The Hitwoman Spirals

Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 44

Prologue

You just know it’s going to be a bad day when PMS is taking over the world.

And by PMS, I mean the Psychic Matchmaking Service run by my friend, Armani Vasquez.

There I was, sitting in the kitchen, minding my own business, trying to enjoy an olive loaf sandwich and Armani had burst in, spewing her plans for world domination.

“Between Sly’s techie skills and my psychic abilities, we can fill the world with love!” she concluded with breathless excitement.

My Aunt Loretta, a woman married more times than Elizabeth Taylor and Jennifer Lopez combined, clapped. “I love it!”

Her significant other, Templeton, lowered the newspaper he was reading just enough to peer at me, signaling his doubt with raised eyebrows.

“Sly, the hacker?” I asked carefully.

“The Robin Hood of hackers,” Armani corrected. “He managed to get all my money back.”

Loretta clapped again. “Thank heavens for that!”

I understood her relief. Her business partner in The Corset, Armani had recently had all of her lottery winnings embezzled by a financial advisor. The loss had endangered both the shop and our lives…though Loretta didn’t know about the latter part.

Still, I’d have been a bad friend if I didn’t point out, “You’re going into business with a criminal.”

“Accused, but never convicted,” Armani countered.

“She lives with a criminal,” my pet lizard, God, pointed out from where he was hanging out in my bra.

I winced, knowing he was right. My name is Maggie Lee. I’ve got a crazy family, I can talk to animals, and I kill people for money. (But only bad people.)

“I just think you should take your time with this,” I urged. “Get some counsel from trustworthy people.”

“Like who?” my friend scoffed. “Jack? He thinks it’s a stupid idea.”

I didn’t disagree with her boyfriend’s position. “He is sort of an expert on things that can go badly,” I remarked mildly, hoping to remind her that as a crime reporter, he saw the worst of people.

“Sly thinks it’s a great idea,” she argued.

“Of course, he does. He’s going to benefit from it.”

Armani glared at me, unhappy I wasn’t willing to cheer for her latest scheme.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Aunt Loretta interjected.

“Of course, you do,” I snapped impatiently. “You’re a serial lover.”

She blinked her false eyelashes, shocked by my cheap shot. 

I regretted it instantly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

She waved a hand, dismissing the apology. “No worries. We all deal with a broken heart differently. I know you’re still suffering over Gino’s death.”

I hung my head, not wanting to reveal that my former lover wasn’t really dead. Or that I was starting to move on with my life after he’d left it.

“I can find someone new for you,” Armani offered.

I was saved from responding by my grandfather, Herschel, striding into the room and announcing, “The ass is on a hunger strike.”

“Which ass?” Loretta asked curiously.

“Do we have more than one?” her father demanded.

Behind his newspaper, Templeton made a choking noise.

“Irma,” I quickly told my aunt. “Irma, the donkey.”

“Stubborn, mule-headed…,” Herschel muttered, stalking out of the room.

Templeton lowered his paper all the way. “Speaking of not eating, is Piss okay? She didn’t drink the cream I poured for her this morning.”

“She didn’t?” My voice cracked with anxiety. The cat loves the way he pours her cream.

He shook his head. “She was out the door before the dog this morning and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Uh oh,” God murmured from my bra. “This can’t be good.”