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  He slumps into the settee. “I…can’t answer that. She knew Jonah was a member of ‘some silly private little men’s club,’ as she put it. And she met Carl through it. She saw him climb up its ranks, from part of the security detail to a full-fledged member.”

  “You were close to Catherine Martin, were you not?”

  “Originally, she was a friend of the Brecks.”

  “Carl killed her husband, Robert. You read that in our report.”

  “With what I know of him now, I have no reason to doubt you on that. But if you remember, the webcam video Acme provided, in which Catherine and the shooter discuss Robert’s assassination, didn’t show a clear picture of the man’s face. To top it off, his voice was electronically altered. Considering your history with Carl, further substantiation would be needed, and Catherine won’t validate his participation.”

  Of course not. She’s afraid of Carl’s wrath, and in prison, she’s a sitting duck.

  “Whose idea was it for you to be Catherine’s running mate?”

  “It came from Catherine. Of course, Babette was excited, and nudged me into accepting.” He shrugs. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my ego had something to do with it, too.”

  “And, of course, Carl encouraged you.”

  He nods.

  “The Quorum was funneling cash to Catherine. She was bought and paid for. Then, when Carl learned Robert was going to divorce her right in the middle of the election, he convinced Catherine that Robert had to be exterminated; it gave him one more thing to hold over her head. It also gave him the nomination as Director of Intelligence.”

  I look him in the eye. “But you were Carl’s failsafe. Should she implode before, during, or after the election, he needed someone in place to carry on with the nomination. He needed to control the vice president, too.” I take his hand in mine. “Lee, what does Carl have on you?”

  He rises in order to pace the floor.

  When he stops, it’s directly in front of me. “He knows I killed a young woman. Her death was accidental, but Carl, of course, can make it look otherwise.” He crouches in front of me, his head bowed. “He knows the woman and I had a daughter together, and he knows where the girl is.” He’s choking up now, and I can barely hear him. “He knew of my connection to Catherine and Robert Martin and he encouraged Babette and me to be Senator Martin’s biggest supporters in the presidential primaries. Carl made it seem that it was Catherine’s idea that she make me her running mate. Later, of course, I learned that it was Carl’s idea all along. So yes, you’re right. I was his Trojan horse into the oval office. If I didn’t make him DI, he could have easily ruined me.”

  I stroke his head, but I doubt I’m giving him much comfort.

  Finally, he lifts his head. He takes my hand. “You are my greatest weapon against Carl.”

  And he is mine. We both know it.

  “GWI funded Addison’s movie, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he confesses quietly. “It’s why Acme was called in as consultants. I told Addison to pay you whatever it took to get you.”

  “You mean, we were being overpaid on purpose?” I have to laugh at this. “You’ve just burst my bubble! It was the easiest money I’ve ever made, and certainly less dangerous than covert ops—well, except when there’s a murderer on the set.”

  “I also made sure that the shooting locations were close enough for you to get to the witnesses you needed. Ryan back-channeled the necessary cities,” he reminds me.

  I shake my head. “I thought it was too much of a coincidence.”

  “If I was going to clear you of Carl’s charges, I needed someone with a vested interest to do the legwork. I couldn’t jeopardize anyone who worked under Carl. You were already on the run. And besides, you knew where all the bodies were buried, literally.”

  “So, where does this leave us, Lee?”

  “Acme has the same priority it always had—take down the Quorum, and Carl. Only now, you report only to me. I’ll make sure you have every resource you need at your fingertips.”

  “Works for me.” We shake on it.

  That’s when I see it, displayed in a glass case on one of the wall-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace—

  The Queen of Sheba’s scepter.

  Lee follows my gaze. “Ah, the scepter! Like it?”

  I nod slowly. “You bet. May I get a closer look?”

  “Of course.” He walks me over. Slowly he opens the top of the display case, and pulls it out for me to examine.

  Yes, it’s the real thing.

  “Lee, where did you get this?”

