The Housewife Assassin's Tips for Weddings, Weapons, and Warfare (Housewife Assassin Series Book 11)

by Josie Brown

  “That bad, eh?” He plops down, but leans forward, fists clenched, as if preparing for the worst.

  A punch in the jaw wouldn’t hurt half as much. We both know it.

  Lee Chiffray is ready to take his lumps.

  “You asked that Acme conduct a thorough and unhindered investigation,” I begin. “Thank you for that.”

  He shrugs. “It was the only way it would publicly pass any sniff test. And, personally, I knew it was the only way you’d ever trust me, from this point forward.”

  “You were right.” I smile. “The good news is that both you and Babette were cleared as suspects in the contract killing of Catherine Martin.”

  “Babette too?” He seems relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. As for me”—he allows himself a sly grin—“I could have told you that. In fact, if I remember correctly, I did. I presume I have your trust now.”

  “Yes, Lee. But don’t get cocky. Believe me, you were prime suspects for quite a while.”

  He frowns. “How so?”

  “On the night of my engagement party, I lifted one of the cell phones that was in your pocket.”

  “Seriously—you did that?” He laughs so hard that he’s choking. “Pickpocketing the president? That takes nerve.”

  “Tell me about it. I was nervous as hell. The last place any woman wants to spend her honeymoon is the Federal Prison Camp in Alderson.”

  He raises a brow. “I take it that the cell didn’t contain what you were looking for.”

  “On the contrary. It was the one used to correspond with Xia about the hit on Catherine.”

  “But how could that be? If the hit was contracted by Frannie—” He thinks for a moment, then his eyes open wide. “I think I have the answer. That night, the battery on Babette’s phone died. She borrowed Janie’s cell so that Narcissa and Chantal could keep in touch with her while she entertained guests.”

  “The last mystery solved, then.” Now, for the hard part. I come over to sit beside him. “You were once on the executive board of Salem’s Company, Graffias International.”

  He frowns. “You’re right. It was years ago. Why would that be a problem?”

  “Lee, Graffias is a front for the Quorum. We’ve known for some time that the Quorum launders its money through Graffias.”

  He leans back, stunned. “Oh…hell.”

  “In fact, Salem’s ring—the one with the black crest with the number thirteen—confirmed his allegiance to the Quorum.” I take a deep breath. “Salem was terminated yesterday, by me.”

  “During your rendezvous with him.” He tries to keep all emotion out of his voice, but it cracks at the end.

  “Believe me, Lee, I would have avoided it at all costs, except for the fact that Acme’s covert analysis detected a microdot secreted in a hollow pocket beneath the ring’s crest. It was crucial that we retrieve it.”

  Lee nods. “Ryan has already filled me in on its full contents: the details of the Islamic State’s planned attack on the supposedly secret summit of Middle Eastern leaders that is being held at Lion’s Lair, the day after tomorrow. Talk about getting rid of all the obstacles standing in the Islamic State’s way, in one swift blow!” He shakes his head, stunned. “Ryan also informed me that the ring’s intel includes the locations of safe houses for jihadist cells that are currently embedded in the U.S. The NSA is rounding them up now. Still, as we speak, jihadists are attempting to breach our border with Mexico. More have been arriving by private and commercial flights all week. The NSA is deploying Special Forces swat teams to stop them before they reach the Los Angeles metropolitan area. Checkpoints are already set up within a ten-mile radius around Hilldale.” He grimaces. “We’re ready for them.”

  “If they show up at all,” I reply.

  He looks at me sharply. “Why wouldn’t they? Word of Salem’s death has yet to get out.”

  “One person knows of it,” I counter. “Babette.”

  “And you suspect Babette?” He shakes his head, confused. “But—but you said Babette was cleared from any wrongdoing!”

  “Yes, she was—in regard to owning the phone that negotiated the hit on Catherine Martin by Liang Xia. But we also know that Xia’s correspondence with Frannie was forwarded to a third party. The GPS showed the location as the White House, but because it was a dark device, there was no way to trace the cell.”

