2 The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing

by Josie Brown

  The Breck’s au pair, Antoinette, immediately takes Trisha in hand. As far as Trisha is concerned, she’s in My Little Pony heaven. For the next few days, we’ll be just an afterthought.

  How convenient. Our bedroom suite is on the same floor and wing as Breck’s master bedroom and office.

  As I get out of the shower, I notice that Jack is already dressed in his tux. “Considering Asimov lands in less than an hour, if an assassin is here, we don’t have much time to take him out,” Jack says. “I guess I should head downstairs to introduce myself to some guests, and to do some recon.”

  He hesitates just long enough to gaze down at my naked, damp body. I know he’s thinking how easy it would be to pull me down onto that king-sized bed. How fun it would be for me to undress him. How he aches to be inside me.

  Well, if he’s not thinking this, he should be.

  I get my answer when he draws me in close. As he leans in to give me a kiss, his lips linger over mine.

  “Soon,” I whisper, and the spell is broken.

  He sighs, then heads out, closing the door behind him.

  I’ve just started to dry my hair when I hear a knock. I grab my robe and tie it around me before answering the door. I presume it’s a servant with our extra towels.

  Abu is standing there. He still has Eddie in his arms. “Ah, Mrs. Stone! Your daughter asked I retrieve her bear from you,” he says in a conversational tone.

  “Why, thank you,” I respond. “Please come in.” But before I usher him in, I turn on my iPod to an Elvis Costello song, then shut the bathroom door. This signals Arnie to loop an innocuous twenty seconds of pre-recorded empty room digital footage, so that the covert surveillance camera won’t pick up what’s happening.

  I run to the door to let Abu in. When Eddie starts to whine, Abu picks up the dog and muzzles him. “This job is driving me crazy! This mutt has a mind of his own.” As he sits down on the bed, the dog licks his beard. “Why do I get the feeling he’s just looking for crumbs?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Hey, listen. Emma just texted with a tip on the Chechen. Apparently, our target is one of the good guys, part a rebel group, which calls itself the Gray Wolf Brigade. Its operatives have a tiny tattoo of a wolf on the inside of their wrists.”

  I pet Eddie, who immediately rolls over to get his belly scratched. “It’s not much of a lead. I guess if we shake enough hands, we may uncover our target.”

  “For now, it’s all we’ve got.” Abu scratches his beard. “I think this darn dog has fleas.”

  “It’s your imagination. Eddie’s got to be the best kept dog in the world. Which reminds me. I once saw a Nova episode on the intelligence of dogs. Seems that they take their behavioral cues from us. If we’re happy, so are they.”

  Abu shakes his head helplessly. “Then this dog must want to jump off a cliff.”

  “The point I’m trying to make, Abu, is that you should watch how Eddie responds to those around him. For example, does he act differently when Janie is happy or sad, or if Babette seems harried?”

  “Nothing like when Breck is in the room! Then Eddie goes bonkers. The growling is unbelievable.”

  Yeah, well, he’s not the only one who tenses up around the lord and master of the manner. Not that I’d say that to Abu. “Has Arnie’s toys been of any help?”

  “Nope. This pooch is stubborn. Refuses to shut up, no matter how many times I push Arnie’s squeeze toy silencer. I’ve tried bribing and scolding. Babette has already warned me that they aren’t pleased with my results. They’re afraid Eddie is going to bite some head of state. I just hope I can hold onto my gig until this shindig is over.”

  “Do yourself a favor and download that Nova program. Maybe it’ll give you a clue as to what you’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Aye, aye, boss lady.” As he salutes me with one hand, he opens the door with the other. Big mistake. Eddie, seeing his chance at freedom, races down the hall.

  “Dog whisperer my ass,” he mutters, as he takes off after his charge.

  I’ve just clicked on the dryer again, when there’s another knock on the door. I crack it open to find a maid standing there, with an armful of towels. “Shall I take them into the bathroom, Madame?” Her accent is slightly British, which is par for the course around here.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll take them.”

