The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (12 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jack.” The angle of the moonlight extends the shadows around the features of his face. His eyes become more deep-set, and his cheekbones even more pronounced. As I stroke the one closest to me, I ask, “Were you able to pull up coordinates based on the last signal reading?”

“Yes. It’s a large apartment building. The DOD already had a drone scheduled with extermination orders. If I’d called even one hour later, the place would have been a pile of rubble. I’m sure Tatyana and her hosts were hoping we’d do just that, considering all the bad press it would have generated over the collateral damage. Your fast thinking saved many innocent lives, Donna.”

“I…well, I’m glad of that.” I lower my head onto his chest. It’s too dark for him to see me blush at his compliment.

“In fact, the chip may have been planted in that specific building after it was removed from her. As we speak, Acme is going through all satellite surveillance leading up to her arrival in Mosul. Actual sightings will help us pinpoint exactly when and where we might have lost her.” He tilts my head so that we’re eye to eye. “How did the thought come to you?”

“I told you–it came to me out of the blue. I figured it had already occurred to the surveillance team, but I thought there’d be no harm in mentioning it, just in case it hadn’t,” I say nonchalantly. “Jack, will my replacement be assigned to this mission?”

He hesitates before answering. “Probably not, unless she’s already highly seasoned. My team can’t afford someone who’ll slow it down, or make mistakes. We’re handicapped as it is, what with you giving notice, and Emma out on maternity leave.”

“But Emma is still working from home–” The moment it’s out of my mouth, I could bite my tongue.

“How did you know that?” Jack sits up so quickly that I’m almost tossed out of the hammock. I’m still trying to come up with a plausible answer when he raises his hand. “Wait–don’t tell me. I really don’t want to know.” He shrugs. “Donna, I’m certainly obliged to you for catching on to Tatyana’s trick and passing it forward to me.”

“Thank you for saying so. I hope you–”

“Wait, I’m not finished.” He takes a deep breath. “I truly believe that you’ve made the right decision for your–
our
future. At the same time, for both professional and personal reasons, I’ll sorely miss you on my Acme team. But make no mistake: I’ll be sticking to protocol as it pertains to this mission. By that, I mean you can’t be questioning me or anyone else involved about its status. Are we clear on this?”

“Yes, crystal clear.” I blink my tears away.

“Good. That being said, I’ve already asked Ryan, and he’s agreed that as we both value your opinion, you’ll be consulted on specific matters,” he pauses to emphasize, “
on a need-to-know basis
.”

I’ve heard that line before “Yeah, sure. But how is that different from my status five minutes ago?”

“Five minutes ago, Ryan felt you didn’t need to know anything, considering you’ve got one foot out the door. Now it means that if and when we want your input on some portion of the mission, we’ll ask for it. But your last Acme assignment is still finding your replacement.”

“Understood.” I add slyly, “And if I should stumble onto some insight that may be useful?”

“By all means, pass it forward.” He smiles knowingly. “Just don’t spend your day tripping over Emma’s computer–or mine again, for that matter.”

“I didn’t trip. It fell.”

“If you say so.” He smiles as he settles back down in the hammock. The arm that isn’t cradling his head finds its way around my shoulder.

What can I say? It’s great to feel appreciated–

Even if it’s only on a need-to-know basis.

Well, of course I need to know–everything. I want to keep my family safe, and my Acme colleagues too.

And I would die if anything happened to Jack.

It’s why I’ll always have his back.

Just like he has mine.

I start by giving him my mouth.
 

By the way he devours it, I presume he missed it as much as it has missed him.

Chapter 8

Should You Use Cater Waiters?

Unless you’re Lady Crawley of Downton Abbey, a battalion of butlers holding trays with each of the delectable courses served at your next party isn’t a necessity.
 

However, should your next gathering be large enough that formal invitations are in order and valets will be needed to park your guests’ cars, a few cater waiters wouldn’t hurt. Whether it’s for passing pu pu platters, trays of champagne flutes, or manning the bar, here’s how to pick the ones who will best serve and protect (your precious china):

First, interview each one personally. The obvious ones to avoid are the ones likely to bump into your exquisite furnishings, pick their noses in front of you, as well as those who smell like a brewery, or like your ganja dealer. You can also do without the guy calling his bookie every five minutes, and the gal with red-rimmed eyes who sobs incessantly because her married boyfriend just broke up with her. The much better choices are hotties who can easily dodge your drunk, grabby guests while carrying two trays, or the naughty boys who can mix a dry martini and a mean French 75.

Next, check their references. If it turns out the names given are similar to characters in Marx Brothers movies or corpses now residing in the local cemetery, cross these candidates off your list.

And, finally, don’t hire anyone whose criminal record includes pick-pocketing.

On the other hand, anyone who’s done five to ten in the big house but has never snitched on his murderous bunkmate, no matter what secrets were divulged, would make an ideal sous chef during the preparation of your world famous blue cheese mushroom caps, especially if he had kitchen duty while in the hoosegow. (Added bonus: should someone try to wheedle the recipe out of him, he knows how to use a shiv and hide a body.)

Pucci Tedeschi is shorter than she looks in her photo. I guess the mile-high honey blond bouffant threw me off. She’s also thinner and has a tiny frame–except where it counts, if the hanging tongues of all the men she saunters past is any indication.
 