  “Babette gave it to me, last night. As an early birthday gift.”

  “Isn’t one of your guests the Yemeni president?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I presume he hasn’t seen it.”

  “No. This is my private office. I rarely bring anyone here.”

  “Good. Don’t—at least not him, especially while you have this in your possession, unless you don’t mind re-gifting.”

  He frowns. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because it was stolen from his country a few weeks ago.”

  “How could that be? Babette said she bought it from a reputable antiquities broker!” He takes a closer look. “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  “How do you know?”

  Gulp. “Don’t ask. But I would strongly suggest you honor him with its return. Think of it as a great photo op, and an even stronger tie to one of the wealthiest nations in the Arab Emirates.”

  He laughs, “I’m sure Babette will be disappointed. For saving me from my first international incident, I’d like to invite you and Jack to my birthday celebration dinner tonight. I’ll personally introduce you to our honored guests.” He frowns. “And one who is not so honored. Carl will be here, too, along with some other IC directors.”

  “Lucky you. Seriously, Lee, I think I’ll pass.”

  He takes my hand. “Please don’t, Donna. I wouldn’t mind rattling his cage. It’s a good strategy.”

  He’s got a point.

  “And besides, I’d enjoy having another beautiful woman at the table.”

  “Oh, is Donna joining us?” Lee and I look up to find Babette at the door.

  Lee forces a smile. “Both the Stones, in fact.”

  “You mean all three of them, don’t you? We can’t forget your new Director of Intelligence.” I don’t know if her brittle smirk is meant for Lee or me.

  Not that it matters. I shake Lee’s hand.

  This time, when he leans forward to kiss my cheek, I don’t pull away.

  “I’ll walk Donna out,” Babette murmurs.

  Our stroll down the long hallway is silent almost to the grand foyer’s front door. There is no small talk. The battalion of Secret Service personnel we pass are as still as the furniture. But when we reach the front door, she turns to me. “I know your game plan, Donna. And I can tell you to forget it. Lee is leading you on.”

  I glare at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Seriously, Babette, there’s no reason to be jealous—”

  “Wait—are you being serious? Do you really think I’m jealous?” Her laughter rings through the foyer’s two-story rotunda. “Poor Donna! You really are as naïve as Carl says you are!”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that. The last thing my husband would call me is naïve.”

  “I don’t mean Jack, dear. We can all call him that now, can’t we?” she smirks.

  “I hadn’t realized you’re so close to Carl,” I throw back at her.

  “We are. In fact, he’s found me a wonderful shoulder to lean on during this whole ordeal of false accusations.” She narrows her eyes. “I know the whole story.”

  “No, you just know his side of it.”

  “The only thing that matters is being on the winning side.”

  “You’re the First Lady, Babette. It doesn’t get better than that.”

  She shrugs. “I�
��m never satisfied. It’s the cross I bear.”

  I’d like to personally nail her to it, but I only got one get-out-of-jail card and I’ve already used it, so instead I start the long trek home.

  I come home to Dominic’s to find the front door open. Giles is nowhere to be seen.

  “Mary?” I call out. “Jeff? Trisha?”

  “We’re in here, Mom!” Jeff calls out.

  Not good. His voice is coming from Dominic’s grand salon—a room he has specifically requested stay free of kiddie cooties.

  I walk toward it. “What are you doing in there? You know Mr. Fleming’s house rules! In the kitchen—now! I’d like your help getting dinner ready for you. Your father and I will be eating out tonight.”

  “Are we?” Carl stands in the doorway of the salon. He is holding Trisha’s hand.

  No.

  No, please. Not now, and not this way.

  “Mommy, are you okay?” Trisha runs toward me.

  I take her in my arms and hold her tight.

  He will never touch her again. I’ll make sure of that.

  Mary and Jeff come running up as well. Neither of them is smiling.

  “Mary, you and Jeff can start dinner. Take Trisha with you.” They recognize the tone in my voice. It tells them all they need to know: I’m not happy with what I see before me.

