Maggie Lee (Book 11): The Hitwoman Hires a Manny (17 page)

She glanced at me.

Tears filled my eyes and my throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. “I know…I know…”

Concerned something was wrong, she turned toward me and opened her arms, offering a hug.

Flying into her arms, I squeezed her tightly, saying in a rush, “I know I haven’t said it, but I am so proud of you.”

“For what?” she asked, rubbing my back in soothing circles.

“For getting clean. For staying clean.” The last word came out as a hiccupping sob.

Drawing back so that she could see my face, she confessed tearfully, “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

I shook my head. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

At that moment Angel strolled into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks the moment he realized that two crying women already occupied the space. Without a word, he pivoted on his heel, and walked right back out.

Leslie and I stared at the space where he’d disappeared and collapsed against each other, overcome by giggles.

Once we’d composed ourselves, we brought the donuts into the dining room. Angel was sitting in there, studying his cell phone.

He glanced up at us to determine if he needed to leave.

“Morning,” I said cheerfully.

“Morning,” he parroted carefully.

“There’s a lot of estrogen in this place,” Leslie informed him. “If you can’t handle a few tears, you’re not going to cut it here.”

“I was just trying not to intrude on a private moment,” he countered calmly, as he searched my face.

Self-conscious, I turned away, grabbing a pile of plates out of the cabinet. They clattered against the table when I put them down, revealing that I was still shaken up.

“Coffee?” Leslie offered Angel.

He nodded.

“Donut?” I held out the tray of treats for him.

He surveyed it thoughtfully.

“Anything except the pecan roll,” Leslie corrected. “That’s Maggie’s favorite.”

I looked at her sharply; surprised she knew that particular detail about me.

“How long have I been your aunt?” she mocked as she handed Angel his coffee. “I do know
some
things about you, Margaret May.”

“I’ll share the pecan roll with you,” I suggested to Angel.

Leslie reached across the table and slapped my hand.

“Hey!” Putting the tray down, I moved out of her reach. “What did you do that for?”

“I bought that for you.” Her eyes sparkled and color bloomed on her cheeks.

I took a step back, realizing she was really angry. “I was just--”

“No sharing. You’re always sacrificing for this family. You’re entitled to an entire pastry.” She glared, challenging me to defy her.

“By all means,” Angel interjected. “For all you know, I could be allergic to nuts.”

“Well then, you’re in the wrong house,” I snapped.

Leslie and Angel stared at me for a long moment as though they couldn’t believe I’d said such a thing. Then they both began to chuckle.

“Everyone’s a little on edge because it’s the big day,” Leslie excused with a wave of her hand. “Try the Boston Crème,” she urged Angel. “They’re divine.”

“I’m more of a jelly donut guy.”

“Powdered sugar okay?”

He nodded.

She placed a fluffy white donut on a plate and handed it to him. “Sit, Maggie. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

Obediently I slipped into the nearest seat, avoiding eye contact with Angel, who was studying me with a bemused smile.

Leslie beamed. “Isn’t this lovely?”

I nodded weakly. What else could I do?

Angel winked at my slyly, letting me know that the situation was just as strange as I perceived it to be.

Then it got weirder.

“Hey chica,” a voice called from the kitchen. “Rise and shine.”

Leslie clapped her hands with delight. “She made it.”

“You invited her?” I asked incredulously.

“It’s the big day,” my aunt responded.

“Who else did you invite?”

“Well, Zeke said he couldn’t make it.”

“You talked to Zeke?” I practically squealed. Then another thought made me hit a whole new high pitch. “Tell me you didn’t invite mom.”

“Your mother
is
Katie’s grandmother.”

Moaning, I dropped my head into my hands. I was overwhelmed already, once my mother was added to the mix, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.

“But no, she wasn’t invited,” Leslie added calmly before calling out, “We’re in here.”

Sucking in a great gulp of relief, I raised my head just as Armani limped into the room, took one look at Angel and blurted out, “If you’d told me you were serving up stud muffins, I would have gotten here earlier.”

I couldn’t stifle another moan.

Angel’s eyes grew wide, as she lurched toward him. He squirmed uncomfortably in the face of her undisguised lust. She practically licked her lips as she advanced.

I had the urge to throw myself between them in order to protect him. Instead, I said through gritted teeth, “Armani, Angel. Angel, Armani.”

