The Housewife Assassin Gets Lucky

by Deborah Coonts

  “At first, yes,” I concede. “But now I can’t wait to see him back to his old pompous, narcissistic self.”

  “As soon as Adam gives us what we need, Lucky takes off for Paris,” Jack replies. “All the more reason we should head up now.”

  As promised, Lucky and Adam are waiting for us in Nigel’s office.

  While I play the video, Adam’s face shifts through a kaleidoscope of emotions. His initial wariness as to whether his wish was granted softens to fascination as the agents take their positions. Watching as the targets are shot as they run out, he smiles approvingly.

  And yet, when the van finally drives away, the sadness returns to Adam’s eyes. “I wish Aziza was here to see this.”

  Lucky puts her hand on his arm as if to comfort him.

  Jack says softly, “Adam, we now need the cipher.”

  Adam nods and pulls the book from his satchel. “Page 156, line 17.”

  Arnie takes it. Immediately he photographs the page and transmits it to Emma.

  Emma answers, “Got it. Give us a few minutes.”

  While everyone waits in silence, Lucky looks down at her watch and frowns. No doubt she’s worried about making her flight.

  “Hey, listen, if you need to get ready for your departure, no worries. The second we break the code I’ll call you. I know how important it is to you that Aziza and Nigel’s deaths weren’t in vain.” I place a hand on Lucky’s arm. “Again, I want to apologize about our earlier misunderstanding. And I’m sure I speak for all of us at Acme when I say your assistance was invaluable.”

  Lucky smiles. “I’m just glad I was able to convince you I was one of the good guys before I lost a few knuckles.”

  “Well, if you had, it might have been just the thing to smother the flames of Dominic’s ardor,” I reply slyly.

  She laughs all the way out the door.

  23

  Lucky

  For once I decided to leave the clean-up to the pros.

  We didn’t yet have Aziza’s killer, but we had everything else. And Donna and Jack had promised—Aziza’s murderer would be brought to justice. They’d delivered on their promises so far. Trust wasn’t my best thing, but I trusted them to finish the deal.

  I had to.

  It was Paris make-it-or-break-it time. If I planned to arrive at the party before cocktails were served, wheels up had to happen within the next hour. Even then it would be tight. So, the sooner, the better. Hence the packing thing.

  Even though the murderer was no longer my problem, something niggled at me. Something I knew.

  The call came in just as I was sitting on my suitcase trying to force it closed. Just out of reach, my phone taunted me, dancing as it vibrated. I tried to see the caller ID. The angle was wrong, the distance too far. Should I, or shouldn’t I? If I released the pressure on my suitcase, the thing would explode, clothes popping out like a clown from a wind-up box. And I’d have to start over. Short on time, that was not my best option.

  Ignore it, Lucky!

  Gerald killed Nigel and Roxanna. The flowers…someone close. Adam was close to Aziza. But he was working when Aziza was killed. Sheik Ben? Gerald.

  Would Ben order a hit on his own niece? But he was family…

  I worked the zipper, tugging, stuffing, tugging some more as I tried to ignore the Siren call of the phone. It could be a problem needing my attention—a drug to my inner do-gooder. Resistance was almost futile.

  Ben knew the door to the Royal Suite was open. He made a beeline for the master suite. He knew.

  Finally, I managed to get a latch into its slot, then lunged for my phone. I caught the call on the verge of rolling to voicemail. “O’Toole.”

  “Emma’s team cracked the cipher,” Donna said. “The boss is out, but when he gets back he’ll be quite pleased.”

  “That’s great, Donna, but I’ve got to run. Ball is in your court now.”

  “There’s something you should know.”

  Her tone brought me up short and my heart flopped over like a dying duck. “What?”

  “The ringleader?” She left it hanging.

  The truth sucker punched me: “Sheik Mohammed Ben Halabi.”

  “Bingo.” Donna didn’t seem surprised.

  I sank into a chair as my one fear was realized. Sheik Ben. Family. Someone Aziza should have been able to trust…

  “She’d been a sick child,” he’d said. The son of a bitch!

