Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Langtry, Leslie

  I felt the pressure of his lips against mine and my stomach ached. It was my first time since Ed. For a moment, I almost pulled away. My heart fluttered, and my head panicked (thanks a lot, guys) and I questioned myself. What in the hell was I doing?

  Sure, we had a lot in common and there was all that volcanic chemistry. Was I ready for this? Sex had always been with someone I cared about. But I cared about Diego.

  As if he knew what I was thinking, Diego began to gently stroke my back. Damn he was good. No, he was great. He was perfect. And I wanted him.

  So that’s it then, eh? I just decide to go for it? Yes! No more celibacy for me! Although it gave me the tension I needed for my job, it sucked. I didn’t just want to make out with Diego, I wanted to make love to him.

  I needed to feel alive, not just pretend I was. I craved the things that used to make me feel like a woman: the heart palpations, tingling flesh, stomach spinning and rubbery knees that all lead to the hard knot of arousal. What if I got hit by a delivery truck tomorrow? I knew that sounded cliché, but hell, my family couldn’t take longevity for granted.

  A flood of warmth filled my body like hot water. I guess that was the physical side of me saying, Duh! I needed more from Diego than just hot sex. And he was waiting for me to let him know that.

  I started to unbutton his shirt. Diego pulled back, a questioning look in his eyes.

  “Are you okay with this? We don’t have to...” His voice trailed off.

  “I know. I want to,” I murmured. Inside I felt all squishy. How could I let this guy walk out of here without a ‘happy ending’?

  Diego smiled and pulled me toward him, his lips trailing down my neck. Our clothes pretty much disintegrated at that point, and a flood of raw emotion seemed to make all of my senses tingle.

  Diego pulled back. “I know it’s been a long time for you. We can take it slowly...”

  “No.” I shook my head, “I don’t want to waste time.”

  He laughed, and I started to get nervous. His body was lean, hard (in all the right places). Mine was not. Childbirth had given me stretch marks that everyone lied about in saying they would fade in time. I didn’t have washboard abs or flawless skin. Hell, I couldn’t even remember when I’d last shaved my legs!

  “You are so beautiful, Gin.” Diego’s eyes seemed to glow as he appraised my body.

  I made a vain attempt to suck in my stomach, and he smiled, pulling my arms open. “I mean it. You’re lovely.”

  With that simple statement, all my worries flew away. He didn’t care what I looked like! Maybe he was into soccer moms. It didn’t matter. He could have spoken Klingon and I would’ve loved it.

  It goes without saying that he was AMAZING! I didn’t know if Australians had some special sexual know-how, or if bodyguards learned a few extra moves in their training, but DAMN! I refused to believe it was because it had been so long for me.

  Remember how it felt when you were a teenager in the back of your dad’s car? The excitement of discovering your body and exploring his? It was like that. Except without the fumbling as he tried to undo my bra. Diego definitely had no trouble with that. In fact, every move he made was sure, desperate, as if his survival depended upon it. I could relate a little to that.

  I was pretty sure my body exploded. I knew my heart did. I didn’t realize how much I had been missing. As an added bonus, the orgasm produced this feeling of euphoria I hadn’t felt in a long time. Well, at least not since I’d that Godiva Belgian Chocolate ice cream a few months ago. There was a fleeting thought of Ed, and I realized that while I had lost part of what had been “us,” I’d found part of me. Somehow, I knew he would’ve approved.

  As we lay, naked and panting on the couch, Diego ran his forefinger down the middle of my nose. His smile told me the sex meant something to him too. His smile was softer, warmer. It delivered a gut-twisting impact.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I think I should be the one thanking you,” he responded. “But I do have a question.”

  I arched my right eyebrow. Please don’t ask me anything personal and ruin the moment! I wasn’t ready for an in-depth conversation on our feelings.

  “Do you even have a bedroom?”

  I looked at him curiously. “Yes, of course I do. Why?”

