2 The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing Page 12

  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. 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 lea
ther 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 stain. “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—

  Edwina sees me. Her eyes open even wider, if that is possible. She shakes her head No.

  It’s against everything my gut tells me is the right thing to do: kill the son of a bitch. And yet, I hesitate.

  Because the woman he’s raping in front of me is begging me to leave them alone.

  Walking away would save me from being reprimanded for an unsanctioned hit.

  It would save our mission, too.

  And so I nod back, and walk away, disgusted at Breck. And at myself, too, for buying into Edwina’s irrational need to put up with him.

  Just as I make it to the doorway, Breck groans, spent. So much for fifty shades of Breck. More like fifty seconds.

  The satisfaction in his voice curdles my blood. “My God, Edwina, you’re bleeding? Well, what do you know, a thirty-year-old virgin! Who’d have thought it. You need to get out more, live a little. After the summit, why don’t you take some time off? Maybe you’d like to join me on my private island—”

  I slip down the hall before I change my mind and kill the son of a bitch.

  I awaken to the sound of someone crying. Only when I hear Jack whisper, “It’s okay, Donna. I’m right here for you…” do I realize it’s me.

  As we lay in bed together, he holds me as if he’ll never let me go.

  After the hell I’ve seen, this is my heaven.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” He strokes my back gently. He isn’t asking me to relive the horror of Edwina’s rape. He saw it for himself. The moment I activated the microdot, the camera hidden inside caught it all, in living color, for those monitoring it to see: not just Jack, but Ryan and Arnie, too.

  By the time I got back to the room, Jack had already texted Ryan his recommendation that I be pulled from the mission: not for what it might do to me, but for what I might do to Jonah Breck, to the detriment of the mission.

  Ryan texted back RECOMMENDATION DENIED.

  When Jack showed it to me, I threw the cell phone up against the wall. “So much for safety in the workplace.”

  Then I showered and stumbled into bed.

  In my nightmares, I was Edwina, pinned to that wall.

  And there was nothing I could do about it.

  Now that I’m fully awake, I realize the metaphor even if I don’t appreciate the irony.

  My whisper is so soft that I don’t know if Jack hears me. “I can’t get her—her total submission to him—out of my mind.”

  “You gave her the opportunity to stop him. She decided not to take it. Please Donna, don’t blame yourself for that.”

  I turn to face him. I can’t see him in the dark, but that’s okay. His scent—a pungent essence of talcum and sweat and strength—is the reality I crave in my surreal existence. His features are etched deeply in my fondest memories, my fiercest fantasies, and the prayers for my future.

  His gentle kisses on my brow don’t surprise me, nor does the touch of his finger, which wipes the tears from my cheeks. He may not believe this, but I yearn to have him inside of me. This desire is not born out of lust, but the need for comfort. When I seek him out with firm practiced hand, he whispers, “We don’t have to do this now.”

  “I want to, Jack. I need to have you with me, this way.”

  I build him up and guide him into me. This act of love takes place on our sides. No one dominates. No one is subjugated. Each of us takes with awe and appreciation what is given and received with an open heart. With each thrust, we moan together…

  Until we come, in unison. The explosion is hot and furious and silent, except for the gasps of bliss that escape too soon for two people for whom every moment of life is precious.

  Now nothing evil or cruel can force its way into my soul.

  When we are done and he has fallen back asleep, it strikes me that our response to this incident brought us back together, even closer than before. But we’ll be torn apart again when the inevitable happens. When we have to pretend to be what we aren’t, a couple.

  No more.

  I’m through playing house. I want a real husband, and a real life.

  Chapter 15

  Seating Arrangements

  When devising your seating chart, always keep your favored guests close at hand! If the guest is male, he is to be seated on your right, whereas an honored female guest will be seated to the right of your spouse.

  Should you find the delicate hand of your female guest of honor in the lap of your spouse, resist the urge to pour scalding soup down her décolletage, or to cut her jugular with the steak knife. Doing so only serves to ensure a death penalty. Too many witnesses, so little time!

  Instead, excuse yourself between the main and dessert courses in order to cut the brake line in her car. The timing is believable, and it’s a quick fix to an odious problem, especially if you’re serving something as complicated as Baked Alaska or Crepes Suzette. (Again, resist the instinct to toss anything flaming in your guest of honor’s lap. Payback is sweeter when brake fluid is involved…)

  Just before eight o’clock, I wake to find I’m alone in bed. Jack, who has to pretend be at Breck’s beck and call, must be out on the golf course with our host.

  If Breck is lucky, he won’t be left alone with Jack.

  Or with me, for that matter. Despite what Ryan says, accidents do happen.

  I sigh when I hear a rap at my door. I pray it’s not Carl.

  When I crack it open, I find Edwina standing there. She cleans up nicely. No bruises, no red-rimmed eyes.

  But the moment our gazes cross, she looks away. Still, I have to ask, “Why?”

  She smiles for the cameras. Then, for the benefit of anyone listening in, her voice is cheery as she asks, “May I come in?”

  Of course I move aside so she can enter.

  If only it were that easy to get into someone’s head.

  Edwina stands by the window, staring out onto the wide expanse of verdant lawn. I’m patient, busying myself with the task of pou
ring tea from the breakfast cart. Jack must have requested it for us before he took off.

  When I hand her a cup, the tremor in her hand causes it to rattle in its saucer. I touch her wrist gently.

  “You must think I’m a fool.” Her whisper has the gale force of a lost soul.

  I shake my head. “I think you were scared. And overpowered by him. I don’t mean just—physically.” It’s my turn to look away. “He’s got money. He buys power from everyone. I get it. You felt helpless.”

  There is no joy in her laugh. “No, you’re wrong. I knew that, eventually, he’d take me. And I wanted it—”

  She stops when she sees the horrified look in my eye. “Please, don’t look at me as if I’m some pathetic fool because I mean what I say. You see, it’s the only way I can—”

  Her eyes opened wide at the realization that she may have said too much. “Let’s just say that we have a symbiotic relationship. He depends on me, and I want to keep it that way. So it works… for now.”

  “How did you meet?”

  Her eyes narrow. “He’s an old family friend.” She sips the last of her tea, then sets the cup on the coffee table. “I’ve come to ask a favor. Really, the request is Mr. Breck’s.”

  Seeing my frown, she quickly adds, “No, it’s… it’s nothing like that. In fact, he has moved on to—well, let’s just say, his attention span is fleeting.”

  Good to know, since my trigger finger is itchy. I shrug. “What does he want?”

  “Perhaps you can join Mrs. Breck on her shopping engagement, and then for quick lunch prior to the ballet. Her personal shopper is… She is indisposed.”

  I can only imagine how, and with whom.

  “You see, today is Mrs. Breck’s birthday. I’ve also arranged for lunch at Il Fornaio. Once there, you’ll be taken into a private room, where Mrs. Breck’s new friends will surprise her. Won’t that be fun?” Edwina wraps her arms together, as if a chill just came over her. “While she’s out, I’ll be coordinating the set-up for her surprise party: a circus! The event planner will deliver the tent the moment Mrs. Breck’s driver, Robert, signals us that you are far enough down the road. After dinner, the Brecks will take a stroll around the grounds. We’ll all be waiting for them in the gardens below the house. By the way, her new friends are invited to the party as well.”