  She smiles and hands them to me.

  That’s when I see it—a small tattoo of a wolf on her left arm.

  Her eyes follow mine. She senses I know who she is.

  Her arm comes up toward my face. I block it with my forearm, then kick her in the gut. She falls back, slamming into the dresser. This stuns her, but just for a second. She reaches behind her and yanks the dryer from the electrical socket. In no time at all, she’s got the cord wrapped around both her wrists and arms.

  “You won’t stop me from killing him.” Her vow is soft, but deadly. “With what he’s done to others like me? That pig does not deserve to live!”

  “Trust me I get it. But it’s not happening here, or now.”

  We both know I can’t talk her out of her mission anymore than she can talk me out of mine: to save Asimov’s sorry ass.

  We circle each other warily, assessing each other’s weaknesses: She’s got more bulk than me, but she’s also slower. I’m taller, too. Best yet, I’m now up against the dresser. Obviously, she considers this a weakness because she charges me.

  Even with the cord wrapped around my neck, all it takes is one squirt of my spray cologne in her eyes to blind her.

  She stumbles into the bathroom, dragging me with her into the shower, where she turns on the water, full force. She’s hoping to wash the sting out of her eyes. What she doesn’t count on is my ability to kick her into the shower wall.

  She bangs her head against the tile. Before she comes to her senses, I untangle myself from the cord, and plug the dryer into the wall.

  Her death mask stare and the smell of her frying skin sends me gagging from the room followed by a shower of sparks as the electrical system shorts out.

  I shut the bathroom door, then lay down on the bed to catch my breath.

  This time when there is a tap on the door, I throw open the door to let Jack in.

  But no. It’s Jonah Breck.

  I pull my robe tightly around me. “My husband is out right now.”

  He smirks. “I know, dear. That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry, we’ve got all the time in the world. He’s with the Japanese defense minister, who is somewhat long-winded.” From behind him, he pulls a bottle of Tattinger’s and two champagne glasses. “I presume you’re finding your accommodations to your liking.”

  “In all honesty, there’s a short in the bathroom’s electrical system—”

  Before I can say another word, he has backed me onto the bed. When my robe falls open, he whips the sash out from around me. Before I know it, he’s flipped me onto my stomach.

  “I could use that drink right now,” I gasp, as he ties my wrists with the sash.

  “We’ll celebrate afterward.” I hear him fumbling with his zipper. “You will, anyway. Trust me, I’ll have you begging for more.”

  Promises, promises.

  I struggle and try to sweet talk him some sense into him, but no use. He’s got me pinned. I’ve just about given up any hope of the Calvary coming when there is a sharp knock on the door.

  “Mrs. Stone?” Both Breck and I recognize Edwina’s voice. “Mrs. Stone, your daughter requests you come immediately.”

  “Answer her.” Breck’s hot breath sears my ear.

  I shout, “I’ll—I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ll have to escort you. The girls are eating in the south wing media room tonight, and with security as tight as it is… Well, you can just imagine.”

  Breck mutters a curse as he rolls off me. Even as he unties me
with one hand, the other gently follows the curve of my ass—

  When he smacks it hard, I swallow the urge to cry out.

  “A love tap. There’s more where that came from. You’ll love the tour of my dungeon.”

  He’s got a dungeon? His corporate bio doesn’t mention a sadistic streak, but yeah, okay, makes sense.

  I leap up and grab my dress, which is hanging over the chair.

  Breck smiles as I struggle into it. “Allow me to zip you up.”

  I suppress a shudder at the thought of his hands anywhere on me. Instead, I nod.

  He presses the zipper into my skin as he inches it up, ever so slowly. When he’s done, I feel his lips grazing my neck. They linger there as he breathes in the scent of my skin, sweat, and disgust.

  How I long to smash that champagne bottle over my host’s head, but seriously, what kind of guest would that make me?

  And besides, I can’t deal with the disposal of two dead bodies tonight.

