The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (27 page)

I frown at the term “tucked in,” only because now I know Xia too well.
 

But I know Jack even better. He’s only got eyes for me.

Chapter 16

Deadheading

The act of pinching or cutting off spent flowers.

This is an airline term as well. When airline personnel are dead-heading, they are hitching a ride on a plane after their shifts have ended.

Usually, if available, and they are a pilot, they are given a seat in the cockpit. If they’re unlucky, it’ll be in Economy (a.k.a., the slave galley). If they’re very lucky, they’ll get one of the luxury seats in the first-class cabin.

No one is ever tied to the wing or the tail, even if the distance is short, and the altitude is low. However, if you feel it will get you the intel you need, try it with your prisoner during your next extraordinary rendition. No one will stop you.
 

Not to mention, waterboarding is
so
last year.

By the time Xia’s limo has pulled up to Acme’s plane, I’m in the cockpit with the door closed. From there, I can watch everyone else via the mini-cam feeds that cover both the interior and exterior of the plane, as seen through the cockpit’s overhead monitor.

George stands at the airstairs. He smiles and waves as the driver stops the car, and joins the man as he opens the trunk to retrieve Xia’s luggage. As George holds on to her suitcase, the driver opens the back door in order to help Xia out of the car.
 

Seeing this, George removes his captain’s cap, placing it under his left arm in deference to his new client. After shaking her hand, he escorts her up the steps.

Jack greets Xia at the door with a smile and once-over gaze. When he holds out his hand, she moves so close that she’s standing breast-to-chest with him. Granted, private jets are small, but this is one of the larger ones, so there’s no need for her to get so cozy, unless she’s looking for a hottie like Jack to ride her even higher than the requisite mile.

And does Jack know it. The proof is in the way in which his dimpled grin dazzles, and how he times his smoldering gaze and suggestive wink just as he murmurs the phrase, “If you get lonely, I’ll take you on a tour of the
cockpit.
”

Instinctively, any female within one hundred yards of a handsome man will flirt, and all that implies. Xia is within five centimeters of him. She smirks and simpers, tosses her hair, and winks. She’s on a high, and it’s not just the pheromones wafting between them.
 

Most exterminators look to let off steam after a hit. No doubt about it, Jack is catnip to a woman like Xia who is just off a mission and has twelve or so hours to kill as she deadheads back to her home base. I know what she’s thinking, because I’d be thinking it too: why not do so while lying in the strong, muscular arms of some ready, willing, and able boy-toy, whose one job is to make your journey as pleasurable as possible?

Finally, Jack excuses himself, but not before he personally snaps her into her seatbelt. Yes, his hand brushes her thigh as he tightens the belt around her hips. And in case she still doesn’t get the message, he leans in close when he hands her a sleep mask.
 

“Once we’re airborne, I’ll be able to take care of any and all your needs,” he promises her. “So, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to relax.”

Ha! He certainly knows his way around a double-entendre.
 

“I plan on doing a lot more than sleeping.” Her tone is naughty. She nods toward the back of the plane, where the bath suite is located. “After takeoff, I’m taking a nice, warm shower. It’ll be nice to have someone to scrub my back.”
 

Hmmm,
not a bad idea. And I know just what I can use to do it.

Jack joins us in the cockpit. As I get up from the co-pilot position in order to move into the jump seat behind it, I make sure to rub against him. “Tight squeeze, wouldn’t you say?” I ask him in a breathy little-girl whisper.
 

His response is a hard, long kiss. When we come up for air, he murmurs, “That’s yet another reason to make an honest man of me. I’ll have to quit flirting with honeypots.”

I sigh. “That has got to be the least romantic proposal yet. And you keep wondering why I turn you down.”

“You’re tempting fate,” he warns me. “I may not be around forever.”

“I’ll take my chances. We’re doing this right, or not at all.”

