'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy (5 page)

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Authors: Leslie Langtry

BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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“And you know Dad or Todd will watch her. They never go to Santa Muerta.” He looked at his watch. “Ooh. Gotta run, Sis. I’ve got a date tonight.”
I nodded weakly as he let himself out. Oh sure, he had a date. I had an untrained, narcoleptic puppy and an oblivious kindergartner. Dak was probably meeting some hot chick for dinner somewhere nice. Bastard. I never got to do that. And while I didn’t necessarily mean I wanted a hot chick, anything would be an improvement over my current celibacy situation.
Something clicked in my frazzled brain. I gently placed Poppy on the couch and retrieved my purse. It was still there! I walked to the phone and dialed the number on the card.
“Hello?” that hot Aussie accent purred from the receiver.
“Um, hey, is this Diego?”
Who else would it be, moron?
“That’s right. Who’s this?”
“Gin ... Ginny Bombay. We met at Borders, remember?”
A warm, luscious laugh filled my right ear. “Of course! I don’t easily forget a woman who salts her latte.”
I laughed nervously. “Well, I was calling to take you up on your offer for dinner. If it still stands, that is.”
“I’d like that!” He sounded sincere, and my naughty bits became warm and tingly. “How about tonight?”
“Um, sure! Where can I meet you?” It wouldn’t do for him to see my assassin’s lair. Not on the first date, anyway.
“How about Antonio’s at seven?”
Italian food? Did he know that was the way to my bed ... I mean heart? “Great. See you then.”
I hung up and immediately dialed Liv.
“Sure, I’ll babysit for Romi and Poppy! I love dogs!” she effused.
“So why don’t you have one?” I thought Dak’s question was fair, even though he didn’t have so much as a houseplant.
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “It just seemed like too much of a responsibility.”
Obviously I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. “Well, enjoy your time with Poppy, then. Maybe she’ll change your mind. I’ll drop them off at six thirty.”
“Great. See you later,” Liv said before hanging up.
Okay. Dak had said I needed to relax. And that’s what I would do tonight. Relax while mentally undressing Diego. Actually, I wasn’t going to wait to do that. My imagination was just getting to the part where I tear off his boxers with my teeth, when I saw Poppy squatting on the carpet. And it wasn’t because she was doing lunges. Terrific.
CHAPTER SIX
“Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.”
—Oscar Wilde
 