  Diego grinned. “Well, it’s just that we’ve fooled around twice, both times in your living room. I just wondered if you had a bed.”

  I frowned. “You don’t like my couch?”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t care if we had sex on a tractor. I just wondered if there was a reason why we didn’t utilize a more comfortable place. Somewhere I wouldn’t get rug burns on my knees.”

  “I don’t know. I guess that’s a good point. I just hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with your late husband? I can completely understand if that’s it.”

  Hmmm. . . it would be easy to tell him that I wasn’t ready to share my late husband’s bed with him. But was that really the case? Or was I just into living room sex?

  “Honestly, Diego, it never occurred to me. That’s all.”

  He looked at me for a moment before responding, “Okay. I’ll buy that.” Diego shook his finger at me mockingly. “But next time, let’s use it.” He rubbed his back. “I’m not as young as I used to be. These Kama Sutra positions don’t work on a loveseat.”

  “Why do you think they call it a loveseat?” I punched him in the arm playfully.

  Diego responded by pulling me in for a kiss. “Who cares. Next time, let’s use your bed.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said, snuggling against him. I made a mental note to wash the sheets and clean the bedroom. I was just happy there would be a “next time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Julian Noble: I need a break. There's no retirement home for assassins is there? Archery at four. Riflery at five?

  - The Matador

  Leonard Burns’ obituary was small, with an accompanying photo (I guess the witness protection program gives up when their clients die) but it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling to think that monkey was off of my back. Of course, I didn’t attend the funeral. That would be stupid. Police statistics show that murderers almost always attend the funeral of his or her victim.

  I’d been searching the news for the past two days for any sign of an investigation. Usually, though, the Feds don’t like bad publicity.

  On the other hand, the big red “X” on my calendar marking the trip to the family island was getting closer. Actually, there wasn’t much time before we’d have to leave. I’d spent the last few days packing for Romi and me, securing our airline tickets to L.A., where we’d board the family’s private jet to the island.

  Romi’s teacher was okay with pulling her out of school. Teachers always seem to melt when the words “Disney World” are mentioned. What was I supposed to do? Tell her the truth? Actually, Liv and I are taking our daughters to begin their training as assassins. If I were you, I’d make my seating arrangements carefully in the future. Liv and I had arranged to travel together - more to provide a united front than anything else.

  The hardest part was finding a swimsuit that took off twenty pounds, reduced wrinkles in my face and made the color of my eyes pop. The only people who’d see me in it were Liv and the girls when we had our sleepover at the bungalows, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  Diego had to go out of town on business with his client for a few days and my body was going through sex withdrawal. Oh well. I’d waited this long, I could wait some more. He would get back two days before I left for Santa Muerta. At least that was something.

  All in all, I guess things were going very well. I checked a few things off my list: the job, ordering the Halloween cookies way in advance (thereby annoying the bakery) and things were going well with Diego. So I celebrated with lunch at my favorite outdoor bistro. I soaked up the early autumn sunshine, juicy half-pound cheeseburger with cross-cut fries and a bottle of beer, while e
ngrossed in a new book.

  This is probably why I didn’t notice that I was no longer alone, at first.

  “Jesus, Dak! You know better than to sneak up on me!” I was a little concerned that he always seemed to know where I was.

  The bastard helped himself to my fries, his hand moving out of my reach before I could put a fork through it.

  “Well, I have been doing it all my life, you know. I have a lot of experience.”

  The waitress appeared immediately. Something about Dak’s pheromones usually brought every woman within a one-mile radius. It was like a dog whistle or something. I waited as he ordered the same thing I had. In spite of my mother’s excellent cooking and firm belief in the food pyramid, my brother and I had a connoisseur-like devotion to greasy meat.

  “So what’s up?” I slid my book into my purse.

  Dak feigned incredulity. “Can’t a man just want to have lunch with his big sister? Honestly, Gin, you’re too paranoid.”

  I laughed, “Okay. But you have to split a dessert with me.”

