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  The Hitwoman Owes A Favor

  Book 25

  JB Lynn

  Contents

  A note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Author’s Note

  Also by JB Lynn

  About JB Lynn

  Copyright © Jennifer Baum THE HITWOMAN OWES A FAVOR

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by US copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Hitwoman Owes A Favor is intended for 18+ older and for mature audiences only.

  © 2021 Jennifer Baum

  Editor: Parisa Zolfaghari

  Cover designer: Hot Damn Designs

  Proofreader: Proof Before You Publish

  Formatting: Leiha Mann

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  Prologue

  You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you wake up to the words, “Death is coming for you.”

  For a second, I thought I was having a nightmare and my friend Armani Vasquez was trying to warn me. I waved her off, eager to return to the dream I’d been having about diving into a vat of chocolate pudding.

  “Do you hear me, chica?” Armani yelled. “You are going to die.”

  I forced my eyes open and realized it wasn’t a dream. She was standing over my bed, face contorted with worry.

  “Huh?” I muttered, hoping I’d heard her wrong in my half-awake state.

  “Die are you to going,” DeeDee, my Doberman pinscher taking up half the bed, supplied helpfully. She licked my hand, as though she was paying her last respects.

  Armani grabbed my shoulder and gave me a good shake, making sure I would be alert enough to understand her proclamation of doom and gloom. “You are going to die!”

  I blinked at her, not knowing what to say.

  “Die! Die! Die!” Benny, the white mouse, yelled from his temporary home.

  “I don’t think that’s helping,” Piss, my one-eyed cat, purred at the mouse. She kneaded my chest, trying to offer me comfort about my impending death, but all she was succeeding in doing was pricking me with her claws.

  I sat up, under the guise of talking to Armani, but really to get the cat to stop poking me. “Good morning.”

  “It’s not good.” My friend sat down heavily on the bed, her bad leg making the move a challenging maneuver.

  I had to squirm to stay out of her way.

  “Ouch,” Matilda, the pig at the foot of the bed, complained as I accidentally kicked her in the head in my attempt to not have Armani sit on me.

  Armani hung her head. “You’re going to die.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

  My friend scowled at me. “Am I ever wrong? Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

  I shrugged, unsure of how to answer. She wasn’t usually wrong per se, but her predictions were often misleading.

  “All living beings die,” God, the anole lizard, intoned solemnly from his terrarium. At my niece Katie’s insistence, I’d recently bought him a new glass enclosure, complete with an oversized piece of driftwood. He perched on top of it, using his vantage point to survey the scene.

  “Today? Today? Today?” the mouse asked, running around in agitated circles inside a shoebox.

  “That’s actually a decent question,” God said. “It didn’t need to be repeated twice, but it’s a good question. Ask her.”

  “Am I going to die today?” I asked Armani.

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re the psychic,” I reminded her.

  “The message isn’t always one hundred percent clear,” she admitted absentmindedly, scratching the back of Matilda, who, having been inadvertently kicked off the bed, had wandered over, looking for attention.

  “How am I going to die?” I yawned.

  She shook her head. “Not clear.” She grabbed my hand. “But you’re in danger. I know it.”

  I nodded slowly. I’m in danger on a fairly regular basis. That’s what happens when you’re a paid assassin for a mob boss and caught in the clutches of a mysterious organization. Someone’s pretty much always trying to do me harm.

  But I didn’t tell my friend that. She may be psychic, or at least semi-psychic, but she doesn’t seem to have a clue about my extracurricular activities. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and said, “I’ll be careful.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll try to get you some more information.”

  I nodded. A time, place, or method of death could be helpful to know. “Anything else bothering you?”

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “My business partner is not happy with me.”

  “Which one?” I asked. Armani is in business with a couple of people, including a former dog catcher turned decorator.

  “Loretta. She’s pissed I fired the dancers.”

  I nodded sympathetically. My aunt Loretta had seemed unusually attached to the two skanky male dancers she’d hired to perform outside of her lingerie shop, The Corset. Personally, I’d found them to be both pathetic and repulsive, but there’s no accounting for taste…or a lack thereof.

  “I’m afraid she’s going to make Soulful and Sinful’s first day on the job difficult. Can you talk to her?”

