The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing by Josie Brown Page B

time I open my eyes and jump out of the shower, Jack has Carl on his back and is about to pummel his head into the bathroom’s marble floor. 
    “Jack—Jack, don’t! We didn’t…. You can’t!”
    He freezes as if my voice has brought him to his senses, and leans back on his haunches. His chest rises and falls with pent-up adrenaline.
    Make that hate.
    Pained and still wary of his attacker, Carl sits up with a grunt. “Damn it, you asshole! I think you gave me a black eye.”
    “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” Jack mutters.
    “Oh, I’m not too worried about that. Not with my little insurance policy over there.” Carl nods toward me. “Go ahead, Donna, hon. Tell your stooge here he had no right to break up our little party.”
    Jack shifts his icy stare my way. What does he read in my eyes? My guilt over a momentary lapse in judgment? My hurt over our argument last night? Would he believe I’m just following Ryan’s orders to get as close as possible to the target, and his possible killer?
    I wouldn’t believe it, so why should he? Still, I hope so.
    For just a brief second, Jack’s eyes flicker with hurt before his face hardens into a mask of resignation. “Ah! I see. Sorry to have interrupted.”
    “That’s okay. The party was over before it began.” I’m not being flip, just truthful.
    “Hey, wait! If you’re casting aspersions on my—”
    “Can it, Carl. I’m not in the mood.” I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m naked. I reach for a towel, which remedies two of the things driving me crazy. 
    I can feel Jack’s and Carl’s eyes on me as I tighten it around me. Too bad. Show’s over, boys. “You said you had something to say to us together, Carl.” Despite my state of dishabille, I keep my tone business-like. “Don’t leave us in suspense.” 
    Carl attempts to rub the pain out of his jaw. “Oh yeah, before we were so rudely interrupted. Here’s the dealio. The Quorum is offering a truce, through the duration of the summit.” 
    “A truce?” I can’t believe my ears. “This isn’t a game of Capture the Fort. What do you take us for, fools?”
    “Not at all. In fact, we find it commendable you’ve already exterminated two of the hitters who answered the bounty call on Asimov’s head.”
    Jack glares at Carl. “If the Quorum didn’t put the bounty on Asimov, then who did?”
    “Hell if we know. But whomever it is has thought it through carefully. They’ve reached out to the entities who have the most to benefit from it and then gotten at least one of the hitters into Lion’s Lair.”
    This sends a chill up my spine. “So, you think it’s an inside job, too?”
    “It’s got to be,” Carl says. “Which brings me to Acme. Asimov is also impressed with your hits—” 
    “Whoa, whoa, hold up here.” Jack looks from Carl, to me. “Did you tell him about the interceptions?”
    I shake my head. 
    “So, how did you know it was us?”
    “Well, granted the first one threw us off, but since the second one was last seen entering this room…” He looks under the bed. Disappointed that there’s nothing, or I should say no one, under there, he shrugs. “Hey, how did you get her out of the room, anyway?”
    I smile innocently. “Just because you’re shoveling some high-test crap doesn’t mean we’re going to give away our trade secrets. How we know it wasn’t the Quorum who put out the hit on Asimov, in order to justify the need to hire you in the first place?”
    “The protection racket? Donna, get real. We’re not the Cosa Nostra. Besides, we need Asimov. When he isn’t buying the Quorum’s services, he’s selling us the WMDs that make the world go ’round—or, inevitably, go ‘boom.’ If Asimov gets taken out by any other goody two-shoes who’s left on his trail, we lose one big-ass kahuna.”
    Jack flops down into a chair. “If that’s the case, why is he at the summit in the first place? He could have skipped it; stayed home to torture some more