The Housewife Assassin's Killer App (6 page)

“It wasn’t a guy. It was a little old lady—in a wheelchair, no less! And it wasn’t a prop either, because she couldn’t get out of it when she accidentally fell into a ditch.”
 

Alan snorts. “Yeah, those kinds of accidents happen—around you, anyway.” He walks over to his desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a stack of cards.
 

Glancing over his shoulder, I see that someone’s picture is pasted on each one. “What are those, sports trading cards?”

“Something like that—and even more valuable if you’ve got a reason to stay just out of reach of the long arm of the law. I should have had you look at these when this case heated up.” He flips through the stack until he finds the one he seeks: a front-on shot of the woman who served my summons. He holds it up. “Let me guess. It was this woman—Greta Larkin.”

I grab it out of his hand for a better look. “Yes! How did you know?”

“Your Carl is a sly dog! He hired the best process server in the San Francisco Bay area. Let me put it this way: if she were a trading card, she’d be the Babe Ruth of the deck. Her record is nine-eighty-nine and oh.” Alan shakes his head in awe. “Don’t feel bad. One way or another, she would have gotten you.”

“Oh, really? Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I’m tempted to pick up the razor again and do a little manscaping—around his heart—only I’m afraid it’ll be a waste of time, since he doesn’t seem to have one. “Okay, genius, what’s our next step?”

He shrugs. “If you don’t give in, you’ll be in contempt of court—and he may be able to convince the judge to take your kids away from you.”

Adamantly, I shake my head. “Nope. That will never happen.”

Seeing me pick up the blade again and fiddle with it, he backs up as far as he can go without falling out his third story window. “You’ve always had excellent powers of persuasion. Maybe you can use them to come to some sort of agreement that you both can live with.” He gives me a knowing wink.

If he’s suggesting I sleep with Carl, I’ll make his third-story fall look like a successful suicide attempt.

However, if he’s suggesting that I kill Carl, well, duh. That niggling little task has been on my to-do list for quite some time now.
 

Not that he needs to know this. Despite attorney-client privilege, a lady must always keep an air of mystery about her—not to mention any and all incriminating evidence.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe you’re right. I should at least attempt a meeting of the minds—for old time’s sake.”

“That’s my girl!” He nudges me toward the door with one hand. With the other, he towels off the rest of the shaving cream. “In the meantime, I’ll stall on the actual meet-and-greet. But the judge has already warned us that it should happen in a timely fashion, so whatever you have in mind, make it happen—quick.”

That’s the plan—quick.

Although not necessarily painlessly.

For Carl, anyway.

Chapter 4

Hardware

Your brand spanking new laptop computer comes out of its box so pretty and so shiny—and loaded with tons of bells and whistles that will have you moving at warp speed through the Etherworld!

Which bring us to the three things that should never be allowed near it:

Forbidden Item Number 1: A can of soda.

Nothing mucks up a keyboard faster than heavily sugared seltzer water. For that matter, when it seeps into your hard drive, you can forget your computer’s memory too. (But, hopefully, you remembered to buy a warranty plan.)
 

Forbidden Item Number 2: Your child.
 

He may like the fact that your computer doesn’t freeze while he plays his favorite video games, but the last thing you need is for him to erase any emails from your boss (by mistake), or the latest email from his teacher (on purpose).

More than likely, he will also be the one who spills the soda on your keyboard.
 

Forbidden Item Number 3: Your significant other.
 

Porn may look better on your large, hi-def screen with 200x zoom, but since you’re less interested in counting the moles on some naked nympho’s breasts than he is, tell him to stay away from it.

Or to get his own computer.
 

Should his porn obsession get out of hand, spill a little soda on the problem.

I’m icing all three cooled layers of cake when Jack, Jeff and Trisha get home from the game.
 

Despite the fact the he’s soaked to the bone, Jeff gives me a peck on the cheek. “We would have won by three if the game hadn’t been rained out.”

I give him a hug. “Did you pitch?”

“Give me a break! What do you think?” He flexes a muscle.

Like his father, he’s not exactly the modest type.
 

By that, I mean Carl.
 

The thought that he’ll soon know the truth makes me want to throw up.

Jack takes my left hand and holds it up, so that he can examine my bandaged palm. “Don’t tell me you cut yourself with the shears.”

I flinch—not because my wounds are still tender, but because I don’t want to tell him the truth. That is, not yet, anyway. “No, I…had a run-in with some…rose thorns.”

He sticks a finger in the icing bowl and licks it. “So, now, you’re drowning your sorrows in chocolate cake?”

I slide the bowl away from him. “How dare you!”

He frowns. “What’s wrong? You told me to remind you whenever you’re tempted to go off your diet.”

I shove the whole cake in his direction. “I’m not making it for me. It’s for you! Remember?”

“Since when?”

“Since ten-thirty this morning, when you texted me.” I grab my cell phone off the counter and thrust it in his direction. “See?”

He takes it and reads the message. Then he stares at me, shaking his head. “Donna, I swear I didn’t send this.” He takes his phone from his pocket and hands it to me, so that I can see his list of recent texts for myself.
 

“But then…who?”

He shrugs. “I guess your phone has been hacked.”

“That’s impossible! At least, if you’re to believe Arnie.”

