by Josie Brown
I’m still shaking my head at his audacity when the Chiffrays approach us. This time, Lee’s congratulatory kiss is quick and formal. “May you share a lifetime of love,” he says to Jack.
Babette leans into me. I’m expecting a couple of perfunctory air kisses. What I get instead is a real hug.
Her statement to me is just as heartfelt, albeit somewhat off-putting: “I don’t envy you.”
For what, the job I do? Marrying Jack? For whatever tribulations are yet to come my way?
I could say the same about her, but I don’t.
She’ll find out soon enough.
Anton’s hug is strong and long, as you’d expect from a former gymnast. His hold on me lingers, as if somehow he is channeling Valentina. “Jack’s happiness is now complete.”
“How about yours, Anton?” I ask.
His shrug is not Gallic shorthand, but his personal resignation to a lifetime of loving a woman who didn’t, and couldn’t, love him back. “Life gets easier with each passing day,” he assures me.
Maria, Katy May, Coquette and Lady Dannie have bonded during their time together. Besides flirting outrageously with all the single men at the party, they take turns toasting us—or I should say roasting him—with one exaggerated story after another about Jack’s cleverness under fire. Unable to crack his façade of memory loss to all of his supposed derring-do, they turn their attentions on Dominic, mercilessly teasing him to pick up the gauntlet of lover-spy and run with it.
“I say, old boy, had I known how many old flames you’d left flickering in your wake, I would have encouraged the two of you to tie the knot in a more timely manner.” He fans the hotel security cards each of these lovely ladies has slipped him sometime during the evening.
“So, what’s your guess?” Jack asks, as Maria entices Dominic to dance a samba with her. “Do the cards belong to empty rooms?”
“More than likely, rooms that have been assigned to drunken sailors on leave, who won’t appreciate a dandy Brit in a tux snoring in their bed.”
Jack laughs until he falls on the floor. “God, I hope you’re right.” He holds up a glass of wine to toast the women now referred to as his Jack Pack.
Jack must have remembered the name of the trio that played here at the Sand Dollar on the night of that first date, because they are here now. The lead singer, Andrèe Belle, is as lovely as ever. Our first dance as husband and wife is to the same song, too: At Last.
“Happy, Mrs. Craig?” he murmurs in my ear.
I chuckle. “Ecstatically so, Mr. Craig. Especially when you call me that.”
Jack shakes his head in wonder. “You know, at some point, I’ll have to go back to using your given name.” Jack takes me out on the deck.
“Perhaps after our one year anniversary,” I replay. “If it’s any consolation, I waited twice that long for you to say it.”
“Good point. Anything to make you happy.” He dips me.
I hang upside down for only a moment—
But, it’s long enough to see a ghost.
He stands out by the shore. It’s too dark to see his face, but his height and stance are familiar…
Oh, my God. He’s here.
At least, I think it’s him.
I’m tapped on the shoulder by Mary. “Mind if I cut in?” she asks me.
“By all means.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek before Jack whisks her away.
When I turn back around, the ghost is gone.
At least, that is what he wants me to think, but I know better.
Jack is such a gentleman. Every woman in the room gets a dance with my handsome groom.
Babette got her dance immediately after Mary. It was my daughter’s idea. She should intern with the United States Diplomatic Corps. I’ll put in a word for her with Lee.
Eventually, Jack gets down to asking Lee’s secretary, Eileen. In order to dance with Jack, she left her clutch purse on the table. Maybe because of Lee’s attempts to relax and have fun, she’s been on her cell phone constantly, fielding calls on his behalf. I presume some of them have to do with the jihadist sting going down right now.
She comes back to the table, breathless.
“I’m going to the lady’s room,” I say, handing her the purse.
“I think I’ll join you,” she replies with a sigh. “Tiny bladders and boogying down don’t really go together.”
In the restroom, there is only one stall. “You’re the bride. You should go first,” she declares.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I insist.” She turns to freshen her lipstick.
I hurry, and she makes small talk. “What a day you’ve had!” she exclaims. “First Frannie, and now your wedding! And I thought my job was crazy.”
“I’m sure Janie was upset.”
“Ironically, she seemed relieved that, as Babette put it, ‘Frannie left us so suddenly.’ I think she is starved for her mother’s attention, don’t you?”
If she thinks I’m dissing on Babette, she’s wrong. “I’m not around them enough to say. But, every girl needs more mommy time.”
I’ve barely flushed and exited the stall when she runs inside.
