The Housewife Assassin's Husband Hunting Hints

by Josie Brown

  “No, Jack! You’ve never let me down!” I kiss his face all over. The sweet saltiness of his skin is proof that I am not dreaming now; that he truly is beside me. “Varick didn’t know I’d let Ryan in on it, and therefore Lee too…that they were shadowing every assignment and flipping it to safeguard our country.”

  Jack shrugs. “Then I guess I was a bit hard on Lee.”

  “He’s a big boy. He can take it.” I stroke his chest gently.

  “His feelings for you are much too obvious.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too. So, do what I do—ignore them.”

  He laughs.

  My God, it’s been too long since I’ve heard that beautiful sound.

  Up until a few minutes ago, I never thought I’d hear it again.

  Thank you, God, for bringing him home to me.

  My tears bring his laughter to a dead stop. To make things worse, I’m babbling so hard that even I can’t make out what I’m saying—something to the effect of, Please, please, never stop laughing, never stop loving me, never ever leave me again…

  He tries to shush me with whispers that tell me all I want to hear, and more: that it is our love that drives him to be the best man he can be; that he will never leave me as long as he can breathe…

  To prove it, he wraps his arms tightly around me, enveloping me with warmth and desire. His heart beats so furiously in his chest that I am compelled to place my hand over it.

  Jack shudders at my touch. It is a natural reaction—we both know it. But it is the wrong reaction. The last thing I want is for him to move away from me.

  I want him inside of me.

  When I slide his hand along my heated skin—down my side then below my abdomen—I'm acutely sensitive to the new callouses on his hands. A shiver courses over my body. I don't know if it's because I'm elated he's here touching me, or I'm terrified at what I nearly lost.

  In time, his hand slips below the silky fabric of my panties to the soft mound beneath it. When his thumb and forefinger join together, their gentle nudges quicken into a single pulsating piston. I moan when his mouth finds my breast. His tongue tickles my nipple before his lips nuzzle it gently. These sensations, taken together, send all thoughts out of my brain, except for one:

  We are one again.

  As if reading my mind, his hands pull away, if only to suspend him over me.

  When he enters me, we are eye to eye. With each thrust, his face—and mine too, I’m sure—reflect the fierce joy and sheer elation of our mutual passion.

  Each groan is a testament to our timeless love.

  By the time he erupts, I am already swept into a deep pool of my own emotions. I swirl through them and in them and around them until the here and now vanish into the single reality of him and me.

  Finally, he collapses.

  “Welcome home,” I gasp.

  At ten at night, we land at the Avignon-Caumont Airport, where we have a helicopter waiting for George, Dominic, Jack, and me.

  Abu will be waiting for us near the monastery in an armored truck disguised as a refrigerated grocery van.

  George flies toward the monastery, but on a route so circuitous that at no time can he be seen or heard by Eric’s security detail as we land near the mountain’s summit.

  By midnight, Dominic, Jack, and I have rappelled down until we reach the monastery’s roof, but stop short until we hear Arnie pronounce, “It’s clear of any sensors. None on the trap door either, so go for it.”

  We head for the rooftop trap door that we saw on the satellite feed. It is locked from the inside. We take a crowbar to the old hinges, and in we go.

  “These thick stone walls make it practically impossible for a thermal scan, but from what I’m reading, you’ll find a guard on each floor’s rampart, which is on the center of each hallway,” Arnie informs us. “There are at least six on the ground floor, so I’d guess it’s the location of their sleeping quarters. Be careful, because there may be a few wandering the halls that I can’t pick up.”

  “Will do,” Jack assures him.

  With Dominic in the lead, step by step, we make our way down the stone stairwell. When we reach the fourth level, he turns a corner with me right on his heels—

  Smack into Gunter.

  He’s got a cigarette in one hand, and a lighter in the other. Up here no one would come looking for him while he snuck off to have a smoke.

  As Gunter reaches for his rifle, I hiss, “Duck,” to Dominic.

  The bullet from my gun pierces his forehead.

  Glad I had the chance to do the honors.

  Like Jack, Dominic is fluent in French. He takes Gunter’s earpiece in his free ear so that he can hear any commands from the rest of the security team, and feed them back to us.

  Jack motions for me to release the mini-drones from my backpack. I toss them up in the air. At first, the swarm hovers, but then it breaks off, each going in a different direction.

  “Both Emma and I are on it,” Arnie assures us through our earpieces. They must keep their eyes on several of the drones’ monitors at once.

  It takes a few minutes before Emma murmurs, “I found Eric. He’s on level two, third door on the left.”

  “The guard’s quarters are to the right, whereas the nuclear device is on the ground level, to your left. You can’t miss the room, it’s the only door on that level. Apparently, the floor is one large room. There are two guards stationed outside.”

  “Arnie, can you tell its size?”

  “Almost fifty feet in depth, thirty wide.”

  Dominic nods. “Sounds about right.”

  “For transportation purposes, it is already carted on wheels,” Arnie adds. “I see an elevator shaft. I guess the lucky winner can pull up to the loading dock, sort of like picking up boxed furniture from Ikea!”

