The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (11 page)

 “Ah, yes, A Night at the Opera. Comic genius, lots of shenanigans!” Jack dips me to the floor. “But for some reason, I don’t remember a dead maid in that one.”

“Maybe you didn’t look closely enough. Speaking of up close and personal, your cheering squad just walked in.”

What I see upside down, and he now notices right side up, is the entrance of Penelope and the rest of the club’s members, all with spouses in tow. The men wear the requisite tuxedos, while the women are dressed in a rainbow array of couture gowns. Christmas came early to Hilldale’s Bergdorf-Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom. I can only imagine the two-day grabfest that went on as the women’s club members picked over the racks. There are no black eyes, but I haven’t had a chance to peruse the Hilldale Police Department’s arrest reports, either. If jail time has been served, any and all perpetrators have made it out in time for the most memorable soirée in Hilldale’s history.

“Lucky me,” he says, as he pulls me back into his arms. “I think they have a new crush.”

Despite the fact Jonah Breck greets Penelope by brushing her proffered hand with his lips, it must be a crushing disappointment for her to discover that, for the most part, the other women invited aren’t socialites or wives of the powerful, but the arm charm variety: young, stunningly beautiful, and well-displayed. In Breck’s eyes, Penelope Bing’s well-toned yummy mommy body trussed up in a colorful Roberto Cavalli print is no match for the tight, nude-toned plunging gown worn by Babette’s personal shopper, Marilyn, with whom Breck is now doing a hip-to-hip cha-cha.

After what I’ve seen of Breck, I now know why Babette couldn't care less who fills his dance card.

When the orchestra starts the overture to the ballad Someone to Watch Over Me, Jack pulls me close. It would be nice to just lay my head on his broad chest, but duty calls. Jack’s head is angled to scan the room, leaving me to watch the grand staircase.

And that’s when I see him.

Carl, my soon-to-be ex.

Smiling down at me, he walks down the staircase and through the crowd toward us. Tall, dark and broad shouldered, his deep green eyes assess, even as they seem to ignore.

Or appreciate. No wonder the heads of every woman he passes turns to watch and admire. It’s instinctive, this desire we women have, to run toward the strongest and most virile of our species.

In my case, the urge is to run away from him. Then again, I’m the only one in the room who knows how he treats his loved ones. 

I’ve got the bullet scar to prove it.

When he reaches us, he taps Jack on the back in order to cut in. “May I?” he has the audacity to ask.

I give Jack credit. He doesn’t do a double-take. However, his eyes display disbelief by opening wider before they narrow in anger.

Nor does he punch Carl, let alone stab or shoot him.

I guess he’s relieved I haven’t done anything stupid, either.

Not yet, anyway.

As Carl whisks me away, he holds me tight. Too tight. “Honey, I’m home,” he murmurs into my ear. “Did you miss me?”

 “Not at all. In fact, I was hoping you’d crawled into some hole and died of internal bleeding.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that great a shot.” Carl shrugs. “You have that habit of angling slightly to the right. Gotta watch that, babe. Unless…Whoa, wait a minute! You really didn’t mean to take me down, now, did you?” He pulls back slightly, in order to watch my expression.

Okay yeah, it’s a gotcha moment. “Screw you, Carl.” 

“I knew it!” He’s practically crowing. “Still carrying a torch for ol’ Carl. Has lover boy figured this out yet?”

I try to pull away, but he won’t let me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was handicapped, remember? You had just winged me in the shoulder.”

 “Yeah well, I guess we were both a little off our game that day.” He concedes with a sheepish nod. Then he jerks me even closer and leans into me. Sure, okay fine. I shift closer, forcing him to follow me in a figure eight tango, shifting my leg so that it hooks onto his before it climbs slowly to his upper thigh. 

Carl smirks, impressed. “When did you learn to tango?” 

“From Jack. He taught me well, don’t you think?”

He nods, grudgingly. “Everyone needs a hobby.” 

“What’s yours?” I can only imagine. Bangkok hookers? No, too obvious. It’s got to be the joy of making my life miserable.

As if reading my mind, he answers, “Resurrection.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that there would be no need for a resurrection, if you’d stayed with me. And if you hadn’t been seduced by the Quorum’s quest for power. And if you hadn’t faked your death and deserted me and the kids.

Seeing the look on my face, he’s all grins. “Lighten up! I heard James Bond say it, in a 007 movie. I swear, sometimes I think the producers are following me around with a camera—”

“You son of a bitch!” I shove him away. “Oh, boy, I am so outta here.”  

I start to walk away, but he won’t let go of my hand, yanking me toward him, into a tight squeeze. In this position, his lips easily nuzzle my neck. “Admit it. We still make beautiful music together. This has got to be driving Jack crazy.” 

“You better pray it isn’t. In any regard, you’re a dead man the minute you leave this room.”

“Don’t bet on it. I’m quicker and smarter than he is.”

“What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, crossly. “Have you forgotten you’re on the Interpol and FBI watch lists?”

“Tell me the truth. Do you think my wanted poster does me justice? It makes me look so… I don’t know, mean, I guess. Like a bad guy or something.”

I shake my head. “The only photo I’d want to see is one taken from a morgue,  with a bullet right between your eyes.”

“Tsk, tsk. Bitter does not become you, Donna. But that dress… it certainly does.”

His gaze, filled with desire, has me blushing. I want to push him away, but he holds me close, rocking me side to side with the rhythm of the music. “You know, he could have killed me, but he didn’t.”