  They practically run down the hall toward the kitchen, nearly knocking over Giles, who has stepped out of the library. The tray in his hand totters precariously for a moment. Ice tinkles against glass, and glass trembles against sterling silver. “The gentleman’s libation,” Giles murmurs.

  Carl smiles. “Thank you, my good man.”

  But before he can reach for it, I snatch it up and belt it down. “Party’s over,” I snarl at Carl. “Get the hell out of here.”

  “Shhhh,” he warns me. “We mustn’t fight in front of the children.”

  I point toward the front door. “Get out—now!”

  “What? No niceties at all? What happened to the gracious wife who used to greet me with a drink in hand, a gourmet meal on the table, and wearing one of those cute little sundresses accessorized with a pearl necklace”—He gives me the once-over—“you know, like this yellow polka-dotted number. Isn’t it the one you wore when you met with our old pal, Serena La Costa? I also like dainty housecoats, like that pink one you wore when you visited my old pal, Eric Weber.”

  His remarks bring on a cold dread that makes me shudder. “I know you had your people kill her. If you’re saying you found her through me—”

  “Read my lips, dear wife—yes, you were indeed the hound who sniffed out that pretty little fox. Sebastian planted a GPS bug on your dress so that the Quorum could trace your whereabouts while you traipsed through the ’burbs of la ciudad capital.” He pauses in thought. “Hey with your new connections, here’s something you can pitch Hollywood—‘The Housewives of Caracas.’” He pumps the air with his fist. “Viva la revolución bonita, sí?”

  He asked for it. A moment later, I have my Glock between his legs—pointed upward. “Why are you here, Carl? Answer quickly, unless the thought of being eunuch appeals to you. It would certainly put a smile on my face.”

  He winces. “You’re on the guest list so you should know why—the big shindig over at the POTUS palace, for Lee’s birthday. Hey, maybe we’ll be lucky and it’ll be dinner and a show! What are the chances they’ll play some footage from your—our biopic? At least the good part—you know, where you almost get washed out to sea.”

  I tap him with my gun to remind him he’s taking a chance with the family jewels.

  He nods. “You’re right. The odds are slim to none. That’s okay. I hear the book is much better. Perhaps you’ll let me read it some time—or at least the sexy parts—which I presume are all your scenes with me, because I’m sure Jack’s a snore in the sack.”

  I guess Sebastian told him about my diaries after all.

  Oh…shit.

  I blush at the thought. “Not on your life, or mine for that matter.” Time to change the subject, and quick. “Carl, what I’m asking you is how long you’ve been in here—in this house.”

  “Long enough to introduce myself to my children.”

  “You mean—you told them?”

  He shrugs. “Was I supposed to wait the rest of my life for you to do it?”

  “No! …I mean, yes! … I mean…” I take a deep breath. “It was up to me to tell them!”

  He looks down at me. His eyes hold no sympathy for me.

  Only pity.

  “Then do it, Donna. Or I’ll have to.”

  I let his arm drop.

  He’s right about one thing. Maybe it’s time.

  He straightens his jacket as he walks away.

  I stumble back into the house. I take my time walking to the kitchen. The children have a pot boiling on Dominic’s state-of-the-art Wolfe range. Mary is cutting up a green pepper, I presume for spaghetti sauce. She stops, though, when she sees me. “You can put the bag of noodles in now,” she commands Jeff.

  He nods, but he’s got his eyes on me, too. He wonders why I reacted the way I did to the stranger who seemed so friendly.

  Mary grabs my arm and walks me back down the hall. “Mom, wasn’t he the man I met when the Russian president was here?”

  I nod, but the lump in my throat is too big for me to speak.

  “I remember he has the same name as us—Stone. But, who is he?”

  I swallow hard. This is the moment I’ve dreaded since I found out the truth about Carl.

  Right here, right now.

