The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol (5 page)

Like Pinky Ring’s and his date’s, the masks Jack and I choose hide only our eyes.
 

Mine is gold lamé, like the slip of a dress I now wear: sheer, tight, backless, with a front slit that leaves little to the imagination.

I’ve chosen a short platinum blond wig, the exact color and cut of Nicolette’s gamine bob. My goal is to elicit a double-take or two—from her lover, and her killer.

Are they one and the same? I’m bound and determined to find out.

Has my most recent nemesis come back to life? It’s yet another question I hope to have answered tonight.

I spot a gold lamé wristlet clutch that matches the dress. I slip three syringes filled with Rohypnol and my cellphone into it, nodding to Jean-Pierre to indicate that he should put it on our tab…

I guess I should look at the price tag—

Over a thousand dollars?
 

Yowza.

Solution…

Got it! I’ll put it on my Acme expense report.
 

Granted, Ryan will go into cardiac arrest, but hey, the clutch matches the dress so it’s a must-have, right?

Besides, if I bring Salem and Pinky Ring in alive, he’ll be only too happy to let me keep it.
 

Considering that both targets have proven to be difficult to kill off in the first place, that shouldn’t be so hard.

Chapter 3

Body Parts

When you’re dead, you may not care that biomedical companies wouldn’t mind getting a piece of you: specifically, your skin and bones.

And because they offer around a thousand dollars for some of either, your family might be interested too. (A good reason to stipulate in your will that every inch of you is laid to rest before your estate is distributed to your greedy little beneficiaries.)

By the way, while you’re alive, it is legal to sell off some of your body parts.

These figures are at the very top of the market, so if you’re in need of a little cash, you may want to consider parting with some regenerative…er, parts, such as blood ($120), hair ($3,000), plasma ($4,800), sperm ($12,000), ovarian eggs ($24,000), and bone marrow ($18,000).
 

There is also a market for breast milk ($23,000) and (prepare to gag…or better yet, bag) feces ($13,000).

However, the big bucks go for certain organs that are illegal to sell. Case in point: kidneys go for as much as $200,000 per on the black market in many countries, including the United States.

Now, ask yourself, is the money truly worth it? I mean, God forbid, should the twin of the sold organ fail, where would that leave you?

The sad but true answer: resting in pieces.
 

Jean-Pierre docks the hotel’s forty-nine-foot Ferretti 480 alongside the
Divide and Conquer’
s gangplank. With the party already underway, there is no line to speak of: just a couple of male guests, dressed in tuxedos, who are accompanied by breathtakingly gorgeous paid escorts.
 

“This is a lot bigger than the yacht POTUS wanted to sell to Salem,” I mutter. I know this because I was on Salem’s tour of the vessel while it was docked outside of President Lee Chiffray’s bayside villa on Balboa Island, California.
 

Salem passed on the yacht. Instead, he propositioned me.

Jack claims that it was exactly what Lee wanted all along.

I beg to differ. In any event, it gave me an opportunity to abscond with Salem’s ring—something worn by all leaders of the Quorum. Underneath its crest was intel on his plan to infiltrate the summit.
 

Jack bumps into one of the men who is much too busy frisking his date for any hidden treasure that might be stowed where the sun don’t shine to notice my husband’s sleight of hand inside Frisky’s jacket pocket.
 

Jack’s prize: the invitation that will get us beyond Salem’s goon squad.
 

Jack proffers the invitation to one of the goombahs, who checks it against the guest manifest before offering Jack a small clear packet of tiny beige pills. Jack takes it in stride, slipping it into the upper inside pocket of his tuxedo.
 

The dude also hands me a filled champagne flute. I smile slyly as I take it.

We saunter into the party while Frisky argues with one of the security detail over his right to join the rest of the Masters of the Universe on the Good Ship al-Sadah.
 

Jean-Pierre sails off, but not too far. He kills the engine and his lights while still close enough to grab the
Divide & Conquer’s
WiFi signal. I’ve noticed that he’s in a very dark mood. I think it’s finally dawned on him that Nicolette is gone forever.

Nothing we can do will bring her back.

If only the same could have been said for Salem and this Pinky Ring guy.

From my own intimate knowledge of Salem, this party is his best wet dream come true.

On the middle level in the yacht’s three-story ballroom, a female deejay, nude except for a
Hello Kitty
mask and sky-high platform pumps, is gyrating to Beyoncé’s
Formation,
as if it’s the perfect national anthem for all the women onboard—

As if being at a john’s beck and call is the epitome of female empowerment.
 

The yacht is filled with wall-to-wall bodies, most of which are in some form of slap-and-tickle clinch if not outright public fornication.
 

The women have made it easy for their dates, having shed their clothing along with their inhibitions. Only masks and heels remain.

Apparently, voyeurism is also a big a turn-on to this crowd. Those who don’t partake in the amoral antics have no qualms in watching and gauging the joy, pain, and ecstasy of others.
 

