Paradise By The Rifle Sights (Greatest Hits romantic mysteries book #5) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) (11 page)

"
I couldn't wait for success, so I went ahead without it."

~
Jonathan Winters

The police came pretty quickly.
Cindee and Teri had been wrapped in blankets and led away. Detective Miller was there again. I waited until he got to me.

"
So, Paris Bombay," the detective said slowly, "what exactly happened here?"

I explained that Chuck had threatened Teri and Cindee and explained what I knew (but not how I knew it) about his white slavery activities.
My goal was to sound inept and stupid—and that I was truly sorry he died. The officer nodded occasionally.

"
We've been trying to nail Plimpton for years," he said to my surprise. "We think he's responsible for the deaths of at least eleven women over the past three years." Miller gave me a look that said he wasn't going to fill me in, and then he shook my hand. "I think we can write this all off as an unfortunate accident."

What?
As I watched him walk away, I marveled at the fact I'd gotten away with it so neatly. Chuck jumping over the banister was a fluke. And this was probably the first time ever a Bombay was caught on film taking out his Vic.

Wait.
I was filmed killing my Vic. This could be a serious problem with the Bombay Council. Not to mention the fact that I'd done Liv's assignment. I had a lot to answer for once I got home.

Then there was Cindee and Teri.
I'd been a complete asshole. Cindee and Teri were all I wanted in a woman (if they'd been conjoined twins, I'd be in heaven), and now they both despised me. Hell, I despised me.

I stared at the
pool below for a moment before taking off my jacket and going inside. The sooner I faced them, the sooner I could go home, crawl into my bed and die.

I spotted Teri just inside the door.
She was arguing with someone on her cell phone but snapped it shut when I approached her.

"
Teri, I'm sorry." I hung my head to let her know I meant it. "Chuck put you in the finale to make me choose between you and Cindee and whoever I didn't pick, well…" How could I explain this to her?

"
I know all about it," she waved her hand at me in disgust. "What I want to know is why you threw us into the pool."

"
You knew? How did you know?" The detective was still outside. He just now took my story. How could she possibly know?

Teri fished in
to her purse. The blue, silk dress clung to her every curve. I tried not to stare, but she had one hell of a body. She shoved a badge under my nose.

"
You're FBI?" I sat down, and thank God there was a chair behind me, or I would've landed on the floor. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"
Why should I tell you?" she answered. And then it hit me—she had no idea who I really was. Paris Bombay was just some nitwit trying to get laid on a stupid show.

Teri put her hand up in my face.
"I've been on this case for two years now. The whole house is bugged, and half the female contestants were agents."

Okay, now I really felt stupid.
I can usually spot a Fed a mile off. How did I miss this? Oh yeah, because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself, dismissing these women as trash, and screwing up the assignment.

"
Again, I'm so sorry," I started, but she silenced me again with the hand.

"
Two years of undercover work ruined." She shook her head. "But at least that monster is dead."

"
Teri, I…"

"
Save it Romeo." She gave me a wry smile. "It would never have worked out between us. Frankly, you are just not my type."

As I watched her walk away, I realized that I
'd let one hell of a woman slip through my fingers. It was depressing. If we'd met at any other time, maybe we could've had something. But then again, she was a Fed, and I was an assassin. Even with my family's connections at the Bureau, it would never work out. It had been my experience that FBI agents towed a strict line between the good guys and the bad guys. Being a paid assassin from a family of assassins gave me no chance whatsoever.

It took me a little longer to find Cindee.
She'd changed her clothes, but her hair was still wet. All of her makeup had been washed away. She sat in a T-shirt and shorts in the kitchen, staring out the window and playing with a spoon that was on the counter. I'd never seen anything so beautiful.

"
Hey," I said weakly. "I was looking for you."

Cindee stood and walked toward me.
I froze, waiting for her to slap me or punch me. I certainly deserved that.