 
It was kind of funny. I mean, I’d killed lots of men. Some of them had been really scary, intimidating types. And yet, here I was, at Antonio’s, waiting for Diego and I was terrified. I guess it had just been a long time since I’d had a real date. And by real, I meant a date that could end up with me and a man naked in a bedroom.
Anyway, he wasn’t late; I was early. Which I know you aren’t supposed to do. I was supposed to show up after him, making a clothes-melting entrance. Instead, I was early. Damn my training! Mom always said, “Never arrive late for a job. Or you give opportunity to your victim.” Was I thinking of Diego as a victim? That made me sound a bit predatory, didn’t it?
At least I looked okay . . . I thought. In trying to give the appearance that I could casually throw anything on and walk out the door, I tried on seven different outfits. Two hours later, I settled on dark blue wide-legged dress jeans, a red V-neck cashmere sweater with a white camisole, and my Prada kitten heels. Now all I had to do was stop sweating, not wet myself and somehow keep my heart from bursting out of my chest a la
Alien.
“You want anything to drink while you wait?” The waiter stood in front of me expectantly. Great. He managed to point out that I was alone, which in food server speak meant “loser.”
“Um, how abut a glass of shiraz?” I managed weakly.
Way to project those killer instincts.
The waiter nodded and left. I looked at my watch. Again. Not much had changed since the last time I checked. So I concentrated on behaving normally. By the way, that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Remember the latte dilemma at the book store?
“You look fantastic.” Diego pulled out his chair and joined me.
“Thanks,” I replied. “You do too.”
Breathe Gin, breathe. No need to be nervous. After all, you’ve killed men for doing less than dating you.
The waiter appeared with my wine, and Diego ordered a beer. Now we actually had to come up with something to say.
He really did look amazing. A simple shirt, opened to the third button, blazed brilliant white against his bronzed skin. A black blazer and khaki chinos just looked perfect on his body.
“Come here often?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. I like this place.”
“My first time.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I haven’t been in town long enough to try everything.”
Did I just imagine it, or was he implying that I was one of the things he should try?
“Did you just move here?”
“Temporarily,” he answered. “I’m in town for a couple of months with a client. The company’s headquarters are located here, and he’s been reassigned to the area for about six months.”
He could leave me in six months? I began to mourn for a relationship that hadn’t even begun yet.
“I see,” I said sagely. At least, I hoped it sounded like sage wisdom. With me, you could never tell. “Then where will you go?”
Diego put down his beer. “Probably back to Europe. That’s where he was stationed before.”
Already, in my mind, I had married Diego, only to lose him to Belgium! “Have you ever been to the Midwest before?”
Diego laughed. “No. This is my first time.”
Oooh, the conversation was scintillating, wasn’t it? “What do you think?”
“Not bad. I must say that I find the natives intriguing.”
“I’ll give you the tour sometime.”
Ending in my bedroom, of course.
I had to get it together, but it wasn’t easy. In my mind, Diego wasn’t human, but a gorgeous fantasy. We scanned the menus and ordered dinner. The waiter left us with bread, extra-virgin olive oil and parmesan cheese. I thought about using the olive oil on Diego.
“So, Ginny, why do you live here?”
Huh? Was that a slam? “I like it here. It’s quiet, there are four seasons, and most of my family lives here.” I might have sounded a tad defensive.
Diego held up his hands and laughed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just curious. Most executive protection specialists live in New York, D.C. or L.A.”
Oh riiiiiiight. The bodyguard cover.
“We have an airport. And my client only works a couple of months a year. So I can live wherever, really. Besides, you live here now. And I don’t recall you mentioning living in New York, D.C. or L.A.”
Diego nodded. “True.” He changed the subject. “So tell me about your family. You’re not married—” he pointed to my hand “—at least, I don’t think you are.”
“I’m widowed, actually.”
“My condolences,” he said with concern. “I hope I didn’t upset you by asking.”
“It’s all right. Ed died a couple of years ago ... cancer. I have a little girl who’s five. My parents, brother and some of my cousins live here too.” I watched him carefully to see if my having a kid bothered him. This date could be over pretty quickly. Hunk be damned, I couldn’t tolerate a man who didn’t love kids.
I looked into his eyes, and he didn’t race out of the restaurant when I mentioned Romi.
“If your daughter is anything like you, I imagine she’s quite delightful.” Diego smiled, completely relaxed. I took it as a good sign. Make that a very good sign.
“She’s wonderful. Funny, smart and independent. I couldn’t live without her.” Okay, now I was spending too much time talking about it. He might think that I was one of those freaks who lives vicariously through her children.
“I’d very much like to meet her,” he said. And I adored him for that.
“Another time, maybe.” I needed to change the subject and fast. “So tell me about you.”
Nice save.
“Not much to tell, really. Grew up in Sydney, went to university there, and moved here. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in our field in Australia. A friend of mine told me there were jobs here in the States, so I moved here ten years ago and have been in and out of your hemisphere ever since.”
Ooooh! He said “in and out”!
“Do you ever go home?” I couldn’t imagine being away from my family. They were pretty cool. Violent, sure, but whose family wasn’t dysfunctional?
Diego ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair and I started to melt. “Oh yeah. Sure. I go back a couple of times a year to see Mum and Frida. Dad passed away a while back, and Sis has a couple of kids now. I’m crazy about my niece and nephews.”
So he loved kids! And his family! I did a lewd end-zone dance in my mind.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know anyone to talk about the murders of famous people with.”
He laughed, by God, and I went all woozy inside. “Right! By the way, I went back and picked up
Assassination Vacation
. You’re right. It is funny.”
“Well, maybe we could trace her steps someday and have our own assassination vacation.” I choked on my wine—or, more accurately, my words. What the hell was I doing making vacation plans with him?
“I’d like that,” he said.
The food arrived, giving me a few minutes to think as I crammed a forkful of pasta into my mouth. For some reason, I didn’t feel that the date was going very well. On the one hand, he was still as gorgeous as I remembered, and he liked kids. On the other hand, I felt like a complete idiot. And that’s never good, according to those quizzes in
Cosmo
.
“This lasagna is great,” Diego said. “I haven’t had Italian this good since Venice last year.”
“So your client travels a lot?” I managed while twirling my fettuccini onto my fork. He was right. The food was excellent. I could survive on the bread alone. And you could stand a fork up in the alfredo sauce, it was so thick. After all, who needs arteries?
“Yes.” He paused to take a sip of his beer before continuing, “When he was stationed in Europe, we went everywhere.”
“Do you miss that here?”
“Not at all. I’d like to see more of America sometime. But that will have to wait until I retire. I don’t have much time of my own.” He dug his fork into his dinner. “Fortunately, my client doesn’t need me at night back here.”
Don’t blow it! Don’t blow it!
“Good. Then I’ll take you out to dinner more often.” Had I really said that? Wasn’t he supposed to ask for a second date? I did the Jonny Quest “Aaayyiiiiiii” scream in my head.
Diego grinned. “I’d like that, Ginny.”
We must have stayed at Antonio’s for three hours. I couldn’t remember having so much fun with someone other than Ed. Diego was charming, smart and funny. It was like he had stepped out of a book. No man could possibly be this perfect.
“Ginny?” I froze. Uh-oh. I knew that voice.
“Ginny!” Mom said even louder.
I looked up. There they were. My parents.
“Mom! Dad! What’re you doing here?” I said with genuine surprise.
Please don’t embarrass me,
I prayed silently.
Carolina Bombay drew herself up to her full height of five feet, one inch, and looked from me to Diego. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone!”
My prayers didn’t work. I guess there really is no God. I looked frantically to my father for support. Dad winked at me and extended his hand. “Larry Bombay, Gin’s dad. Please ignore my wife. I’m working to have her institutionalized.”
Diego laughed as Mom glared at Dad. Then she turned and offered Diego her hand. “I’m Ginny’s mom, Carolina.”
“Diego Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” I saw my mother’s eyebrows go up when she heard the accent.
I would have intervened, but I was completely paralyzed by humiliation. You know, I always thought that if there were a way to kill someone with shame, it would be very effective.
Mental note
—
give that idea some thought some other time.
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?” I repeated with a little force.
“Oh!” Mom looked back at me. “Sorry. We were shopping and decided to get some dinner.” She reached into her bag and pulled something out. “Look what I found for you!”
You know what? It
was
possible to die of shame. I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating at the sight of what was in her hand. I may have been thirty-nine, but for years my mother had been under the delusion that I was ten years old. She had a habit of picking up the goofiest junk at whatever branch of Hell’s Mall she shops. This happened several times a year. Usually it was crap shaped like the state of Virginia, mostly with my name on it. Other times it was stationery with kittens and my name on it. But now, my mother held out a pair of barrettes with pugs on them and the name “Ginny” written in puffy paint. Dak had probably called her the minute we left the pet store. Bastard.

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