“He’s the manny,” Leslie supplied helpfully.

“I’m the psychic,” she told him.

He blinked, as though unsure what that meant.

“And a matchmaker,” she added. “A psychic matchmaker. Are you a certified lifeguard?”

To his credit, Angel didn’t respond with, “
Are you a certified nut job?
”

“Because what Katie really needs is a lifeguard.”

Angel turned a beseeching gaze in my direction. His desperate need to understand the situation clear.

“She’s my friend,” I started slowly.

“And her psychic,” Armani interrupted. “But not her matchmaker. She won’t let me set her up with anyone. Now that I’ve met you, I know why.”

“Shouldn’t you have known that without meeting him?” I asked cuttingly.

“A-ha!” She waved her pointer finger at me. “You admit it.”

“What? No! I was--”

“You’ve got the hots for the manny,” Armani crowed victoriously.

“I don’t!” I protested a tad too forcefully.

“Loretta has the hots for him,” Leslie offered.

“Loretta has the hots for the octogenarian down the street who smells like mothballs,” I snapped.

The doorbell rang, interrupting the madness.

“Who else did you invite?” I asked Leslie.

Instead of answering me, she hurried from the room to answer the door.

Undeterred by the interruption, Armani eyed poor Angel like he was fresh meat.

“I bet
you
don’t smell like mothballs,” she purred seductively, leaning closer to Angel as though she was going to take a whiff and find out.

Angel leaned backward in his chair to escape her.

“He smells like vanilla,” Aunt Loretta declared, prancing into the room in heels that were too high and a dress that was too low-cut. She ran an appraising eye over Angel, who, amazingly, seemed to be turning a lovely shade of pink. “He probably wouldn’t even know what to do with half the things in my store.”

Angel reddened, though I wasn’t sure if it was due to embarrassment or anger.

“Leave the man alone,” I ordered.

“Big day, huh?” another man asked as he strode into the room.

“A successful match!” Armani cried, focusing on the newcomer. “Tell them, Brian. Tell them about you and Stephanie. How I matched you.”

Detective Brian Griswald, nephew of US Marshal Griswald,  froze like a deer in headlights when faced with Armani’s demand.

“You’re making Detective Griswald sound like half of a pair of socks,” I warned.

“He’s a success story,” Armani insisted.

“What brings you here, Detective?” I asked, determined to keep the conversation off the topic of Angel.

“Heard you had a little trouble here last night. My uncle thought an extra pair of eyes around on the big day couldn’t hurt.” The detective slid his gaze in the direction of the mob boss’s nephew as he spoke.

Angel locked eyes with him. “Donut, Detective?”

I wasn’t sure whether that was a dig, and could tell from Brian’s hesitation that he wasn’t certain either.

“I got them to celebrate,” Leslie explained. “Sit. Have coffee. Something to eat.”

Brian did as he was told.

Considering that Brian had helped me out on more than one occasion I was happy to have him around.

Loretta sat down in the seat on one side of him, while Armani planted herself on the other side. Both women started to talk to him at once, and I’m pretty sure a fleeting look of panic flashed across his face.

Deciding that this was the perfect time to escape, I caught Angel’s eye. “Run,” I mouthed.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth and erased some of the furrows in his forehead.

Grabbing my pecan roll, I took my own advice and quietly got out of the room. Angel followed a moment later.

“You can still quit,” I told him as we slipped out the kitchen door. The faint scent of smoke from the previous night’s impromptu bonfire still lingered.

“I told you, I don’t run.”

“You said you don’t run at the first sign of trouble.” I handed him half of my pecan roll. “In case you haven’t noticed, the first sign of trouble has been eclipsed by ten others.” I licked some of the sweet stickiness off my finger. “It’s okay to quit. We’ll manage without you.”

“How?”

I shrugged. “We always manage.” I leaned with my back against the siding of the house.

“Meaning
you
always manage?”

I looked away.

He leaned closer. “Maggie.”

I kept my gaze focused on a tree in the distance. “What?”

“Look at me.”

I stubbornly refused.

I heard him suck in his breath.

I held my own. I’d meant it when I’d said we’d manage without him, but that didn’t mean I really wanted him to go. At the same time, I couldn’t be responsible for shackling him to this house full of crazy.

I frowned at the pair of neighbors in their perfectly coordinated outfits, who, out powerwalking together, pointed at the house and shook their heads.