9 The Hitwoman's Downward Dog (15 page)

I hid the gun behind my back and leaned forward to pat the dog’s head. "It’s okay, sweetheart." Before I adopted her, DeeDee, whose name back then had been Doomsday, had been owned by Gary the Gun, an unscrupulous assassin. I assumed that was why the gun freaked her out, but it could have been because a cop I’d dated, Paul, had shot her. "Just tell me where Armani is."

"Way that." She turned and looked in the direction of the woods she’d just come out of .

"Is she far away?"

"How far could it be?" God piped up. "The mutt was only gone for three minutes."

"Are you having a conversation with your dog?" Jack asked, sounding more worried than he had when I’d had a deadly weapon pointed at him.

"Lots of people talk to their pets," I said defensively.

I heard an audible gulp from Jack. When I looked up at him, I found him staring at me like people used to look at my mother when they knew she belonged in a mental hospital.

"Look," I said, trying to backpedal. "I know that sounds crazy, but dogs do have a greater sense of smell than human beings. Why couldn’t she know where Armani is?"

Jack just shook his head.

"C’mon," God called. "We’re losing daylight. We’ve got to get in there and rescue that kooky psychic."

Knowing he was right, I said to Jack, "I’ve got to try."

"Try what?"

"To find Armani. Help her. Rescue her."

"From who? I told you, her boyfriend’s dead."

"From whoever killed Ike Medd."

"Listen, Maggie." He took a step toward me, freezing when DeeDee swiveled her head in his direction. "Leave this to the professionals."

"They’re not here. We are."

He raised his hands in protest and took a step backward. "This is not my thing. I tell the story. Observe and report. I don’t get involved."

"Fine." I scooped up the lizard out of the car and placed him on my shoulder, not caring about the way the reporter’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. "You observe and report. I’m doing something. Lead the way, DeeDee."

The dog bounded into the woods, but before I could follow her, Jack had closed the distance between us and grabbed my arm.

"I can’t let you do this." His voice was low, but held a strident note of desperation. Worry clouded his dark eyes as he stared down at me, trying to bend me to his will.

I met his gaze steadily, understanding his reaction was that of a normal person, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It wasn’t just Armani’s life on the line, although that would have been enough. If I failed to rescue Joy Gilbert, who knew what Ms. Whitehat would do to Zeke or even Patrick in retaliation. "You can’t stop me, Jack," I whispered.

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

I’d almost forgotten about the gun I held. "If I have to."

"You can’t."

He said it with such conviction and was so wrong, that I had to ask, "What makes you say that?"

"You’re not the type. You’re a good person."

It would have been nice if he’d been right, but since I had shot a couple of people, he was dead wrong. Still, it was nice to think that someone, however misguided, thought I was a good person. Tears stung my eyes and my throat closed.

"Hey, don’t cry." He leaned forward so that his forehead rested against mine. The gesture was both intimate and supportive. "It’s going to be okay."

Tapping on my cheek impatiently, God said, "I doubt that."

Jack jumped back startled by the squeaking noise the lizard made. I used his momentary distraction to twist free of his grip and run after DeeDee.

"Stop!" Jack called from behind me. "Maggie, stop!"

I didn’t dare risk a glance back at him. If I had, I might have lost my resolve.

DeeDee fell into step beside me.

"Which way?" I panted, once again thinking I should have taken up my friend Alice’s suggestion that I’d do well to take up jogging.

"Way this."

"Is he following?"

"Who?" DeeDee asked.

"The rather sane reporter, moron," God sniped. "No. He’s not following."

I slowed down to a walk, trying to catch my breath, as an aching stitch in my side almost forced me to double over.

"He did make a reasonable argument about contacting the professionals," the lizard said as I followed the Doberman deeper into the woods.

"I thought you were the one who said we were wasting daylight," I reminded him.

As though to prove his point, the woods seemed to be growing darker with every step.

"Well that’s because I was imagining the challenge of executing a nighttime extraction without night vision goggles."

