before my eyes. I’d ignored her plea, more worried that our mother was about to get herself in trouble, but it had been Darlene who’d needed my help. It was Darlene who’d ended up dead. It was Darlene I’d failed to protect.

Familiar guilt clawed at my gut. My failure to protect her twin had resulted in alienation from my surviving little sister. Seeing her watch me with such concern, the guilt was too much to bear.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She glanced over my shoulder and then returned her gaze to mine. “I don’t think any permanent harm has been done.”

I shook my head. “It was my fault.”

“No one’s blaming you,” she said gently.

“You blame me.” Tears clogged my throat making it difficult to force out the words I’d been waiting to say for years. “You blame me and you’re right, it was my fault. If I’d been watching, but I wasn’t…”

“What are you talking about?” Marlene asked.

“It’s my fault Darlene’s dead.”

Shocked that I’d said the words aloud, Marlene stared at me.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the condemnation in her eyes.

“What?” she asked, wanting me to repeat it.

It wasn’t any easier to say a second time. “It’s my fault Darlene’s dead and I’m sorry.”

“You think I blame you?” she asked incredulously.

Nodding, I opened my eyes.

“I thought you blamed me,” she confessed on a whisper. “All this time, I thought…”

It was my turn to stare at her.

“Now’s when you hug and make up,” God coached in a whisper.

Marlene stared at the top of my head. “You have a lizard in your hair.”

“He’s Katie’s,” I explained, throwing myself at her, wrapping her in the tightest hug imaginable. “I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you.”

“I screwed up, Maggie.” Her voice was strung taut with self-recrimination.

“We all screw up,” I told her. “Then we move on.”

“And screw up differently,” God opined.

Marlene pulled back, eyeing the squeaking reptile on my scalp with something close to disgust. “Speaking of screw-ups, have you seen Dad?”

“You mean since he escaped from prison?” I asked.

She laughed. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen him. Have you?”

“No, but he called me.”

“What did he want?” I asked curiously, wondering how he’d known how to get in touch with her, but deciding it wasn’t the time to ask.

“He wanted me to come here. He wanted me to see you. He wanted me to answer a question.” She looked at me expectantly.

I stared at her, still struggling with the idea that she’d been out of my life for years, but that he’d been able to contact her within hours of escaping from prison.

“What’s the question?” she prompted.

“I’m supposed to ask you where the treasure chest is. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

She thought about it for a long moment. “He always used that stupid voice, you know the one that sounded foreign, when he said the treasure chest is in the Marlene, but I never knew what he meant.”

I smiled at her imitation of Dad’s silly voice.

“Perhaps it’s a riddle,” God opined.

“Does it always squeak like that?” Marlene asked, frowning at the lizard.

“It’s a he, not an it,” I hurried to explain. “And his name is Godzilla, but he prefers God for short.”

“Not too pretentious,” she mocked.

“Katie named him,” I explained.

“Katie’s in the next room,” Marlene said. “You should go see her.”

Standing, she reached down to help me to my feet.

“But the blood?” I asked, surveying the chaotic scene.

“Not hers,” she said, pulling me upright.

I wobbled unsteadily, weak. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t here. All I know is that she’s been moved to the room next door. C’mon. You can see her for yourself.”

Turning slowly, I saw that Patrick was watching us from the doorway. Angry red welts ran down his face from where I’d clawed at him. His expression, as he stared at us, was unreadable, but a muscle twitched in his jaw, signaling his tension.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were inadequate. My attack had been unforgivable.

The apology hung between us for a long uncomfortable moment. I had the distinct impression that I’d broken something between us that wouldn’t be easily repaired.

He raised his arm, holding something out to me. “It was in the corner. You should give it to her.”

Realizing he held out Katie’s stuffed dinosaur, Dino, I stepped forward to take it from him. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I have to figure out what happened here.”

“The Fed got his ass kicked by a broad,” a male voice said. Delveccio stepped around the corner.

I swallowed nervously. If Patrick’s expression was unreadable, Delveccio’s was an open book. He looked pissed.

“Vinnie says it was the same broad who was skulking around yesterday,” the mobster continued looking at me pointedly.

“Aunt Leslie?” I asked, bewildered.

“The high maintenance one,” Delveccio clarified.

“Blanche,” I muttered. “I knew I didn’t like her.”

“Who?” Marlene asked.

“Leslie’s Narcotics Anonymous sponsor,” I replied.

“Aunt Leslie is off drugs?” my sister gasped, shocked.

“For now.” I focused on the mob boss. “He’s sure it was her?”

Delveccio nodded. “She shivved him.”

“What?” I asked, trying to imagine the overly made-up tart knifing the efficient Marshal Weller.

The mobster shrugged. “It’s what Vinnie said. The Fed is in the emergency room and cops are questioning my knuckle-head nephew.” He looked at Patrick as he said it.

Nodding, the redhead said, “I’ll go check on the marshal.” He turned to leave, then spun around. “Wait here until I come back.”

I nodded my agreement and he left.

“I figured it wasn’t safe for your niece to be unprotected so I had her moved into Dominic’s room,” Delveccio said.

“Who’s he?” Marlene asked.

“My grandson. Who are you?” The mobster eyed her with a speculative gleam in his eyes.

For the first time I noticed her short skirt, high heels, and barely-there shirt. “This is my sister, Marlene,” I answered hurriedly.

“Another one of Archie Lee’s kids?” Delveccio asked, staring at Marlene.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Thank you for keeping Katie safe.”

“You saved Dominic from that prick Alfonso.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Figured the least I could do was offer your niece the same protection.”

“He’s the boss?” God asked incredulously.

My “rescue” of Delveccio’s grandson from being smothered by his own father, Alfonso, is common knowledge around the hospital. What isn’t known by any living souls beside Delveccio, Patrick, and God is that the mob boss paid me to off his ne’er-do-well son-in-law.

“I thought he’d be more intimidating,” God mused.

Delveccio squinted at my squeaking head. “Are you wearing a lizard?”

“I’m not wearing him,” I corrected, plucking my reptilian fascinator from my hair. “I was bringing him to see Katie and in all the excitement…I lost his box.”

God stuck his tongue out at me. “That cardboard prison is not mine.”

Delveccio was still staring at him.

“Have you ever heard of pet therapy?” I blurted out. “They say it can reduce pain, anxiety, depression, and fatigue.”

“No bull?” Delveccio asked, seeming impressed.

I shrugged. “So they say.”

“Well then you should take it in to her.” The mobster motioned for us to follow him.

Grabbing Marlene’s hand, afraid that if I didn’t hold onto her tightly she’d disappear from my life again, we went into the adjoining room.

We had to skirt around a couple scary looking dudes I assumed were Delveccio’s hired muscle.

On the far side of the room, little Dominic lay in his bed, quiet and still.

Katie lay in the bed closer to the door. Her blue eyes were open and she seemed alert.

“Hi there, babygirl,” I cooed, releasing Marlene to lean against the side of the bed so that my nose practically bumped Katie’s. I waved Dino in her face and then tucked it into the bed beside her.

Her gaze focused on mine.

“Look who I brought to see you,” I said, holding up my palm so that God was balanced near my eyes.

“Hi, Katie!” The curmudgeon actually sounded happy to see her.

She gurgled a reply.

My breath caught in my throat and tears filled my eyes. It was the first time she’d tried to vocalize a response.

“That’s good, right?” Delveccio murmured from behind me. “Really good?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off my niece. “I love you, babygirl,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “You are my favorite niece in the whole wide world.”

She smiled at me. She actually smiled.

I had my niece back.

Overcome with emotion, I turned around to share the special moment with my sister.

But she was gone.

I’d lost my sister.

Again.

Chapter Fourteen

I stayed with Katie until she fell asleep, ignoring the fact that Delveccio’s two goons kept checking out my ass.

Finally, when I was sure she was out cold, I scooped up God, who’d also fallen asleep, and left the room.

The hallway was crowded and an argument, albeit one conducted in hushed whispers, ensued.

God stirred on my palm, opened one eye, and then went back to sleep.

Griswald, flanked by two guys in suits who were no doubt marshals too, argued with Delveccio and Vinnie. Patrick stood off to the side, watching the exchange carefully. I looked to him for guidance, but his eyes revealed nothing when they met mine.

“Miss Lee,” Griswald called, noticing me. “Do you know this man?” He inclined his head toward Delveccio.

I swallowed hard remembering Patrick’s advice to tell the truth or deny everything. “Of course I do,” I pointed at the room I’d just left. “His grandson has been in the room next to my niece’s for her entire stay here.”

“And you two have a relationship?” Griswald asked.

I felt the mob boss’s gaze on me, but I looked at Griswald as I answered his question. “Sure. I know pretty much everyone on the hall. You spend enough time here, you get to know everyone.” I nodded toward the next room. “Benny Calado is in there. He’s a teenager. Got drunk and wrapped his mom’s car around a telephone pole one night. His folks are divorced, but they both come to visit. Rita is here during the week and John on the weekends…which sounds like an amicable arrangement, but really it’s because Rita gets plastered on the weekend.”

Griswald looked bored by how well I knew the other visitors.

“But,” I said, sticking to the truth. “Mr. Delveccio and I do have a special relationship.”

Interest flickered in the marshal’s gaze. “You do?”

I nodded. “And I’m not proud of it.”

“Don’t…” the mobster warned in a menacing tone.

I gave him a reassuring smile. He looked confused.

“We both love the hospital’s chocolate pudding,” I confessed to Griswald, “and we’ve been known to indulge in it together.”

Griswald looked disappointed. I tried to not look too self-satisfied, but in truth I was patting myself on the back. If anyone did any asking around about myself and the mobster, all they’d get was further confirmation that we ate pudding together.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around making my sweet tooth public knowledge, Ms. Lee,” Delveccio said, doing a good job of looking like his Achilles heel had just been exposed.

Another marshal in a suit rushed up to Griswald and whispered in his ear.

Frowning, Griswald asked me, “Any idea why your aunt’s supposed sponsor, Blanche, would dose my guy and then stab him?”

“Dose?” I asked.

“According to tests they’ve run on him, he was given a sedative, and according to Weller the only way that could have happened was when she brought a cup of coffee for your aunt, who, it so happened wasn’t in the room, so Blanche gave it to my man.” Griswald glared at me as though it were my fault.

I shook my head. “I met her yesterday. I took an instant dislike to her.”

“I’m going to have a team go over the room. Maybe they can find something,” Griswald didn’t sound too hopeful.

“But they’ll leave Katie alone?” I asked.

The marshal nodded.

“Thank you.”

“We were just discussing what to do about her security,” Delveccio said.

“I’m putting two men on her door until we can figure out what this Blanche, or whatever her name is, woman wanted,” Griswald said.

“And I’m keeping my guys inside,” the mobster countered.

Griswald eyed me. “It’s your call, Miss Lee, do you really want to entrust the safety of your niece to a reputed criminal?”

I looked at the door to the room and then at Delveccio. “He won’t hurt her,” I said quietly. “He owes me.”

“Owes you what?” Griswald asked suspiciously.

For a second I thought Patrick might have been wrong about telling the truth.

“She saved his grandson’s life,” another man piped in.

We all turned to see who had spoken. A short man, wearing a bowtie and clutching a pile of folders, blinked at us through fingerprint-smudged glasses. He looked familiar, but it took me a second to place him.

“It’s in the little girl’s file,” he said. “My predecessor, Stacy something-or-other, her name is in the file, documented the whole thing.”

Stacy. The former hospital social worker I’d befriended. That meant this was her replacement. Taking a closer look at him I realized he was the one who’d shown up during Kowalski’s rampage and had almost gotten himself shot.

“What are you doing here Mr. Withers?” Griswald demanded.

“I told you yesterday, Marshal Griswald. I’m the social worker assigned to Katie’s case.”

I wondered what Withers had said to the US Marshal about my family while Patrick and I had been seeking emergency medical care for my dog.

“And you say you’ve got documentation that she,” Griswald looked at me pointedly, “saved his son?”

“Grandson,” Withers, Delveccio, and I corrected simultaneously.

Withers handed the marshal a file and then moved toward me, extending his hand. “We haven’t officially met, Miss Lee. I’m Albert Withers. I’ve been assigned to your niece’s case.”