  “I can try,” I agreed. After all, I’d been the one to recommend that Armani interview the singing drag queens. The least I could do was try to smooth things over with Loretta for them.

  “Thanks.” She made a pouty face. “I feel kind of bad asking for your help with that when you’re going to die.”

  “Maybe it’ll be my last good deed on Earth,” I joked.

  “How can you be so casual about it?” she asked. “If somebody told me I was going to die, I’d freak.”

  “As a wise friend once said, all living beings die,” I told her. “If my time’s up…”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away. She awkwardly got off the bed, taking care not to put weight on her bad leg. “I don’t want you to die,
” she muttered, limping out of the room.

  “You made Armani cry,” Matilda accused, waddling out after her, making sympathetic snuffling sounds.

  With a sigh, I collapsed back onto my pillow, already exhausted by the day that had just started.

  DeeDee stuck her face in mine. “Die want don’t you I to.”

  I tried not to breathe as she huffed her doggy breath at me.

  “No one wants her to die,” Piss said, starting to knead me again.

  I knew she meant well, but her claws hurt. “Nobody’s going to die today,” I said, throwing off the covers and sitting up so that I could reclaim my personal space from the dog and cat.

  “You don’t know that,” God pointed out. “And don’t think that I missed that you admitted I’m wise.” He puffed out his dewlap, an orange flap of skin under his throat, self-importantly.

  “You’re never going to live that one down, sugar,” Piss purred. “He’s going to lord it over you forever.”

  “Not if she dies,” God snapped back at the cat.

  “Hungry!” DeeDee barked, apparently having had enough of the death conversation.

  I was grateful for the distraction from my impending end. I gave her a big smile and a pat on the top of her head. “Let’s go see if we can find you something to eat.”

  “And if Templeton will give me cream,” Piss cried greedily, jumping off the bed and racing out of the room.

  DeeDee followed on her heels.

  “Fine,” God muttered. “Feed the furries.”

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, thinking I could ask Piss to catch a cricket for him.

  “That’s not the point,” he harrumphed.

  I squinted at him, hearing an unusual level of stress in his tone. “Is something bothering you?”

  He gave me one of his unblinking stares. “You’re going to die.”

  “What will happen to us? What will happen—” Benny began.

  “Silence!” God thundered.

  Considering he’s only a few inches big, he’s got an impressive tone when he’s upset. The mouse fell silent.

  Surprised that the lizard was giving Armani’s prediction so much credence, I frowned. “You believe her?”

  “I believe that you’re in great danger, Maggie Lee.”

  1

  “We need to talk about your future, Margaret,” my aunt Susan declared the moment I stepped into the kitchen.

  Considering that Armani and others seemed convinced that I didn’t have one, that seemed like a massive waste of time.

  Susan was sitting at the table, scowling at the screen of her laptop while her husband, Laurence Griswald, leaned against the kitchen counter. Wordlessly, he poured me a cup of coffee, and I took it with a grateful nod, gingerly sipping the steaming brew.

  Feeling at least somewhat fortified, I fed the dog, who waited expectantly by her dish. A moment later, after she’d gulped down every last bite without actually chewing any, I let her outside.

  I looked to Piss, who sat calmly in the corner.

  “I’ll wait for Templeton to pour,” she said, licking her paw.

  “If you’re going to work for us,” Susan continued, “we’re going to have some guidelines, strict guidelines, in place.”

  “Us?” I gulped, looking to Griswald for an explanation.

  He shrugged helplessly. This man who’d been a U.S. Marshal for who knows how long, who’d spent his professional life facing off against career criminals, was willing to abdicate his authority to his wife. “She’s going to manage the day-to-day operations.”

  Despite the fact it was too hot, I took a gulp of coffee to brace myself as I sank into a chair at the table.

  Griswald wanted me to join him in a sort of private investigation business, funded by a mysterious benefactor. It was a chance to do some good, but I had doubts that I was up to it. Plus, the idea of working for Aunt Susan was not something I embraced.

  “If you’re going to do this,” Susan continued, “and let me make it clear that I don’t approve…” She stopped when she saw me roll my eyes. “What’s that for?”

  I shrugged. “You’ve never approved of anything I’ve done.”

  She frowned. “I worry about you, Margaret. You possess the worst qualities of both your mother and father.”