I rolled my eyes, which was a bad idea because it meant I wasn’t watching where I was going, which resulted in my tripping over a root or something and ending up sprawled on the ground on all fours.

My tumble sent the lizard flying. "Aaaaaaah!" I heard him scream as he flew through the air.

I didn’t hear him hit the ground.

DeeDee returned to my side and licked my face. "Okay are you?"

"Find God," I muttered.

While she went in search of the superior reptile, I attempted to get back up. I was still balanced on my palms and feet when I realized I’d dropped the gun when I tripped.

I turned my head, looking from side-to-side, trying to find the weapon.

When I glanced back toward my feet, I was startled to see another pair of shoes.

Someone was standing right behind me.

"What the hell are you doing?" a man asked.

Arching my butt a little higher in the air to get a better look, I caught an upside down glimpse of him and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was tall, dark, and deadly with a scar beneath one eye and a hand curled around the handle of a hunting knife.

I looked back down at the ground beneath me, trying to get some oxygen to my brain so I could figure out what to say that wouldn’t get me killed.

My hamstrings burned from the strain of holding the position.

"Downward dog," I gasped. Then feeling like I was channeling something Aunt Leslie might have said during her pothead days, I continued, "I wanted to take advantage of my surroundings, commune with nature. Be one with the Earth. Feel her energy coursing through me." All that I really felt coursing through me was cold fear with a nausea chaser. As I babbled that nonsense, I slowly stood up, fighting off the wave of dizziness that buffeted me.

When I was finally able to focus, I asked the man. "Are we near the Wild Dog Retreat?"

"Not far," he replied suspiciously, but I saw that he was putting his knife back into the leather holder he wore on his belt.

He tensed up again as DeeDee returned and sat down at my side. "That yours?"

I nodded. Thinking fast I told him. "She’s my service dog."

"Service dog? Are you blind or something?"

I considered telling him that I was, despite the fact we were staring into each other’s eyes.

"No," I said in a rush, realizing I’d let too much time lapse before answering. "She helps me with managing anxiety. I’ve got it bad, real bad," I warmed to the task. "If it ends with 'phobic,' I've got it, but I hate the drugs. I hate what they do to me. How they make me feel or not feel. Like everything is flat and gray, ya know?" I was no longer channeling Leslie, but my own mother. How many times had these very reasons passed her lips when she didn't want to take her medication? "My old shrink dumped me because of my lack of medication compliance, but the new one, she's into all this natural stuff, which is why I
have
to get to the Wild Dog."

By now, the knife-wielding man's eyes had glazed over and he was looking like he'd rather jab toothpicks through his lip than to listen to me talk.

"So can you tell me where it is?" I glanced around at the encroaching shadows. "Because I'm scared of the dark."

"Nyctophobia," God supplied helpfully. "Fear of the dark."

That was when I noticed he was hanging from DeeDee's collar like a rappelling mountain climber.

The bad guy heard his squeaking and looked at the dog too.

"And I might start hyperventilating, or screaming, or seeing UFO's or something," I poured out in a breathless rush.

"Where's your car?"

I couldn't point him in the direction I'd come from. For one thing, Jack could still be there and I didn't want to put him in danger. For another, all my identifying information was in the glove compartment.

"I don't exactly know," I said slowly.

"You don't know?"

I shrugged and did my best to act like Aunt Loretta, batting my eyelashes and everything. "I don't really have the best sense of direction. Can you help me?" I took a step toward him. In the back of my mind, I wondered what Patrick would think of me totally disregarding his "Don't Get Caught" rule.

The man tensed but didn't withdraw the knife.

"I really am scared," I confessed. That much was true.

"I'll take you to the Wild Dog," he agreed gruffly, "but the dog's gotta stay here."

"But—"

"No buts. That's the deal. The dog stays here or you spend the night in the dark, spooky woods. Which is it gonna be?"

I couldn't refuse the deal without raising his suspicion. "Okay. You stay, DeeDee," I ordered, hoping she knew enough to obey.

"You're not going to tie her up or anything?"