I awkwardly extended my left hand, unable to shake with my right because I held a sleeping lizard. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Withers. I know this looks bad, but I promise you, I can give Katie a stable home.”

He raised his eyebrows.

I winced, realizing he’d not only been shot at by a guy I’d dated, but he’d met my aunts. My heart fell and I almost dropped God.

“Hey,” the lizard groused drowsily. “Pay attention.”

Withers cocked his bald head to the side, examining the lizard.

“Pet therapy,” the mobster supplied helpfully. “You think something like that would help my boy?”

Withers shrugged and then walked away to make a note in the file the marshal handed back to him.

Patrick’s phone buzzed and he followed the social worker.

“You really took a chair to the guy’s head?” Marshal Griswald asked with grudging respect.

I nodded.

“Good for you.” He switched his focus to Delveccio. “So you really do owe her?”

The mobster nodded.

“And you won’t let any harm come to her niece?”

“I don’t hurt kids,” Delveccio growled, deeply offended.

“Okay,” the marshal agreed. “My guys outside, yours in.”

“You should take this,” Patrick said, marching toward me, holding out his phone. “It’s the vet’s office.”

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Either you take her, right now, or I’m going to kill her,” the veterinarian’s assistant Monica shrieked.

“If you hurt my dog….” I began, but stopped when I saw the alarmed look Patrick gave me. “I’ll sue,” I finished lamely, deciding it wasn’t a good idea to threaten to kill someone in front of US Marshals.

“Piss!” she screamed. “I’m going to kill the cat. I’ve already got the syringe filled.”

I gripped the phone tighter and started to ball my other hand into a fist.

“Ow!” God protested. “Delicate skin. I have delicate skin.”

“Leave Piss alone,” I said into the phone, which garnered me strange looks from the marshals and mobster. “I’ll be right there. I think. Wait. Hold on a sec.” Pressing the phone into my shoulder so she couldn’t hear the conversation I asked, “Can I go?”

“You call your dog Piss?” Delveccio asked, appalled.

“It’s a cat,” Patrick explained.

“Oh,” Delveccio nodded sagely. “That makes sense. Cats are a whole other ballgame.”

“Leave?” I demanded of Marshal Griswald. “Yes or no?”

He nodded. “As long as Mulligan takes you.” He looked to Patrick for confirmation.

“As long as the department is authorizing overtime, I’m taking it,” Patrick said.

“I will be there in fifteen minutes,” I said into the phone. “Don’t you dare hurt that cat.” I handed the phone back to Patrick. “Let’s go.”

We hurried through the hospital.

“You cannot bring home that carnivore,” God ordered.

“Kowalski was spotted,” Patrick said at the same time.

I stumbled at the mention of my attacker’s name. Patrick grabbed my elbow to keep me from pitching forward. I shook loose from his grip immediately, not deserving kindness from the man I’d falsely accused of allowing someone to hurt Katie.

“I was just trying to help,” Patrick muttered, stopping in his tracks.

“I know,” I said, slowing my steps. When he didn’t follow, I was forced to stop, turn and face him.

“Uh oh, he doesn’t look happy,” God said.

That was putting it mildly. Patrick, hands on his hips, glared at me through narrowed eyes.

I swallowed hard, a guilty lump cutting off my air supply. “I don’t deserve your help,” I said, hating the way my voice cracked.

He shook his head and stepped closer. “Where do you get these crazy ideas?”

“Good question,” God interjected.

“The things I said.” I carefully laid my fingers against his face, tracing the welts I’d left. “What I did.”

Tilting his head, pressing his cheek against my hand, he offered me a half-smile. “Maybe I’ll let you make it up to me.”

His suggestion ignited a hot flush throughout my body, which was immediately cooled when he yanked himself away as a nurse, studying a chart, bustled past.

“So about Kowalski,” clearing his throat, Patrick rubbed his cheek where I’d touched him. “Couple of beat cops saw him go into your place.”

“So he’s in custody?” I asked hopefully. That would be one less thing to worry about.

“Afraid not. He got away.”

“There’s only one door to my place,” I reminded him. “How the hell could he escape?”

Patrick shrugged. “Internal Affairs is looking into it.”

“Meaning the cops let him go?” I stopped walking.

“He ransacked your place looking for something.” Patrick turned around to face me. “He’s got friends on the force, but so do I. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I didn’t believe him, but I started moving again. I might not be able to keep myself safe, but there was still time to save the cat.

“That was smart back there,” Patrick tried to change the subject as we walked. “Telling Griswald up front you’ve got a relationship with Delveccio, and supplying those details about the kid in the next room was brilliant. Made it seem like everyone knows everyone’s business there.”

“They do,” I said as we stepped outside. “If he talks to the nurses, they’ll all tell them they’ve seen Delveccio and I together, but if the marshal asks he’ll find out I’ve spent just as much time with the family members of other patients.”

“Does he really like pudding?” Patrick asked.

I chuckled. “He certainly does.”

I got into the passenger seat of the car while Patrick rummaged around in the trunk. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, he offered me a small orange plastic box.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Usually I carry extra ammo in it, but I figured the lizard must be sick of standing in your hand.”

“He’s a good man,” God intoned.

Patrick smiled at the squeak. “I guess you don’t get lonely with him around.”

I didn’t answer. I just let God climb into the box.

“Ahh, heaven. It’s dry. Your hands sweat.”

Rolling to a halt at a stop sign, Patrick took the box from me and carefully laid it on the floor behind my seat. “He should be good there.”

“Let’s hope so,” I muttered.

“Are you okay, Mags?” the redhead asked.

“Define ‘okay.’ My aunt’s sobriety sponsor is some sort of Black Widow ninja, Dad’s still on the loose, Kowalski trashed my place, and Marlene has walked out of my life. Again. Does that sound okay to you?”

Patrick squeezed the steering wheel. “You’ll get through this. We’ll get the dog. We’ll get the cat. And we’ll get through this, I promise.”

“You know I don’t believe in promises, right?” I challenged.

He looked at me with a strange intensity. “But I believe in you.”

I fell silent hoping he was right, but fearing his faith in me was displaced.

Chapter Fifteen

We pulled into the parking lot of the B&B with Doomsday sprawled across the back seat and Piss curled in my lap.

Templeton walked out of the The Barn and waved a greeting. He strolled over to the car as Patrick gingerly lifted the injured dog out.

“Welcome back, girl.” Templeton stroked her snout fondly. She reciprocated by licking his hand.

Bending down, my aunt’s fiancé peered into the car and spotted Piss. “I’m not sure you want to go in there,” he warned. “It’s bedlam.”

“Bedlam?” Patrick asked.

“That Griswald fella is back and grilling Leslie about her N.A. sponsor and my Loretta’s being overly protective of her sister, in my opinion. Which is why I was banished out here. Because I dared offer my opinion.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Templeton. No one came between the sisters, even if they were in the right.

“I’ll bring the dog into the kitchen and then come back for you,” Patrick pledged.

“Susan is in there cooking up a storm, banging pot lids and slicing things with abandon,” Templeton warned.

“Hungry,” DeeDee whined softly.

“I’ll be careful,” Patrick promised, moving toward the house.

I got out of the car, clutching Piss to my chest.

“What’s her name?” Templeton asked, rounding the car to get a closer look at the bundle of fur.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “She hasn’t told me yet.”

He nodded like that made perfect sense.

He really wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday,” I began.

He raised a hand to silence me. “Don’t bother, Maggie.”

I blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”

“I know you hate me. Don’t bother to feel obligated to thank me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said a tad too quickly.

“You don’t like me,” he countered.

“I barely know you.”

He offered me a rueful smile. “You didn’t like me before we even met. You’ve had a hard life. I know that. I accept that. And you deserve to be happy, but so does your aunt. If you really feel the need to express your gratitude, just try not to show how much you despise me. It upsets Loretta.”

Before I could come up with a suitable reply, he strolled back toward The Barn, leaving me alone, hugging the cat.

“What’s not to like about him, Sugar?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. He’d defended me at Alice’s rehearsal dinner and saved me from Paul.

Hearing Aunt Susan fussing over DeeDee, I took advantage of her distraction, zipped through the house, and snuck Piss into my childhood bedroom.

Everything was back in its place, all evidence of the fight with Paul Kowalski removed. The box of shoes God had stowed away in wasn’t even visible. No doubt Aunt Susan had straightened up.

I closed the door so she couldn’t get out and then put Piss down on what had been Theresa’s bed. “So here’s the deal,” I lectured. “My aunts are not animal people so you have to be on your best behavior. That means no destroying anything. No singing all night. And absolutely no peeing in shoes or any other inappropriate vessels. Do you understand?”

She stretched lazily, testing the bed cover with her claws.

“Please,” I begged. “I’m doing my best here, but my life is a mess. I need your help to make this work. No peeing and no shredding. Okay?”

She looked up at me with her one eye, “You treat me right, I’ll do whatever you want, Sugar.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you thanking the cat for?” Patrick asked.

Whirling around, I realized he’d opened the bedroom door and walked in carrying a tray laden with food and drink. God was curled up in the bottom of a crystal bowl, sleeping.

“Close the door,” I whispered. “You should have knocked.”

He backed into it, pushing it shut. “I did.”

“He did,” the cat confirmed.

“When you didn’t answer I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep, so I figured I’d just peek in. You were talking to the cat.”

He raised the tray. “Where do you want this?”

I pointed to the other bed. “You can put it on there.”

Moving gracefully across the room, he carefully laid it on the bed. “Susan figured you should eat something and I agreed with her.”

The cat sniffed the air. “What about me?”

As though he understood her, Patrick pulled the top piece of bread off a turkey sandwich and held out the meat. “C’mere, kitty,” he coaxed, crouching down.

Piss jumped off the bed and went to nibble daintily on the offered morsel.

“She’s so polite,” Patrick marveled.

She swallowed her food, wiped her mouth with her paw, and then said, “I’m a Southern lady.”

“You’re sure Susan said we could eat in here?” I asked. “We were never allowed to take anything up to our room when we were kids. Not even a glass of water.”

Patrick shrugged. “She said the quieter, calmer atmosphere up here would be better for your appetite. Gotta say I agree with her.”

“It’s bad down there?”

“Have some,” he held up a mug of vegetable soup to me. “Susan said you should eat this first, otherwise you won’t eat your veggies.”

I took the cup from him and perched on the side of the other bed so that we were facing one another.

Patrick took a sip from another mug of soup. “I’ve known Griswald a while. I’ve seen him chase down and interrogate hardened criminals, but I’m pretty sure your aunts may be his match.” He looked around the room. “Interesting color-scheme.”

“I shared this room with Theresa. She got to decorate half and I did the other side. Unfortunately our aesthetics weren’t complimentary.”

“Which side was yours?” he asked. Before I could reply, he said, “Scratch that. The pink, wanna-be-princess side, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“It looks like you. Sweet. Dreamy.”

I laughed. “Me? Sweet and dreamy?”

He nodded, putting his cup back on the tray. “Yeah. You try to hide it behind that rough, tough exterior, but inside you’re all rainbows, ballerinas, and unicorns.”

“I can think of a lot of people who’d disagree with you.”

Leveraging himself off the bed, he crossed the space separating us and knelt in front of me. “But they don’t know you like I do, Mags.”

The intimacy of his tone and the intensity of his gaze as he studied my face made my body flush with unexpected heat.

I looked down at him, the scratch marks I’d left on his face looked red and painful.

“Someone who’s sweet and dreamy wouldn’t have attacked you like I did,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. I looked away, ashamed at what I’d done. “I’m so sorry.”

I would have removed my hand, but he trapped it against his face with his own, flattening it so that his stubble scratched my palm.

“I don’t think you’re all sweet and dreamy,” he said, using his other hand to gently turn my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re also one of the most passionate people I’ve ever met. Sometimes that gets you into trouble.”

“That’s an understatement,” I snorted.

“But I like it,” he murmured, sliding my hand across his face so that he could press his lips to the sensitive skin at the inside of my wrist.

A delicious tingle of sensation zipped through me.

“I flipped out and I blamed you,” I protested weakly. “I hurt you.”

“We have matching war wounds,” he teased softly. Released my wrist so he could trace the outline of the bruise on my cheek.

Reminded of how stupid I’d been about Kowalski, I twisted away from Patrick’s touch.