Instead, she threw her arms around me and pressed her lips to mine.
She was warm, damp, and smelled like chlorine, and I was more than a little turned on by that. The kiss was real. Nothing staged for cameras or to achieve a desired effect. I didn't want it to end.

When she pulled away, she looked deep into my eyes.

"
What was that about?" I asked. "Not that I'm complaining, that is…"

"
For saving my life. Even if you had to throw me into a pool to do it."

"
How did you know?" Seriously! Was she an agent too?

"
Teri told me." She smiled. "She told me she's with the FBI and that Chuck was going to hurt me."

"
Sorry about the pool," I answered weakly. She liked me after all that?

"
I don't care about the pool. Although it did bother me having a guy die next to me. But I suppose it can't be helped."

I kissed her before she had a chance to say anything else.
Maybe, just maybe, I'd get another chance with her. And that was good enough for me.

It
's been six months since I threw Cindee into a pool in Hollywood. She flew home with me, and we spent a long, wonderful week together in my apartment. At the end of that week, we spent a weekend in Chicago at a very nice boutique hotel. I proposed to her by the pool, and she accepted. Then I threw her in, just for old time's sake.

The Bachelor: Bachelor No More
—Ever
did not air. I think the Council had something to do with that, but I'll never know. Shortly after we flew home, the bodies of four men were discovered in a Dumpster at Chuck Plimpton's house. I felt pretty bad about that. Even bad guys shouldn't rot in the trash in Hollywood.

Chuck Plimpton
's full story came to light, and the media was still milking it for all it's worth. A couple of his captives were signed to start a reality show tracing the white slave business in America. Geraldo was rumored to be the producer. I guess things came full circle.

My contacts at the Bureau told me recently that Teri had been promoted to Captain as a result of her investigation.
It didn't surprise me at all to see on TMZ that she's now dating George Clooney.

The Bombay Council was less than thrilled with me.
Liv and I had to appear at a special meeting at Santa Muerta—the family's private island off the coast of South America. Liv was punished for forcing her assignment on me. I was punished for botching the original job, then killing the Vic in front of television cameras. The punishment was forty lashes dealt by Grandma Mary.

I
'm kidding. The punishment was that we had to do a job together later that week. The assignment was in Kazakhstan and involved me and my sister taking out a serial killer tag team, and we had to do it with our bare hands. The sounds of Liv's thumbs puncturing the Vic's eye sockets and squishing into his brain will haunt me for the rest of my life, but the punishment could've been worse…much worse.

Cindee has moved in with me
, and we are planning a wedding, looking for a house, and launching our own little private enterprise—a book store. One with an especially large and comfy poetry section.

I still have to tell her about the fact that I
'm an assassin. It's a requirement that our spouses know and accept this. I've held off, because some interesting things are going on right now with my cousin Coney Island Bombay, and who knows? Maybe we will all be allowed to retire for good.

I
've even developed a soft spot for reality television. That's how Cindee and I spend our Thursday nights—curled up on the couch in each other's arms, wearing silk pajamas, and drinking Harvey Wallbangers. After all, I can finally say that I really am a bachelor no more—ever.

* * * * *

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* * * * *

About the Author

L
eslie Langtry manages somehow to write from her home in the Midwest, where she lives with her two fabulous kids and terrific husband. She has never assassinated anyone—and wants to make that perfectly clear.

To learn more about Leslie Langtry, visit her online at
www.
leslielangtry.com
.

* * * * *

OTHER BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

Greatest Hits Mysteries:

'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

Guns Will Keep Us Together

Stand By Your Hitman

I Shot You Babe

Paradise By The Rifle Sights

Snuff the Magic Dragon

* * * * *

by
Leslie Langtry:

Once Upon A Time, there was a family of Assassins, called the Bombays…

My name is Gin Bombay, and I’m a retired assassin. Because I’ve retired early and am a bit bored, I decided it was time to write down all the stories that have been passed down in our family for the last few millennia…the Bombay Bedtime Stories, if you will.