I don’t realize she’s left her clutch on the lavatory counter until it buzzes yet again. The clutch is partially open, so it’s easy to see the Caller ID lit up on the display:
It is my long-lost ghost.
“It’s not polite to snoop,” Eileen hisses in my ear. I feel the barrel of her gun in the small of my back. “Shall we head out the fire exit? Let’s take a walk down the beach. My gun has a suppressor and the waves are loud enough that no one should hear anything. They may not find you for quite a while.”
I nod, but say nothing. Despite all the Secret Service and Acme agents in the building, I’d rather disarm her somewhere out of the sightline of my children.
The same goes, should I get shot.
The hallway is empty. She beckons me to move in front of her. “Walk quickly,” she commands.
“In this dress and these heels? You’re dreaming,” I mutter.
The next thing I know, she gives a gasp.
I turn around in time to see her collapse in Lurch’s arms.
A tiny syringe is sticking out of Eileen’s neck. Her eyes flutter for a moment, then close.
Apparently, forever. I don’t find a pulse on her wrist.
“Thank God,” I murmur. “Aconite?”
Lurch nods.
“How did you know about her?”
“I’ve suspected since I was first given this detail.” He shrugs. “Watching the president gives you an opportunity to watch those around him. She’d been with him for so long that he took too much for granted. And besides”—he glances away—“Babette never liked her.”
Babette?
So, he’s the Secret Service agent whom Babette’s trainer, Walton, saw kissing her in the limo.
He’s in love with her. But surely he knows of her trysts with Salem.
Does he know about the baby too?
The hopelessness in his eyes tells me that Babette’s new and unusual circumstance won’t change his feelings for her. He confirms it when he says, “Mr. al-Sadah’s extermination was necessary for everyone involved.”
“Lurch, did the president suspect Eileen too?” I ask.
“After Frannie’s death this morning, he noticed that Eileen was too antsy. I suggested surveillance. It paid off. We’ve been tracking her calls, as well as her data transmissions from this.”
He unpins the dead woman’s brooch from her chest and tosses it to me.
“Quite a little souvenir.” As I toss it back, I pocket her cell phone, handing back mine instead.
He’s too busy calling in a cleanup crew to notice. By the time he does, I’ll have what I need from her phone.
I head out down the hallway, but duck out onto the deck then toward the beach before hacking her phone with the scanner.
When the cell opens, I read the last text mess
age. It shows the coordinates to a spot just a quarter-mile down the beach.
Soon, my ghost and I will be face to face.
He has his back to me as he watches a tumultuous tide: Sturm und Drang created not by the pull of the moon, but the geopolitical turbulence soon to hit our shores.
After all this time, I’m surprised I recognize him at all:
Eric Weber.
His silver mane flows straight back in the blustery wind now coming off the ocean. In fact, it is blowing too hard for him to hear me approach.
But, spies have uncanny instincts. When I’m twenty feet from him, he turns around. His disappointment shows itself only for a moment before his mouth molds into a smile. “Ah! The blushing bride comes to greet me”—he feigns a glance in either direction—“and without an entourage bearing arms, I see.”
“You’re an unexpected guest.” For tickles and giggles, I dimple up. “Should I pretend that your invitation got lost in the mail?”
“We are beyond game playing, you and I.” He loses his smile. “I take it Eileen has been taken into custody.”
“You could say that.” No need to tell him of her untimely demise. Let him sweat it out.
He shrugs. “A pity. But life always provides an upside. Salem’s untimely death, for example.”
So, he knows. If so, the invasion of the summit has been called off.
Thank God for that.
“It leaves an opening on the board of Graffias International. Your resume is a bit spotty in places, but you do provide an interesting skill set.”
“Seriously, Eric? You’re turning this into a job interview?”
He laughs. “I realize my timing is less than ideal. But isn’t that the case with all of life’s opportunities?”
I shake my head, awed at his chutzpah. “I guess I should be flattered, but I can’t say I am. I’ll take a pass.”
“I don’t give up easily,” he promises.
Or perhaps it’s a threat.
He walks down the beach.
I’d follow, but I’d never catch him.
Besides, I’d ruin my dress, and I’ve already promised it to Trisha.
Hopefully, he’ll be picked up in a dragnet that begins the moment I get back.
Chapter 20
How You Know the Honeymoon is Over
The time leading up to the wedding seemed interminable.
The actual day of the big event went in the blink of an eye.
Now that the hoopla is over, can the marriage itself keep you enthralled?