He rocked back on his heels, giving me space, watching me closely. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have….not here…in this room…”

The guilt in his voice lanced through me.

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” I tried to explain. “Not that way. I was just thinking I’d been so stupid when it came to him.” Agitated and not liking the worry I saw in Patrick’s gaze, I jumped to my feet, moving away, leaving him kneeling on the floor. “It was all a set-up right? Him pulling me over in the squad car that first night?”

He slowly got to his feet. “Probably.”

Pacing nervously, I nodded. “But I didn’t see that. I had no clue.”

“Whoever these people are, they had a plan that’s a lot bigger than you could have imagined,” Patrick said softly.

I stopped pacing and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“They had Kowalski working you, that Blanche woman insinuating herself into Leslie’s life, and who knows what else going on.”

“I appreciate you trying to let me off the hook, I really do,” I told him in a rush, my voice high and strained. “But the fact is that when I met him, I actually believed he was attracted to me, when all he really wanted was what he thought I had. You tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t do this,” Patrick said, his voice low and anguished.

“Don’t do what?” My voice cracked on a note bordering hysteria.

“Don’t let him win. Don’t shortchange yourself.” He took a step toward me to offer comfort I sorely didn’t want. “Don’t—“

“Shut up,” I moaned.

“Don’t think for one moment,” he continued relentlessly, moving so close I could feel his body heat along with his anger, “that I tried to warn you about Kowalski because I suspected he was up to something.”

Surprised, I stared up at him. A storm of emotion crackled in his eyes as he stared down at me. Transfixed, I couldn’t move, couldn’t protest.

“My motives weren’t good or pure. I wasn’t looking out for your best interest,” he confessed, self-disgust dripping from every syllable.

“W-what are you saying?” I asked, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“I did it because I was jealous.” He bent to whisper in my ear. “I did it because I couldn’t stand the idea of him touching you.”

Everything in my body spontaneously melted and I swayed unsteadily.

Patrick pulled me to him, whether to keep me upright or because it was an excuse to touch me, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just reveled in the way my soft curves filled in the spaces between the hard lines of his body. If heaven existed, it was being held in this man’s arms.

Suddenly he twisted away, leaving me bereft and left to fight gravity on my own. He sat down on the bed, burying his head in his hands.

“I keep screwing this up,” his tone raw and bitter.

“Are they always like this?” Piss drawled incredulously from the spot on my dresser she occupied.

“If you mean sexually constipated,” God replied from the crystal bowl on the tray, “always.”

Throwing himself backward so that his back was pressed against the bed, Patrick covered his eyes with his arm. “I swear, I’m not trying to mess with your head.”

His t-shirt, which had come untucked when he’d pulled DeeDee from the car, rode up, revealing an inch of flesh above the waistband of his jeans. My fingers itched to touch it as awareness prickled through my body.

“I know I have to keep my distance. I know that,” Patrick continued, oblivious to the fact I was moving closer to him. “Rule Number Three: Don’t get emotionally involved. It’s unprofessional, and could be dangerous, and.—“

As he spoke, I reached out, knowing that getting involved with this dangerous, married man was stupid, but I just didn’t care anymore. My hand trembled as I stroked his exposed skin.

He froze. He stopped talking. He stopped breathing.

Reveling in how warm and soft he felt, I slid under his shirt, splaying my fingers against his side.

“Mags,” he hissed, half warning, half plea.

Slipping my thumb beneath the waistband of his jeans, I traced a circle on his hidden skin.

He let out a shuddering gasp and I felt a jolt of delight knowing I could affect him so strongly. Emboldened I slid my hand across his belly feeling his muscles jump against my palm.

Uncovering his eyes, he stared at me with white-hot longing. “Tell me you know this is a mistake.”

I met his gaze steadily. “It doesn’t feel like a mistake.” I grazed his hipbone with my fingernails.

“You’re upset,” he reasoned, gritting his teeth, fighting for control. “This is not what you really want.”

“This is what I’ve wanted since the first time you took me to the barn,” I admitted. Replacing my hand with my lips, I nuzzled his skin.

“I don’t—“ he began.

I silenced his protest by licking his flesh, loving its texture beneath my tongue, loving the taste of him.

Groaning, his hips bucked off the mattress.

I reached for the button of his jeans, but had barely touched it when he moved. Suddenly he’d hauled me down onto the bed against him with a tormented moan.

His mouth, tasting faintly of Susan’s soup, was on mine hot and demanding, a potent mixture of heat and power aroused my most feminine instincts. His wild abandonment both shocked and pleased me as he yanked at my shirt, impatient to get the same chance to touch skin as I’d had.

I shivered with pleasure as my core rocked against the evidence of his arousal. I’d done this to him. I’d broken through the reserve that always shrouded him.

I’d thought I’d experienced a passionate embrace with him before, but this was different. It was evident in the way his mouth clung to mine, drinking me in. I felt it in every feathery caress as his hand worked its way down my spine, tattooing a seductive pattern of delight. I knew it from the way he grasped my chin possessively, his touch both tender and savage, claiming me, branding me.

Wrenching his mouth from mine, he buried his face in my neck, teasing the vulnerable skin with licks and nips that left me squirming against him. Slipping an arm around my waist, he pinned me to him increasing the pressure against my core.

“Patrick,” I moaned, wanting more, needing more.

In a quick, fluid motion, he flipped us over so that he was now on top. Lifting his head, he stared down at me, his eyes glittering with a want so intense and primitive, my heart sped up.

I clung to his shoulder, feeling like the world was spinning at a dizzying pace.

He closed his eyes for a long moment and when he reopened them, I saw the flames of desire had been banked by compassion and tenderness.

“The things I want to do to you,” he gasped, his breath, like mine, came in short, choppy gasps. “But this isn’t the time, this isn’t the place.”

A chill settled over me as the meaning behind his words set in. He was doing it again, abandoning this red-hot desire that burned between us. It wasn’t enough for him.

I wasn’t enough.

Tears pricked the back of my eyelids.

“No,” he hurried to say. “I want this. You’ve got be believe me, Mags. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before, but not like this.”

A tear trickled out of each of my eyes. “It’s okay,” I choked out. “You don’t have to say that.”

Shaking his head away, he brushed my tears away with a gentle touch. “I don’t want to rush it. I want to be able to savor it. I want to be able to protect you. I want to make love to you, Mags.”

I swallowed hard, wanting to believe him.

“But I don’t want to do it on a twin bed worrying that one of your aunts is going to walk in on us. You can understand that, can’t you?”

I nodded slowly. “My head gets that. My body, not so much,” I joked as an errant shockwave of arousal shuddered through me.

“That,” he said, his fingers trailing tantalizingly down my stomach to rest on the fastening of my jeans, “we could do something about.”

And I believe we could have, but at the moment God crooned in his best Marvin Gaye impression, “Let’s get it on. Let’s get it on.”

It totally ruined the mood.

Which ended up being a good thing because we heard high heels rat-tat-tatting toward the room.

Like two teenagers afraid of getting caught naked, we leapt apart. Patrick sat on the opposite bed, tucked in his shirt, and smoothed his hair. Grabbing a mug of soup from the tray with both hands, he held it out like it was some sort of shield.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and answer calmly, when Loretta knocked on the door.

While she prattled on about what a brute Marshal Griswald was being to Leslie, Patrick and I shared a secret look.

I saw the unspoken promise in his eyes that what we’d started we’d soon finish.

If we both lived long enough.

Chapter Sixteen

Loretta convinced Patrick to go play mediator between Aunt Leslie and Marshal Griswald, leaving me alone in the room with the lizard and cat.

“Eat something,” Patrick urged with a sexy wink as he pulled the bedroom door shut behind him. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Told you he was your man, Sugar,” Piss drawled, pleased with herself. She scratched at something on the floor.

I offered her another piece of turkey to shut her up. “No destroying things,” I reminded her.

“What about me?” God asked.

“You see a cricket sandwich here?” I asked, forgoing Susan’s healthy soup in favor of one of her out-of-this world BLTs.

“The Geneva Convention guarantees me a right to food,” he groused.

“You’re not a prisoner,” I told him. “I can put you out in the yard and you can hunt your own damn crickets.”

“But you—“ he began.

I held up a hand to silence him. “It was your choice to go see Katie. It’s not my fault that things worked out the way they did. It was your choice to stay with DeeDee—“

My cellphone buzzed, interrupting me. Pulling it from my pocket, I saw an unfamiliar number displayed.

“I told you I can’t help you, Dad,” I said, answering the phone.

“But can you help your Jewel?” Paul Kowalski’s menacing tone snaked through the speaker.

My blood ran cold. My knees gave out and I sank down onto the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, Maggie?” Kowalski mocked.

“What do you want?”

Something in my tone must have given me away, because suddenly I had three eyes trained on me intently.

“A trade,” Kowalski said. “You give me what you want and you can have Jewel back.”

“Maggie?” Marlene’s voice, weak and afraid, drifted out of the phone.

“What do you say?” Kowalski asked. “I mean I know Jewel’s nothing but a cheap whore to me, but what is she worth to you?”

“Her name is Marlene,” I told him.

“You can call her whatever you want,” he taunted. “I’m calling her my bitch.”

“Don’t you hurt her,” I warned.

Kowalski laughed, a cold, heartless sound that felt like a physical slap. “You are not in a position to call the shots anymore. No cops. No Feds. Nobody shows up with you. You leave your phone right where it is. You bring them to me.”

I didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew if I told him that he’d kill Marlene. “Where?”

“The place I wanted to take you to dinner,” he said. “You remember that, Maggie?”

“I remember.”

“Good. You’ve got one hour. No phone. No friends. Nobody but you, me, and Jewel. We’ll have some fun before you get here, and then once you’re here,” I could hear the malevolent smile in his voice. “Once you’re here we’ll get to our unfinished business. You cross me, Maggie, and she’s dead.”

He disconnected the call.

Hands shaking, I put down the phone.

“What are you going to do?” God asked.

“I have to go meet him,” I said.

The lizard clambered out of the crystal bowl. “Without back-up?”

“What choice do I have? You heard him. He’ll kill her.”

“He’ll kill you both.”

I nodded, knowing he was probably right. “I have to try.”

“Your gun is at the apartment. Even the poison is at the apartment.” God paced the length of the tray nervously. “You don’t even have the element of surprise on your side.”

Ignoring our conversation, Piss scratched at the floor. Deciding I had more important battles to wage I didn’t try to correct her behavior.

“I have my lucky shark’s tooth,” I joked weakly, crossing the room to open the closet door. Sure enough Aunt Susan had put my box of shoes in there. I rummaged through and pulled out the shark’s tooth Armani had given me weeks earlier as a good luck token.

“Seriously?” God asked.

“It’s sharp,” I said.

“Gut the thug with it,” Piss suggested, taking a break from destroying the floor.

“You haven’t seen the size of this guy,” God told the cat worriedly.

“Hey, the croquet mallet is in here. I can take that too.” I held it out for the lizard to see.

“Yeah,” he drawled sarcastically, “because the mallet worked so well on the monster last time.”

“Your negativity isn’t helping,” I told him.

“Neither are your delusions,” he countered. “Where are you meeting him?”

“Artie’s.”

Piss wrinkled her nose. “I know that place. It has the stinkiest fish in town.”

Artie’s is a steak house, but the proprietor, an old friend of my father’s, had an insane love of fish, so it had a nautical theme and too much seafood on the menu. “Maybe that’s why it was closed down months ago by the Health Department.” I muttered, rifling through my old desk.

“What are you doing now?” God asked. “Looking for a pencil so you can stab him in the eye?”

“I’m leaving a note.” I pulled a piece of paper out of an old notebook and began to scribble on it with the stub of a purple crayon.

“What are you saying?” the lizard asked nosily.

“I’m asking my aunts to feed you live crickets for Katie’s sake, give DeeDee a good home, and to apologize for dropping Pi—the cat, in their laps,” I said.

“You should tell them you love them,” God suggested.

“If I do that, they’ll know for sure I thought I was going to die. This way, they’ll think I thought I had a chance,” I said.

“Delusional,” God muttered.

“There’s something here,” Piss said from the floor.

“It’s called wood,” the lizard sniped.

“No,” she insisted in a pitiful whine, “I think you should see it.”