  Dak took another handful of my fries. “It’s a deal.”

  Actually, it was nice. My brother and I always enjoyed each other’s company. Not that we hadn’t fought as kids – even normal siblings do that. We’re just very close. There’s something about dealing in death that brings out the maternal in me.

  I put the last forkful of chocolate cheesecake in my mouth and savored it. Damn, that was good. Dak had graciously allowed me the last bite. Maybe he wasn’t such a bastard after all.

  “Oh,” Dak said, wiping his mouth, “I almost forgot this.” He pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket and handed it to me.

  I didn’t have to examine it to know what it was. “You’re kidding,” I managed weakly. He was kidding, right?

  Dak shook his head, no smile on his face this time. “Sorry. The Council wants you to handle it.”

  “I never get two jobs in the same month! No one does!”

  Dak studied me. “Well, this time you do. And they want it done before the reunion.”

  “WHAT?” I shrieked. “Wait a minute! This is a joke, right? You’re just messing with me. That’s it!”

  “Nope. Believe me, Gin, I’d do it for you if I could. But Mom said I can’t.”

  That’s it. She is sooooo not getting a Mother’s Day card this year.

  “Just get it over with and you won’t have to worry about it at the reunion. In fact,” Dak rubbed his chin, “you probably don’t have to worry about anything at all with the family. No one’s ever been handed two jobs like this before.”

  The faraway look in his eyes made me wonder what he was thinking, but then I snapped back to reality. As I drove home, I couldn’t help thinking he was right. Obviously, the Council trusted me to take care of two jobs in a very short period of time. I suppose in some twisted way, this was my chance at an excellent job performance review.

  Once back at home, I tore open the envelope, glancing nervously at the surveillance cameras. I only had four days to complete this mission. Dak had agreed to watch Romi for me so I could do surveillance tonight.

  “That’s weird,” I thought aloud. This Vic lived in the same neighborhood as the last one. That almost. . .no that never happened. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever had two jobs in the same county before.

  According to the dossier, Vic Jr. lived across the street from the other Vic. He was an executive of the same company, for Christ sake! Bob Turner ranked very high on the corporate ladder on an international level. And he’d been very naughty – using company profits to support terrorists in South America. I didn’t know if the contract came from the corporation, the government or a combination of both. And I didn’t care. I just wanted to knock him off and get it over with. In fact, I kind of missed the days when the only thing I avoided was Vivian.

  Oh well, let’s get on with it, Gin. I shoved a baseball cap on my head, showed my keys into my pocket and drove off to check out Vic Jr.’s house.

  I only had one opportunity to drive past it. This neighborhood had seen a lot of me in the last week, so the jogging pretext was out. Visiting Vivian twice in one month, considering I’d avoided her all of my life, would raise suspicion. In fact, my car had been on this street one too many times already.

  The house was small. A one-story, brick Tudor. This guy outranked the first job, but he had a tiny house. Go figure. People are weird. I was surprised to see that the house was the same one I stopped in front of to take a picture of Burns’ house.

  While Vic Jr.’s proximity might be seen as an advantage, and I was getting to know the neighborhood really well, it screwed me too. Everything I did would have to be under the cover of darkness. I couldn’t have any questions as to why, after ten years, I started hanging out on this particular block. In fact, I was pretty sure it was risky just driving by once.

  Back at home, as I turned on the computer, I sketched the house on paper. One-story houses were awesome to break into. And you didn’t have to worry about escaping out of the second - or third-story windows. On the other hand, small houses sucked because there were few places to hide if my target came home suddenly.

  There wasn’t much about Vic Jr. on the Internet. He’d been posted in virtually every international office his company had. I couldn’t find anything about extracurricular activities. No presence on any boards of directors, no civic clubs, no wife and no kids. This guy was just a loner who preferred not to draw any attention to himself.