  “Not quite, but we get the picture,” I murmur.

  “On the way down, we take out the rampart guards,” Jack instructs us. “Then we split up. Donna, you and Dominic will go to Level One and secure the device.” He frowns. “I’ll go for Eric on Level Two.”

  If anyone deserves the kill, it’s Jack.

  “Bring him back alive.” Ryan’s voice puts a grimace on Jack’s face. “The Quorum isn’t dissolved until we clean up all the loose ends. He’s the only one who can help us do it.”

  Jack frowns, but he’ll follow orders.

  Or will he? With all he’s been through in the past few days, I’m still trying to process the depth of his pain.

  Eric may provide the key.

  The rampart guards are admiring the magical carpet of stars hovering over the French countryside when the bullets claim them. They hold cigarettes in their hands.

  At least it’s a quicker death than lung cancer.

  When we reach Level Two, I give Jack a kiss for luck. He kisses back, and his clutch lingers. “I love you,” we mouth in unison. Then we kiss again.

  Dominic sighs.

  He nudges me. Time to start our descent to Level One.

  One of the guards in front of the room holding the nuclear device is nodding off. The other stares off into space, a scowl on his face. Is it because he’s caught in a dead-end minimum wage job?

  I nudge Dominic and point to Sleepy.

  I get the honor of putting Grumpy out of his misery.

  When the bullets hit, they slump to the floor.

  The room holding the nuclear device is as large as a ballroom. Perhaps it was the monks’ mess hall, or maybe it was where they said their prayers. In any event, it is no longer a place of God. If Eric has his way, it will be the birthplace of the world’s annihilation.

  The device itself is encased in a glass chamber within the room.

  Dominic whistles softly. “It’s a W76 thermonuclear warhead.”

  My stomach leaps at the thought that we’re standing so close to it. “How can you diffuse it?”

  “It works on a series of redundant locks. Unfortunately, my love, we don’t have the codes. However, the
MC4081-2 clocks on the device are encased in a removable foam core. I can pull it out.”

  “Let’s go for it.” I run toward the glass chamber and open the door.

  Just as I go through, I hear a click. The door has shut behind me.

  Oops.

  I pull at the door. I guess it’s the wrong thing to do because a posh British female voice proclaims, “You have thirty seconds to input the security code before succumbing to poisonous gas. Twenty-nine seconds…twenty-eight seconds…twenty-seven seconds…”

  I slap the glass with an open fist. “What the hell, Dominic?”

  “Ah, yes, it’s a bit of a sticky wicket.” He frowns. Suddenly, his eyes light up. “By Jove, I know that voice! She’s one of the birds behind the counter at one of my private clubs—Raffles! Following her dream of becoming an actress, I presume—although her talents lay elsewhere, if you ask me—”

  “I didn’t!” I smack the wall once more.

  “Twenty-two seconds…” Dominic’s friend with benefits sounds practically bored. Maybe that’s why he recognized her.

  “Donna, hold your cell phone over the keypad,” Emma suggests. “That way, I can scan it for fingerprints, and do a likely calculation from that.”

  I point my iPhone at the keypad.

  “Sixteen seconds…fifteen seconds…fourteen seconds…thirteen seconds…”

  Think happy thoughts.

  I’m with Jack. We’re sitting on a beautiful beach, clear blue skies overhead. He leans in. As I descend into his kiss, the waves crash over us.

  “Eight seconds…seven seconds…”

  Crash…

  No, please no.

  “Donna, try 3235552044!”

  I leave the kiss for Emma’s wild guess.

  “You may proceed,” the woman’s voice purrs.

  I open the door for Dominic.

  He saunters to the tail end of the warhead and turns something. It allows him to loosen a bottom panel.

  A moment later, he’s holding a foam casing. It holds a clock.

  “All’s well that ends well.”

  The smartass.

  “Donna, did you notice something familiar about the code?” Emma asks.

  I think for a moment: it’s my phone number.

  Eric is too sick for words. I need him out of my life—now.

  I tap Dominic on the shoulder and point up. “Get it out of here, and don’t get caught, or we all fail. In the meantime, I’ll find Jack.”

  “He’d want you to go with me—”

  “Not in a million years! I’ve lost him once; I won’t do it again.” I shove him toward the hallway. “If we’re not back in fifteen minutes, get George to fly you out of here with this clock.”

  I don’t have to ask twice. He’s taking the ancient stairwell two steps at a time.

  Next stop: to find the bane of my existence—Eric—and my reason for living: Jack.

  I’m about to climb up to level two, when Arnie mutters in my ear, “Donna, we have a situation.”

  “Give it to me straight.”

  “Jack got into Eric’s private quarters, but he must have tripped an alarm of some sort because Eric has silently summoned back up. They are headed your way.”

  “How many?”

  Four of the six on the ground level. The other two are staying behind to watch the front entry. They’ve called for back-up from the rampart guards and are panicking because they’re getting no answer—”

  Even as he speaks, one turns the corner.