“Do you want me to tell them your name?” I asked the cat.

“Trust me, Sugar, you really need to see this,” she insisted.

Putting my note aside, I dropped to the floor, realizing she’d pulled up the very board I’d put back into place moments before Paul’s attack. “What did you find?” I asked, knowing I hadn’t left any treasures hidden in the floor.

I pulled out a four-inch-square black velvet box.

“Maybe it’s your father’s loot from the bank heist,” God guessed.

I frowned. “You watch too much T.V. No one talks like that.”

“Open it,” Piss urged.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” I cautioned.

She narrowed her good eye at me. “Cats have nine lives.”

Flipping open the box, I knew that whatever I found inside I wasn’t going to like.

I stared at the contents disbelieving.

“What is it?” God asked. “Is it the missing jewels?”

“No,” I said, slowly, “but maybe it is.”

“Seriously delusional,” God muttered.

“It’s jewel cases,” I said, holding up the empty CD holders for him to see.

“So when they said they want the jewels…,” God began.

“They might have meant these,” I finished.

“But they’re empty,” Piss reminded us both.

“My dad told me to ask Marlene where the treasure is,” I told the animals. “If he thought I’d find these and they’d be a map of sorts…”

“Then the contents are wherever he said the treasure is,” God concluded.

“It can’t be,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because he said it’s in Marlene.” I gathered up the empty jewel cases. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Going after Kowalski by yourself doesn’t make any sense,” God warned, pacing the edge of the serving tray.

“If I tell anyone he’ll know,” I said, searching the drawer of the desk. I found an old pair of scissors and stuck them in my back pocket. “I have to go alone. It’s the only chance I’ve got to save her.”

“Please don’t do this,” God implored, wringing his little front feet. “You’re not going to be able to save her and you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“You’ll be taken care of,” I promised him.

“I’ll take care of you, Sugar,” Piss pledged.

He shuddered at the thought. “Take me with you,” he begged me. “I can be a scout. A lookout.”

“Not this time,” I said gently. “Katie needs you more than I do.”

I bent down so that I was eye level with him. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

He shook his head.

“Please?” I wheedled.

He looked away.

“C’mon,” I said, not quite believing I’d been reduced to bargaining with a lizard.

“No. You’re making this choice. I don’t have to support it.”

“Don’t you see how impossible this choice is? Everything I’ve done over the past few months has been for my niece, but I can’t turn my back on my sister when she needs me.”

“That’s not the choice,” God argued. “You’re making the choice to do this all alone. That’s what I disagree with.”

Annoyed that I was wasting precious time arguing with a reptile, I straightened and moved toward the door.

“At least leave it open in case we have to get out,” God demanded.

Looking back at Piss, I said, “Try not to kill him.” Then I walked out, leaving the door open the barest of cracks.

I snuck downstairs unnoticed, got outside, and took off at a run.

I couldn’t be late for my rendezvous with Kowalski.

Chapter Seventeen

The restaurant was dark when I reached it. Its parking lot was deserted, draped in ever lengthening shadows. The only sound that greeted me was the evening song of crickets.

God would have heard a smorgasbord. All I heard was how alone I truly was.

I approached the door cautiously, still breathing hard from the three mile race-walk I’d just completed to get here.

I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for visiting a kidnapper. Was I supposed to knock?

I leaned my forehead against the glass of the door, trying to see inside.

Something banged into the other side of the glass. Startled, I jumped away. Tripping over my own two feet I fell to the ground with a body-crunching smash.

The door opened and Paul Kowalski stepped outside, the silhouette of his body barely visible in the waning light. “Glad you could join us.”

Catching a glimpse of a glint of silver, I realized he had a gun pointed at me.

“Come inside,” he said.

Scrambling to my feet I asked, “Where’s Marlene?”

“I can’t believe that Jewel, one of the best whores to work the street, is the sister of the woman who wouldn’t put out for me,” Kowalski taunted.

I’d actually been very close to putting out for him the night we’d met, until God had reminded me that I had a gun stuck under my mattress. I didn’t tell Paul that, instead I said, “So you’re in the habit of paying for sex?”

Even in the darkness I could see his body stiffen as my zinger met its mark.

“Smart mouth on you,” he muttered. “I never liked that. We’ll see how much of a wise ass you are when I’m done with you. Get inside.”

Even though his threat sent a chill skittering down my spine, I held my ground. “Where’s Marlene?”

He chuckled. A sound so evil the hairs on the back of neck stood at attention. “She’s inside. Where are the jewels?”

“In here,” I lifted one of Theresa’s old Hello Kitty pocketbooks that I’d used to transport the jewel cases.

“Get inside,” a woman’s voice ordered as something hard was jammed into my ribcage.

Turning slightly, I found Blanche, Leslie’s “sponsor,” standing beside me, holding a gun.

“Did anyone follow her?” Kowalski asked.

“No. I tailed her from the house to here. No one followed her,” Blanche replied. She gave me a dismissive once over. “For the record, you run like a wounded duck.”

I nodded. It was a fair assessment. I do tend to waddle when I run.

“Pat her down,” Kowalski ordered. “Make sure she isn’t wired and doesn’t have a phone.”

“You try anything funny,” Blanche warned, “and I’ll kill you and Kowalski will do your sister. Understand?”

I nodded.

She gave me a quick and efficient pat-down that would have made an airport TSA employee proud. I winced as she yanked the scissors out of my pocket.

“Seriously? This is your pathetic attempt to defend yourself?” She shoved me hard, knocking me off balance.

Kowalski stepped aside as I stumbled into Artie’s. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the even dimmer light, most of the illumination was provided by the floor to ceiling aquarium on the far wall.

I looked around, surprised that it looked pretty much the same as the last time I’d been inside it.

Cheesy.

Red-and-white checked tablecloths covered the tables. Commercial fishing nets were draped from the beams of the ceiling. Twelve feet worth of stuffed blue marlin, the personal catch of Artie’s owner hung on the wall. Sand buckets held the condiments on every table.

It was cheesy and it smelled like rotting fish.

I fought the urge to retch, regretting my earlier BLT indulgence.

“Give me that,” Blanche ordered, reaching for the Hello Kitty bag.

I clutched it to my chest, “I want to see my sister. I want to know she’s okay.”

“You’re in no position to bargain,” Blanche sneered.

Ignoring her I looked at Paul. “Which one of you is in charge?”

“Bring her out,” Kowalski shouted, unable to ignore my challenge.

I held my breath as footsteps shuffled in from another room.

“Maggie?” Marlene called. Her voice was hoarse and her face was red like she’d been crying for a long time.

I turned to give her a reassuring smile, but the muscles in my face refused to work when I saw who stood behind her, holding her arm. Six feet, two hundred pounds of violence topped by one ugly, familiar face.

“You,” I gasped.

He grinned. “Surprised to see me, Maggie?”

I nodded. My legs felt rubbery as cold dread pooled at the base of my spine.

“You two know each other?” Marlene asked, horrified.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” I asked, having regained a measure of composure. Frank Velicky was the abusive ex-boyfriend of my best friend Alice. We’d had a number of run-ins. One had involved me breaking a vase over his head when he’d tried to drag Alice out of my apartment. The last time I’d seen him, he’d attacked Alice and Aunt Susan in the backyard of the B&B. Doomsday and an old friend of mine, Zeke, had come to the rescue then.

“You don’t read the papers, do you?” Frank mocked. “If you did, you woulda known I escaped from prison with your father.”

I suddenly had a terrible sinking feeling.

“He’s a feisty one,” Frank continued. “Like father, like daughter, I guess. We drag his ass out of prison and how does he repay us? By running away the first chance he got, but we got the upper-hand didn’t we, old man?”

“They killed him in the kitchen,” Marlene cried. “He stabbed him and let him die.”

I knew then that I couldn’t save her.

I’d deluded myself into thinking I could take out Paul on my own, but now with Blanche standing behind me and Frank holding onto Marlene, I knew we were doomed.

I’d failed to help Darlene at the carnival and now I couldn’t protect her twin.

“I’m sorry, Marlene,” I whispered. Remembering God’s earlier suggestion, I added, “I love you.”

Blanche ripped the bag from my hands and tore the zipper open. The empty jewel cases fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Shit!” Blanche swore. “They’re empty.”

“You double-crossing, bitch!” Kowalski crossed the room and swung at me.

I tried to duck, but Blanche shoved me into the blow. His fist bounced off my shoulder.

Marlene screamed.

“You have one chance,” Kowalski threatened. “One chance to tell me where they are, or Velicky is going to break every bone in her body.”

To illustrate the point, Frank twisted Marlene’s wrist. She whimpered pitifully.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked rubbing my shoulder. “What’s so important about the discs that you’d throw away your life? You’re a cop who’s the subject of a manhunt. Why?”

“I hated being a cop. Taking orders all the time. Cleaning up other people’s messes. I wanted more.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Blanche interjected testily.

“Shut up,” he growled. “I want her to understand. An opportunity came my way. A chance to make some real money, and I took it.”

“By breaking the law?” I asked.

“At first it was just looking the other way. Then I took on the occasional job. Then I got into the lucrative part of the business. I kill people for money, Maggie,” he said expecting me to be horrified.

I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, “Me too.” Instead I looked him in the eye and asked, “Who the hell would pay to have me killed?”

He shook his head. “It’s not about you. It’s about the discs, where are they?”

I glared at him defiantly, letting him think I knew.

“You’ve got until I get to one,” Kowalski said. “Ten.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blanche back away from me, taking herself out of the line of fire.

I closed my eyes, thinking hard. The treasure is in Marlene.

“Nine.” Kowalski counted down.

The treasure is in Marlene. Dad had been convinced I could figure it out. That’s why he’d told me to find her and ask her.

“Eight.”

I imagined Dad’s silly accent.

“Seven,” Kowalski warned.

I opened my eyes and looked around the smelly, cheesy restaurant with the floor-to-ceiling aquarium that still bubbled. I watched a small school of bright yellow fish zip by.

“Six.” Kowalski glared at me.

“Why are we here?” I asked.

“Five.” A vein pulsed between his eyes.

“Whose idea was it to meet here?” I asked.

“Four.”

“It was Dad’s,” Marlene called out. “He made them bring me here.”

“Three,” Kowalski raised his gun, holding it level to my head.

I imagined Dad’s voice, “The treasure is in the Marlene.”

“Two.”

Hearing what sounded like dribbling water, I looked down to see Piss peeing on Kowalski’s foot.

“Swim, Sugar,” she meowed.

Seeing the cat, Kowalski kicked at her.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I lunged for his gun. I heard a gunshot ring out and then a percussive force filled the room.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the aquarium disintegrate and a giant wall of water whooshed into the dining room as Kowalski turned the gun back toward me.

The rushing water swept our feet out from under us both as he squeezed the trigger. The shot whizzed past my ear as I fell to the floor. Knowing that I was no physical match for him, I crawled away from Kowalski. My hand pressed down on something metal as I scrambled across the floor. The scissors.

Beams of light cut through the murky darkness. Shouts of “Drop your weapons!” “Don’t move!” and “U.S. Marshal” filled the air almost drowning out Marlene screaming “Maggie!”

Gunfire erupted.

Oblivious of the real possibility I could be shot, I struggled toward the sound of my sister’s voice, the water weighing me down.

Spotting Frank Velicky dragging Marlene toward the back exit, I threw myself at them. Catching him off guard, I managed to knock all of us to the ground. I grabbed Marlene and pulled her tightly to me, thinking there might have been something to Armani’s tug-hug theory after all.

Marlene clung to me, sobbing hysterically, as I tried to drag her out of Velicky’s reach.

He grabbed her ankle and yanked hard and suddenly we were locked in a macabre game of tug-of-war.

“Gut the thug, Sugar,” Piss yowled from her dry perch on top of a table.

I didn’t think the shark’s tooth would do the job, but the scissors might. In one smooth motion, I plunged them into Velicky’s hand.

His scream of agony was suddenly the loudest sound in the room. As he raised his gun at me with his uninjured hand, two shots rang out, catching him in the chest. Falling backward, his blood mixed with the salt water covering the floor.

I turned to see Marshal Griswald lowering his weapon.

Marlene screamed yet again.