  “Donna, if Babette were Quorum, why would she have pushed Frannie off the balcony?” he argues.

  “With Frannie cornered, she was a risk to the mole.” I hesitate, then add: “And then there’s the fact that Frannie was also Salem’s lover.”

  He bows his head as that sinks in.

  When finally he raises it again, it’s to mutter, “I…I can’t believe it.”

  I reach for his arm. “But, Lee, there are too many coincidences.” I count them down on my fingers. “Number One: are you aware that Babette’s first husband, Jonah Breck, was also on the Graffias board—in fact, the same year as you?”

  “What? ...No!”

  “You never met him at any board meetings?”

  Lee shakes his head adamantly. “The meetings were held annually. During the year I was on the board, my father was dying of cancer. It was one of the reasons I chose to leave the board after only a year.” He paces the room. “I can see how this all seems. No wonder Jack finds it so hard to trust me.”

  I have nothing to say to that because it’s true.

  As for Lee’s claims, they can be easily checked. I know Jack well enough that he’ll do so. I hope it’ll clear Lee in Jack’s mind once and for all, and that’s a good thing.

  “Number Two: the man the Widow Breck chose to liquidate Jonah’s assets—Carl—was a Quorum hit man. He chose you as the potential buyer. Not only did you buy Breck Industries—including Fantasy Island—you met and fell in love with Babette.”

  “Lucky me,” he says dryly.

  “Number Three: her name is currently listed as a Graffias board member.”

  “She can’t be! She knows better.” Rather than facing me, he stares out the window.

  “And, four: her most recent lover was Quorum as well as Graffias’s chief executive.”

  The blood drains from Lee’s face as the implication sinks in:

  The first lady of the United States may be a terrorist.

  “Lee, another known Quorum operative was listed on Graffias’s executive board along with Babette and Salem. Do you know Eric Weber?”

  “Yes.” This knowledge hangs so heavy on Lee that he must sit down again.

  “Eric recruited Carl into the Quorum,” I explain. “He was Carl’s first handler.”

  “Oh…shit.” He hits his fist in frustration.

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Salem met Eric right after we got out of college. Eric helped Salem diversify his holdings by convincing him that the Middle East was too unstable for the amount of money and assets Salem had there. Out of the diversification came Graffias International.”

  “And out of Graffias came the Quorum,” I murmur. “Oh, what a tangled web the Quorum weaves.”

  “I, for one, am tired of being tied up in it.” He shakes his head angrily. “I’m sure you are too.”

  Now, the telltale moment: “Will you authorize the further investigation of your wife?”

  He closes his eyes. “I can’t, Donna, because Babette—well, she’s pregnant.”

  Ah, so she finally told him. “Have you considered the possibility that it’s Salem’s baby?”

  He nods. Lee and I are beyond any reason for pretense.

  Finally he says, “I’ll let Ryan know he has the authorization to do…to do what is necessary regarding Babette.”

  “I’m sorry, Lee.”

  His eyes seek out mine. What he finds there relieves him, because it is not pity but concern.

  Gently, he kisses me, but he knows better than to let his lips linger on mine. He stands, honoring me with a slight bow. “I’d better hit the road. I’ve got a
wedding to officiate.”

  “Oh, really? Where is it taking place?” I ask innocently.

  “You won’t get it out of me, Mrs.…well, soon to be Mrs. Craig. Like the rest of the wedding party, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

  He leaves without looking back. It’s for the best. I pat away my tears before my bridal party comes storming back in to whisk me away for parts unknown.

  Chapter 19

  Happily Ever After

  Yes, you will live happily ever after.

  But not before some fighting, screaming, and crying.

  There is no gain without pain.

  And there is no make-up sex either.

  So that you don’t extend the inevitable (in this case, the make-up sex), here are a few tips to move things along:

  Tip #1: Don’t go to bed mad. However, if he insists on doing so, make sure the gun is under your pillow, not his.

  Tip #2: When you make up, kiss. In fact, hug too. And fondle, which may lead to undressing, which gets you to home plate with a smile on your face in record time.