  I open my mouth, but the words don’t come out.

  As it turns out, it doesn’t matter because Mary isn’t listening to me, anyway.

  Instead, she’s running into Jack’s arms.

  So are Jeff and Trisha. “Daddy is home,” Trisha squeals.

  They’ve missed him terribly. They always do when he is gone longer than a night or two.

  I guess it brings back the memories of all the years they had without a father.

  But no one could be sadder about life without Jack than me.

  He takes us all in his arms—Mary, Trisha, Jeff, and of course, me too. The group hug is tight and warm.

  It is the sweetest moment, one I will cherish forever.

  Yes, their father is home.

  The children are the first to break away. They are hungry, and by now, the noodles have turned to mush, anyway.

  The girls back down the hall, toward the kitchen. Jeff starts after them, but then stops to ask, “Can we order a pizza instead?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  He rewards me with a fist pump. “Yeah! Pizza night!”

  Then I lose myself in Jack’s bear hug, and in his kiss, and in his murmurs of how much he’s missed me.

  I hush him as he mutters about his surprise at seeing Carl drive away from the house, and through his vow that he’ll kill Carl if he so much as laid a finger on any of us.

  “Kill him anyway,” I laugh through my tears.

  Does he know I’m kidding?

  For now, anyway.

  Still, I reassure him Carl swore to leave it up to me to tell them the truth.

  Not today, but soon.

  Jack pulls away slightly, but still he won’t let me go. “The truth? That’s easy. The truth is that I’m their father.”

  Yes, it is the truth. Enough said.

  We go inside so that I can call the president’s secretary and send our regrets, for the most important reason of all:

  It’s pizza night, and my children’s father has come home.

  Next Up! and

  Also Next Up!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I owe a lot to the following people, whose love and support gives me the courage to write, every day:

  Karin Tabke, who first fell in love with this book, and pushed me (quite adamantly; what are friends for?) to make it a priority; Andy Brown, who is a go-to guru for anything technical and metaphysical. Andy
, thanks making the virtual a reality; Rita Abrams, Kendra Williams, Pam Welsh, Elisa Turner, Janell Parque, Susan DiMuzio, Dianne Wallace, Jeanette Conkling, Kimberly Turner and Tom Johnson, who have sharper eyes than mine; Austin Brown and Anna Brown, who are my emotional touchstones, in so many ways; Eddie Concha, Andree Belle, Darien and Don Coleman, Linda May and Ben Brown, and Mario Martinez and Patricia Steadman, who are always there to encourage, nurture and feed me.

  And always last but never least, Martin Brown: you complete me.

  Dear readers: If you liked the story and Donna, I’d be honored to get a review from you! We authors live by them, and they are always appreciated.

  Thank you,

  —Josie Brown

  HOW TO REACH JOSIE

  www.JosieBrown.com

  www.AuthorProvocateur.com

  www.HousewifeAssassinsHandbook.com

  www.twitter.com/JosieBrownCA

  www.facebook.com/JosieBrownAuthor

  NOVELS IN THE

  HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN SERIES

  The Housewife Assassin’s Handbook

  (Book 1)

  Every desperate housewife wants an alias. Donna Stone has one … and it happens to be government-sanctioned. But Donna earned it the hard way. Her husband was killed the day she delivered their third child. To avenge her husband's murder, Donna leads a secret life: as an assassin. But espionage makes for strange bedfellows, and brings new meaning to that old adage, "Honey, I'm home..."

  The Housewife Assassin’s

  Guide to Gracious Killing

  (Book 2)

  A nuclear arms summit, hosted by a politically connected billionaire industrialist, provides the perfect opportunity for a rogue operative to assassinate the newly elected Russian president, on American soil. Donna Stone’s mission: seek and exterminate the shooter before all hell – and World War III – breaks out. Also on Donna’s to-do list: file for divorce. Throw in a couple of killer play dates and a few naughty neighbors, and you’ve got a whole lot of fun.