  “Donna, Ben knew she had a heart condition.” I paced the floor. “Gerald must be killing on Ben’s orders.”

  “If so, Gerald may have put two more scalps on his belt since this morning,” Donna replied. “Emma pulled up a Scotland Yard alert about a mysterious double homicide that took place early this morning. You know them: Prunella and Lavinia. Their bodies were found in the locked bathroom stall of a local pub just a couple of blocks from the Babylon, so it may have been after their shift. Their throats were slit.”

  Holy shit! My hands shook and tears stung my eyes as I fumbled with my earphones, jamming them in my ears, then dropping my phone in my pocket.

  Aziza, Nigel, Roxanna, Prunella, Lavinia…

  Adam! Shit!

  I bolted out of my chair, grabbed my suitcase and headed toward the door. “And we need to find Adam. He’s the last loose end to tie up, at least that we know of.”

  “Hey, I need to jump on a call here,” Donna replied. “It’s the boss man!”

  “I’ll work on corralling Sheik Ben on this end.” I’ll probably kill him when I find him. I left that part out.

  “We’ll get there as soon as we can.” Donna sounded worried, as if she thought I might do something stupid. “Be careful.”

  Silly woman. In situations like this, stupid was my go-to.

  My next call was to Security. Bree still manned the phones. “Can you get a visual on Sheik Ben?”

  “Thirty seconds.” Bree’s voice dropped into all-business mode. I’d almost made it to the lobby when she came back. “His limo just pulled away. He has luggage.”

  My best guess is he’d be heading to the heliport on the river. “And Adam Kalb?”

  “The dealer?” Part of her job was intimate familiarity with our staff.

  “Yep.” The elevator doors opened, and I bolted toward the front door. Dodging and darting I ignored the stunned looks as I raced by.

  “Hang on.” Another pause. “Odd. He followed Ben out.”

  I skidded to a stop at the curb, then scanned the street to my left—that’s how they’d have to go to get to the river. A black limo, it’s brake lights blinking red, turned right at the corner. The revving of a motor to my right made me jump back. A motorcycle flashed past, its driver hunched over the handlebars. No helmet. No jacket. In a hurry.

  Adam Kalb!

  Shit!

  He’d put two and two together one step ahead of me and was now most likely hell bent on revenge. At least, with my limited understanding of men, that’s what I assumed.

  I shoved my suitcase at a bellman—the other two I’d arrived with, I’d sent ahead. “Have this delivered immediately to my plane at the FBO at London City airport. Tell them to be ready to go.”

  I didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, I worked on a solution. No cabs. No limos. The street choked with traffic.

  As if the Fates wanted to give me a fighting chance, a courier on a Ducati bumped up the curb to my right. He left the engine running as he dashed inside with an envelope.

  After only a moment of indecision, I straddled the machine, pushed it off its kickstand, then rolled throttle and popped the clutch. A car screeched to a stop. The sound of metal crunching. I didn’t look back as I darted, squeezing through the knotted traffic, cars jammed together, the drivers aggressively claiming every inch.

  At this time of day, the traffic would slow down the limo, but I had a small footprint and could wiggle through. If Ben didn’t know we were onto him, that might give me the time I needed to catch up and save Adam from himself, and the rest of
us from the likes of Sheik Ben.

  If Adam didn’t do something stupid before I got there.

  I shouted at Siri to call the last number that had called me as I worked through the gears. The wind whipped past, bringing tears to my eyes as I shed the rust of having traded a Harley for a Porsche a decade or more ago. Amazingly, Siri did as I asked, and I heard my call ring through. When I came to a straight stretch, I lowered myself over the handlebars, shut my eyes, and opened the throttle, splitting lanes. At one point I think a side mirror grazed my elbow.

  The shouted epithet riding the wind behind me confirmed my suspicion. I raised a hand in apology, not that it would do anything more than add fuel to the fire of his road rage. But I tried.

  Donna answered, and I gave her the high points, adding, “My guess is Ben will be flying out of the London Heliport on the river.”

  “Got it. We’re heading out now.” The line went dead.

