The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost (18 page)

“And he believed us since you saved him last night,” God finished.

“Great. That’s just great.” Suddenly my chest didn’t ache quite so much anymore.

I almost forgot about Aunt Susan’s suggestion. Almost.

Pink-clad Candace drove me and Ghost to our meeting with Ms. Whitehat, but she didn’t come inside. Instead, she parked outside the rear entrance of a veterinary office and said she’d wait for me.

The poor dog trembled uncontrollably as we approached the building.

“Me kill?”

“No one is going to kill you,” I promised him. “No one’s going to hurt you.” If they tried, I was prepared to pull out the gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans.

The dog whimpered as the sharp scent of antiseptic hit us as we stepped inside.  I couldn’t blame him. I hated the smell too.

“Easy, boy.”

Ms. Whitehat stood alone in the first examining room we reached. She looked starkly out of place in her perfectly-pressed ivory power suit.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” I warned as way of greeting.

Her nod was so slight it was almost imperceptible. “No one wishes to harm the animal.”

“Whoever was shooting at him last night does.”

“That was… unfortunate.”

“There’s an understatement.”

“According to Candace, you made short work of the thug sent to retrieve the dog.”

“I got lucky,” I told her.

“It’s been my experience, Ms. Lee, that many times all luck is, is being prepared and being willing to take action.”

That sounded an awful lot like a compliment, but I didn’t let it distract me. “What’s so valuable about this dog?”

“It’s not the dog, it’s his collar. May I have it?” She held out her manicured hand.

I looked at the strip of studded fabric around the mutt’s neck. “That’s what you wanted all along? His collar?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because you’re not privy to know all things, Ms. Lee. Now if you wouldn’t mind handing it over.”

Slipping the collar over the dog’s ears, I dropped it into her outstretched palm.

Examining it closely, she nodded her satisfaction. “Nice job, Ms. Lee. You do seem to employ the most unusual, but effective methods.”

“So that’s it? We’re done, right?”

The semblance of a smile made her lips twitch. “Until you’re needed again.”

Not wanting to think about my continued involvement with her mysterious organization, I asked, “But I can take him now?”

“No.”

“No? But you said we’re done.”

“You can’t take him.”

“Me kill,” the dog moped despondently.

“But you’ve gotten what you wanted. The rest of what happened wasn’t his fault,” I argued, reaching one hand back to touch the butt of the gun that was tucked into my jeans. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“You misunderstand,” Ms. Whitehat said quietly. “It’s time for him to go home.”

“Home?” Ghost panted, his ears perking up. “Home go. Home go.”

“His rightful owner is in the waiting room. You’re more than welcome to take him out there for the reunion with Charles yourself.”

“Charles?” I repeated.

“Chip!” Ghost barked as confirmation.

Whitehat made a dismissive shooing motion in my direction. “Go. Return the dog and have a good day, Ms. Lee.”

With that she turned on her three-hundred dollar heels and walked out, the collar clutched in her hand.

“Ghost?” a disembodied voice called from another part of the building.

“Chip!” Ghost barked excited, wriggling to be put down.

“Are you here, boy?” Chip called.

I put the dog down and watched him scamper joyously toward the sound of his master’s voice. I shook my head as I realized that every time the little dog had said “No chip,” he’d just meant that I wasn’t his owner, Chip. I was at the door, ready to leave myself when I heard, “You thank.”

Turning, I saw Ghost grinning at me. “You thank,” he repeated.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled and waved and then he was gone again.

As she’d promised, Candace was waiting for me when I emerged from the building. As I climbed into her car, she said, “We should hang out some time.”

“But I’m not a true believer,” I reminded her.

“But you’ve got crazy kick-ass skills. I could use some of those.”

“We’ll see,” I said, hoping that I’d never see her again.

She dropped me off a block from the B&B, threatening to friend me on Facebook before driving off.

I hopped into my car and drove over to the hospital. Katie wasn’t in her room, but Delveccio was there, reading to his unconscious grandson.

“She’s here,” the mobster’s steroid-fueled nephew-slash-bodyguard announced as I walked into the room.