I shook my head. "I don't believe in oppressive shackling."

Shaking his head, my tour guide motioned for me to follow him. "Come this way."

"Stay," I reminded the dog, hoping it sounded like a command and not a desperate plea.

"We understand," God assured me.

The man glanced back, looking for the source of the squeaking noise.

"Is it far?" I asked to distract him.

"Not far at all." I followed him, wondering exactly what I was getting myself into and how I was going to get out of it.

The Wild Dog Resort did not look like the type of oasis of serenity that most places that advertised in the back of a yoga magazine offered. It looked more like a little fort, complete with a barbed wire fence and an armed guard.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked the man who'd led me there.

"This is it." As though he sensed I might turn tail and run, he grabbed my arm, his fingers gripping me so tightly I knew I'd bruise.

Sensitive skin! my mind screamed hysterically. Thankfully, the only sound that came out of my mouth was a gasp of pain.

I tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip.

"I need my personal space," I warned him. "You're encroaching on that."

"Oh," he promised with a leer that made me want to throw up. "I'm going to encroach on a lot more than that."

"You can't be bringing that lass here, Jimmy," the armed guard with a thick Irish accent told my captor.

Focusing on him, I realized he was one of the men who’d been at Ike Medd’s apartment, but wasn’t the one who’d chased me. I ducked my chin, hoping my hair would obscure my face from the man I silently nicknamed Buster because of his broken nose. He had so much medical tape across the bridge it had to be interfering with his vision.

"Boss won’t like it," a non-accented man said.

Instinctively, I turned in his direction, which was a mistake. He
was
the man who’d chased after me at Medd’s place and he
did
recognize me.

"You!" He pointed an accusing finger. I nicknamed him Bubba since it seemed to go with Buster. "Oh the boss is gonna want to see you." He grinned, opening the gate and allowing us entrance.

"I'm getting really uncomfortable," I complained. "This is not the experience I was hoping to have."

Ignoring my protests, Jimmy dragged me to smaller of two buildings housed within the fence. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the heavy door, and tossed me into the pitch-black space without warning.

Blinded, I stumbled and fell to my knees as the door slammed shut behind me.

"Crap," I muttered. "Crap, crap, crappity crap." I staggered to my feet, trying to get my bearings.

"Is that you, chiquita?"

I froze wondering if I'd imagined her voice. "Armani?"

"I told you she'd come," my semi-psychic friend crowed triumphantly.

"You're alive?" I asked incredulously, shuffling in the direction her voice came from.

"Unless you've suddenly developed the ability to talk to ghosts."

I hesitated for a second, considering the possibility.

"Of course I'm alive." Armani laughed. "Have you gone loco?"

"She's scared," another woman said. "Give her a break."

"Joy?" I asked.

"You remember me?"

"There are a lot of people looking for you," I replied honestly.

"So the cavalry will be arriving any moment?"

"I don't know about that," I said carefully.

"I told you," Armani interrupted. "She's here to rescue us."

"I'm doing a bang-up job so far," I replied bitterly.

"I've seen it," Armani soothed. "You rescue us."

"How?" I asked hopefully. Her visions had come true in the past. Maybe I really could rescue these two women.

"With a fork."

"A fork?" I squeaked incredulously.

"Definitely a fork."

"I don't have a fork." Hell, I'd left my useless cell phone in the car and lost my gun when I fell in the woods. Realizing that probably wasn't the encouragement my fellow prisoners needed to hear, I changed the course of the conversation. "How did you end up here?"

"My fault. A string of bad choices," Joy muttered, self-recrimination dripping from each syllable.

"We all make those," I assured her, thinking of the mountain I'd made. "Why was your place trashed, Armani?"

"Because I put up a fight." I could practically hear the beautiful Latina raising her chin proudly. "Fools come into my home, try to take my friend. They thought that just because of the Handicapped sticker in my car, I'd roll over. No way."

I couldn't help but grin, imagining the hell she must have given their captors.

"Like I said," Joy reiterated. "It was my fault. It was me they were after."