The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (24 page)

He sighs loudly. “Madam, the culinary ignorance of
enfants américains
is a national disgrace.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Édouard. Still, I feel that chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, and perhaps something green as opposed to puce is more appropriate.” Even I’m at a loss as to what vegetable will be universally acceptable to middle-schoolers. “Any suggestions?”

He winces. “Bacon-wrapped string beans?”

“Nice!” I honor him with a thumbs-up.

Heartened, he pronounces, “And for dessert, perhaps a sweet tart with Meyer lemon curd!”

I smile appreciatively, but shake my head no. “Why don’t we just let them eat cake?”

He slams his menu book shut. Clearly, our meeting is at an end.

However, as he walks away, he holds his head high. When it comes to cuisine, he’s a king among chefs. But sadly, he serves at the pleasure of the bourgeoisie with their uninformed appetites.
 

I don’t know what I was expecting about Mara Portnoy, but it wasn’t a lithe, statuesque blonde with sky-high cheekbones and startling cornflower blue eyes.

And, considering she retired over a year or two before I started with Acme, the last thing I was expecting was that she was actually a year younger than me.

I can’t count the number of men’s heads that turned as she passed them following the hostess to the three-seat by the window overlooking the crashing surf of the Pacific Ocean. It was as if she glided above the restaurant’s hustle and bustle–above life in general–floating on a cloud.
 

Is such serenity the result of an eight-year sabbatical? What kind of distress caused her to take a leave in the first place? Was the issue truly behind her?
 

So many lives depended on the answer being a resounding yes.

She put out her hand to Jack first. He stood to take it. In fact, he augments his shake with a kiss on the cheek.

Her greeting to me is a bit more awkward. Shyly, she holds out her hand.

When I grab hold, it’s to pull her in close, for a hug.

Her clinch comes with a sigh of relief.

Like me, she’s glad that we’re off to a great start.

Jack and Mara’s attempt to play catch-up is short and sweet. He asks her where she lives now, and she answers, “Spain. Beautiful country. Slow moving. The people are simple, and I love the life there.”
 

As far as Mara is concerned, I’m dying to know why she quit. Like me, perhaps Jack is too polite to ask. Or else he already knows the reason, which means I’ll have to prod it out of him instead.
 

I don’t care to find out if she knew Carl. My guess is yes, since his reputation–both within Acme and the Quorum–preceded him. Thank goodness, she’s too polite to ask about him.

Instead, she asks me the ages of my children. “Seven, twelve, and fourteen,” I say proudly. “The boy is in the middle.”

“Ah, wonderful!” Her eyes shift to Jack. “You always said you wanted a large family,” she reminds him.

I never knew that about him. If I ever get her alone–something I’m sure Ryan will never allow–I’ll seek out other little tidbits about the life he had before he shared mine.

She graces me with a smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Donna. From everything I’ve heard, I can see why Jack married you.”

Awkward.

I can hold a poker face as long as Jack. Still, I’d like to know if her remark was deliberate. “I, too, am glad that Jack arranged this meeting, Mara. But you’ve been misinformed. We’re not married.”

“Interesting.” Her eyes leave my face in order to search out Jack’s. True to form, he’s looking at the menu.
 

When her eyes meet mine again, I am put off by her sly smile. “Then Jack did the right thing in calling me.”

What the hell does that mean?

I signal our waitress. “A martini, please. Dirty and dry.”

Jack looks up sharply in order to stare at me. He knows I only order martinis when I want to get good and drunk.

I’m only surprised that he doesn’t want to join me.

The conversation stays on safe territory: the good old days.
 

If you work together long enough, business colleagues develop a verbal shorthand. And just like a bicycle, once you get the hang of it, it stays with you for life.

I see it in action when Mara says, “Hey, remember the incident in Prague?”

Jack shakes his head with a laugh. “How could I forget? All that damn rain!”

Then, in unison, they say: “And all that damn blood!” before breaking out in shared chuckles.

How adorable. They could be a vaudeville act.