“When? What are you talking about?”

“After Anaheim. He tracked me down, in Montenegro. Fuck it if I know how he did it. Had me in his sights, too. I felt him, but I didn’t see him until it was too late. Like Bambi, in headlights…” His voice trails off. “Only, he didn’t pull the trigger.” 

I know Jack better than that. “You’re lying, Carl.”

“Hey, if I hadn’t been there myself, I wouldn’t believe it, either. Why don’t you ask him? When you do, let me know what he says. My guess is that he realized if he took me out, deep down, you’d never forgive him.” 

“You’re wrong. What I want more than anything is you out of my life.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but that ain’t going to happen. So, what do you say we kiss and make up?” 

He tips my chin up and comes in close. I can’t pull a gun now, in front of all these witnesses. But I could bite his tongue off. It’s a drastic way to make him shut the hell up, but hey, it would certainly do the trick.

Before I have time to react, his mouth is on mine, and his tongue is deep down my throat.

My hand grabs the bulge in his Armani tux, and I hear him gasp. The sound is music to my ears. “You’re the hitter, aren’t you?”

He winces in pain, but he’s still able to mutter, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Alexei Asimov. You’re here to take him out, aren’t you?”

 “What? You think I’m the—the shooter? Hell no, babe! I’m the consultant heading  up Asimov’s security team.”

He’s laughing so hard at my shock and awe that I almost lose my grip on him.

Almost, but not quite.

When I walk off the dance floor, I’ve left him doubled over, and not because he’s still laughing at me.

Chapter 10

How to be the Perfect Guest

It’s your turn to enjoy the hospitality of others! Your drive to be the consummate hostess also provides you with insights on how to be the ideal guest. 

For example, if the hostess seems overwhelmed, offer to lend a hand. Choose a task in which your expertise will make it quick and simple: say, setting a table, arranging flowers, or diffusing a bomb. Your hostess will certainly appreciate your efforts, and compliment you on your handiwork. 

Remember: guests never overstay their welcome, so do not be the last one out the door—especially if you fail at dismantling the bomb, and it is due to go off before the party is over. 

Alexei Asimov is one smooth-talking dude.

His voice caresses and inspires. His compliments about our “heavenly Hilldale” are eloquent, drawing ahhhhs and applause from the locals, who have no desire to reconcile today’s graciousness with a fiendish curriculum vitæ filled with decades of brutality.

His vow to do his part for “eternal peace on Earth” earns him a standing ovation. I can only imagine the onslaught of frenzied hysteria that filled his ears when, in the Ukraine, he gave his machine gun-toting army the command to fire at those who had just dug their own mass graves.

Put a man in a tux, call him a statesman, and all is forgiven.

Carl stands just behind Asimov, to his right. A second member of the Russian security team is to his left. I spot others, every ten feet or so, mumbling, sotto voce, into well-hidden headsets. 

Jack is also muttering, to Ryan. Cursing, really. Ryan has just informed us that Carl’s role on Asimov’s advance team has given him diplomatic immunity.

In other words, he’s been removed from the Terrorist Screening Database, as well as all international security watch lists.

That still doesn’t get him off my personal shit list.

 “But what if Asimov is being set up by the Quorum, and Carl’s the shooter we’ve been looking for all along?” Jack asks.

“Listen, you two, I don’t like it, either.” Ryan’s bitterness is merited. He recruited and trained Carl for Acme. It was on his watch that Carl was turned by the Quorum. 

Ryan sighed deeply. “Until Carl makes his move, we have to give him the same leeway as any of the others on Asimov’s security detail. This mission depends on staying close enough to Asimov to protect him, especially if the hit is going to be an inside job. Donna, if that means turning on the charm so that Carl accommodates us, do it.”

Jack and I exchange glances. It’s not what either of us wants to hear. I know I don’t have to reassure him of this, but I press his hand to my lips anyway. 

Yes, I know Carl is watching us, but I don’t give a damn.

“And if it turns out you’re right and Carl’s the inside man,” Ryan adds, “you’ve both got your orders: shoot to kill.”

The ghost of a smile accompanies Jack’s slight nod. 

Not that he needs Ryan’s permission to do so. And if what Carl said is right—about Jack letting him walk because he thinks I’d hate him for taking Carl out—then I’ve got to let him know that he has my permission, too. 

If I don’t kill Carl first.

The father of my children is also a menace to society. I may not be able to change his role in my kid’s lives, but I can keep him from ruining our world as we know it.

“Carl told me about Montenegro.” 

Upon hearing this, Jack curses, then sits up in the bed. He doesn’t look at me, but stares straight ahead. 

Lesson learned: don’t bring up your ex while basking in the afterglow of sex. Talk about a mood killer.

The moonlight streaming in from the window throws strange shadows on the wall. His profile looms large and dark. By now, I know every inch of his face so well my mind colors him in. His deep-set eyes. The tiny crook in his nose. The dimple in his chin. The way his forelock hangs forward before his large, broad hand pushes it back impatiently. His mouth has a tendency to draw up on the right side when he’s about to let loose with a laugh.

But he is not laughing now. He’s wondering how to answer me. 

I touch his back gently, assuring him there are no wrong answers.

I hear the hurt, pain and anger expelled in his soft sigh. “As long as Carl’s alive, he’ll always stand between us.”

“You’re wrong. I’d never let that happen. I swear.”

“You wouldn’t, but he’d make sure of it. He’d always be there. He’ll never let go of you, let alone the children. He’s got too much pride for that.”