The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (17 page)

Hearing this brings a lump to my throat. I can’t imagine being away from my children for five years, no matter what the circumstances. Carl’s greed has cost him dearly. 

I turn my head so that Carl can’t see the tears glazing my eyes. Gently, he tilts my face up, so that he can look me in the eye. “Are you doing this for Jack? Did he ask you to marry him?”

The last thing I’ll admit to Carl is that Jack dumped me the minute I told him about my plans. Instead, I say what I know is a blatant lie. “No. Jack has nothing to do with this.”

“If you’re being honest with me, I’m relieved. And not just because I have no doubt you’ll take me back when you realize the big picture, but because he’s not who you think he is.”

“Really, Carl? Are you going to start playing mind games with me again? Don’t bother, because I won’t fall for it this time. And besides, you’re the last person who should be trash-talking Jack.”

“You’re wrong. If anyone knows Jack Craig, it’s me.”

Just at that second, the door opens behind me, and I almost fall inside—

Into Jack’s arms.

He’s wrapped in a towel, and nothing else. He gives a wary squint when he sees I’m with Carl.

That doesn’t stop Carl grabbing my arm, pulling me toward him, and giving me a deep, soulful kiss.

Caught as I am between the two men who know best how to thrill me and how to aggravate me, I decide to allow one a cheap thrill, and let the other be aggravated.

Serves them both right.

Tomorrow, I’ll flip it on them. Or aggravate both of them. It depends on my mood, which, right this very moment, leans toward the latter.

But by the way Jack yanks me away from Carl and slams the door, I may be convinced to change my mind.

Chapter 14

Going Back for Seconds

When you’re a guest at someone’s dinner table, it’s always polite to leave a little something on your plate. Even if it’s the best dish you’ve ever had. Even if you haven’t eaten in days. 

Even if it’s the last meal before you face a firing squad. 

Because the last thing you’d want your captors to remember about you was that you were uncouth!

“No make-up sex,” I say to Jack with a pout. “I’m not in the mood.”

Still, I reach back to unzip my dress, slowly…slowly…

Right about now, I’m guessing that Jack is also pining for a little forgive-and-forget foreplay. Afterward, we’ll have the talk that is long overdue. The one about why, when I’m free of Carl, he’s afraid to commit to me.

So, why does he stare at me, as if I’ve lost my mind? Worse yet, now he’s laughing so hard, he doubled over. 

I stop mid-zip. “What the hell is so funny?”

“You. Or I should say, your lousy sense of timing.” 

“My what?”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Abu, what do you think? Is Donna sometimes a day late and a dollar short?”

“Nope, I’d say she’s right on time. This shindig was getting dull.” Abu’s voice comes from the farthest corner in the room. 

Yep, he’s there alright. To make matters worse, Arnie is sprawled over the chaise lounge. Both stare at me as if I’m a piece of prime rib.

Quickly, I pull up my zipper. Too quickly, unfortunately. The lining of my dress’s gets stuck in its teeth. The more I tug, the worse it gets. 

My frown, directed at Jack, only makes him laugh harder, until finally he steps behind me to take a look. Does he notice how I shiver when he touches the small of my back? When he zips it up, he does so at the speed in which I zipped it down. 

What a tease.

It only makes me want him even more.

Not that I’ll ever let him know that. I shift away from him so I can lean against the wall. “What is this, a slumber party?”

Noting my stance, Jack roams over to the bureau. He picks up a pair of his cufflinks and shakes them in his fist, like dice. “Nope, a strategy session. We need to regroup—and fast. Unfortunately, the butler whom Carl forced to drink the poison vodka was one of our guys.”

I can’t believe my ears. “What? That nervous guy was an Acme operative?”

Arnie nods forlornly. “He was Kirby Lonergan, from Tech Ops. For the past six hours, something has been blocking our shadow feed in Breck’s office suite. Since I wasn’t due to deliver flowers until late tonight, we had to send someone else in, to plant another bug. Kirby was the only one at Acme with cater-waiter experience. The tray he had was bugged. It was to be our new eyes and ears—at least, while Breck and Asimov were to be enjoying their after-dinner drink and conversation.” 

 “He would have been better off with a little field op experience under his belt,” I say. “The poor kid was as nervous as a hen in a den of foxes! You couldn’t pull off one of your costume dramas?” Arnie’s disguises are a thing of wonder.

Arnie shrugs. “Ryan didn’t want to take the chance that the guardhouse’s facial recognition system would rat me out.”

“That’s a shame, considering the confab that occurred there earlier tonight, not to mention the one taking place now.” 

Frustrated, I kick off my heels. Big mistake. Eddie snags one before it hits the carpet. Before Abu can grab him, he’s under the bed with it.

“Damn it, Abu, that’s a sixteen-hundred-dollar Louboutin! I thought you had that mutt under control!”

Abu grimaces. “Sorry, Donna, but it takes more than a forty-eight hour training session to undo two thousand generations of rat hunting.”

“Quit whining about the shoes and tell us who was in that meeting,” Jack growls.

“The North Korean defense minister was in there, along with that South African dictator who’s been wiping out whole villages with his gangs of killer ’tweens. Also, there was the Arab playboy sheik who’s got a crush on Babette.”

I said this for Jack’s benefit, but he ignores it. “Someone poisoned the vodka. We know that for sure. But if the butler didn’t do it, who did?”

