The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (5 page)

“I’m telling Ryan that I don’t feel comfortable being the point person with Lee.” No better time to broach the subject than while Jack has a broad smile on his face, like he does now, as we test-drive a shiny black BMW i8.
 

I don’t think the car salesman thought Jack was serious when he told him we were taking a spin up the Pacific Coast Highway. But from the look on his crestfallen face as we tore out of the lot, I give it another ten minutes before a couple of CHiP officers are pulling us over for grand theft auto.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Jack proclaims.

“Pardon?” I turn to stare at him. This certainly isn’t the reaction I expected. A relieved shrug, perhaps. Or he could thank me with a kiss. Then again, considering we’re going up the PCH at ninety miles an hour, maybe that’s not such a great idea.
 

Jack prefaces his answer with a shrug. “Think about it. There’s got to be some reason as to why Lee wants to keep his eye on you.”
 

Annoyed, I whip around. “You’re always blaming Lee. If you remember correctly, Ryan made the suggestion. He keeps dangling me in front of Lee—”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed—like some sort of sparkly door prize.” Jack’s right brow lifts along with a smirk. “You already know my theory: Lee isn’t quite the choirboy you make him out to be.”

“Must we go there, yet again?” I turn my head so that he doesn’t see the heat flush that is pinking my cheeks, then I remember it’s unlikely that he’ll take his eyes off the road.

“You misunderstand me.” Jack glances my way, but only for a second, since we’re coming up fast on a van. When he dodges around it, the driver toots his horn.
 

“How so?”

Jack veers off onto Topanga Canyon Road. In my van, the curves would make me queasy. In the i8, it’s as if we’re floating at warp speed. “Granted, he practically salivates when you’re within his peripheral vision—so, yes, I’d like to punch him in the face. Sadly, doing so would put me in a jail cell for the rest of my life, so I keep my cool. But, Donna, I don’t think it’s the only reason he wants to keep tabs on you.”

“Oh?” I frown. Okay, yeah, I’m a little hurt that Jack thinks it could be anything else.

“Remember, Carl’s demise didn’t put the Quorum out of commission. Just this morning Emma’s ComInt team finally found the connection we suspected between the Quorum and Graffias International—the banking and software conglomerate that provided the helicopter for Tatyana Zakharov’s getaway to and from Damascus.”

Tatyana—formerly a hard woman with Russia’s foreign intelligence services, the SVR—was a part of the Quorum at the same time as Carl. She led a terrorist attack on President Chiffray here in Los Angeles, where Jeff was also taken hostage.

That earned her a shove into an empty elevator shaft. If you mess with my kids, you’re going down—in her case, nineteen stories, to be exact.

So, yes, this new little tidbit is interesting. “Even if Graffias International is fronting for the Quorum, what does that have to do with Lee?”

“Didn’t you once tell me that Lee has always claimed that he’d never even heard of the Quorum, or had dealings with its members prior to purchasing Jonah Breck’s conglomerate?”
 

I nod.
 

Jonah was one of the billionaires who secretly funded the Quorum’s acts of terrorism, and in the process enlarged his very public fortune—which, unbeknownst to his stockholders who thought they were investing in green tech start-ups and eco-friendly resorts, included a snuff porn production company and website. A power play between Jonah and Carl left one man standing: Carl, whom Jonah had hired as a security consultant.

I guess you could say it turned out to be the worst business decision of his life.

“I’d once asked Lee when and how he met Carl. He told me that after Jonah’s death, Babette arranged for Carl to negotiate the deal between Breck Industries and Lee’s corporation, Global World Industries,” I point out.

 
“That’s according to Lee,” he smirks. “There’s a sheet of paper, folded in my jacket pocket. Pull it out.”

“That’s what she said,” I mutter, as I oblige him. The pocket is taut against his broad chest, making it harder than it would be normally.
 

We pass a gang of bikers on HOGs. They glance over in time to see me lean into Jack, and toot their horns. One of them shouts, “Gimmee some of that too, chickee-baby!”

Instead, Jack leaves them in the dust.

“I’m glad I wasn’t fishing in your pants pocket,” I say wryly.

“I’m not,” he murmurs.

When we reach the road’s highest point, he pulls over. For a moment, we sit there, staring west. A thin ribbon of blacktop barely separates the rugged hillside from the vast and torrid Pacific Ocean.

Finally, I unfold the paper. It’s a list of Graffias’ board of directors from eight years ago.

Lee’s name is on it.

So is the name, Jonah Breck,
 

“At the time, Graffias was a privately held company. It’s one of the reasons why this information stayed below the radar until now,” Jack reminds me.
 

“Obviously, Lee is not still on the board,” I point out.

“Only because sitting presidents can’t be associated with corporations—a conflict of interest for any elected official. In regard to POTUS, all financial assets are held in a blind trust until they are out of office.” He shrugs. “But if the two men were on the board together, they must have met at some point prior to Lee purchasing Jonah’s companies upon his death.”

“I’ll admit it looks more than coincidental. But this is eight years old, and there’s a possibility their paths never crossed, especially if one or the other was on the board for only a short period of time and missed the annual meeting. And even if Lee was introduced to Breck through Graffias, it doesn’t prove he knew of Jonah’s affiliation with the Quorum.”