  Okay. He kept a low profile. That was perfect for his racket. But it also meant he was probably very careful with his security. And while I was grateful not to have to worry about a wife, kids or pets, there was the even greater risk that this guy played things close to the vest. Chances are, he had an excellent security system and knew how to use it.

  In other words, this gig would NOT be easy. And while I appreciated the Council’s confidence in me, there was no room for error and little time for planning. Fantastic.

  Dak arrived as promised, looking sheepish. I knew he felt bad about being the messenger – well, of death, actually. I gave him instructions, donned my assassin gear and slipped out to “go to work.”

  Vic Jr.’s house was quiet. As I approached from the side, I threw a pinecone next to the house. Motion sensitive lights snapped on immediately, flooding the area with bright white light. Shit. And this guy didn’t have shrubs anywhere either. I waited to see if someone would investigate, but no one did.

  After a few minutes, lights came on inside the house. I recognized they were on a timer. I’d seen too many of these things in my line of work. So no one was home, but they wanted me to think they were. Okay.

  I sidled up to the back door, lock picks in hand. Not to brag, but I was really good at picking locks. And I knitted these cute little cozies for each tool to keep them from jangling together and making noise. It took a few, well-lit moments to unlock the deadbolt, and I slipped into the house. Obviously, this guy was serious about security. That deadbolt was a real bitch.

  I only had a few seconds to locate and dismantle any alarm system. Most systems allowed a ten-second leeway for the owner to get in the door and to the system before it went off. I was pretty sure this guy had one. Fortunately, I had something better.

  A couple of years back, one of my cousins invented an ultrasonic frequency blocker. It took a long time, but she managed to come up with a device that could eliminate alarm noise by masking it in the air. It’s kind of the same technology that air fresheners use when they destroy the odor instead of masking it. Plus, it took out any signal to 911 or the security company. We Bombays were nothing if not thorough.

  Okay, I was inside and had taken out the alarm. I began my search of the house. Damn. This bastard was clean. Unlike his unfortunate neighbor across the street, Vic Jr. kept his house spotless. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone really lived here at all. No garbage, no dirty dishes, no dust, no personal knick-knacks. The fridge was full of hermetically sealed health foo
d.

  The bathroom was even worse. This son-of-a-bitch was so healthy he wasn’t on any medication. I couldn’t even find a bottle of aspirin. Panic started to rise, but I fought it. After thirty minutes in the house, I couldn’t find one single way to poison this guy. He even drank bottled water! There was no unopened food I could tamper with, the surfaces were too clean to leave toxic residue anywhere, and he had no health problems.

  Shit. I locked up the house and headed home. Looked like I’ll be doing this one the old-fashioned way. Barging in and plugging him in person. At least when they investigated, the police might discover his links to terrorism. That would send them on all kinds of wild goose chases, leaving me virtually clear.

  “Nothing? There was nothing?” Dak raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. I couldn’t find a goddamned thing I could use to make it look natural.”

  Dak fidgeted with his coffee cup. “What are you going to do?”

  “Do it a la Arnold Schwarzenegger, I guess. I’ll probably have to use a ski mask and leave behind something to incriminate the Shining Path terrorists or something.”

  Dak looked at me. “I know you don’t like doing things that way. Can I help?”

  “I’d love to say yes, but I don’t think so. Obviously, the family wanted me to do it myself.”

  My brother gave me a hug and we said our good-byes. I sat down on the couch and picked up my knitting. It helps me think sometimes. Poppy rolled lazily onto her back, but upon receiving no belly scratch, she rolled back over and went to sleep. She didn’t have to kill anything but time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Long

  baugh: There's always free cheese in a mousetrap.

  - The Way of the Gun

  I spent the next morning researching South American terrorists on the Internet. I had a few ideas of how to implicate them at the scene of the crime, but nothing else. I called Vic Jr.’s company from a pay phone, asking for Turner and was told he was out of the office until tomorrow. Great. That meant I had only one day to hit him and hop the plane to L.A. with Romi.