Free The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub by JB Lynn

he asked groggily.
     
    “Wake up, sleepyhead. I need your extra set of eyes. We’ve arrived.”
     
    Scrambling up my bra strap, he perched on my shoulder. “Which one?”
     
    “The yellow one with the picket fence.” I pointed to a house three doors down.
     
    “How boringly pedestrian.”
     
    A sharp rap against the rear passenger window almost gave me a heart attack. I yelped in terror as I turned to see who’d caught me spying.
     
    Patrick’s familiar face grinned at me.
     
    I fumbled to unlock the door to let him in.
     
    “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked as he slid into the passenger seat.
     
    “Nice to see you too, Mags. Sorry I scared you.”
     
    I glowered at him. “You didn’t scare me,” I lied, wondering if he could hear my still thundering heart.
     
    “I brought stakeout snacks.” He held up a plastic bag.
     
    “He’s trying to buy your affection,” God warned.
     
    “Oh hey, little guy, didn’t see you there,” the redhead said cheerily.
     
    “Pompous ass,” the lizard retorted, which amused me, but since Patrick could only hear a squeaking sound, he didn’t know he’d been insulted.
     
    Plucking the anole off my shoulder, I gently placed him in the cup holder that I kept lined with a silk scarf for his comfort.
     
    “Seriously,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
     
    “A guy can’t spend some quality time with his girl?”
     
    “You consider a stakeout to be quality time?”
     
    “I brought snacks,” he reminded me.
     
    “It’s creepy that you found me,” I retorted, unswayed by the promise of delicious goodies. At least temporarily unswayed.
     
    “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get yourself into any trouble.”
     
    “You’re the one who gave me the list.”
     
    “I hadn’t realized you’d be so dogged about following up on it. What did you think of the bar, Taco Hut, and bakery?”
     
    “The bar serves weak drinks and is full of sketchy customers, the Taco Hut is stingy with the sour cream, and the bakery makes some killer cannolis.”
     
    Patrick chuckled. “So you thoroughly checked them out?”
     
    I shrugged.
     
    “They were all paying Belgard protection money,” he casually revealed.
     
    A clue!
     
    “So they had motive to have him killed?”
     
    Patrick reached into his bag and pulled out a jar of olives. “Maybe, but I don’t know that they’d want Cardinale dead.”
     
    “About that,” I said carefully.
     
    “Delveccio wants him avenged?” Patrick guessed, twisting the cap to the olives.
     
    “Yeah.”
     
    The pop of the vacuum seal echoed in the car.
     
    “Not a surprise. They were tight.”
     
    “There’s something else you should probably know,” I admitted.
     
    Patrick, who’d been about to offer me an olive, pulled the jar out of reach. “That doesn’t sound good.”
     
    I told him quickly about how I’d witnessed the restaurant owner’s execution after my part in the assassination of the sniper, Lamb.
     
    “Did he see you?” Patrick asked, his tone strained.
     
    “No.”
     
    “Did you get a good look at him?”
     
    “Good enough.”
     
    Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose as though my revelation had brought on a sudden headache.
     
    “Does this mean I don’t get any olives?” I asked.
     
    He thrust the jar at me, spilling some of the brine, which unfortunately splashed on the lizard.
     
    “Sensitive skin!” God screamed as though a vat of acid had been poured on him.
     
    “Sorry,” I murmured, carefully placing the olives on the dash before scooping the lizard out of the cup holder. “It’s okay.”
     
    “It most certainly is not okay,” God ranted.
     
    “I said I was sorry,” I snapped. Then, realizing Patrick was watching me arguing with a squeaking lizard, I added, “He’s Katie’s pet. If anything happened to him…”
     
    “I understand,” the redhead said. “How’s she doing?”
     
    I placed the lizard on the dashboard, grabbed