Sure it can! But you must:
1: Remember all the wonderful reasons you married him. Granted, it has nothing to do with his smelly feet and occasionally bad breath, but everything to do with his random acts of sweetness and great sex. (Helpful hint: Stock up on mouthwash, and make sure he changes his socks every day.)
2: Remind him of all the reasons he married you, too. Just because he’s around twenty-four-seven doesn’t mean you should forget to work out, wash up, dress up, and put on make-up.
(Helpful hint: You took him off the open market. To ensure both of you stay off, retain the magic as well as your gym membership.)
3: Practice showing your love—every day, and in every way. Yes, S-E-X. But also with kindness, patience, and giving him the benefit of the doubt. Unless, of course, another woman’s panties show up in your bed.
(Helpful hint: Have the kindness to give him a head start, and the patience to aim before firing.)
Jack is in no rush to take off my dress.
I follow his lead. Slowly, I pull one end of his tux bow. When, finally, it unravels in my hand, I toss it to one side.
He licks his lips in anticipation of my next move.
I don’t keep him waiting too long. Before twisting off his cufflinks, my fingers stroke his wrists. Before unbuttoning his tux shirt, I massage his nipples.
At that point, he pulls me down onto the bed with him. His attempt to release me from my gown is a comedy of errors. Finally, he gives up on the futile effort of inching it up over my breasts.
“How did you get into this contraption?” he growls.
I lift my left arm, revealing the zipper under it. “Try it with your teeth,” I taunt him.
“To hell with that.”
A second later, it’s off.
He groans at his next challenge: My Spanx.
To make it up to him, I unbuckle his belt, and yank down his pants.
As I’d hoped, it revives his efforts to leave me solely in my birthday suit.
Mission accomplished, he declares, “From here on out, we stay naked,” he declares.
He’ll have no argument from me.
My kiss proves it.
“You promised to stay naked,” I remind him.
“I forgot about water.”
I point toward the honeymoon suite’s mini-bar. “In there, along with stuff that will give it a kick—like scotch.”
“Which brings me to a second reason to cover up the family jewels: ice.”
I sigh mightily. “Okay, but make it snappy. Satisfaction was guaranteed to the Now Mrs. Craig. I’m holding you to it.”
If Jack’s kiss is a precursor for what is to come, there will be no reason to ever trade him in for a new model. And I certainly won’t be giving in to my body’s pleas for sleep.
Besides his tux pants, he puts on his dress shirt. At least he doesn’t button it up. Any woman walking the halls is in for a cheap thrill.
It’s my gift to her.
He whistles as he goes out the door.
If I’d fallen back asleep, I would not have thought to wonder what the hell was taking him so long.
The hotel bar has a piano. After he saw the bill for the wedding, he may feel he has to play for tips.
Need I remind him that he’s got a much better way to be spending his time?
I now feel the need to break our cardinal rule, and slip into something. Unlike Jack, I dig through my suitcase for yoga pants and a T-shirt. It’s not exactly the sexiest attire for a wedding night, but it’ll do for traipsing through the hotel in search of my husband.
The bloody path starts two doors away.
I run to the elevator. I pray as I push the button, but of course he won’t be in there.
It comes up empty, except for one of the buttons from his dress shirt.
It too is smeared in blood.
Oh…Fuck!
I’ve lost another husband.
To the Quorum, no less.
Eileen’s cell is in my clutch purse. I’d planned to hand it over to Arnie to scrub. He’ll get it, one way or another but first things first.
It beckons me to do what I know I must, if I’m to save the man I love.
When the cell comes alive, I hit the most recent call.
Eric doesn’t say my name, he just laughs. “You didn’t waste any time.”
“Just tell me what it will take to get my husband back.”
“But I have told you, my dear.”
Despite knowing that every second matters, I count to ten. Finally, I whisper, “Okay, I’m in.”
“Easier said than done,” he warns me. “There will be a series of initiation tests. Should you pass them with flying colors, your husband lives.”
He rings off.
As I stare down at the phone, I think, What have I done?
I’ve given Jack a chance to survive until I find him. Or perhaps a chance to escape.
In the meantime, I must be a traitor to my country.
Now I am married to the Quorum.
Next Up!
The Housewife Assassin’s
Husband Hunting Hints
(Book 12)
**Coming November 2015**
There is only one way for housewife assassin Donna Stone to save her husband and mission leader, Jack Craig, from torture and termination: become a traitor and act as a double agent for the terrorist organization known as the Quorum. Her shocking decision comes with consequences that will foreve
r change the lives of those nearest and dearest to her.
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, 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
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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..."