I’m about to take a sip of champagne when Jack takes it out of my hand. “Something is off,” he mutters. “Look at the women.”

He’s right. These ladies are much too placid. Some are so limp that they are barely standing up on their own. Their masks can’t conceal the blank gazes in their eyes.

They have been drugged.
 

Jack slips the champagne flute onto the tray of waiter inching his way through the crowd.

Considering how many men are popping pills from their tiny swag packets, they must be drugged too—but whatever they’ve taken gives them the opposite effect. Granted, sexual desire is always a strong motivator. But these guys think nothing of grabbing, pinching, and rubbing any body part within reach.
 

When you have enough money to match your libido, partnerships are easily renegotiated. One woman is interchangeable with the next. We watch as one guy actually tosses in his Bulgari Magsonic Tourbillon to sweeten the deal.

“Gee, what a sport,” Jack growls.

We may not be putting on a show, but we’re being watched.
 

I look at the top deck to see that Salem al-Sadah’s eyes roam the crowd below him.

Yes, I am positive it is he. I’d recognize that face anywhere: dark skin, the arched nose flanked on each side by high, sharp cheekbones. As tall as he is, his straight-backed stance gives him a regal air.
 

Evil should not be so handsome.
 

How is it that he is still alive?

He has an arm around two women with long auburn hair—twins, who are naked except for the strands of pearls around their necks. While the woman on his left fondles his nipple underneath his dress shirt, the one on the right kisses his neck.
 

The lascivious smile fades at the sight of me. His look is that of shock and anger. As his deep-set eyes drill into me, a shiver of dread runs up my spine.

He thinks I am she: Nicolette.
 

Obviously, he’s not too happy that Pinky Ring failed to terminate her.
 

With an imperious wave of his hand, he signals me to come to him.

My response is a slight shake of my head as I whisper, “Come and get me.”
 

He pops a pill, then makes his way down the grand staircase, dragging the pouting girls with him.

Jack’s poker face conceals the concern I hear in his voice: “I’ll shadow. But Donna, be careful.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” I promise him.

Jack wraps a proprietary arm around my waist. Together, we wait for the inevitable: Salem’s proposition.

“Ah…I don’t know you after all.” Salem’s proclamation does not ring of disappointment. “But perhaps I should.” Taking my hand, he kisses it on the knuckles before turning it over. Salem’s tongue rolls from my palm and up my wrist. When he turns his head to watch my reaction, he asks, “Would you like me to do more of that?”

What I remember about Salem is that he likes a conquest. “Thank you, but I have a date for the evening.” I wipe Salem’s spittle on my palm onto the back of one of the twins.
 

Salem laughs heartily at this. However, his acknowledgement to Jack is no more than a cursory bow as he growls, “We’ve never met.”
 

Jack smiles at Salem, but he knows better than to hold out his hand. “Allan Woodcourt.”

So, Frisky’s real name, on the invitation Jack swiped, is the same as a character in
Bleak House
. Go figure.

“Ah, yes, of Brandon and Lyle! Your investment firm is interested in financing Graffias Industries’ latest product, is it not, Mr. Woodcourt?” Salem’s eyes stay on me, even as he addresses Jack. “And yet, Mr. Brandon could not be here for our private launch party? This disappoints me greatly.”

Jack takes this and runs with it. “It could not be avoided, Mr. al-Sadah. He sends his regrets, and me in his stead.”

“As well as this lovely lady to accompany you.” Salem’s finger traces the curve of my jaw.
 
“Mr. Brandon is quite thoughtful indeed.”
 

Although Jack’s eyes harden, his smile doesn’t waver. “This is my associate, Honoria Dedlock.”

You’ve got to love a man who knows his Dickens.
 

Despite Salem’s frosty demeanor, the Doublemint Twins’ reactions to Jack are much friendlier. One licks her lips at him, as if he’s dessert. The other drapes herself over one of his shoulders. Her fingers are undoing his tie.

Jack ignores her. His eyes never once leave Salem, as if daring him to stare back.

“While I take your, er, ‘associate’ on a tour of my yacht, Sophie and Isabelle are sure to provide you with an interesting diversion.”
 

“Thanks, but I’d like to take that tour too.” Jack’s steely tone implies he won’t take no for an answer. “What’s the old saying? Oh yeah: ‘when it comes to yachts, it’s not just the size that matters.’ I’ll bet this ocean-going beauty is tricked out with some interesting gear.”

Salem is not used to being dismissed—and in front of women, no less. Rage darkens his face. He takes a step forward—

And so do I. My move puts me between Jack and Salem. I slide close enough to Salem to imitate the move I saw one of the twins make earlier, that is, to tweak his nipple under his tuxedo jacket. “Allan, I don’t mind. I’m sure you won’t mind a little change of pace, too.” I lean over and give Jack a long, lingering kiss.