  Feeling the call of longevity, I opened one eye to a slit—just enough to avoid cracking my skull like a melon on the car in front of me. A flash of brake lights. A quick glance to mark Adam’s progress. Then I swerved to my left, bumping up the curb. I let the speed bleed off, but not much as I darted around startled pedestrians. One lady, her arms filled with packages, grew wide-eyed and made like a deer in the headlights, stopping stiff-legged in the middle of the walkway.

  Instinctively, I yanked the handlebars to the right, throwing my weight to the left. A dodge, then a dart. No blood spilled. But ten years erased from my future. Sort of a good trade.

  I wiggled off the curb, then into the crush of cars. I had to tiptoe the bike through, then balance at a slow speed until I had an opening. I put a foot down, steering, ignoring the epithets. Muscle memory overriding fear.

  Finally, in the clear, with a narrow slot, I twisted the throttle. Adam had disappeared.

  Shit!

  My phone rang in my ear.

  Donna and Jack, I bet. I had to answer. Risking death, I let go with my left hand and found the tiny place to squeeze on my earbuds to answer.

  “Lucky?” A familiar voice, but not the one I expected.

  “Mother?” Seriously? If there was a bad time to call, that woman could find it.

  “Where are you?”

  “Risking death.”

  “You are always one for the drama.”

  I didn’t argue. That would take brainpower I needed right now to avoid killing myself. I swerved to the right, then took a right at the next corner, trying to wind my way toward the heliport. Worrying about losing Adam was pointless. I knew where he was going.

  Okay, worrying was pointless only if I arrived first.

  “Mother, I can’t talk,” I shouted over the wind.

  “But I’ve finally come up with good names for the girls.” Even with the engine whining and the air shouting past, I could hear her whine.

  “Not now.” I slammed an open palm against my chest, hoping I disconnected the call somehow.

  I flew past a cop writing a ticket and thereby adding to the bottleneck. I never understood why cops did that. Rush hour, and the guy wants to take a lane to make a point. As I gunned the engine, his head swiveled my way. But, already busy, he didn’t give chase.

  Too bad—if he’d followed me, he could’ve made a murder bust instead of dropping a few pounds into the local coffers. His choice.

  Up ahead, I could see a figure on a motorcycle also weaving in and out of traffic. Adam! Either I guessed right as to the shortest path to the river and the heliport, or we both were lost. Either way, I had the kid. Donna and Jack could take care of Sheik Ben, which was a good thing. Frankly, I didn’t trust myself not to wring his neck, which would be awkward.

  I kept Adam in sight but allowed some room between us. He didn’t need to know I was there.

  Up ahead the kid weaved in and out of traffic, his speed increasing. To keep him in sight, I did the same. We had to be getting close. I could smell the river—that disturbing smell of nature carrying the load of industry and the hopes of mankind. A heavy load the river often suffered.

  Adam banked hard to the left across traffic. A car swerved to miss him. I cringed, then leapt into the fray. The Fates were still playing fair. I popped through and onto an expanse of concrete, hot on the kid’s tailpipe.

  A guard had stopped the limo at the heliport’s gate then stepped back from the driver’s window. A single wooden arm rose up, allowing the car through. Adam and I both seized the opening. I twisted the throttle to the stops, laying my chest on the gas tank and flattening myself against the machine.

  The arm lowered as we raced toward it. Ten yards to go.

  Lower.

  Side by side now, Adam’s knee touched mine. He glanced at me, his eyes wide.

  Five yards.

  The guard stepped into our path, waving his arms.

  At least he didn’t have a gun.

  I never wavered.

  Keeping my weight centered, the bike upright, I leaned off to the side.

  The guard dove out of the way.

  The arm came down.

  I cleared it by inches. Then slammed on the brakes to miss the guard’s ankle and foot that stuck into my path. Adam was twenty yards ahead when I returned to the chase.

  A car screeched in from the other direction. Donna, Jack, and Dominic piled out and ran for the helicopter.

  Sheik Ben grabbed his valise from the porter and rushed to the chopper, which was already spooling up. A black beast with Arab markings—the Sheik’s personal aircraft. At the open door, he turned.