  Before I leave, I flip off Elvis Costello.

  I can just imagine Ryan and Arnie’s shock and awe at seeing Breck slithering out of the room.

  I don’t even want to think about Jack’s reaction.

  Let alone what he’ll say about the fried maid in the shower. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.

  “I’ve got a pretty good sense of direction,” I say to Edwina. “We aren’t headed to the south wing, are we?”

  Edwina, somewhat embarrassed, shakes her head. “I presumed you needed… some fresh air.”

  She ushers me out to a terrace. The sun is setting. From here, we can actually see directly into the ballroom, where many of the guests have already gathered in anticipation of President Asimov’s arrival.

  I turn to face her. “Thank you, Edwina. Please tell me, how did you know Breck was in my room?”

  She shrugs. “He’s predictable. You’re available. Or at least, he’s arrogant enough to think so. Even if you put up a fight, he presumes your husband will make you do whatever is necessary to make his deal. Most of them do.”

  I can only imagine.

  “He had me put you close by,” she continues. “But after he attacked you in his office, I felt it necessary that I keep an eye on him.”

  “Babette mentioned you’d shown her the security feed.” I shake my head in wonder. “Why doesn’t she divorce him?”

  “She has no alternative. If she leaves, he’ll see to it that she never sees Janie again.” Edwina’s voice trembles. “It sickens her, but his infidelities are a small price to pay.”

  “I see now why she’d put up with it. But you’re not like his other lackeys, who find it easy to look the other way. Tell me, Edwina, what’s your excuse?”

  Instead of answering, she gazes out over the horizon. “Ah, look. President Asimov has arrived. By the time they’re settled, the reception will have already started,” she continues. “I must meet him and his security team, to show them to their quarters.”

  She’s right. The helicopters are still far enough away they can’t be heard, but they can be seen, if barely.

  “You still have the time to answer me.”

  “I owe Mr. Breck my life.” Her smile is slight, and not happy at all. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to alert him as to our guest of honor’s arrival.”

  So, both of the women in Breck’s life feel tethered to him, despite hating his guts.

  As she walks off, all I can think of is how badly I want this mission to be over, so that I can divorce Carl. That way, Jack and I can get on with the rest of our lives.

  Chapter 9

  Dealing with a Party Crasher

  Big parties come with big headaches. One of the worst is the party crasher because he fraternizes with the guests, eats the food you’ve so carefully chosen and prepared, guzzles your liquor, and upsets your seating chart.

  So, how should you eliminate him without making a scene? Easy! Slip a Roofie into his drink, declare him drunk or tired from “over-exertion,” and call a taxi to take him—

  To the city dump.

  A great hostess always keeps the trash out of sight, and out of mind.

  “I see you had company while I was out,” Jack murmurs in my ear, as we dance, cheek to cheek in the grand ballroom, which takes up the whole top floor of Lion’s Lair.

  For an hour now, a twenty-piece orchestra has been playing classic pop tunes. Excitement is in the air, but the natives are getting restless. While some of the swells make tepid attempts to be great sports and escort the handful of ladies around the dance floor, most of the movers and shakers congregate in clusters, like penguins staking out their territorial icebergs.

  The security guards are also in tuxedos, but you can tell who they are by the way they talk to themselves, of tilt their heads and tap their ears in order to listen to any internal chatter on possible threats.

  Despite my gritted teeth, I give Jack—and any camera pointed our way—a dazzling smile. “You betcha, lots of company. In fact, so many people knocked on the damn door, I felt I was in that Marx Brothers movie. You remember the one: where everyone crams into a tiny stateroom?”

  “Ah, yes, A Night at the Opera. Comic genius, lots of shenanigans!” Jack dips me to the floor. “But for some reason, I don’t remember a dead maid in that one.”

  “Maybe you didn’t look closely enough. Speaking of up close and personal, your cheering squad just walked in.”