Wondering how she wasn’t totally hoarse yet, I moved to comfort her, but suddenly an arm wrapped around my throat, yanking me off my feet.

“Get out,” Paul Kowalski demanded, turning so that my body was a shield, draped over his.

Across the room, Griswald trained his weapon on us. Griswald looked determined. I realized that Patrick was there too, but he had his hands full subduing Blanche who was doing her best to stomp on his instep with her stiletto. Patrick glared at Kowalski, pure hatred in his gaze.

Kowalski tightened his grip, his forearm crushing my windpipe. “Get out, or I kill her,” he told the marshal and the detective.

Looking up I realized we were standing beneath the stuffed marlin. The irony almost killed me.

I clutched at his arm that was cutting off my air supply.

“Use the tooth, Sugar,” Piss mewled softly.

Keeping one hand on Kowalski’s arm, I used the other to find my “lucky” necklace. I grabbed the hardened point between my fingers. I knew it wasn’t going to be enough, but it was all I had.

I looked at Patrick, trying to signal him that I was going to make my move.

His expression had morphed to pure anguish as he’d realized he couldn’t help me.

“On three, Sugar,” Piss said.“One.”

I tensed, preparing myself.

“Two,” the cat counted.

I concentrated all my energy.

“Three!”

I drove the pointy tooth into the tender flesh of Kowalski’s arm. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference if at that moment, Piss hadn’t launched herself at him.

Hissing and spitting, she clawed at his face.

Surprised by her attack, he let go of me.

“Drop!” Patrick shouted.

And I did. Hard. My knees absorbed most of the impact.

Kowalski threw the cat across the room. She hit the wall with a sickening thud and then scrambled to hold onto the tacky fishing nets strewn across the wall.

At the same time, Marshal Griswald fired.

Two more shots rang out and Kowalski’s body fell back, dead, before he hit the water.

Marlene screamed again.

“Shut up!” I shouted, unable to take her hysteria anymore.

Surprised, she blinked at me, but she mercifully closed her mouth.

I staggered to my feet, needing to help Piss, who was mewling pitifully. I limped across the room and gingerly lifted her from her precarious perch. “Shhhh,” I whispered. “I’m taking you home.”

Nestling herself in my arms, she purred contentedly.

I looked at the two men in the dining room. Griswald was barking orders into his cell phone. Having managed to cuff Blanche, Patrick held up Marlene. She clung to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning in an ocean, not wading through a flooded restaurant.

While his arms were around her, Patrick’s worried green gaze was on me.

I offered him a weak smile, trying to tell him I was all right, even though I wasn’t so sure.

“Marlene,” I called out. “Where’s Dad?”

“Dad!” she wailed, sagging against Patrick. “He’s in the kitchen.”

I slogged through the water toward the kitchen, Griswald closing in behind me.

“I have to take him in, Miss Lee,” he reminded me.

I glanced over my shoulder. “He’s dead.”

A look of shock flitted across his face, but he quickly replaced it with a harder, more professional expression. “Are you sure?”

“She,” I said, jerking my chin in Marlene’s direction, “says he is.”

We entered the kitchen with me clutching the cat and Griswald brandishing his weapon.

Santa Claus lay in a pool of blood on the floor near the stove. Of course, he wasn’t really Santa Claus, he was my father, a round man, with a white beard, ruddy complexion, and a proclivity for crime.

I swallowed hard when I saw him. He wasn’t my first dead body. But he was the first murder victim I’d seen that I’d loved.

“Shit,” Griswald growled, stalking away.

Piss jumped from my arms and went to investigate the body. Curious cats and all.

I leaned against a steel prep table, trying hard not to cry. My father was not the kind of person one should shed tears over. He’d made a mess of his life, driven my mom to the nuthouse (if you were to believe my aunts) and repeatedly let down his children as he chased after one harebrained scheme after another. His loss didn’t deserve to be mourned and yet I stood there feeling like my heart was breaking into a million pieces.

“Um, Sugar?” Piss wound between my legs.

I brushed away a few errant tears. “Yeah?”

“He’s still breathing,” she whispered.

“What?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s breathing,” she said.

Crouching down, I felt for a pulse in Dad’s neck.

He stirred.

And I screamed, louder and longer than Marlene ever could.

Griswald and Patrick thundered into the kitchen with guns drawn.

“He’s alive,” I told them.

Dad groaned as though to prove my point.

Griswald called for an ambulance, while Patrick bent down to provide first aid.

I leaned close to Patrick, soaking up his warmth, his strength. “Do you trust Griswald?”

He nodded. “Why?”

“Because I think I know where the jewels are.”

Chapter Eighteen

While the EMTs loaded my father onto an ambulance and Marshal Griswald questioned Marlene, I walked out to the parking lot to escape the sickening smell of rotting fish.

“Maggie!” DeeDee barked excitedly.

I rushed over to where she was lying on the grass beside the asphalt. “What are you doing here?”

“Effort team,” she replied with a big toothy grin, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

I stroked her forehead. She didn’t feel warm, so I guessed she wasn’t running a fever. “I don’t understand. What’s an effort team? How did you get here? Why are you here?”

“What the grammatically-challenged beast should have said,” God hidden in the shadows corrected, “is that it was a team effort.”

“What was?” I asked, squinting into the darkness.

“Getting here. Rescuing you,” he explained.

“Safe Maggie,” DeeDee said, nuzzling my hand.

I stroked her side distractedly. “It’s been a long couple of days, explain it to me like I’m an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” God decreed.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“She was well-meaning, bless her heart,” Piss said, emerging from the shadows. “Be nice to her if you want dessert.”

Realizing God was riding on the nape of her neck, holding on with one hand, and grasping a half-eaten cricket in the other, my mouth dropped open. “What happened to her being a killer carnivore?”

“She’s an excellent hunter,” God said, chomping on a cricket leg like it was a piece of extra-crispy chicken.

“God feeds,” DeeDee supplied helpfully.

“Eee eans—“ God began.

“I know what she means,” I interrupted. “She means that the cat’s fed you so now you’re all buddy-buddy with someone you thought was your mortal enemy twenty-four hours ago.”

Piss lay down so that the lizard could hop off her.

“We worked together for a common goal,” he told me in his most superior tone. “Saving your sorry excuse for a life.”

“Effort team,” DeeDee panted in agreement.

“Care to explain?” I asked the cat.

She sat down, licked her paw, and blinked her good eye innocently. “We led your man to you, Sugar.”

“How?” I asked.

“Well, I knew where this place was, so God figured that if DeeDee were to get loose chasing after me,” she held up her front paws to make air quotes, “your man would try to catch her. So that’s what I did. I ran past the dog, God yelled at her to follow us, she did, and Patrick gave chase.”

“Wow,” I murmured imagining the picture that must have made.

“About two miles into our incredible journey, Patrick got a call from the marshal that you were missing.” God continued the story. “I will say that for a biped he’s quite perceptive. He figured out we were on our way to find you and had the marshal meet him here.”

“Visiting your heroes, I see.” Patrick walked over to join me at the edge of the lot. “I don’t know how they knew you were in trouble, but they led me straight here. They saved your life.” He reached out and pet Piss. “And this one deserves extra credit.”

“She certainly does,” I murmured.

“What were you thinking, Mags?” He continued to pet the cat. “Why’d you come here alone?”

“Kowalski called. He had Marlene,” I turned in time to see Marlene climbing into the back of the ambulance with our father. “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t come alone. I believed him.”

He didn’t reply so I figured he was mad at me. Finally he spoke, “Griswald’s on his way over.”

I watched the marshal approach. “Who else escaped from the prison?” I asked Patrick quickly.

“Your dad, a low level con, Frank Velicky…the guy shot first in there, and Sergei something-or-other, a pretty high ranking member of the Lubovsky crime family.” Leaving Doomsday’s side, Patrick scooped up Piss. “Money is on it being the Lubovsky organization that arranged the escape. It had to have been an inside job, and the only one connected to that kind of pull is Sergei.”

Griswald joined us. He rubbed his face, as though trying to erase the exhaustion that had settled there “Your sister is riding with your father to the hospital. My men are following.”

I nodded.

“I need you to tell me exactly what happened here, Miss Lee.”

“Kowalski called. He said he’d kill Marlene if I didn’t come alone.”

Hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his dress pants, he frowned at me sternly. “What did he want?”

I’d faced down multiple murderers, so a bent-out-of-shape Federal officer didn’t scare me. I cocked my head to the side. “What is it you want, Marshal?”

He blinked, confused that I’d gone on the offensive. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not really after my father,” I guessed, petting DeeDee to stay calm. “You’re after whatever he stole from that bank.”

Griswald looked to Patrick, who shrugged.

“I don’t think that he stole gems. Who the hell steals gems from a bank?” I continued boldly. “I think he stole something else. Something a lot of people seem to think is worth killing over.”

The marshal cocked his head. “Did he tell you that?”

I shook my head. “Despite what everyone seems to think, I’m not my father’s confidante.”

“What do you think he stole?” Griswald asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. I just want my normal life back,” I replied.

“Ha!” God mocked from the sidelines.

Griswald looked in the direction of the squeaking sound. “What the hell was that?”

“The lizard,” Patrick and I answered simultaneously.

Shaking his head, Griswald said, “I can’t tell you what was stolen. It’s need-to-know information.”

“How’s that working for you?” I asked. “You’ve been chasing after whatever was taken for years and bodies are piling up.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he began to pace. “I do believe I’ve misjudged you, Miss Lee.”

I shrugged.

“I read the police report about the incident concerning Delveccio’s grandson. You do know he’s a mobster, don’t you?”

I nodded. “I read the newspaper.”

“His son-in-law was a criminal too,” Griswald continued, “yet according to those reports you managed to beat him in a fight.”

“I didn’t beat him,” I corrected. “I escaped him and security happened to burst in.”

“But you attacked him?” Griswald asked.

“He was smothering a child with a pillow.”

“Most people would have run away, called for help,” Griswald said. “You tried to stop him. Now tonight you came here alone to face down a man who, according to your aunt’s fiancé and the hospital social worker, came awfully close to raping and killing you.”

“To protect my sister,” I said defensively.

He held up a finger to silence me. “So what that tells me is that you have a strong sense of right and wrong. You protect the weak. So now I have a question for you.” He stopped in front of me, staring into my eyes with a burning intensity.

My hand that had been rhythmically stroking DeeDee’s fur stilled.

“Your father is a career criminal, your mother is mentally ill, and your sister has faced numerous solicitation charges,” Griswald listed.

I flinched at the description of my highly dysfunctional family.

“What I need to know,” Griswald continued, “is whether I can trust you.”

“Considering my pedigree, I’d guess not,” I said in my most sarcastic tone.

He chuckled. “Guess I deserved that.” He looked at the police and marshals milling around the entrance of the restaurant. “Is there someplace private we can go talk? Preferably some place quiet where there are chairs and coffee?”

“My apartment?” I suggested.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Patrick tense, but he didn’t say anything.

Griswald nodded. “I’d like that.” He glanced at the red-headed cop. “I could use some back-up on this one. Off the clock.”

Patrick nodded his agreement.

“No more overtime,” Griswald said. “No time and a half, but I’ll buy you a drink when we’re done.”

“Big spender,” Patrick mocked.

“I’ll owe you one,” Griswald said.

“You’ll owe me another,” Patrick reminded him good-naturedly. “But I’m curious. Why do you need me?”

“Because I know you’re an honest cop.” Griswald looked at the men working. “And because I’ve got a leak, which means I can’t trust anyone on my team.”

Chapter Nineteen

All six of us rode to my apartment in Griswald’s car. The marshal and detective rode in the front, while DeeDee, Piss, God, and I snuggled in the back. Even though Patrick knew exactly where we were going, he played dumb and let me give driving directions to Griswald.

When we got to my place, I put God in his terrarium. DeeDee made a beeline for my bed and started snoring within moments. Piss explored the place.

I made coffee while the two men sat at my kitchen table watching me. “I don’t have much food,” I rummaged in the fridge.

I plopped a couple of jars of olives onto the table and tossed in a box of vanilla-iced cookies.

“Interesting combo,” Griswald said, “but I’ll take it.”

“Salty and sweet,” Patrick murmured.

I blushed, remembering the last time he’d said that to me. I was glad my back was to the men as I fumbled for coffee cups.