Arnie accesses the shadow security files through his iPad. Finally, he finds the one he’s looking for. “It may have been Carl. He went down to the kitchen and handed it to Kirby right before the meeting began, and told him to wait for the call to bring it up, with just two glasses.”

Jack turns to me. “Does that answer your question?”

I shrug. Yes, it does, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. At least not now.

Jack smiles, as if he read my mind. “Arnie brought a camera with him. It’s hidden inside a microdot. We have to get it in there and fast.” 

All eyes turn to me.

I shake my head adamantly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I just crawled out of that snake pit. Now you want me to sashay back in?”

Arnie gives his iPad screen a series of taps. “No one’s in there now. I guess it’s got too much dead dude mojo.” His tone is that of a parent with a five-year-old. 

“Besides, Breck is spooked by what Carl told him about you.” Jack adds, “Which, I’m sure, plays to his benefit. If he can get rid of us, no one can stop him from assassinating Asimov and starting World War III.”

“We’ve been through this. Carl said it to Ryan. Asimov is a Quorum ally. They won’t harm a hair on his chinny chin chin.” 

Jack smirks. “He’s lying. Imagine what a nuclear apocalypse would do to furthering the Quorum’s cause.”

I shake my head adamantly. “I believe him when he says he wants out. He misses his children. If he behaves himself here, he’ll hold onto his Watch List clearance.”

Jack shrugs. “He tells you exactly what you want to hear, Donna. You should know that by now. Besides, if the Quorum gets what it wants, he rules the school. He’ll take the children, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. That is, if you wanted to.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Do I have to spell it out? You’re falling for his bullshit. But what’s new about that?”

“Ouch! Mommy and Daddy are fighting.” Abu sighs mightily. “I guess the party really is over.” He motions for Arnie to follow him out the door.

“Wait a sec…. And”—Arnie swipes a few screens—“we’re in the clear. For the next twenty minutes, the security cameras will see empty halls between here and Breck’s office.” He tosses me a ring. “It’s behind the gem. Ideally, you’ll place the microdot somewhere on the desk. But it’s got to be on something that won’t be moved. Ryan wants me to emphasize, if Breck walks in on you—well, we know you can take care of yourself.”

I nod. I know the drill. 

And so does Jack. 

Despite this, he turns his back to me. He’d rather stare out the window than think about me with Breck.

He’s not the only one. 

If he said even one word to stop me, I wouldn’t walk out the door.

Oh, who am I kidding? As much as I hate this part of my job, it has to be done.

By the time I get back, Jack will have reconciled his jealousy with the reality of this dire situation.

And finally, we’ll kiss and make up.

Does make-up sex feel so great because of all the anger and hurt that came before it? I think so. I hope so.

If I’m right, whatever happens in Breck’s office will have been worth it.

The conundrum I face is simple: where does one hide a black microdot on a glass desk, which holds nothing at all? Even underneath the desk, it would stand out like a speck of dust that should be whisked away.

The ultimate goal: hide in plain sight, preferably on a surface where no one will see it, let alone touch it.

The John Singer Sargent painting.

I hop onto the large, wide credenza, to examine it more closely. Sargent captured the debutante’s wide-eyed innocence, but her sly smile betrays any presumption of decorum.

The black microdot disappears on the surface of her glossy patent leather slippers.

It is not a Louboutin.

“Bad girl! You fucked up, royally.”

The declaration, low and menacing, comes from behind me. 

It’s Breck. 

I brace myself to face him—

A hard smack, followed by a woman’s cry, comes from the office’s reception alcove. “Mr. Breck, please! There was no way I could have anticipated—”

“That’s not good enough, Edwina. I pay you well to anticipate everything.” 

I hear a scuffle, then a thud against the wall between the rooms. Just in time, I roll off the credenza and crawl behind one of the four large white leather couches that make up the room’s conversation pit. Breck holds Edwina around the waist with one arm and drags her over to his glass desk. Once he has her back pinned against it, he is able to rip open her blouse and shove his hand down her bra. Her left breast pops out. He looks down at it, admiringly. “Small, but adequate,” he murmurs before putting it in his mouth. 

At first Edwina is too stunned to fight him off. But the feel of his lips on her nipple rouses her out of her shock. She grabs hold of his hair and yanks his head away from her chest.

He yelps, then reaches for his hairline. “You bitch! You pulled out my plugs!”

He cracks her across the face with the back of his hand. The force of his slap hurls her onto the floor. At first she lays there, stunned, but then she stumbles onto her hands and knees. When she shakes her head, the blood trickling from her nose drops onto the white carpet. With a trembling hand, she reaches up to cover it, but too late. Breck sees it, too.

He steps on the hand covering the blood. “Fucking whore! If that stain doesn’t come out, I’m docking the cost of a new carpet from your salary.”

Her painful cry only makes him laugh. Then the abusive prick jerks her up by her hair and slams her into the wall, right next to the Seurat. He pins her down with one hand while he undoes his belt with the other.

“No… please…” She whimpers. “I’m… You can’t… We shouldn’t…”

As if he’ll listen. She grimaces as he positions himself into her. She screams with the first stab. 

“You’re tight. That’s good!” His words come out in grunts between his rhythmic humping. “But you’re too loud, my dear.” When he covers her mouth with his hand, her eyes open wide. 

Can she breathe? 

One way to find out: I pick up a heavy metal ashtray. In a second, I’m standing behind him. If I hit him just right, his skull will crack open, just like an eggshell—