  Considering Mom lives in the nut house and Dad is one of those career criminals I mentioned earlier, she was basically pointing out that I’m not made of sugar and spice and everything nice.

  “But…” she admitted. “I am very proud of everything you’ve done for Katie.” She reached across the table to pat my arm, driving home how sincere the compliment was.

  Unable to look at her, I stared into my coffee cup. Sure, I’ve done my best to step up and care for my niece after she was orphaned, but I highly doubted that Susan would respect the way I’d earned the money to pay for her care. I don’t think being a paid assassin was high on her list of career goals for me.

  “And you stepped up to help save Alicia. Laurence was very impressed with the work you did with that.”

  I glanced up at Griswald, still hovering by the coffeemaker.

  He nodded solemnly.

  The whole situation with Alicia was a tricky one for the family to navigate. She’s my sister Marlene’s daughter, but none of us had known about her existence. Griswald had told me that we’d been hired to save a child who’d been kidnapped and raised by her father, but the U.S. Marshal had kept the familial connection a secret.

  I’d performed that entire job, clueless to the fact that I was working to save my sister’s daughter. It had made for some tense moments when I’d found out.

  “The point is,” Susan continued, “I don’t necessarily approve of you taking on a job that could prove dangerous. But if you insist on doing it, you’re going to be required to do everything possible to protect your safety.”

  “What’s that mean?” I asked.

  “It means that you’re going to need to become proficient in self-defense,” she insisted.

  I nodded slowly. That didn’t seem like an unreasonable requirement. Besides, it was a skill that could come in handy when I moonlighted as a murderer-for-hire.

  “Good. I’m glad that’s settled,” Susan declared, shutting the computer and getting to her feet. “I’ll let you know when your lessons begin.” Scooping up the laptop, she added, “By the way, Mia called.”

  “Mia?” I asked.

  There had been a time, in our early teens, when Mia, myself, and our friend Alice had been inseparable. “Three peas” is what Aunt Susan had called us back then. But by the end of high school, Mia was going off to college out of state, and we lost touch.

  “Now, she has made something of her life,” Susan declared. “I just read an article about her last week.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes again.

  Susan hustled out of the room, no doubt to go strike fear into the heart of some other unsuspecting soul.

  “I’m still not one hundred percent sold on this whole arrangement,” I told Griswald.

  He nodded, finally taking a seat at the table. “Neither am I.”

  Before we could discuss it further, Aunt Loretta sashayed into the room on her stilettos. “Good morning. Good morning.”

  Piss perked up, peering past her to see if she had Templeton in tow.

  She did not.

  “Morning,” Griswald said with a curt nod. Then he jumped up and quickly left the room.

  I couldn’t blame him for making an escape. Loretta, on the best of mornings, can be difficult to take.

  “Big day today,” Loretta told me.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Today’s the day your friend is going to bankrupt me.” She blinked her fake eyelashes at me for emphasis.

  I shook my head, remembering my promise to Armani. “I don’t think that’s Armani’s intention.” I chose not to mention that it was Armani’s investment that kept the shop open.

  Loretta put her hands on her hips,
causing more stress to the scrap of lace that was already struggling to support her ample chest. “She fired my boys.”

  “They were terrible dancers.” I restrained myself from reminding her that their antics had been the cause of fender benders. “What’s wrong with trying something new? You should give the new act a chance.”

  “People won’t like it,” Loretta said. “I sell sex, not songs.”

  I sipped my coffee, unsure of how to respond.

  “Templeton,” Piss meowed as Aunt Loretta’s fiancé joined us in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” he said to me. “Is she still complaining about Armani firing the revolting wretches?”

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. “Ignore her, she’s just disappointed she won’t get to ogle them all day long.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have anything to ogle all night long,” Loretta snapped at him. Then she wobbled out of the room, her heels click-clacking with every step.

  I frowned while Templeton performed his magical pour of cream for the cat. I’d been suspicious of him when he’d come into our lives, and he still wasn’t one hundred percent on the up-and-up, but I considered Templeton to be an ally and I cared for him. I hoped my serial dater aunt wasn’t getting ready to dump him. Of all the men she’d been with (which was way too many), he was my favorite.

  He must have seen my expression because he chuckled as he placed the saucer of cream in front of Piss. “Don’t worry, Maggie. Bickering is a kind of foreplay for us.”

  I winced. “Too much information.”