The Housewife Assassin's Killer Christmas Tips by Josie Brown Page B

stiffens involuntarily when I hear Jack’s voice coming from behind me.
    Before I can give Arnie the high-sign, he responds, “Donna’s paranoid. She asked me to make sure these items weren’t blinged out with spyware. Hey, I know Apple can be intrusive, not to mention all the toy apps. But when it comes to online tracking they’ve got nothing on Google.”
    I grab the stuff and head out to my car.
    You’d think operatives working for an undercover organization could keep their lips zipped, right? No way. Working here is worse than high school.
    And I’ve just been dumped by the captain of the football team.
    Nothing new there.
     

     
    “Welcome to the Good Ship Lollipop,” the Sapphire stewardess’s breathy murmur is more than a welcome.
    It’s an outright invitation. To Jack .
    The way she licks her pillowy lips, I’m guessing she gets lots of RSVPs.
    Not that he’s looking at her lips. Her little sailor get-up is a feast for the eyes and wandering hands. Her captain’s cap, angled over one of her big glitter-lashed eyes with a jaunty tilt, gives her a naughty come-hither look. Her generous breasts and tiny waist are accentuated in a tight, low-cut candy apple red patent leather double-breasted jacket, which boasts two large pink buttons, at nipple height.
    The tight matching skirt is also at the perfectly tempting height of nonexistent.
    Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit about how short it is, but you get my point.
    After devouring Jack with her eyes, she finally looks down at the invitation he has just handed her. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith?... Ah yes, here you are, on the ship’s guest  manifest. Among all the other ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smiths.’” An updraft of derision lifts one of her well-shaped brows to new heights.
    However, it doesn’t stop her from stroking Jack’s hand gently as she hands over our room keys. “But seeing that you’re the only ‘X. Smiths,’ that makes life a bit easier. In fact, everyone on the ship goes by an alphabetical alias. You’re the last couple to board, so we’ll make yours ‘Mrs. X and Mr … X. ’” 
    She purrs the word “Mr.” as if it’s the most tantalizing morsel she’s ever put in her mouth.
    My guess is that a lot has passed through those lips.
    “You can call me Candy,” she offers. “Now, if you’ll please follow me to your suite.” As she slinks down the hall in her stiletto heels, she looks like a cat out on the prowl. Her skirt cups the curves of her bum like a second skin.
    I’d slap Jack’s face out if its stupor, but I don’t want to attract an army of men begging me for more of the same. In this crowd, telling the tops from the bottoms is a cinch. Call me old-fashioned, but when a man puts on a tuxedo, it should be paired with a bowtie, not a spiked collar with a jeweled leash being yanked by his Plus-One.
    Which begs the question, when it comes to the pain game, does Lardner prefer to give or receive?
    If I’m his chosen one, I guess I’ll find out.
    Finally, Candy stops at a double door numbered “69x”.
    I glance up and down the hallway, taking in the door numbers. “Um…all the doors are numbered 69, with one additional letter behind them.”
    “That’s because it’s Miles’ favorite number.” Candy giggles knowingly.
    If it’s any indication as to how the next twenty-four hours will be go, I guess I have my work cut out for me.
    “The Lollipop’s staff serves at your pleasure, so if you need anything at all, just ask.” To make sure Jack catches her meaning, Candy licks her upper lip.
    I don’t know what Jack has in mind for Candy’s tip, but before he pulls anything out— of his pocket —I hand her a fiver and close the door firmly in her face.
    “Hey, why’d you do that? We might have gotten more out of her.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. Like, say, Chlamydia.” Nonchalance is hard to pull off when it dawns on you that your boyfriend is a prime cut of beefsteak on a floating ship of