“Even Arnie isn’t infallible. In any event, he needs to know as soon as possible.” He’s about to punch Arnie’s number into his phone when it rings. Caller ID shows that it’s Ryan. I can’t hear what our boss is saying, but Jack’s face has a curious look on it. “Will do, boss. We’ll leave immediately,” he mutters.

“What did Ryan want?” My heart is pounding. My guess is that the call is about what I heard from Lee last night. Still, I have to pretend that I don’t know what it’s about.

Jack shrugs. “He wouldn’t say, but he wants us in the office, pronto. Do you think Aunt Phyllis can cover for us?”

I nod nonchalantly. “I’ll see if I can rustle her up.”
 

I text Aunt Phyllis:

Calling in a chit. Can you watch the kids for the rest of the afternoon?

A minute later, she texts back:
 

Hola! I’ll head over as soon as my samba class is over. Besos!

Jack is reading my cell screen over my shoulder. He winces. “Couldn’t she throw out a hip?”

“After thirty-some years of yoga, I’d say the odds are good that she’ll outlive us both.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then realizes it’s something I already know: In our line of work, longevity is questionable anyway.

I look over at Jeff. “I’ll need you to watch your sister until Aunt Phyllis gets here. It should be an hour, tops.”

“No problem.” He licks his lips. “Can we have cake?”

“Yes, but after dinner. I’ll text Mary now, so that she knows to make spaghetti if we’re not home by seven.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Her noodles are too soft. She never hears the timer, because she’s always on her cell phone.”

“With
Trevor
,” Trisha says with a knowing grin.

The last thing I need to worry about is Mary and Trevor’s raging hormones. “Her noodles will be just fine for tonight,” I assure him.
 

To guarantee it, I text Mary:
Need you at home.

She texts back
: Still with BFFs, studying.

The library closed a half hour ago. My next text tells her I know it:
WITH TREVOR????

A moment later, she texts back:
B home in 5

Relieved, I smile. “Jeff, afterward, you’ll help Mary with the dishes. Trisha will set the table. For lunch, there’s chicken salad in the fridge, with organic greens.” I grab my purse. “Until Aunt Phyllis gets here, don’t let anyone in the house except for Mary.”

“Not even Trevor?” Jeff asks slyly.

“Especially not Trevor,” I say, as I follow Jack out the door. “And please stay inside.”

Not that they’d want to go out, anyway.
 

There’s a storm brewing.
 

By the time we get to the office, the rest of the mission team is already assembled in the conference room with Ryan. There are at least twenty tech-ops personnel, as well as their fearless leader—Arnie Locklear, who personally provides tech-ops for Mission Quorum, which is headed up by Jack.
 

Emma Honeycutt, my mission team’s communications intelligence specialist, is also here. She’s engaged to Arnie, and is now well into her seventh month of pregnancy.
 
I wish I could say that things have been smooth sailing for those two, but after the initial proposal euphoria, reality has set in.
 

They must be in the midst of some new battle, because they’re sitting on opposite sides of the room. They haven’t even tied the knot, but already they fight like an old married couple.

Other members of the Quorum mission team have also been summoned. Abu Nagashahi, a field operative who is our mission’s cut-out and cleaner, is sitting behind Emma. And, finally, there is Dominic, who, like Jack and me, is an F3—he finds, fixes, and finishes—on black-ops missions.
 

For the majority of these operations, we’re naked—and by that, I don’t mean we aren’t wearing clothes (albeit in some cases, we aren’t), but that we go solo.

When it’s Jack’s turn to go naked, I hold my breath until he walks back through the door.
 

He does the same for me. Too much can go wrong. We know this from experience.

Frankly, when it comes to my dealings with Lee, I’m totally naked—figuratively, that is.
 

No doubt he wouldn’t mind if I were in the literal sense either.
 

But that ain’t happening. I think I’ve given him that message loud and clear. At the same time, I’ll be honest: I don’t mind being the pawn—make that the queen—in some deadly chess game of wits and power with Carl.

I have a vested interest to keep Carl in check.

Now that everyone is here, Ryan gets right to the point. “Acme has been called in to do an audit of the U.S. Intelligence Community’s main database. Apparently, the IC’s intrusion software is less than stellar. Security vulnerabilities have been found in our most highly classified files concerning terrorism, both foreign and domestic.”

Jack gives me a sidelong glance. I know he’s now wondering if this was the reason for Lee’s call to me. I look straight ahead, as if I’m not aware of his stare.

He’s about to say something to me when Ryan holds up his hands to counter the shocked murmurs and questions from the crowd. “We don’t know much, but from what we can tell, the hacker is a pro, not just some kid looking to prove something. It is cyberespionage of the highest order. And yet, he chose to leave a calling card. Three, in fact.”

From his iPad, he flashes an image onto the wall-sized video screen: a wild-eyed man in a top hat—the classic illustration of the Mad Hatter in
Alice in Wonderland
. Only this hatter is sitting with a laptop. Alphabet letters swarm the screen like flies. When they align, they read:

It is better to be feared than loved.

Spooky.
 

Dominic taps his lips with a forefinger. “From what I remember of
Alice in Wonderland
, that line was spoken by the Red Queen.”