The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (5 page)

An early arrival gives them time for reconnaissance, too. 

I’m sure Acme already has the summit’s attendee roster in hand, but this information comes in handy, in case one these men has something to do with the assassination attempt.

“Oh dear, how time flies! I have a meeting with the chef to go over the menu, so if you’ll excuse me,” she says as she walks me to the door. “By the way, the dress code is black tie. Jonah prefers it that way.” As breathy as her air kiss is her murmur. “I’m sure you have something that will please him.”

Before I have a chance to reply, she shuts the door.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Chapter 4

How to Choose a Party Dress

When you’re a guest at someone else’s soirée, your first impression should be also be a lasting one—and certainly not because you either overdressed, or underdressed, for the occasion. When in doubt, keep it simple and elegant: black, with pearls.

If the dress code is not in the invitation, take the time to query your host regarding the proper attire. 

Note of caution: should your host’s recommendation include, say, crotchless panties, a naughty schoolgirl plaid skirt, brocade ankle restraints and a head harness with a muzzle gag, be sure to bring along something you’ll know he deserves, for getting on your bad side.

A cement overcoat will do nicely.
 

“Go with the backless one. You’ve got the shoulders to carry it off.”

I turn around to see who’s offering an opinion on my hunt for the right gown to the Breck shindig tonight. My advisor is a man who sits on a settee in a darkened corner of the Bergdorf-Goodman couture suite, just off to the side of the circular bank of mirrors. 

While I’ve been scrutinizing my profile, he’s been admiring my shoulders, supposedly. But only now does he lift his eyes—from somewhere far below my shoulders—to meet mine.

From the look of his suit (made to measure for a man whose fit physique would look great in a gunnysack, let alone a fifteen-thousand-dollar charcoal gray Brioni) he has great taste.

He should. He is Jonah Stanford Breck IV, one of the wealthiest men in the world.

Sweetly, I smile at him through the mirror. “You like it better than the blue one?”

His eyes sweep over me, appraisingly. “Much more so. Albeit the blue sets off your… eyes.”

I laugh at his ridiculous attempt to avoid the obvious. My eyes are brown. What looks great in the blue dress is my ass.

We both know it. 

“Great, then. The blue one’s the charm.” 

“You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“Not a ball, really. Just dinner. In fact, I’ll be dining at your place, Mr. Breck.”

His eyes, gray like his trimmed sideburns, flash suspiciously for a moment before dulling into wariness. 

“Your wife, Babette, extended the invitation. My daughter, Trisha, has been playing with Janie all afternoon. I presume Babette felt the diversion would be welcomed.” 

“Ah! How thoughtful of her. She’s right. These business affairs can be deadly without a few petite amusements.”

  As if on cue, a woman in a flesh-toned, sparkly low-cut gown walks out of one of the dressing rooms and over to Breck. She turns her back toward him, just slightly. “Zip me up, will you, darling?” Her murmur is deep and soft, like velvet. 

Slowly, he runs the zipper along the swayed arch of her back then pats her ass, not so much to let her know he is done with her, but as a promise that he isn’t.

His eyes stay with her as she makes her way back to the dressing room. Finally, as if remembering I was still in the room, he adds, “She’s Babette’s personal shopper. Unlike me, after eight years of marriage, my wife finds trekking through stores ‘a chore and a bore.’ Marilyn is exactly her size and coloring, so these little shopping excursions are win-win for everyone. Beautiful, don’t you agree?”

“The woman or the dress?”

He points to my profile in the mirror. “A beautiful woman makes the dress.”

I smile my thanks. “Then I presume I’ve just had a preview of what Babette will be wearing?”

His smile fades. “Don’t presume anything. Babette doesn’t always agree with my taste.”

“A shame. So fetching.”

It is his turn to ask, “The woman, or the dress?”

“Since you’re paying, you tell me.” 

He laughs uproariously at that. “I always do. And dearly.”

“Speaking of the dear, will she be joining us for dinner?”

His smile hardens into a smirk. “Later. Dessert. I have a voracious appetite, especially for sweet things.” His eyes catch mine in the mirror. “Remember, dinner at eight. Sharp.”

By the time I leave the dressing room, Jonah Breck and his personal shopper have already checked out.

When I take my dress to the sales clerk, she informs me, “Mr. Breck put it on his tab. He asked me to relay his sincere appreciation for your daughter’s hospitality, and he looks forward to returning it, personally.”

I guess I can tell Ryan he need not worry whether we’ll get close enough to the summit’s host. If Breck has his way, we’ll be up close and personal. 

Or at least, I will.

Oh yeah, Jack should love that.