So far, she’s passed every task adequately. Although her martial arts skills are limited, they’re effective. Acme’s MA instructor finds this out the hard way when he grabs her in a chokehold from behind and says, “Let’s see how you’d protect yourself when I do this to you.”

A second later, he’s doubled over as she grabs and twists his ball sack. When she slams a fist into his throat, he’s down for the count.

Crude, but effective.

On to her lie detector test, when she’s asked if she affiliated with any known terrorists, her response is, “I know every psycho mob hit man in Jersey. Does that count?”

It doesn’t, and the rest of the questions go just as smoothly, so it’s on to the next task: psychological testing, with our in-house psychiatrist, Doctor Bellows.

Afterward, she’s asked to leave the room so that he and I can go over the results. The good doctor’s glasses fog up as she sashays out. Even after he removes them, his eyes don’t leave her. I guess she cured his nearsightedness. Go figure.

When he collects himself, he reports, “No panic disorders or phobias. However, there is a touch of adult antisocial behavior, a smidge of impulse control disorder, and a sprinkling of sadomasochism.”
 

Sounds like a recipe for trouble–or for an excellent sparrow. “In other words,” I declare, “she’ll make a perfect hit woman.”

“Yes…except…” he hesitates, then adds: “Her narcissistic personality disorder is somewhat worrisome.”

“Tell me, doc, is that something you’d find in, say, Dominic Fleming?”

At the mention of Acme’s blond British Adonis, Dr. Bellows rolls his eyes. “He’s a textbook example! In fact, he is
the
textbook example.” Bellows picks up the latest issue of
The British Journal of Psychiatry
and leafs through it until he finds what he’s looking for, and hands it to me.
 

It’s an article entitled,
The Triple Threat of Egocentrism, Vanity, and Megalomania: Can This Patient Be Saved?
 

Dominic’s picture is there, all right, as a centerfold–

And sans a stitch of clothing.

I turn it sideways so that I can take it all in, pun intended. No doubt about it, he has a lot to be proud of.

I turn back to the first page of the article and notice the byline: Dr. Alfred Bellows. “Congratulations on its publication, Doctor. This photo, however…”

He nods. “Yes, well, Dominic gave me a few to choose from. To put it mildly, this was the most acceptable. On the plus side, this issue of the magazine has sold more copies than any other since 1963, its first year of publication.”

“All’s well that ends well. And considering Acme’s success with Mr. Fleming, I presume Ms. Tedeschi is a shoo-in.”

“Certainly,” Bellows assures me, beaming.
 

Speaking of Dominic, he insists on following Pucci and me to her next test in Acme’s shooting range, if only to “make sure our comely guest is shown how to hold something as long and hard as Benelli M4.” He holds his large hands apart and gives her a saucy wink, just in case she’s too naïve to get the double entendre.

Um,
hardly
. Her eyes drop below his belt buckle. They grow exponentially at the bulge she sees there.

“I refuse to take no for an answer,” Dominic proclaims airily.

“I’ll say,” she purrs.

I sigh. “O…
kay
! What do you say we get this show on the road?”

“Sure, but can I freshen up first? Which way to the little girl’s room?” she asks in her kewpie doll voice.

I point her in the right direction. “That way, and around the corner.”

By the time she’s halfway down the hall, Dominic’s tongue is on the floor.

Before he can follow her in there too, I slap his arm. “You better behave yourself! If she becomes my replacement, she’s on your mission team. How do you think your hanky-panky shenanigans will go over with Ryan?”

Dominic responds with a smirk. “I presume he’ll react the same way he did when he found out about you and Jack–he’ll put his revolver in his mouth for a quick game of Russian roulette.”

I blush. “Ha, ha, very funny! At the very least, you can wait until she actually gets the position before you pounce.”

He shrugs. “I’ll call her either way. ‘Commiseration sex’ is the best kind. Albeit ‘survived death’ sex is high on the list as well. Then again, ‘you saved my life’ sex usually leads to a jolly good time, not to mention ‘angry at my husband’ sex. Talk about boisterous!”

“Let’s not.”

“You act as if you’re strapped into some sort of chastity belt, my dear. But we both know better, now don’t we?” He laughs heartily. “That one, on the other hand, is quite a saucy minx, and makes no bones about it.” He winks. “She told me I remind her of her husband. Can’t do better than that, eh?”

I’m just about to tell him that Pucci thought so “well” of Knuckles Tedeschi that she shot him through the heart when the lady in question waltzes out of the ladies’ room.
 

She and I head for the elevator with Dominic right on our heels.

He had better tread lightly. We’ll be around guns, and accidents do happen.

“Wow, another bullseye! ...I guess.” I stare down at the bullet-riddled crotch of Pucci’s paper target. This time around, her weapon was a Sig Sauer P226R. So far, she’s moved through a Colt 45 and a Glock 42 with similar ease. “I mean, as long as you weren’t aiming at his heart, or his head. You weren’t…were you?”

“Get
outta
here!” Pucci smacks her gum hard and loud. “If we shoot ’em in the gonads, they stay alive, and we can torture them to squeal on their rat bastard pals. Besides, the world needs more eunuchs. Dontcha agree, Dom?” She looks over at Dominic for validation.

Despite his bacon-crisp tan, his complexion is now a light shade of green. “In–Indubitably!” he stutters. He nods his head so hard I’m afraid he’ll snap something.

I hand her the last test weapon–an AR-15. “Have you used one of these?” I ask.