  Tip #3: Choose your fights wisely. Frankly, “sex” is just as fun as “make-up sex.” Skipping the barbs and accusations may not get your heart rate spiking as fast, but a cardio workout—say, running naked around the house as you play Chase Me, Kiss Me—will have exactly the same effect, and is much more fun.

  I will never be happier than now, as I walk through the sand to join my beloved by the water’s edge.

  I’m sure Aunt Phyllis feels the same way, since she had Dominic walk her down the aisle to her seat of honor in the first row, center, for my sunset wedding on Crystal Cove beach, in front of the Sand Dollar Café, off Newport Coast Road.

  It is where Jack and I had our first date.

  Later, we’ll have our reception inside the restaurant.

  My party planners, Emma and Mary, have done well.

  The way the chairs are set up, there is no bride’s side or groom’s side. Everyone here knows of the tenuous lives we lead. Certainly Ryan and the whole Acme office, but also Coquette, Lady Dannie, Katy May, and Maria as well.

  Even one of Jack’s oldest and dearest friends, Anton Gregorescu, is here. Anton and Jack once loved the same woman, albeit at different times—Valentina, Jack’s first wife. Anton can also claim that he risked his own life to save those Jack loved most: her and me. It wasn’t easy for our wheelchair-bound friend to make it here from Paris. His friendship has no bounds.

  I am preceded by Trisha, who tosses hydrangea petals of all different hues into the air. They dance in a brisk breeze over the heads of our guests before floating down.

  Janie, who sits on the first row beside her mother, blows kisses at her best friend. She has elected not to wear the same frock as Trisha. Perhaps that was Babette’s decision, since they are dressed like twins: from their hot pink designer lace sheaths to their white gloves and shoes, and down to their tiny clutch purses.

  My maid of honor, Mary, is walked down the aisle by Jack’s best man: Ryan. They are followed by Emma, who is accompanied by Evan. Bringing up the rear is our ring bearer: Nicky Locklear, in the arms of his father, Arnie. The toddler holds a satin pillow with two rings tied to it. One I had admired that day as we stood in front of the Tiffany window: the two-and-a-half carat diamond that sits above a band inlaid with channel-set diamonds on each side. Jack’s wedding band complements it in its design.

  My man doesn’t miss a trick.

  With my son’s arm in mine, I make my way toward Jack. When we reach Jack’s side, Jeff shakes his hand then kisses my cheek before joining Mary, Emma, and Trisha at my side.

  Our eyes meet once more. I mouth I love you.

  My son answers me by making a heart with his hands and holding it at his chest.

  As I turn to face Jack, Lee begins with a few words on the things that should matter in a union between two people who love each other: honesty, devotion, passion, and love. He speaks from the heart with examples of those traits, personally observed by him in either Jack, or me, or both of us.

  Jack looks surprised at his reminiscences. Not me. I have yet another reason to call Lee my friend. I hope Jack now feels the same way.

  When the time comes for us to voice our commitment to each other, Jack does so first. As I listen to his vows to love, honor, and cherish me, I suddenly feel the presence of those who are here in spirit only.

  My father, who walked me down the aisle to my first husband, loved my mother so deeply that her untimely death from breast cancer broke his spirit, and drove him to drink.

  My mother’s death was the catalyst for my own loss of innocence and fierce protection of the lives nearest and dearest to me.

  Just over Jack’s shoulder, my very first love, Robert Martin, smiles proudly at me. His needless death, orchestrated by his power-hungry wife, Catherine, will never destroy his great works on behalf of others less fortunate. For once, I don’t feel his longing for me, only his boundless joy on my behalf. My way of honoring his loss at the hand of Carl is to keep my vow to protect his son, Evan.

  Even Valentina is with us. She smiles, but her essence is filled with regret. Had she loved Jack more than Carl, I wouldn’t be standing at his side today.

  And yes, Carl is here, too. As the waves churn and crash angrily against the shore, I vow my everlasting love to Jack Craig in a clear and steadfast voice.

  Fidelity. Trust. Eternity.

  I never had it with Carl. Then again, had he been able to provide it, I would have never met Jack.