Chapter 5

Such Gracious Condescension

You have an excellent chance to impress new friends when you are a guest in their abode. The food, libations and ambiance was created by your host and hostess for the purpose of impressing you, so do go out of your way to be generous with your compliments! Spare no words in describing your appreciation of their furnishings and décor, as well as the little touches that make their house a home. And certainly, you should never come empty-handed. A bottle of wine will do, or perhaps flowers.

A note of caution: Be sure to eyeball all the exits, both doors and windows. This way, should you somehow insult your host (or, say, rile them into a frenzy) your getaway can be quick.

Having a helicopter standing by is never a bad idea, either.

“What else did he say, other than he wants to get into your pants?” Jack sits at the edge of the bed. Yes, he’s dressed for dinner, except that the top button on his tux shirt is open. The ends of his bowtie hang around his unbuttoned collar.

My mascara brush stops mid-stroke. I frown back at Jack through the mirror. “He didn’t come out and say that. It was merely implied. And for accuracy’s sake, it wasn’t my pants he wanted to get into, but my dress.”

“Semantics aside, did he mention Asimov?”

I cock a brow. “Asimov was the last thing on his mind, trust me.”

Jack grimaces. “No doubt, we can use the fact he’s sniffing around you to our advantage. But watch yourself around Breck, Donna. There’s a lot about this dude that doesn’t add up.”

I walked over to him. After fastening the errant button, I loop the strands of his tie into a proper bow. “It’s cute that you’re jealous.”  

“I’m not jealous… Okay, yeah, maybe. But that’s not what this conversation is about. The stuff Emma is picking up on him leads me to believe the faithful husband, indulgent father and peace facilitator hasn’t totally changed his spots.”

“You’re telling me! I caught him with one of his arm charms.”

Jack shrugs. “Why am I not surprised? He’s a walking aphrodisiac: wealth and power.”

“Tell that to Babette. Nope, scratch that. I’d hate for her to seek solace in the arms of the messenger.” That vision has me clenching his bowtie a bit too tight. 

He pulls me into his lap. It could be survival instinct, but his passionate kiss tells me otherwise.

Yep, Jack’s gag reflexes are working just fine.

Unlike this afternoon when I dropped Trisha on her playdate, tonight the Lion’s Lair is a gilded fortress, both figuratively and literally. 

Instead of one guard at the gate, there are three armed guards, and a security detail roams the park-like grounds like big, hungry cats on the prowl for dangerous prey. I even spot a few guards in the turrets crowning the estate.

Jack gives a long low whistle. “Man! I can see why they’re holding the summit here. Looks like Breck has all the bases covered.”

I shrug. “Not if it’s an inside job.”

He knows I’m right. That’s why we’ve both memorized the dossier of Breck’s nearest and dearest friends and associates, several of whom, we presume will be dining with us tonight. Emma also pulled intel on the two German businessmen who came into town early for this shindig. Thus far, they look clean, but you never know.

Sometime during dinner, I’m supposed to excuse myself to check on Trisha and Janie. On the way to the nursery, I’ll make a quick detour into Breck’s office, where I’ll find his computer, and insert a tiny computer thumb drive, hidden in my bracelet. It contains a shadow virus, which will read all of Breck’s keystrokes, and relay them back to Arnie. At the same time, it will download all the computer’s files. When I return the thumb drive to Arnie, he can search it for the code to the feed.

The whole thing is supposed to take no more than three minutes.

Jack and I smile pretty at the guard who stops our car. Yes, our names are on his manifest, so are photos of us, obviously taken today: mine, when I was ringing the front door with Trisha in hand; and Jack’s, as he and Trisha walked out of the ballet studio with Babette and Janie.

“Well, what do you know,” I murmur as I freshen my lipstick. “We’re being shadowed.”

The guard has us sign the manifest, then he scans our thumbs and our eyes. 

 “I wonder if they did this to Trisha,” Jack says, as we drive away toward the front door, where we’re met by a valet, who whisks the car off to some point beyond the six-car garage. “When we get back into the SUV, no talk beyond chitchat,” Jack warns me. 

I nod slightly. Like, me, he knows our car will have been bugged by the time we’re ready to go home.

Are we having fun yet?

 “Ah, Mrs. Stone, a pleasure.” Even as Jonah Breck shakes my hand, his eyes appraise me from head to toe. “So good of you to come. You’re a stunning addition to our table.”

I can tell he’s pleased I wore the dress he not only recommended but paid for, too. Good manners dictate I should’ve returned the dress with a note that was gracious, but firm in doing so. However, Ryan talked me out of it. “You’ve got his attention? Great! It means your presence won’t seem out of place. Keep playing up to him.”