  I crouch and aim—

  He falls face down.

  The guy behind him realizes too late that he’s also in my crosshairs. Down he goes, on top of his dead colleague.

  A third guy—I recognize him: it’s Hugo—ducks back behind the doorway. The next thing I know, my Heckler & Koch G36C is exchanging fire with four Steyr AUG’s.

  “Help me out here, Arnie!” I shout over the gunfire.

  “Got it, Donna! The door is almost sixteen inches of solid oak,” Emma explains. “It swings shut with a pulley, which can only be opened from your side. The pulley’s leverage is a net holding a boulder hanging up in the bell tower. If you can break the pulley’s rope—”

  “On it!” I look up. Yes, there’s the rope.

  I hit my attackers with enough firepower that they back off for the few seconds I need to point up at the rope.

  Just as Hugo sticks out his arm to assault me with another round of bullets, the door slams shut, severing his arm from the rest of his body.

  Hugo’s blood-chilling scream sounds as if it’s far, far away. As the arm falls to the floor, the gun is still firing. A rainbow of bullets slams the wall next to my ear.

  I survived.

  Has Jack?

  I can’t run up the stairwell fast enough.

  I don’t realize until it’s too late that the stairwell comes up in the center of a vast room.

  Turning right, I see Jack, his gun raised in a tactical stance, darting between a row of columns in search of the man who left him for dead: Eric Weber.

  Does love have its own telepathy? I’ve always thought so. If I’m right, it’s happening now because Jack turns in my direction, his weapon drawn.

  His eyes open wide in surprise at seeing me—

  Then even wider in horror at…what?

  Something behind me…

  My head whips left to follow his stare.

  Eric’s arm is raised. His finger presses the trigger of his gun.

  I fall face down on the floor.

  The bullet whizzes over my head—

  Just as another whizzes toward Eric—

  Catching him in the gut. Eric gasps as he drops to the floor.

  I turn to Jack.

  He’s fallen onto his knees. Oh my God…has he been shot?

  I run to him. When I reach him, he lifts his head upward, but the look on his face is as if he’s seen a ghost. “My God, Donna—the way you fell…I thought—I thought I’d shot you!”

  “What? …No! The bullet hit Eric. At the same time, I thought his bullet hit you!”

  We both turn to look for the bullet hole. Finally, we find it: embedded in one of the columns.

  Jack grasps me tightly and kisses me.

  “L’amour, l’amour…” Eric’s voice is so faint that we barely hear it.

  “Abu and Dominic rounded up what’s left of Eric’s goon squad and locked them in the cargo van. We’ve called the French Directorate of Military Intelligence and told them we have an early Bastille Day present waiting for them. They’ll love the fact that some of these guys have their ISIL membership cards.” Ryan informs us. “Since Eric is breathing, bring him with you to the chopper. We’ve got a private emergency room set up for him just south, in Marseille.”

  Jack takes his lips off mine, if only to say, “On it, Chief.”

  “You really are quite a woman.” Despite having difficulty speaking, Eric is still trying to impress me. During the flight, I don’t look at him, let alone speak a word to him. He ignores my silence. Instead, he rhapsodizes on and on about me, in minute detail: what he loves about my laugh, my smile, and most of all, my extermination process.

  Truly, one sick bastard!

  I thought that even before he starts describing the way I sleep: my sighs, my moans, my twists and my turns…how I prefer the fetal position.

  How I sleep in the nude.

  When his rant moves on to the curvature of my silhouette, Jack pulls out his gun and holds it to Eric’s temple. “I’m in the mood for Russian Roulette. Although, I have to warn you, I always play with a full deck, and I always pack an extra mag.”

  Eric shuts up.

  I take it as proof that he doesn’t really want to die.

  Good. Maybe he’ll cooperate with the CIA.

  Not that it will buy him his freedom.

  Nothing will, as long as Jack and I are alive.

  When we land, his stretcher is wheeled into the elevator taking him to the private apartment that is
an Acme safe house. As promised, Acme’s Parisian on-call doctor is already there, and prepped for the surgery that will remove the bullet from his spleen.

  Because it hit a non-vital organ, he’ll live. Whether he’ll spill his guts is another question altogether.

  Extraordinary rendition should loosen his tongue for a whole different reason.

  “I can take it from here.” Ryan’s declaration on the tarmac at the Marseille airport is the second surprise we get when we arrive.

  The first is that he’s there at all.

  Jack and I look at each other. I shrug. “Okay, sure. Should we catch a ride home with you on Air George?” That’s our subtle way of asking if we’re supposed to fly home via commercial jet.

  Ryan grins broadly. “What’s you’re rush? Aunt Phyllis is holding down the fort, right? Since you’re already here, why not take in the sights of the French Riviera? Consider it a somewhat belated and well deserved honeymoon.” He winks. “In fact, bill it to me. I’ll write it off as a bonus.”

  Jack and I look at each other and then back to Ryan. My eyes open wide. “Really, Ryan? That would be…wonderful!”

  My fantasy of Jack and I making love on some exotic beach is finally about to come true.