First of all, I’d like to make it clear that these stories have been passed down orally. Second, I’m not a historian or writer. So I may get some things wrong here and there. I’ve decided to write in my own voice, as if I were there, which I was not. If you are some jerk, Ivy League professor bent on pointing out all my mistakes – I may just have to come out of retirement for one more job, if you get my drift.

I’d like to dedicate this book to my wonderful daughter, Romi, who was born (through no fault of her own) into this crazy family.

These stories entertained me when I was growing up. I hope you enjoy them.

-Virginia Bombay

I had to move carefully, I reminded myself as I knocked over a clay pot. Who had clay pots anymore? It was the Bronze Age, for the gods’ sake! Clay pottery was useless and would never again be worth more than the dirt it was mixed from.

The pot tottered precariously. My reflexes were pretty quick, though, and I caught it before it hit the stone road. After regaining my breath, I slipped into the shadows, away from the market, toward the outskirts of town.

My contact was nervous. An idiot. An Athenian. He did not like coming to Crete to meet me. But he had no choice. If he wanted me to get the job done, he’d have to come here. I wasn’t fond of sailing. Too many sea monsters and that overly sensitive Poseidon. I’ll keep my sandals on terra firma, thanks.

Let Codros take the risk. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do, but he promised me a
lot
of money. A noise from my left gave me pause. I froze, willing my body to blend in with the wall behind me. Nothing. Probably a bird or something.

At long last I reached the crossroads. Codros was there, twitching nervously, naturally. Fucking Athenians.

“You came,” he said as he ran his hand through his thick curls. He’d been my contact for the last year. It took him that long to stop staring at my breasts. Apparently, Athenian girls covered theirs – unlike Cretan women. And also, he’d never seen a pair before. Aside from the fact he was a moron and had no clue as far as Cretan fashion was concerned, he was passable to work with.

“Of course I came,” I snapped. “What do you want?”

Codros looked left and right, as if he didn’t trust me not to be followed. I rolled my eyes skyward and asked the gods for strength.

“We want to pay you three thousand gold coins to kill the Minotaur.”

“Three thousand?” I asked. Surely I misheard him. That was a lot of money. More money than I would ever see in my lifetime. Was this some sort of trap?

Codros nodded. He looked right and left again, which pissed me off, before reaching behind a rock and pulling out a bag loaded with something heavy. He tossed the bag at my feet.

“Here is half,” he said quietly. “Once you prove the Minotaur is dead, you will get the rest.”

I bent down to examine the bag in the fading light of dusk. My fingers slid past the rough material and closed on a pile of cold coins. I stood, leaving the bag on the ground.

“The Minotaur is a myth,” I said. King Minos was always messing with the Athenians. No such half man, half bull existed in real life. Did they really believe that? This had to be a trap.

Codros shook his head violently. “We have been told that we are to send seven Athenian girls and seven boys to be sacrificed in the labyrinth to this beast. If the beast is dead, there will be no sacrifices.” He stuck his chin out as if to make his point.

“Okay, say the Minotaur does exist, and I kill him. Why wouldn’t Minos just demand the kids anyway and kill them outright?” I mean, that’s what I would do. You didn’t need a man with a bull’s head to kill people.

“If the Minotaur is dead—” Codros slammed his right fist into his left palm. “—Minos will not ask for tribute.”

On Crete, we had a lot of jokes about Athenians. Named
ironically
for the Goddess of Wisdom, Athenians were rubes who believed in stuff like flying horses and minotaurs. How many Athenians does it take to milk a goat? Five: one to hold each of the four legs with the fifth one running off to find someone from Crete. Believe me, that’s a howler in my village.

“I can’t be responsible for what Minos does. If I take your money, kill this Minotaur, and the demand for sacrifice continues, your people will come after me.”

“No. You won’t be held responsible. And we will pay you once we have proof the monster is dead. Minos won’t demand the tributes. If he does, then he’s a fool.” Codros spat on the ground.