  He centered a gun on Adam. Almost abreast, I leapt off my machine, hitting Adam shoulder high. A sting blazed across my upper arm as we both fell. Adam absorbed the brunt of our landing. On the bottom, he hit the ground with a thud, breaking my fall with his body. His breath rushed out of him in a whoosh.

  The bikes wobbled then laid down, gouging the earth, mud flying, until their momentum was spent. Then engines idled as if awaiting our next stupidity.

  I stayed where I’d stopped. My bulk and Adam’s lack of air would hold him at least long enough for Donna and Jack to get Sheik Ben.

  While Adam gulped air, I swiveled to watch Donna and her team. The three of them surrounded Sheik Ben. Dominic took his gun, which he relinquished more easily than I would have in his position.

  I rolled off Adam, then extended a hand and pulled him to his feet. “You look a little green.” And covered with mud, which he didn’t try to wipe off.

  “He must die.” Adam’s tone was flat with finality.

  “Kid, there are worse things than death. Let’s serve him up one of those experiences. What do you say?” The image of Sheik Ben being the pretty play toy in a Federal pen captured my imagination. Justice most divine…and deserved.

  Adam swallowed hard but didn’t look convinced. Revenge, a powerful emotion that gave rise to so many foolish acts.

  “He’s not worth the jail time.”

  “But Aziza…” Adam’s pain etched deep grooves around his mouth. He’d aged ten years in two days.

  I tugged him toward the gaggle that now surrounded Sheik Ben. “Aziza would want you to finish the job, to restore her country to her people.”

  That seemed to do it. I felt the anger leave him. Once I was sure Adam wouldn’t go running off like an avenging angel, I let go of him.

  The noise of the helicopter as it beat the air into submission pulsed through us. The jet engine whined.

  I bent at the waist, ducking under the blades as they gained speed, and motioned Adam to do the same. The downdraft whipped at us, tugging at our clothes, sending grit into our eyes.

  We joined the group just in time to hear Ben shout, “I don’t give a fuck who you are or what authority you think you have. I’m a member of the Saudi Royal Family and an official emissary to the UK. As such, I have complete diplomatic immunity.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I raised my voice to be heard. Subtlety and diplomacy were not tools in my toolbox. “You
knew about Aziza’s heart condition, didn’t you?” I pointed at Sheik Ben. Somehow, I managed to resist grabbing him by the throat and squeezing until he turned blue. God that would feel good.

  His dark eyes locked on mine. He smiled pure evil. “She was a sick child.”

  I turned to Donna. “There! He just admitted it. He killed her, or ordered it done. Immunity does not extend to charges of first-degree murder.” I looked to Donna for confirmation.

  She backed away, one finger pressed to an earpiece. “Let him go,” she mouthed then motioned to her team.

  “What?” I shouted as I grabbed her arm. “You can’t just let him waltz out of here!” I considered the penalty for killing him myself. Like I said, stupid is my go-to and the sheik’s smirk was goad enough.

  Donna peeled my fingers off her arm. She gave me a long stare. “Lucky, it’ll be okay.” I couldn’t quite catch her tone, but her words were clear.

  Adam must’ve sensed my give-in. He leapt toward Sheik Ben. “No!”

  Jack coldcocked the kid and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  Ben brushed his hair into place, then tugged on the tail of his shirt. He gave me a nod, then turned and climbed into the chopper.

  Jack and Dominic each grabbed an arm and pulled Adam away from the chopper. Donna and I joined them a safe distance away. We watched as Ben secured himself into the aircraft, then turned and gave us a salute as the craft lifted.

  The blades kicked up a cloud of dirt and we all flinched away from it, shielding our eyes. At about fifty feet, the pilot—one of Ben’s pilots—eased into forward flight. The dust settled, and we watched the chopper bank sharply over the river, still climbing.

  I was just about to turn away when an explosion ripped the air.

  The helicopter burst into a fireball.

  We all hit the deck. Pieces of the blades whirled by, peppering the earth. I covered Adam with my body, then held my arms over my head as pieces of metal rained down.

  Quiet filled the air around us as if the world held its breath after the explosion.

  Donna was the first to speak. “An eye for an eye.”