“Folks, we’ve been cleared for takeoff,” George reminds us. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Wheels-up is bumpy. Apparently, a big storm is blowing in from the west. But as soon as we break through the cloud cover and into stark blue stratosphere, George levels off at the maximum cruising altitude: fifty-one thousand feet.
 

Xia unbuckles and heads for the sleeping cabin. She’s in there just long enough to open her suitcase and pull out a white silk robe and a toiletries case, which she takes with her into the plane’s luxury spa bathroom.

How convenient, Xia has left the bathroom door open. There is no doubt in her mind that Jack will take her up on her offer.

“I hope she doesn’t mind a party crasher,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “I presumed you’d want to do the honors. But remember, Donna”—he taps the monitor—“I’m watching, so play nice.”

I frown. “Are you kidding? After what she did to Catherine—
to Evan
?”

“You really don’t want to kill her. Otherwise, we’ll never have the verification we need that China was behind the killer seeds, let alone Catherine’s death.”

He’s got a point. But after I drag her into Acme’s Club Dread and she squeals her guts out, all bets are off.

I wait until I hear the water running and the sound of the shower door closing, then I walk soundlessly toward the bedroom.

Quickly, I rummage through her suitcase. Jesus, she’s got enough sex toys in a zip pouch to open her own boutique—mostly dildos, but also a few nipple clamps, a ball gag, an interesting cock ring that looks like an adjustable lasso, and another that looks like a hard plastic gear. I pocket the lasso and gear ring, along with some pink fuzzy cuffs, nipple clamps, and the ball gag. I won’t be using them in the traditional way, but when you travel without a gun, you have to be creative.
 

Some of the items still have their price tags, so I guess she hasn’t been too lucky on this mission. Or maybe I’ve kept her too busy. No wonder she’s salivating after Jack.
 

She must have ditched the guard’s uniform, but she kept the one thing I suspect she used to kill Catherine: a bottle of liquid Digitalis. Next to it are a couple of syringes.

After filling one of them and capping the needle, I head toward the bathroom.

The large high-power rain showerhead is causing such a deluge that Xia’s slim body is a mere shadow, engulfed in its hot mist.
 

Shampooing her hair, she has her back to me. As she works her fingers through the suds and wet tendrils, I think of Catherine. I may not have liked my former friend, but I owe her this much.

Let me just say that Xia’s off-key attempt at Taylor Swift’s
Shake it Off
would earn her a gong in a WeHo karaoke bar. My own way of shutting her up is to slip the lasso around her neck and jerk it tightly, so that it’s now a noose.
 

She chokes through the realization that she’s not alone. Instinctively, she reaches up with her hands to loosen my grip, but she’s too late. By then, I’ve slammed her head against one side of the marble shower stall, then the other.
 

When I pull her out of the tub, she’s spewing water. Finally, she lets loose with a litany of curses in Mandarin. I recognize
qù s
ǐ
(go to hell) and
byao zhi yang duh
(son of a bitch) before she moves on to a few choice gender-specific insults. I take it personally when she calls me a
cho san ba
(bitch).
 

Words should never hurt me. That being said, sticks, stones, and a well-positioned punch will break her bones, which is why I stick my index and middle fingers through the gear-spoke cock ring before making a fist and slamming it into her face.
 

It stuns her enough that when she comes to, I’ve got her on her knees, in front of the toilet.

She shivers, but knows better than to talk smack this time.

“That’s better,” I tell her. “Time for a little heart-to-heart, Xia.”

She opts for the silent treatment—that is, until I plunge her face into the toilet.
 

When I lift her head, she snorts like a porpoise.

I brush off the few wayward droplets from my blouse. “Let’s try this again. When you were in San Francisco, you handed your colleague, the MSS operative Yang Cheng, four postcards validating that the killer seeds were in the process of being distributed to farms throughout the United States.”

Xia’s eyes narrow in anger. “You intercepted Cheng and decoded the cards?”

I nod.
 

“You idiot! But I presume the seeds have already been distributed!”

“Thankfully, no. We were able to track them down—or the products made from them—before they reached the public.”