Once everyone had their drinks and excuse for food, Griswald began to speak. “This is highly classified information, so I’m going to ask you both not to speak of it outside this room.”

He waited for Patrick and me to nod our agreement.

Piss leapt into my lap, fixing her good eye on the marshal.

“You’re right. Archie Lee didn’t steal gems from that bank,” Griswald said. “He stole computer discs, or as the Lubovsky organization calls them, jewels.”

“What’s on them?” Patrick asked.

Griswald shook his head. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Why do they call them jewels?” God called from the other room. “That’s gangster vernacular I’ve never heard before.”

Apparently, due to his excessive television viewing, he was up on all the gang slang.

“Why do they call them jewels?” I asked the marshal, knowing that if I didn’t, God wouldn’t shut up about it.

“They like to give things cute code names,” Griswald said dismissively. “In this instance, they call them by their carrying cases. Then, when the robbery went down, some idiot cop,” he glanced at Patrick. “No offense.”

“None taken,” the redhead replied easily.

“Anyway,” Griswald continued, “some idiot cop, who’s there as a customer when the robbery went down, hears the robbers yelling back and forth about ‘who has the jewels?’. He assumed they were talking about valuable gems so that’s what everyone was looking for.”

“But he went to jail for stealing jewels--“ I began, thoroughly confused.

“You didn’t pay much attention to your father’s trial, did you?” Griswald asked.

I shook my head. “No. My sister Theresa went, but I didn’t even follow it in the paper.”

“Your father wasn’t convicted of the robbery. They nailed him for the murder of the teller,” Griswald supplied.

“He says he didn’t do that,” I told him.

Griswald nodded. “That may be the truth. The security cameras were disabled. He was convicted on one person’s testimony.”

Patrick cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Let me guess: the idiot cop?”

Griswald nodded tightly.

Patrick frowned. “How come you’re so involved in the case? Bank robberies fall under the FBI’s jurisdiction.”

Griswald frowned before admitting. “It’s my brother’s case.”

“Your brother is an FBI agent?” I asked

He nodded.

“So you’re thinking that law enforcement runs in your family, so criminality runs in mine?” I didn’t think he was wrong. After all, my dad was a career criminal and I was a paid assassin.

Griswald shrugged. “Why’d you bring a Hello Kitty bag full of CD jewel cases to the restaurant?”

“Because I found them hidden under a floorboard at the B&B.”

“Technically I found them,” Piss corrected.

I looked down at the cat in my lap. “Okay, the cat found them.”

“Where are the contents?” Griswald asked.

I worded my reply carefully, heeding Patrick’s advice to tell the truth. “They were empty when I found them.”

That was true. What I didn’t say was that I had a pretty good idea where the contents were hidden.

“Why the hell would anyone hide empty cases?” Griswald asked.

I shrugged. “My dad does a lot of weird things. He sold my sister’s Barbie Dream House to cover a gambling debt once.”

“But he hid them in a place where you could find them,” Griswald mused, unmoved by the Barbie story. “And Kowalski thought you had them. So what’s so special about you?”

I bit into a cookie. “Ugggh, these are terrible.”

“And stale,” Patrick muttered.

“Leslie brought them,” I explained. “She liked to keep munchies here…back before she got clean.”

“Focus, people!” Griswald snapped, slapping his palm against the tabletop. “Why did Archie Lee leave them for you to find?”

I’d thought about that question myself and I was pretty sure I’d come up with the answer, but I wasn’t about to tell that to the marshal. I was pretty sure that my theory was the only bit of leverage in this impossible situation. So I said, “His wife is in the loony bin, and I’m his only living child who doesn’t face arrest on a semi-regular basis. Maybe he thought I’m the most stable member of the family.”

I smiled at the irony of that statement. Not only was I a semi-professional hitwoman, I actually believed I could talk to animals.

Griswald was not amused. “But you weren’t.”

“The most stable?” I asked.

“The only living child who hadn’t been arrested. At the time your father went to prison, your other sister was still alive, wasn’t she?”

I nodded.

“Which would explain why they made a move on your niece,” Griswald surmised.

“They think a barely-out-of-a-coma little girl knows where my father hid some discs?”

“They were probably trying to send a message,” Griswald said.

“But I didn’t know where the discs were,” I protested.

“Maybe it was a message for your father,” Griswald countered. “I’d ask him, but according to a text I got from my men, he’s in surgery and there are no guarantees he’s going to make it. I need you to tell me where the discs are before anyone else gets hurt, Miss Lee.”

“He didn’t tell me where they are,” I told him, again sticking to the strict truth.

Griswald stared at me intently, I met his gaze levelly, knowing I’d told him the truth.

“Did your brother screw up the case?” I asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“My father’s escaped from prison before and I don’t remember marshals camping out on my doorstep,” I said calmly.

Griswald looked away.

I flicked my gaze in Patrick’s direction. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod of approval, letting me know I was handling the situation well.

Griswald sighed and then looked back at me. “He’d been building a case against the Lubovsky crime family. You’ve heard of them?”

“They’re the real deal,” God called from the other room. “Hardcore hooligans.”

“Hardcore hooligans?” I mocked.

Startled, Griswald stared at me. “I guess you could say that. Anyway, Glen, my brother, builds this case and then suddenly, the evidence gets lost in a bank robbery.”

“Hang on,” Patrick interrupted. “What the hell was the evidence doing in a bank?”

“You remember hearing a story about how a Federal building blew up because of a faulty gas line a few years back?” Griswald asked.

Patrick nodded.

“Evidence was there. Got blown to smithereens. But Glen had been worried there was a leak in the Bureau, so he’d made copies and stowed them in a safe deposit box under an alias.” Griswald turned his attention to me. “The bank your father and his crew robbed.”

“He didn’t usually work as part of a crew,” I said slowly trying to process this latest revelation. “And he says he didn’t kill that bank teller.”

Griswald nodded. “You believe him?”

I shrugged. “He sounds convincing.”

“He’s probably telling the truth,” Griswald confirmed.

It was my turn to stare at him. “You really think so?”

“The teller was a cop’s wife,” Patrick said quietly.

Griswald frowned. “The cop’s wife was a key witness in Glen’s case. It was her idea to stash the duplicate discs at her place of work so they’d have easy access to them.”

I sat back in my chair. “And you think she was killed for it?”

Griswald nodded.

Patrick let out a low whistle.

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “There’s a leak in the FBI, cops let Kowalski get away after he attacked me, and you don’t trust your own men.”

“That’s only part of it,” Griswald said. “You’re forgetting that the robbery was performed by three men, but only your father was caught. It’s suspected that the two other robbers were Frank Velicky and Sergei Dubrof.”

“The three prison escapees,” Patrick reminded me quietly.

“My working theory is that Sergei got himself thrown into prison, recruited Velicky to help him, and they broke your father out,” Griswald said.

“Why?” I asked.

“That’s the million dollar question. For the life of me I could never figure out why he didn’t make a deal for his freedom with those discs. If he’d handed them over to the Bureau, he’d never have had to go to trial for the murder. It would have been pled down to next-to-nothing. Instead he chose to do time. Why?” The US Marshal stared at me as though he thought I knew the answer.

I shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense. My father spent his entire life trying to get around the system. He’d try an easy scheme instead of doing hard work. If he had something that would make his life easier, he would have taken it.”

“Unless he was protecting someone,” Patrick murmured.

Surprised, I looked to him, but he stared steadfastly at the container of stale cookies.

“Protecting who?” Griswald asked sharply.

Patrick picked up a cookie. “His daughter.”

“Me?” I gasped, shocked.

Raising his eyes to meet mine, he shook his head. “Marlene.”

“The hooker! Of course!” Griswald crowed.

I looked from one man to the other. “I don’t understand.”

“The Lubovskys are heavily into the sex trade,” Griswald said.

I still didn’t understand, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot by saying so. I nodded as though I understood.

“If someone in the Lubovsky organization,” Patrick said quietly, as though he knew I was still in the dark, “had their hooks into Marlene, they could have used that to get your father to rob the bank.”

“Which would explain why he worked with a team,” I murmured as the pieces started to fall into place.

Patrick nodded. “And it might explain why he didn’t cut a deal to save himself. He may have been trying to save her.”

I sat back in my chair, absorbing that possibility. Was my father really capable of that kind of sacrifice? I’d always seen him as a selfish man always looking for a quick fix, unable or unwilling to put the needs of others before his own. But what if I’d been wrong about him, like I’d been wrong about so many others?

“But that doesn’t explain why things are hitting the fan now,” Patrick said.

“Maybe she wants out of the life,” Griswald suggested. “According to the visitor’s log she’d been visiting him regularly for the past year. If he was going to make a move to trade the discs for her future, now would be the time.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because tomorrow a Grand Jury convenes against the Lubovsky family.” His phone buzzed and he glanced down at the display, but didn’t stop talking. “Without those discs, years’ worth of work goes down the tubes. With them, the good guys could win one.” Standing, he flashed his phone at me. “I’ve got to take this.”

He moved away, the phone pressed to his ear.

Patrick and I stayed at the table. When Griswald had moved outside, Patrick leaned closer to me and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Do you really think he’d do that for Marlene?”

He shrugged. “I think some people are willing to do just about anything for those they love.”

Something about the intensity of his tone made my stomach flutter.

Leaning back, he asked. “You know where the discs are, don’t you?”

I squinted at him. “What makes you think that?’

“Because, sweetheart, you said you didn’t know where they were, not that you don’t know where they are. Plus, you sort of told me you did back at the restaurant.”

“I have a theory,” I confirmed slowly.

“But you’re not sure you trust Griswald?”

“I feel like I should get something for turning them over,” I confessed.

“Like a reward?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“How sure are you, about the location?”

“Pretty sure.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Tell him you want your dad to get a pardon and if he lives to be put into Witness Protection.”

“They’d do that?” I asked, amazed.

“I’ve seen bigger deals cut for less. Your father is a small fish, a pawn. You give them a bigger catch to land and they’ll go for it.”

I glanced at the doorway of my apartment to confirm Griswald wasn’t within earshot. “Paul works for the Lubovsky family?”

Patrick nodded.

“That’s why Delveccio wanted him taken out?”

Patrick shrugged. “The Delveccios are old timers. They have a code. The Lubovskys don’t.”

“What do you think I should do?”

He frowned. “In a perfect world, Griswald would find the evidence on his own. Then the Lubovskys would have no reason to retaliate against you or your family, but short of drawing him a map to the location, I don’t know how to do that.”

My front door opened and Griswald stepped back inside my apartment.

I winked at Patrick. “I think I do.”In addition to being a con man and a thief, my dad has always imagined himself to be a bit of a modern day pirate. Not the kind with a peg leg, an eye patch and a shoulder parrot, but the kind that would gladly fly a skull-and-crossbones flag, bury treasure, and make a map where X marked the spot.

When I was a kid, I thought it was one of his best qualities. He’d hide treats for my sisters and me in the B&B, or The Barn or the yard and leave us a map to find them. It was fun when we were little girls, annoying as we got older, and now it was the very thing that put the lives of his family in danger and offered us the best chance at survival.

That’s what he’d done with the discs. He’d hidden the discs (treasure) and left a map (clues) for me to follow, not because I was the most “stable” member of the family, but because I’d always been the one to figure out where he’d hidden our treats.

I didn’t tell any of this to Griswald though when he walked back inside my apartment. If I had, he would have asked me point-blank where I thought the discs were and I didn’t want to be the one to tell him. I thought Patrick’s idea that Griswald finding them was a much wiser plan so, instead, before the marshal could even sit down again at my kitchen table and eat any more of my olives or stale cookies, I asked, “Why do you think my father wanted to meet at Artie’s?”

Griswald paused mid-step. “I don’t know. Was it a special place to him?”

I pretended to think about that for a moment. “I guess so. He was friends with the former owner. They used to go deep sea fishing once a year…when my dad wasn’t locked up.”

Griswald digested the tidbit of information. “So maybe he hid something there?”

“Maybe. I seem to remember him taking Theresa there the night he was arrested. Afterward she complained for weeks that he’d taken her for a steak and lobster dinner, like he’d known it was going to be his last meal as a free man.”

Griswald nodded.

I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“It’s a good guess, but I’ve got my people there now and they haven’t turned anything up yet.”

