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“Just a minute. Don’t move.” I dash out the back door and jog to my garage. Once inside, the door clicks and locks behind me. With the push of a button the hidden door in the floor opens, and I hurry down the stairs. The long underground compartment lights, and my vast array of weapons greets me with all the warmth steel can muster. I’m in a hurry, and it’s daylight out, so I choose a small caliber pistol. I check the action, cock it, then climb up to the garage and close the compartment.
Heading outside, I creep around Mildred’s--well, now Lena’s--Cape Cod with the pink shutters, then dart to one of the oaks that lines our quiet street. Peeking out, I stare into the windshield. A familiar bald head glints in the sun.
“Pedro.” I swear under my breath. He’s been gunning for me ever since I took the Hotchkiss contract right out from under him. Governor Hotchkiss’s death was all over the front pages for months. I got the cash and the acclaim. All Pedro got was mad. And now he’s looking to get even. Killing my own kind isn’t something I enjoy, but he’s overstepped, and now he’s seen Lena.
He’s turned around, his eyes focused on my house. I hunch low and dart across the street, then duck beside his front tire. Too preoccupied with spying on my house, he didn’t see me. A fool’s mistake. But that’s what Pedro is, a fool. He’s not a professional. In fact, he kills for sport. This isn’t a job to him. It’s fun. Maybe I should’ve put him down a long time ago.
I rise hard and fast, then fire two quiet shots. The loudest sound is the glass shattering. He’s already dead as I open his door, yank him up, and shove him into the passenger seat. I jump in the car, his legs still on my side, then drive into the cul de sac and around to the alley. I park it behind my garage, drag the body to the back and throw it in the trunk, leaving my gun in the console. I’ll finish cleanup later.
For now, I check to make sure no one saw. Once I’m certain the coast is clear, I run next door to Betty’s house. Betty Winsten is as mean as they come, but she’s always had a soft spot for me. Probably because I helped her husband get out of the life so many years ago. Her backdoor is unlocked--I’ll have to have a chat with her about that--so I hurry in, grab her milk carton, run back out, then slow myself down as I cross my backyard.
Opening the door, I find Lena bending over and inspecting the pots and pans in my cabinet. Her ass. Fuck me, her ass in those yoga pants is too much to bear. And I swear I can make out the shape of--No. I need to look elsewhere, because my cock is already starting to act up, and all I have on are these sweatpants.
“Got it.”
She jumps, slams the cabinet, and scurries around to her seat. “Sorry. I thought I heard a … mouse?” She’s an awful liar.
I’m just glad she’s on the other side of the bar and can’t see the situation tenting my sweats. “Here you go.” I hand her the half-empty carton.
“Wow, that was fast.”
I shrug. “The garage is just right there.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “How much do you need?” I point to the measuring cup.
“Oh, ah.” She yanks on a few strands of her red hair. “Just, you know, a cup.”
“All right.” I pour it for her. “What are you baking?”
Her cheeks turn even redder somehow. “Pie. You know, a pie.”
“I love to bake.” I slide the carton away and lean on the bar, bringing me closer to her.
“You bake?” Her gaze travels down my chest, then lower. “You?”
“Yeah. I find it relaxing.” I shrug. “What sort of pie are you making?”
“It’s a, well, it’s one of those…” She bites her lip, panic setting in as she tugs at her hair again. She truly is the shittiest liar I’ve ever met.
I throw her a bone. “Fall is a great time for pumpkin. Love those. My favorite is butternut squash pie. Have you ever made that?”
“Um, yes, that’s what I’m making today.” She grabs the cup, almost spilling some of the milk. “Right. So I’ll just be going.”
“I’ll walk you out.” I follow her, doing my best not to stalk. I’ve been told I can be somewhat … intimidating. Even when I’m not trying to be. Occupational hazard, I suppose.
“Okay, this was great. Very nice to meet you, Mr. um, Mr…”
“My name’s Heath.” I hold out one hand, notice a blood spatter on the back, then pull it away. “Sorry, we don’t need to be formal, right? We’re neighbors. What’s your name?”
“Lena.”
“Lena, that’s a nice name.”
“Thanks. I like Heath, too.” She smiles. My heart seems to trip, fall, then struggle to get going again. She’s gorgeous and oddly wholesome to be related to a firebreather like Mildred.
I open the door for her, but scan the street before letting her step out. The quiet lane is once again peaceful and safe, so I step onto the porch and smile as she heads down my front walk.
She almost makes it to her yard when she trips, her hands splaying out, and the milk goes flying. I just manage to catch her around the waist before she hits the driveway, but the milk is done for.
Pulling her back up to rights, I set her on her feet.