  What I see upside down, and he now notices right side up, is the entrance of Penelope and the rest of the club’s members, all with spouses in tow. The men wear the requisite tuxedos, while the women are dressed in a rainbow array of couture gowns. Christmas came early to Hilldale’s Bergdorf-Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom. I can only imagine the two-day grabfest that went on as the women’s club members picked over the racks. I haven’t noticed any black eyes, but I haven’t had a chance to peruse the Hilldale Police Department’s arrest reports, either. If jail time has been served, any and all perpetrators have made it out in time for the most memorable soirée in Hilldale’s history.

  “Lucky me,” he says, as he pulls me back into his arms. “I think they have a new crush.”

  Despite the fact Jonah Breck greets Penelope by brushing her proffered hand with his lips, it must be a crushing disappointment for her to discover that, for the most part, the other women invited aren’t socialites or wives of the powerful, but the arm charm variety: young, stunningly beautiful, and well-displayed. In Breck’s eyes, Penelope Bing’s well-toned yummy mommy body trussed up in a colorful Roberto Cavalli print is no match for the tight, nude-toned plunging gown worn by Babette’s personal shopper, Marilyn, with whom Breck is now doing a hip-to-hip cha-cha.

  After what I’ve seen of Breck, I now know why Babette could care less who fills his dance card.

  When the orchestra starts the overture to the ballad Someone to Watch Over Me, Jack pulls me close. It would be nice to just lay my head on his broad chest, but duty calls. Jack’s head is angled to scan the room, leaving me to watch the grand staircase.

  And that’s when I see him.

  Carl, my soon-to-be ex.

  Smiling down at me, he walks down the staircase and through the crowd toward us. Tall, dark and broad shouldered, his deep green eyes assess, even as they seem to ignore.

  Or appreciate. No wonder the heads of every woman he passes turns to watch and admire. It’s instinctive, this desire we women have, to run toward with the strongest and most virile of our species.

  In my case, the urge is to run away from him. Then again, I’m the only one in the room who knows how he treats his loved ones.

  I’ve got the bullet scar to prove it.

  When he reaches us, he taps Jack on the back in order to cut in. “May I?” he has the audacity to ask.

  I give Jack credit. He doesn’t do a double-take. Howe
ver, his eyes display disbelief by opening wider before they narrow in anger.

  Nor does he punch Carl, let alone stab or shoot him.

  I guess he’s relieved I haven’t done anything stupid, either.

  Not yet, anyway.

  As Carl whisks me away, he holds me tight. Too tight. “Honey, I’m home,” he murmurs into my ear. “Did you miss me?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I was hoping you’d crawled into some hole and died of internal bleeding.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that great a shot.” Carl shrugs. “You have that habit of angling slightly to the right. Gotta watch that, babe. Unless…Whoa, wait a minute! You really didn’t mean to take me down, now, did you?” He pulls back slightly, in order to watch my expression.

  Okay yeah, it’s a gotcha moment. “Screw you, Carl.”

  “I knew it!” He’s practically crowing. “Still carrying a torch for ol’ Carl. Has lover boy figured this out yet?”

  I try to pull away, but he won’t let me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was handicapped, remember? You had just winged me in the shoulder.”

  “Yeah well, I guess we were both a little off our game that day.” He concedes with a sheepish nod. Then he jerks me even closer and leans into me. Sure, okay fine. I shift closer, forcing him to follow me in a figure eight tango, shifting my leg so that it hooks onto his before it climbs slowly to his upper thigh.

  Carl smirks, impressed. “When did you learn to tango?”

  “From Jack. He taught me well, don’t you think?”

  He nods, grudgingly. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “What’s yours?” I can only imagine. Bangkok hookers? No, to obvious. It’s got to be the quest of making my life miserable.

  As if reading my mind, he answers, “Resurrection.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, There would be no need for a resurrection, if you’d stayed with me. And if you hadn’t been seduced by the Quorum’s quest for power. And if you hadn’t faked your death and deserted me and the kids…