I just nodded, knowing they weren’t looking in the right place. “So, my telling you this, is it enough to get my father’s conviction overturned?”

“Afraid not,” Griswald said. “Maybe I could do something if you told us where the discs are.”

I sighed, maybe a tad too dramatically if the sharp look Patrick gave me was any indication. “I told you, he didn’t tell me where they are.”

Griswald nodded.

“Maybe you should ask Rob, the owner of Artie’s if he has any ideas?” I suggested helpfully.

“Owner’s dead,” Griswald informed me flatly.

“Oh!” I widened my eyes so that I’d appeared sufficiently shocked. A month earlier Aunt Loretta had attended Rob’s funeral and sniped incessantly about how old his widow looked.

Griswald glanced at his watch and then looked at Patrick. “You can keep an eye on her?”

Patrick nodded.

“Okay,” Griswald decided. “I’m going to go back to the restaurant to supervise the search myself.”

I swallowed the self-satisfied grin that threatened to split my face. It had worked. He was going to where the discs were hidden. Once he was there, it wouldn’t be too hard to push him to look in the right place.

“If you think of anything else,” Griswald said to me, “have Detective Mulligan call me.”

“Of course.” I promised.

Patrick locked the door behind the marshal and turned back to me. “You should never pursue acting as a career.”

I innocently batted my eyelashes at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“What the hell was that act about?”

“We have to go to the hospital.” I got to my feet.

“Why?”

“Because,” I grinned. “I’m going to tell him exactly where the treasure chest is, but I’m not giving him the key to it until I get what I want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The discs are at Artie’s,” I explained. “But it’s not going to do Griswald much good because I’m guessing that they’re going to need a password to read them.”

“And you know where the password is?”

“Pretty sure I do.” I was feeling pretty proud of myself for figuring it out. “I have to call for a cab.” I reached for the phone.

“No you don’t.”

“Both our cars are still at the B&B,” I reminded him.

“One of my cars is there. I’ve got another nearby.”

“You are not leaving me behind this time,” God thundered from the other room.

“Ride?” Doomsday yelped excitedly from the bedroom.

Patrick glanced in that direction.

“She heard you say C-A-R,” I explained to him.

She loped into the room, all set to go.

“You have to stay here, sweetie,” I told her. “You need your rest.”

She hung her head.

“Can I come?” Piss asked.

“I need you to stay here too,” I told her gently.

Realizing Patrick was staring at me funny, I glared at him. “Talking to my pets is no weirder than talking to anyone else in my family.”

“That, I believe,” he said with a boyish grin.

“Let me just check and make sure Godzilla is okay and then we can go.” Hurrying into the bedroom, I scooped God out of the terrarium. “You’ve got to be quiet,” I whispered, as I placed him on my collarbone.

“Just try not to get us killed.” The little lizard crawled down my chest and settled himself between my breasts.

“Careful,” DeeDee whined, having followed me back into the bedroom.

“Up,” I said, patting the bed.

Leaping up, she gave me her saddest puppy-dog eyes.

“Be a good girl,” I kissed the top of her head and hurried out of the room blinking away tears.

“You okay?” Patrick asked, concern shadowing his gaze.

I nodded. “It’s just been a long couple of days.”

“I know.” He moved closer. “You’re doing great. Just hang in there a little longer.” Then he kissed me gently, nibbling on my lips, teasing my tongue with his. He tasted sweet and salty.

“C’mon,” he said, after he’d left me breathless. “Let’s finish this thing.”

Chapter Twenty

Anyone else would have asked where the discs were. They would have demanded to be told where the password was. I would have, but not Patrick. He just drove us to the hospital with quiet efficiency.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked quietly. “It’s a big gamble.”

I nodded. “It’s the only way. I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

“You’ll never see him again.”

“See who?”

“Your dad. Once he goes into Witness Protection you can’t see him. You can’t contact him.”

I shrugged. “I went years without seeing him.”

“But that’s when you thought he was someone he’s not,” Patrick reminded me gently.

I thought about that for a second. “He’s not a murderer, that’s true, but he did this. He put everyone I care about in danger. All because he was chasing a quick buck. It’s all he’s ever done. Looked for a shortcut, consequences be damned.” Realizing I’d balled my hands into fists, I forced myself to relax. “Losing touch with him won’t be a loss.”

“Okay,” Patrick said. “This is your show. What do you need from me?”

I took a deep breath, knowing this was the part of the plan he wasn’t going to like. “I need you to go to the B&B, while I go into the hospital.”

The tension in the car ratcheted up tenfold despite the fact he didn’t say anything.

“We need to be able to say I gave you the slip,” I explained hurriedly. “If you go to the B&B looking for me, the Lubovskys will never connect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Mags,” Patrick whispered, his voice strained. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to,” I urged. “You go to the B&B looking for me. You go up to my bedroom and you find the picture that’s in the drawer of the desk. When you see the picture, you’ll know where to tell Griswald to look for the discs.”

“What? Where?” Patrick asked, confused.

“You’ll know,” I promised him. “And once you’ve told Griswald, you can race back here and get me.”

“But—“ Patrick protested.

“I need to protect my family,” I told him, “but I need you to protect me.”

“But what if Lubovsky has men inside the hospital?”

“Delveccio’s men won’t let anything happen to me. I eat a lot of chocolate pudding with their boss.”

Patrick speared a hand through his hair. I half-expected him to pull a handful out. “This is an idiotic plan.”

“But it’ll work,” I told him.

“Or you’ll get yourself killed,” he countered.

“You’ll be back in time,” I said. “I have faith in you.”

“I can’t—“

“It has to be now,” I told him. “Before my father gets out of surgery. Before they can question him. While I’m still the only one with the answers. I need you to believe in me, Patrick.”

“I can’t lose you, Mags,” he whispered.

“Then drive like hell.” I pressed my lips to his and then jumped out of the car and ran toward the entrance.

For a moment I thought he was going to follow me, but then I heard a squeal of tires and an engine racing away.

I was alone again, with everyone depending on me.

Well, almost alone.

“That’s your brilliant plan?” God asked from the valley between my breasts. “You send away the one person who we know wants you to live through this.”

“This is going to work,” I promised.

“It’d better,” he groused.

I slowed to a walk and strolled through the hospital doors like this was just another visit I was paying to my niece.

It was late, so the hallways were relatively empty. I smiled and nodded at nurses and orderlies, just another dutiful family member visiting.

Two men in suits flanked the door of Delveccio’s grandson’s room. They glanced at me, surprised, and one immediately dialed his phone. I felt a surge of satisfaction. They’d tell Griswald where I was, who’d in turn tell Patrick, so it would make perfect sense when the redheaded detective showed up looking for me.

Two of Delveccio’s goons were watching a wrestling match on television when I stepped into the room. They both reached for their guns, but then relaxed when they recognized me.

I nodded at them both and then went to check on Katie. She slept soundly, but I could have sworn I saw a bit more color in her cheeks than usual. I touched her forehead to make sure she didn’t have a fever. Her skin was warm, but not hot.

She stirred beneath my touch. I stood very still, not wanting to disturb her.

I moved slowly to take Dino, the stuffed dinosaur, out from beneath her arm.

Dad had left each of his daughter’s a clue. He’d left me the jewel cases, told Marlene exactly where the discs were hidden, and given Theresa the password.

Picking up the tattered toy, I turned it over to examine the tag sewn into the tail. I read it carefully “Handcrafted by 3 W1TCH3S 012203240413.”

“I should have known,” I chuckled.

The mob goons glanced over at me, then turned their attention back to the television and the man smashing a chair over another’s head.

I took the dinosaur down to the cafeteria and bought some chocolate pudding. Except for the teenaged cashier who was wearing earbuds and doing what looked like calculus homework, I was the only one there. I sat down at one of the familiar tables I’d spent too much time at over the past few months and waited in the vast, empty space.

“What are we doing?” God whispered from his hidey-spot in my bra.

“Waiting,” I muttered.

“For what?”

“Him.”

“Him who?” the lizard squeaked.

I didn’t answer as I watched someone else enter the deserted cafeteria.

I knew he’d come.

I’d only finished half the pudding when he showed up.

“It’s in that toy, isn’t it?” he asked. “I knew it.”

I looked at the barrel of the gun he had pointed at me. The fact that it had a silencer attached told me he was more than willing to shoot me in public. I swallowed hard. “I knew it was you.”

He sat down opposite me, keeping the weapon trained on me. “How?”

“She’s a space cadet,” I said.

“I don’t follow.”

“Stacy the social worker. The real social worker. Nice lady. Sweet as could be, but she’s a dingbat. No way would she have ever written a report about my altercation with Alfonso Cifelli.”

The man who’d presented himself as Mr. Withers, the hospital social worker frowned. “Give me the toy.”

“No,” I said, shoveling another spoonful of pudding into my mouth like I wasn’t about to get shot any moment.

“No?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to get shot?”

I shook my head. “You’re not going to get the discs.”

“Because Griswald is tearing apart the restaurant?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Discs are useless without the password and I know your father changed that. I supplied the code for it myself. So all the Griswald brothers are going to end up with are some small, silver Frisbees.”

“So why do you want the password then?” I asked, but then guessing the answer I said, “You’re not working for the Lubovskys. You want to blackmail them.”

“You’re much smarter than you look and act,” Withers said.

“My grandmother used to say I’m exceptionally unexceptional,” I confided.

“So don’t be exceptionally stupid. Give me the password or I’ll shoot you and then take the toy.”

“I’d like the good guys to win,” I told him.

“Not going to happen.” Withers raised the gun and pressed it to my forehead. “Give it to me.”

Sliding my eyes in the direction of the cashier, I saw her head was bent over her homework and she was oblivious to my imminent death. I squeezed the dinosaur’s neck tightly. “Did you break my father out of prison?”

“No. That was Leon Lubovsky. He was afraid the rat was going to give the Feds the discs in order to get himself a sweeter deal.”

“He is,” I told him.

“You’re not going to be around to see it,” Withers said.

I smiled. “I certainly hope not.”

Then I made my move. I swung that toy dinosaur as hard as I could at the bald head of the bow-tied “social worker”.

He squeezed off a shot.

“You’re trying to get me killed!” God yelled tugging on my bra strap.

I ignored them both. I was already ducking beneath the table. Of course being a monumental klutz, I hit my head on the edge of the table so hard that the room darkened.

When I’d gone to pay for the pudding I’d known what I had to do, not because I’m an overly clever gal, but because I’d been told enough times over the past two days.

The box cutter had been lying next to the plastic utensils, no doubt put down and forgotten when someone realized they needed a plastic spoon.

“Take it,” God had urged, having climbed onto my shoulder to get the lay of the land.

I’d picked up the blade with some extra napkins.

I used it now on the man who was trying to kill me, plunging it into his soft belly hearing both Piss saying, “Gut the thug” and Armani’s pulled letters, “G U T T H UG”…not “tug-hug” but “gut thug.”

Withers screamed in agony as the blade pierced him. I almost left it at stabbing him, but then I remembered the photograph I’d sent Patrick to go see.

One year, when my father went deep sea fishing with Rob, the owner of Artie’s, he’d brought me along. My hatred of seafood had been born that day as they’d taught me how to gut a big fish. I remembered how they’d laughed at me struggling to gut the huge marlin, which now hung on the wall of the restaurant.

I yanked the blade upward, tearing through Withers’ skin and organs.

He squeezed off two more shots, trying to shoot me through the table. I flinched as the whistling pings splintered the surface above my head.

“Aaaaah! Help!” God screamed in abject horror.

Withers collapsed onto the floor beside me. Dropping his gun, he clutched his stomach, making a terrible gurgling noise.

I took a deep breath. It was over.

“Impressive,” a voice said from above.

I looked up to see Agent Weller, the one who’d been stabbed guarding Katie’s room, looking down at me. He kicked Withers’ gun out of reach. He looked awfully spry for a guy who himself had been stabbed earlier.

“He was trying to kill me,” I told him breathlessly.

“He talked too much.” Weller raised a gun and aimed it at my head. It too had a silencer attached.

I’d found Griswald’s leak. Not that I was going to get a chance to tell him. I’d gambled everything and I’d lost.