I’m quite aware that Jack had a life before me. I also know he’s got a long history in covert ops. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is about his history with Mara Portnoy. Who was she to him, and why is he reaching out to her now?

A call from Ryan comes just as dessert is served.

Knowing I’m here, I’m sure one of his questions is if whether Mara has survived our lunch.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this,” Jack murmurs.

The way he strolled out of the restaurant with a benign smile on his face, you’d presume it was a call from a golfing buddy to set up their next tee time.

After a few moments of silence, Mara realizes the ball is in her court. “You’re wondering about our connection, aren’t you?” she asks.

Duh. Ya think?

I nod hesitantly. “Jack has been less than forthcoming.”

“I gathered that.”

I shrug. “That’s the name of the game we’re in, isn’t it?”

“In this case, no.” She puts down her fork, which holds just a tiny bite of a slice of hula pie. “Jack did so out of respect for our friendship. You see, Jack blames himself for the death of someone very near and dear to me: Kiril Dragonov. He headed Acme’s Hungarian Bureau.”

“I’ve seen his name on the Wall.” The Wall, located in Acme’s rooftop garden, is a memorial to the company’s agents who have been killed in the line of duty.

“Jack has always blamed himself for Kiril’s death.”

I look up sharply.
 

She bows her head. “Sadly, he was doubly pained to discover I had a relationship with Kiril.”

“Why?” I ask.

“He was sent to identify Kiril’s body. Had he known about us, he would not have allowed it to be buried in an unmarked grave.” She shrugs. “These things happen. Spies die alone. We know this going in. But Kiril and I were to be married. We’d planned to leave Acme together, to start a family. Needless to say, when I learned about his death and his subsequent burial, who knows where, I fell to pieces. I was too despondent to show up for work. I thought, what’s the point? Our business–never ends.”

She’s right. Our successes are small. We may move the game in one direction, but in time, our enemies move it back in the other.

“Knowing this, why would Jack have thought to ask you to come back?” I wonder out loud.

“When he called me, he said it was his experience–and yours–that the opportunity to avenge those we lost provides us with a new purpose. He has a point, but it doesn’t apply to me. You see, I don’t expect any form of satisfaction. I expect nothing because I feel nothing. What better mission partner to have by your side than one who doesn’t give a damn?”

“Let me toss this out there,” I counter. “Say, one who does?”
 

As she holds up her fork, the melted ice cream pie drips languidly onto her plate. “Donna, you never asked why Jack blamed himself for Kiril’s death.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. And yes, I’d like to know, if you don’t mind telling me.”

“Gladly. You see, Jack presumed that Kiril’s killers were long dead and buried.” Once again, she carves a bite-sized mound of pie with her fork. “Kiril’s killers were Jack’s wife, Valentina–and your husband, Carl.”

She takes a bite of her pie.

At this point, I feel as if I need to throw up.

“No need to come in,” Jack tells me as I drive him up to the entrance of Acme’s offices.
 
He reaches over for a kiss.

I have no problem accommodating him–with the smooch, anyway. As for his request that I stay in the car, I shrug it off, all the while smiling sweetly. “I’m going inside, too. I want to congratulate Arnie on his upcoming marriage.”

“Ah! So Emma talked to you.”

I nod. “And of course, I said yes, about being her matron–I mean maid of honor.” I look out the window. We’ve broached the topic of marriage ourselves, but never really honed in on a date. So many terrorists, so little time.

Granted, for me, that situation has changed. Still, it takes two to marry. “How about you?” I ask. “Did you say yes to Arnie?”

“By all means, I told him he could count on me. I only wish it weren’t happening so close to when all of this is coming down.”

“So now you know when?” I sit up straight. “Oh, my God! Did Acme’s cryptographers break the microdot’s cipher?”

Jack lets loose with a sound that’s half groan, half laugh. “Damn it, Donna, you know I can’t tell you, one way or another.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know–I’m on a need-to-know basis.” I reach for the passenger door handle.

“Wait! I wanted to ask…I mean, you haven’t said what you think of Mara.”