“All right, then.” I lifted the very heavy bag from the ground. “I’ll do it. And I’ll get you your proof. And I won’t be responsible for what happens after. We meet back here in four days. I’ll have your proof, and you’ll have the rest of my money.”

He nodded and slipped away into the shadows.

It took me longer to get back home as I dragged an extremely noisy bag of coins through the streets in the darkness. Once inside my little house, I barred the door and dumped the bag on the table. I froze for a moment from the loud sound of coins clanking together, exhaling only after I didn’t hear anyone beating on my door.

Why was I worried? I lived alone, with no friends or family on the whole island. People never noticed me. I could slip in and out of anywhere without anyone knowing I was there.

Now, why did I take this job? That confused me a little. I’d been a thief and a spy for most of my sixteen years. But killing? My eyes slid to the bulging sack. Well, clearly that was more lucrative. Besides, I wasn’t really going to kill anything.

The Minotaur! Honestly! Those Athenians would fall for anything. There was no Minotaur. What idiots. They couldn’t even mess things up properly. Sometimes, those bastards would sneak in and attempt to ruin some festival or another by setting all the goats loose or pouring honey on the streets—you know, the usual Athenian bullshit.

             
King Minos kept sending our navy to kick their asses, but this crap still happened. He even told the Athenians if they didn’t knock it off, he’d demand seven boys and girls every nine years to feed to his weird, made-up, man/bull thing, the Minotaur. But he doesn’t have a minotaur. He just says that.

I didn’t feel bad in the least for taking their money to kill something that didn’t exist. Athens was filled with people who took the “short chariot” to work. Their city state would never last. I give them one more generation before they’re completely forgotten.

The only problem would be evidence. How would I prove I killed something that didn’t exist? I shook my head and filled a clay cup with water. Damn clay. But with this kind of money, I’d be able to afford a bronze cup or two soon enough.

My parents died when I was two years of age. They were killed in a strange oxcart accident involving a duck and a single olive. This old guy, Deuteronomy, took me in and taught me the fine art of theft. I stole for the two of us while we lived quietly in this house. He died when I was ten. After a while, thieving bored me, and I turned to spying. When I was thirteen, I sold the Athenians a lie that strangely turned out to be true. Who knew Poseidon really
did
have a Kraken? The Athenians believed me, and, as a result, I’ve been taking their money (and selling them lies) ever since. But this…killing for money, was new.

I wasn’t terribly fond of Crete either. People ignored me completely. Maybe after this job, I could disappear—see the world. I was good with a knife and knew my way around poisons—Deuteronomy believed in a well-rounded education. I could take care of myself and had for years.

First things first. I carried the bag of money to my bedroom and yanked the bed away from the wall. After tucking the bag in a hole I had hidden there, I shoved the bed back and lay down on it.

It was hot, and the night was filled with the humid stench of animals, ripe olive groves and people. Yes, leaving after the job was done was a good idea. Wait until after I get paid the rest, and just disappear. I’d probably leave Greece altogether. What would be the point of staying? Maybe I’d even turn faux assassination into a little family business…train the kids and grandkids. Then I threw up in my mouth a little because that would require getting married. Greek boys were gross—always oiling up and wrestling in the nude. What the hell was that all about?

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew daylight flooded the room and someone was banging on my door.

“Who is it?” I asked in the gruffest voice I could manage.

“Codros sent me,” the male voice answered.

I only had two options: open the door and let him in, or keep it barred, grab the money and slip out the window. But I was curious about what kind of moron Codros would send, so I opened the door and dragged the man inside.

“Who are you?” I asked, shutting the door behind him. As I looked him over, my knees grew a little weak. This was an Athenian? He looked more like Apollo. Gold hair, gold skin and eyes as blue as the Aegean. He smiled, and my stomach flipped.