I closed my eyes, not wanting Weller to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

There was a thud and when I opened my eyes, I no longer saw the end of my life facing me, instead I saw Patrick holding a gun on Weller, who was crumpled in an unconscious heap on the floor.

“You’re damn lucky I drive so fast,” Patrick growled.

I wanted to nod, but instead I passed out.

Chapter Twenty-One

It wasn’t until I’d asked Patrick to tell my aunts to come to the hospital because Marlene was waiting in Recovery for dad, that I felt like I’d done everything I could for my family. For the first time in two days I could breathe.

A number of people had tried to kill me, but the worst injury sustained was self-inflicted. The bump I’d given myself as I’d hit my head diving under the table alternately stung and ached despite the ice pack I’d held to it for hours while I waited for the deal I’d negotiated with Griswald for my father to be approved.

While I waited, Weller had been cuffed and dragged away for questioning, Withers had been rushed to the Emergency Room, and cops, marshals and FBI agents swarmed the scene.

Patrick, who’d been in-and-out of the hospital cafeteria, doing detective-y things no doubt, had avoided talking to me except to honor my request to call the aunts. He’d barely even spared a glance in my direction.

I wasn’t surprised that Aunt Susan found me in the cafeteria, and I was amused that she was able to bully her way into the crime scene. I watched her face, pinched and horrified as she skirted around the pool of blood that had leaked from Withers. Blood I had spilled.

Marshal Griswald, looking determined, marched toward us, as Aunt Susan, paler than usual, settled into the seat beside me.

“I’m fine,” I told her quickly, trying to alleviate her worry, and then, because I didn’t want her to hear it from Griswald, I added. “I had to stab a guy, but I’m okay.”

She stared at the blood and then turned to look at me. “Thank God,” she murmured, pulling me into a tight hug. “If I’d lost you…” she sniffled.

I hugged her tightly, rubbing comforting circles between her shoulder blades. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“You’re crushing me,” God gasped, using my bra strap to climb up to my shoulder. He looked right at Susan and said, “Hello.”

His appearance was her undoing. My stoic aunt, the one who never let anything get to her, the one everyone depended on in times of crisis, dissolved into great heaving sobs in my arms. Her cries echoed off the cafeteria walls, causing everyone to look over at us.

I patted her back helplessly, unable to comfort her.

Griswald slowed his approach at the sight of the crying woman in my arms. “Everything okay?” he called from a distance.

I shrugged. Talk about a loaded question.

“I need to talk to him,” I told Aunt Susan. “Why don’t you go take Marlene to the B&B? When I’m done here, I’ll come see all of you.”

Eyeing God nervously she nodded, stood, and keeping her gaze averted, shuffled past the pool of congealed blood.

Griswald did a double-take when he spotted the lizard, but then sat in the seat beside me without commenting on his presence. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” I admitted, watching as Susan stopped to talk to Patrick.

“The woman we caught at the restaurant isn’t talking, but we got an I.D. on the guy you stabbed. He’s not, as you probably guessed, a social worker. He’s an enforcer for a rival crime syndicate.”

“He doesn’t look like an enforcer,” I said, thinking of Delveccio’s muscle-bound bodyguard Vinnie.

“Deadly things come in small packages,” Griswald replied.

“With bowties?” I asked.

“Gotta say that’s a first for me,” the marshal admitted. “Then again, so is finding evidence in a dead fish.”

“You found the discs in a fish?” I asked, playing dumb.

Griswald nodded. “Detective Mulligan noticed a photograph with a young girl and your father. They’d been fishing.”

I nodded, indicating I knew the picture.

“Then I remembered you telling me that he and the owner of the Artie’s had gone deep sea fishing together on a regular basis, so I started looking around for trophy fish.” Griswald sounded pretty damn proud of himself for figuring that out.

I smiled wanly as though I hadn’t left the breadcrumbs that led him to his inevitable “discovery”.

“We found the discs in a stuffed marlin,” Griswald revealed.

“Oh wow,” I said, thinking Patrick might be wrong. If this performance was any indication, I could pursue a career in acting.

“Crazy hiding place,” Griswald confided.

I nodded. It was actually right where Dad had told Marlene it would be. ‘The treasure is in the Marlene’….the treasure is in the marlin.

“How’d you figure out what the password was?” Griswald asked.

I handed him Dino. “Look at the tag.”

He did, shook his head, and laughed. “Strangest case I’ve worked.” He stood and extended his hand.

I shook it.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Lee.”

“It’s not like I had much choice, Marshal.”

“And I’m sorry about Weller. I’ve spoken with the Emergency Room and apparently the wounds inflicted by the Blanche woman were superficial, just a ruse to shake up the progress of the case. If I’d checked with them earlier…”

“All’s well that ends well,” I told him, glancing at my savior Patrick who was crossing the room, headed toward us.

“You can go home now. I’ll arrange to get you a ride,” Griswald said.

“I’ll take her,” Patrick said.

“You sure?” the marshal asked.

He didn’t look at me, but at the marshal. “Her aunt made me promise I would.”

Griswald nodded. “Better you than me. Thanks for your help, Mulligan. I owe you.”

“Again,” Patrick reminded him with a smile. “If you’d come with me, Miss Lee.” He gestured that I should walk in front of me.

Getting to my feet I swayed woozily. The room darkened and I thought I might pass out again.

“Take a breath,” Patrick ordered, grabbing my elbow.

I did and felt marginally better.

As soon as he’d decided I wasn’t going to face-plant on the cafeteria floor, he released me and moved away, leaving me to follow him.

Once we were out of the cafeteria I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking so quickly that I practically had to run to keep up with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he led the way into a section of the hospital I wasn’t familiar with.

“To see your father.”

I halted in my tracks. “I don’t want to see him.”

Patrick spun around, his expression unreadable, his voice flat. “As soon as he’s strong enough, the Witness Protection people are going to whisk him out of here. You’ll never get a chance to see him again, to talk to him.”

“So?” I shrugged, trying to sound like I didn’t care.

He took a step closer and bent down so that his face was level with mine.

I took a step back trying to get away from the mixture of frustration and pity I saw blazing in his gaze.

He rested his hands on my shoulders, anchoring me, as though he knew I’d run from what he was going to say. “You blame yourself for Darlene’s death. You’ve taken responsibility for Marlene running away. You’ve become something you could have never imagined to keep a promise to Theresa.”

I shook my head denying his truths.

“Say good-bye to your father,” Patrick continued. “Accept credit for doing everything in your power to help him. Don’t let your failure to reconcile with him now be yet another thing you beat yourself up with.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyelids. I looked away.

“Do you trust me, Mags?”

I nodded slowly.

“Then trust that I know you. Trust that I want what’s best for you. Do this thing. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Please,” he begged.

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if I was agreeing for his sake or my own.

“Good,” he smiled approvingly. Bending closer he whispered in my ear, “And when this is all done, I’m going to give you hell for scaring me to death.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“So was he right?” Piss asked, intrigued.

After visiting Dad, I’d gone to the B&B, proved to my aunts that I was alive and well, hugged Marlene who was spending the night in my old bedroom, and then had Patrick take me back to my apartment so I could check on the animals. He hadn’t liked the idea of my staying there “alone,” but he had paperwork to go finish and I’d promised him I’d be fine.

Before he left he gave me a quick, hard kiss loaded with the promise that there was more where that came from. My lips still tingled.

For the past hour God had been regaling DeeDee and Piss about the night’s adventures. The dog and cat curled up on either side of me, hanging on his every word.

“Of course he was right,” God opined, draped across a piece of driftwood in his terrarium. “Patrick is always right.”

I chuckled, remembering a time, not long ago when the lizard hadn’t been overly fond of my murder mentor. “Yes, he was right. I’m glad I talked to my Dad. He explained some things and we got to say good-bye.”

“Explain?” DeeDee panted.

“He explained why he robbed the bank,” I said.

“Oh this should be good,” Piss drawled sarcastically.

I shot her a dirty look. “He was trying to get Marlene away from her pimp.”

“He was going to pay him off?” Piss asked, confused.

“No. Griswald was right. Apparently her pimp has ties to the Lubovsky family. If Dad did this “favor” for them, they’d let Marlene go…but of course it didn’t work out that way.”

“In the midst of the robbery, this Sergei guy kills the teller,” God interrupted, giving me an impatient look. “And all hell broke loose. Archie Lee grabbed the discs and took off, losing the cops and the robbers.”

“Go where?” DeeDee asked.

“He went and hid everything,” God explained. “He put the discs in the fish, the cases under the floorboard, and he bought the dinosaur, wrote the password on the tag, and gave it to Theresa. Then he told the Lubovsky family that if anything happened to him or Marlene, the discs would go straight to the Feds. It was actually a brave and daring plan,” he finished with grudging respect.

“And then he went and got himself caught and ended up in prison,” I added, having had enough of the hero worship. “But now, thanks to Witness Protection, he’ll get a chance at another life…which he’ll no doubt screw up.”

“Miss Maggie?” DeeDee whined.

“She wants to know if you’re going to miss him,” Piss translated helpfully.

I shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Miss DeeDee?” the dog asked.

“Of course I did,” I hugged her tightly. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Do you smell something?” Piss asked suddenly.

“The dog farted,” God said wrinkling his nose.

“Not!” DeeDee protested.

“It wasn’t her,” Piss said, jumping off the bed. She stalked out of the bedroom.

“Moody thing, isn’t she?” God complained.

“Be nice,” I warned, “She fed you.” I climbed over the dog and followed the cat hoping she wasn’t going to pee anywhere.

“It’s gas,” the cat hissed.

I sniffed the air. She was right. There was a distinctly chemical scent lingering in the air.

“Perfume?” DeeDee asked, following us into the living room.

“It’s not perfume, you imbecile,” God yelled from the bedroom.

“She’s right,” I said, a chill snaking down my spine. “Out! Everybody out of the apartment!”

I threw open the front door to let the cat and dog out before rushing back to the bedroom to grab God’s terrarium.

“What’s going on?” the lizard asked worriedly.

“I don’t know.” I grabbed his box and ran.

“Maggie?” DeeDee asked, running back to me.

“Out!” I screamed, a sense of dread that defied reason grabbing hold of me. “Run, DeeDee! Run!”

“You are such a drama queen,” God drawled unhappily. “Don’t jostle me. I have sensitive skin.”

I raced out the door on the dog’s heels.

The explosion lifted me off my feet, its heat branding me. Mid-air I lost my grip on God.

I hit the ground hard.

And the world went black.

A note from JB:

I hope you enjoyed THE HITWOMAN AND THE FAMILY JEWELS.

Don’t forget to visit http://jblynn.com to enter my latest contest and to find out about my latest news!

COMING SOON

THE HITWOMAN AND THE NEUROTIC WITNESS

You know it’s going to be a bad day when you’ve got Piss on your chest, Doomsday staring you in the eye, and God singing, “Staying Alive” out of tune.

My name is Maggie Lee. Through a bizarre series of events (include a head injury that left me with the ability to talk to animals) I’ve become a hitwoman.

I wasn’t sure if either of those things was the reason my apartment had just been blown to smithereens. But there I was, sprawled out in the parking lot, every cell in my body aching, with a dog panting in my face, a one-eyed cat kneading my chest, and a snarky anole lizard singing off-key “Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin alive, stayin alive.”

“Doing what?” asked Doomsday (my grammatically-challenged Doberman, who prefers to be called DeeDee because it’s more feminine).

Thankfully the reptile stopped singing long enough to haughtily inform the dog, “Cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

The dog cocked her head to the side. “What?”

“CPR, you ignoramus,” the lizard shouted. “We’re trying to save her life.”

“Song?” DeeDee asked.

“The American Heart Association says it’s the perfect beat to use,” God replied, before singing again. ““Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin alive, stayin alive.”

If Piss, the one-eyed cat wasn’t pushing on my chest with her untrimmed claws, I might have been able to tell them that I was alive, but they were killing me.

Thankfully someone shooed her off of me.

My favorite mobster came into focus. Leaning over me, his diamond pinky ring sparkled like the North Star. I blinked. Either I was seeing double, or strangely-named identical twins Tony and Anthony Delveccio were at my apartment complex.

That couldn’t be good.

Were they the ones who’d blown up my apartment? Were they here to finish the job?

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

A note from JB:

COMING SOON