  It is enough reason to forgive Carl for leaving me.

  Finally, he can rest in peace.

  And now, enveloped in sweetness and promises of Jack’s first kiss as my husband, I will go on with the rest of my life.

  Our guests’ congratulations are heartfelt. Our children and Aunt Phyllis are the first to gather around us, in a group hug. Mary makes sure that Evan is included in it, grasping his hand firmly and drawing him in with her. When he pulls back shyly, she simply says, “Evan, it’s okay! You’re our brother.”

  From the look of longing on his face, I know he is both touched and disappointed. Their mutual attraction grew into a shared adoration. Now, only through time and random acts of trust, can it ripen into a love fueled by an everlasting passion.

  “Give it time,” I whisper into his ear as we hug.

  He blushes at the realization that I’ve read his thoughts. It’s a shame he can’t read mine.

  When the group hug breaks away, Aunt Phyllis hugs Jack, as if she’ll never let him go. “I guess we’re stuck with this one after all.”

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  For once in his life, Ryan has no qualms wrapping me in a bear hug. “It’s about damn time,” he growls.

  I frown up at him. “What, you mean you actually had doubts that Jack and I would ever marry?”

  “Hell no. He was gaga over you years before you even knew he existed. All of this”—he motions at the guests—“was inevitable.”

  “It must be wonderful to play God,” I retort.

  “Best gig ever.” He winks. “You should try it some time.”

  Abu moves in for a kiss. I accommodate with that, and a hug. “You know, you’ve always been like a sister to me.”

  I pat his arm. “And you are the brother I never had.”

  “You know I’ll always have your back, right, Donna?”

  “And you’ll be duly rewarded with any pie of your choice.”

  He lights up. “I still think there’s a business in it.”

  “It’s a bandwidth issue,” I remind him. “Too many terrorists, so little time.”

  My declaration erases the smile from his face. He knows this better than anyone else. Still, ever the optimist, he shrugs. “Not forever. In the meantime, I’ll finesse our business plan.”

  Emma and Arnie are laughing with Jack about something. I poke my head into their threesome. “Was it something I said?”

  “It’s more like everything you
do,” Arnie blurts out. “Emma said that when she grows up, she wants to be just like you.”

  Emma frowns. She doesn’t like being outed as my fangirl.

  To show her the feeling is mutual, I hug her, but also whisper: “Be careful what you wish for.” Her smile fades as she glances over at Nicky, who is now wrapped in Mary’s arms. I know what she’s thinking: would the trade-off be worth it?

  I ask myself that every day of my life. Every night, I say a prayer of thanks that, as of yet, I have nothing to regret.

  Dominic’s congratulations are delivered with a full-on open mouth kiss.

  After shoving him off, I gasp, “What the hell are you doing?”

  He smiles knowingly. “Allowing you one last chance to give in to your erotic fantasies about what might have been, had I not jilted you.”

  Wiping his spittle from my lips, I growl, “Remind me again: on what occasion was I quote-unquote jilted?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Are you off your chump? Why, on the way to Fantasy Island!” Noting my blank stare, he sighs mightily. “Nipped in the bud during our Mile High Club hijinks. As I recall, you got somewhat more possessive than agreed upon.” He clicks his tongue. “Not that I blame you, my dear. I’ve been blessed—or shall I say, cursed? No, no, blessed is truly the apt description—with the profile of a Greek god. Happens all the time.” He turns sideways so that I may admire it.

  “That wasn’t me, Dominic. You were tag-teamed by a couple of flight attendants.”

  “Oh?” A faint smile rises on his lips as the memory corrects itself. “By Jove, you’re right! Well, blow me down!”

  “I’d prefer to blow you up,” I mutter.

  “Ah, very well. Then consider our little congratulatory kiss my wedding gift to you,” he proclaims magnanimously. “It’s one you’ll never forget, eh?”

  “I’ll say,” I mutter. “The memory of it will haunt me for a lifetime.”

  Dominic doesn’t hear me. Lady Dannie’s seductive wink has the same effect on him as a dog whistle on a mongrel: he’s panting.