The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels (6 page)

“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.

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 redheaded 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.