Smiling, Delveccio put aside the book and reached into a cooler at his feet. “I got you a pudding.”

He handed me a cup of the chocolate stuff and a spoon.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the proffered treat.

He clinked the plastic cup against mine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers?” I asked weakly.

“Nice job,” he whispered, winking at me. “Princess.”

Laughing, I ate my pudding and visited with Katie, who was sporting a braid, courtesy of Aunt Marlene before heading back to the B&B.

Piss again greeted me at the end of the driveway. “What happened? Is Ghost okay?”

I bent to scratch the spot behind her good ear. “He’s fine. In fact, he’s better than fine, he’s back with his owner.”

“Good,” she purred, grinding her head into my palm.

“So God took the credit, but you’re the one who found Ghost, aren’t you?”

“I told you, Sugar. I’m a hunter. It’s what I do.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So what’s waiting for me in there?” I asked, eyeing the B&B suspiciously.

“Not too many at home. The psychic is trying to help Loretta, DeeDee is taking a nap, and the lizard is trying to find a vowel.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” I stopped petting her and straightened. I’d only taken a couple of steps toward the front door when it hit me.

Whirling around I said to the cat, who was stretched out on the pavement cleaning her paws, “What did you say about God?”

“He’s trying to buy a vowel.”

I beamed at her.

“What?” she asked curiously. “You look like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary… which would be a physical impossibility… unless of course it was a great cat.”

“I figured out one of the predictions,” I told her, running toward the front door.

Armani, looking decidedly dejected, sat at the dining room table picking at the remains of one of Aunt Loretta’s love muffins.

“I know what Harry’s means,” I blurted out, sliding into the seat opposite her.

“Really?” she asked, immediately brightening. “It means something?”

“Single Girl.”

“You think he has to meet a single girl?”

“Not any single girl. I met a woman whose license plate is literally S-N-G-L-G-R-L. You have to introduce them.”

Armani nodded excitedly. “Great. Where can I find her?”

“At the pound.”

“She’s a dog?” Armani frowned.

“She’s a dog catcher.”

“You want me to fix up Harry with a dog catcher?”

“Hey,” I said, holding up my hands to signal my surrender. “It’s your psychic prediction not mine.”

“Okay, I’ll figure out a way to get them together.” She dropped the rest of her muffin. “Any chance you figured out who the dingbat is? Your aunt is driving me crazy.”

“Welcome to my life,” I chuckled. “Sorry, can’t help you with that one.”

“What about the
beggars
thing?”

“Nothing there either,” I admitted.

Armani scowled.

“But one out of three isn’t bad,” I told her.

Armani tilted her head to the side and gave me a long, considering look. “What’s up with you, cheery Chiquita?”

“Things are looking up,” I told her, jumping to my feet. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

After checking on God, who was sound asleep in his terrarium, the poor guy had a rough night, I headed to the place I was supposed to meet up with Patrick.

He’d named a cheap motel on the outskirts of town and as I pulled into the parking lot, I wondered how I was supposed to figure out what room he was in.

I worried needlessly because the moment I parked my car, the sexy redhead got out of a nearby one and tilted his head to the side indicating I should follow him.

Snatching up the knapsack I’d stowed the gun in, I jumped out of the car.

He led the way to the very end of the building. As I followed his cute, jean-hugged butt, it occurred to me that we’d be in a room with a bed, and for the first time, we’d be alone. No nosy animals contributing unwanted commentary. Self-consciously, I smoothed my hair, trying to remember when I’d last shaved my legs.

An ember of anticipatory excitement sparked to life in my core.

I stumbled the last couple of steps through the doorway, my legs suddenly rubbery with desire.

A mixture of mildew and cheap air freshener assaulted my nose the moment I stepped into the polyester-draped room. I fought the urge to gag.

Patrick closed the door behind me, plunging the room into darkness. Fumbling for a light switch, I instead encountered the solid wall of his chest. Grabbing his shirt, I pulled him against me. In the intimacy of the dark, sensual energy crackled between us as I delighted in every centimeter of contact our bodies made.

I dropped the knapsack so I could snake my arm around his waist, pulling him even closer.

His mouth found mine with surprising speed. He tasted like his peppermint Lifesavers and smelled of the citrusy aftershave he favored, but he hadn’t shaved. His chin was rough with rough stubble as his lips plundered mine. The kiss was hot and deliberate, full of taking and giving and promises.

And then, just at the moment when our tenuous grip on reality would have snapped, he pulled away. I swayed unsteadily, no longer cradled in his arms.

Groaning my frustration, I reached for him again and he returned to me, pulling me tight against him, nuzzling my neck. I shivered as bolts of pleasure set every nerve-ending on fire.

He nipped at my earlobe and whispered in my ear, his breath a hot, wet tease. “We’ve got to talk.”

“Later,” I murmured, turning my head so that I could kiss him again.

But his lips, when I found them, wouldn’t allow me entrance. My mouth stilled against his.

He tilted his head so that his forehead leaned against mine. “I’m sorry, Mags, but we really do have to talk.”

He grabbed one of my hands before he stepped away, feeling along the wall to turn on the lights.

We blinked against the sudden brightness. When I could see clearly again, I looked down at our interlocked fingers, wishing other parts of our bodies were fitting together.

This reminded me of the time we’d spent together in Atlantic City. So close... and yet nothing had happened. I sighed heavily, trying to shake off the crushing sense of frustration.

With Atlantic City’s disappointment foremost in my mind, I said, “You’ll never guess who I saw.”

“Who?”

“Lucky O’Hara. He was at the poker game.” I watched his face closely, but his only reaction was a slight frown. “Is that what we have to talk about?”

He shook his head.

“Then what’s this all about?” I asked, a tad petulantly, looking away so that he wouldn’t see my level of exasperation.

“It’s about your sister,” he said softly.

I jerked my gaze up to search his green eyes that were watching me warily.

Pulling my hand from his, I backed up a step. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You were one of her customers.”

He blinked. “You think Jewel and I…?”

“Marlene,” I corrected automatically. “Her name is Marlene, not Jewel.”

“You really think…?”

It’s not often that Patrick’s cool and collected demeanor cracks, but it was crumbling like a dried out cookie.

“You weren’t talking about Marlene?” I guessed.

“Darlene. I was talking about Darlene.”

Most of my blood was still coursing through parts of my body other than my brain, but I couldn’t imagine how my maybe-dead sister Darlene was a reason to not have red-hot sex.

Regaining some of his composure, Patrick pointed to the bed. “Let’s sit.”

Taking my upper arm, he propelled me toward the bed.

He waited until my rear end had met the mattress before he spoke again. “I tried to get Darlene’s file for you.”

Shocked that he’d gone to the trouble after telling me to leave the matter alone, I murmured. “Thank you.”

“It’s not there. It’s not on a computer system. I couldn’t find a paper copy. It’s like it never existed.”

I looked up at his face, all hard lines and strength, but shadowed with worry. “I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

“It’s like someone wanted the world to forget she died.”

“Or lived,” I murmured, remembering Gypsy passing along a message from my other dead sister Theresa, that Darlene was alive.

“You need to leave this alone,” Patrick urged.

“Why?”

“Because it would take someone with real power to erase that file. Someone with that kind of power is not someone you should mess with.” His green gaze bored into mine with a frightening intensity.

Looking away, I nodded my understanding.

“So you’ll drop it?”

I nodded.

“I hate when you do that,” he spit out with barely contained anger.

I looked back at him. “Do what?”

He bent over so that we were eye level and only inches separated our faces. “I hate when you lie to me… like I don’t know you better than you know yourself.”

I swallowed hard, not sure what to say.

Disgusted, he whirled away. Keeping his back to me, he put his hands on his hips and stood very still.

I could feel the tension coming off him in waves. When I tried to speak, it came out as a whisper. “She’s my sister.”

It took him so long to reply I thought he hadn’t heard me. Finally, he said, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I won’t ask you to do anything.”