“Donna, come on! Carl acted as the middleman between the Breck estate and Lee. You’ve got to admit that Lee’s previous affiliation with Jonah and Carl—and therefore the Quorum—has always been too close for comfort.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Jack, but unlike you, I’m not willing to buy into the idea of Lee as one of the bad guys. Do I doubt that the Quorum has its tentacles in everything, including the highest offices of governments all over the world? Not at all. The Los Angeles hostage situation proved that. My guess is that Lee realizes this too, which is why he still needs our protection. Don’t forget, Lee’s secret weapon against Carl was Acme.”
 

For good reason. As Carl’s former employer, Ryan felt it was his duty to bring Carl to justice. Jack’s reason was personal. He was under the assumption that it was his botched mission that caused Carl’s untimely demise. Just a few weeks before, his wife, Valentina, disappeared—along with a microdot containing a code to access the secure cloud holding the names and dossiers of every Acme operative. When a street security video captured Valentina with Carl exterminating an Acme agent in Hungary, Jack put two and two together: Carl had seduced her, and trained her to be one of his operatives.

And then there’s me. Hell has no fury like a wife left with three children because her husband traipsed off to be a bad guy.

Jack lets me drive back to the dealership. It’s a small consolation, and I take full advantage of it by breaking all speed records.

Yes, we buy the car.

And yes, Ryan is pissed that we’re late. “Lunch break was over an hour ago,” he growls.
 

Even with Carl dead and buried at the bottom of the ocean, there is enough evil to keep Acme busy. It’s time to save the world, again.

Chapter 4

Prickly Thorns

The most beautiful plants in any lady’s garden are her flowers. But while colorful petals and sweet scents are quick to beckon one forward, one nasty prick from a thorn can mar the memory of what should have been a joyous experience.
 

Remember—thorns are Mother Nature’s way of protecting her plants from predators. So that those who want to admire your cuttings can do so while keeping ouchies at a minimum, follow these rules:

Rule #1: The best time to prune is during summer or winter months. In hot weather, it’s easier to trim back new growth. In cold weather, growth is dormant. Besides, you’re too busy in the spring with planting new flora. (Or burying dead bodies.)
 

Rule #2: Make sure your shears are sharp! Pull out the sharpening tools, such as a benchstone, waterstone, or whetstone. The rough side of these items is perfect for filing your blades. (Or for grinding a nose out of joint.)

Rule #3: Thin out the oldest branches first. If it’s dead, chop it away! This can be done with hand shears. However if the branch is larger than a couple inches, use a handsaw (which is also useful for the wandering fingers of untoward gentlemen who might also be described as nasty pricks).

A bee has landed in my ear.
 

No—

I guess I’m dreaming.

Then why won’t that damn bee
shut the hell up?

My arm reaches out to swat it away. Yes, I smack something. From his bad-tempered grunt, I realize that I hit the side of Jack’s head. Oops, wrong direction. I turn on my side and force one eye open. From the way in which it is trembling on my nightstand, I realize it’s my cell phone that is buzzing—

At five-twenty in the morning.

Who in hell has the nerve to call me at this ungodly hour?

Oh, my God—Ryan.
Maybe we’re too late, and the killer seeds are already out there.
 

My other eye pops open in order to verify that, no, it’s not Ryan calling to tell us that the world has blown up. (I know this because his Caller ID shows the name and telephone number of a local pie shop that acts as a front for Acme. It was Abu’s idea, really. He sells the pies, and I make them. But due to our mission schedule, we’re not exactly raking it in. Still, the pin money is always appreciated.)

Then, if not Ryan, whom?

I fumble with the cell phone until it clicks on. “Hello?” I sound as if I’m talking underwater.

“Donna, dear? Did I wake you?”

“What do you think?” I croak.
 

“Ah, such a pity.” The mock sympathy in the woman’s purr is all too familiar. It’s Catherine Martin—Evan’s mother. “Guess what happens on Friday?”

“Um…no idea.”

“Go ahead, take a wild guess,” she hisses.

“What…is it Black Friday? Friday the thirteenth?”

She sighs. “You could say that. It’s my birthday.”

“Congratulations. Don’t expect a cake with a file in it.”

She laughs raucously. “I expect
my son
—you remember—
the one you stole from me, using your whore spawn daughter as bait.
”

A ray of sun slips through the slanted blinds. It’s going to be another glorious California day. That being said, this is not the way I wish to spend a beautiful sunrise. “Goodbye, Catherine.” Her accusations are meant as barbs to make me wince with guilt, but sorry, I’m not playing her little game.

“Wait, Donna! Don’t…don’t hang up!”

I don’t, but only because it’s the first time I’ve heard such desperation in my old frenemy’s voice. “I…I’d like to see Evan. He’s avoided me since he moved in with you.”
 

“He’s seventeen, Catherine. I can’t force him to see you.”

“You’ve got more influence over him than you’re willing to admit,” she insists. “If the shoe were on the other foot—”

“Don’t go there, Catherine. We both know that if it were me in jail, you’d do what you could to make sure I fried.”

She snickers. “Okay, I’ll admit it, if I’d been President, I wouldn’t have minded seeing you hang at the end of a rope. Sadly, the best they can do these days is lethal injection—not that I’m worried for myself, mind you.”

“I know. Your ‘get out of jail’ card is already secured.” Evidence that our president-elect ordered a hit on her spouse was discovered prior to her inauguration. She resigned, which gave way for Lee, the vice-president-elect, to be sworn into the highest office of the land and allow the nation to recover from the shock and awe of learning of her heinous deed. Her future reward for doing so was a pardon on his last day in office.