“I’m Sparta.” He gave a little bow. I wasn’t used to men treating me with respect. Basically, they didn’t look at me at all.

“Sparta? Like the city-state?”

He nodded. “Yes. My parents met there. So they named me after that place.”

“That’s kind of weird,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Yes. It is,” he agreed. “No one does that.”

We stood there, staring at each other for a moment. I motioned to the table and a stool beside it. “Please, sit.” I poured him a cup of water and stood back, studying him.

Why did that idiot send someone? And why is he so cute and nice? Is he here to spy on me?

“You said that Codros sent you…”

Adorably, Sparta blushed. “Yeah. I volunteered. I thought I could help you.”

“You mean spy on me.” I folded my arms across my chest. Sparta didn’t seem so cute now. Codros didn’t trust me to kill a mythological monster? That bastard!

Sparta rose from the stool and stepped close to me. He was taller than me. And just as gorgeous close up.

“No. I came because I can do things.”

It was hard to hear myself over my heart beating. “Really. What exactly can you do?” My guard was up now. Not only did this guy notice me…he actually talked to me. That didn’t happen.

“What’s your plan for killing the Minotaur?” he asked casually.

“How I kill him is my business.” My face was hot, and I could feel that vein pulsing in my forehead. I didn’t need some stupid Athenian following me around. I moved to the door and opened it.

“I think you’d better go.”

Sparta sighed and made his way out the door, which I may have closed a bit too loudly. He wouldn’t last half an hour in the village. Everyone here knew everyone else, and we didn’t like strangers. The boy would have to return home or get fed to the goats.

If I had someone spying on me, I’d need to act quickly. Maybe I could just behead a bull and present that to the Athenians? Would they buy it? I could say that he was too large to bring back so I just took the head.

How was I going to behead a bull? I mean, the biggest thing I’d ever killed was a bird, and it wasn’t too hard cutting his head off. But a bull? What about the horns? I could get the horns easily enough. But how would that prove anything to people who thought I needed spying upon? Obviously, this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

And that stupid Sparta! He probably wouldn’t go away. If he had half a brain, he’d hide in the olive groves. His blonde hair would really stand out. I’d have to shake him somehow. Or threaten him.

He’d asked what my plan was. I didn’t have one. This job seemed so easy last night. Now it just seemed like a mess…one that would bring the Athenians down on me like a sack of…um…Athenians when I failed.

I could go now. There were fifteen hundred gold coins behind my bed. That would make it easy for me to run away and live fairly comfortably somewhere. All I’d have to do would be to wait until the middle of the night and just slip away. I could bribe a fisherman at the beach to take me across the sea, in the opposite direction of Athens.

In a few days, I’d be in Italy or Africa, and no one would miss me. No one would miss me. Wow. That idea stopped me cold. The only people who knew I even existed were the Athenian morons and Sparta. My neighbors would be hard pressed to identify me as something other than “that weird orphan girl.” Even though it would be easy to fade away, I suddenly didn’t want to.

I wanted to prove I could do this. For some reason, it mattered that someone out there would remember who I was and what I could do. Slipping away in the night had merit. But it wasn’t the right answer. I’d have to go to Minos’ palace, Knossos. Then if Sparta was following me, he had to see that I was at least moving toward a plan (one that I really didn’t have).

I spent the day preparing for the trip. Deuteronomy had left behind a worn, canvas pack that I filled with dates, olives and bread. Two handfuls of the gold coins and a wine skin filled with water took up the rest of the space. In the early afternoon, I napped. I’d have to move out late at night. By late evening, I’d sharpened my four, bronze throwing knives that I’d stolen from a sailor two years past. They were good knives, and I could throw them with great accuracy. I could use them for self-defense and hunting along the way.

The sounds of the village slowed to a stop as the night grew darker. Finally, I gathered my pack, stuffed my knives in my pockets and headed out the door toward King Minos and his ridiculous, imaginary Minotaur.

SNUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON
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Also available:
'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy