The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol Read Online Free Page A

viewing archival footage from the hotel’s security cameras?”
    “I will take you there now. At least once a week I am asked to relieve the hotel’s security guard; therefore, I’m allowed to access it.”
    The only shoes I can find are heels, so hey, they will have to do. But before I can bend down to strap my foot into it, Jack is kneeling at my side. Without a word, he takes it out of my hand. Gently, he places my foot into it.  
    When he feels the touch of my finger behind his ear, he looks up at me. There is no smile on his face, just adoration.
    He is my Prince Charming.  
    More importantly, he is my life partner.
    Yes, I trust him with my life.
    My fairy tale spell is broken when Jean-Pierre beckons me from the door.   “This way, Madame.”
    The honeymoon is officially over.

    “It can’t be him,” Jack murmurs.
    A chill goes up my spine. “Who is it?”
    “Pinky Ring.” Jack is so shocked that he lowers himself into a chair.  
    I’ve never seen him so awestruck. I touch his arm to bring him back to the here and now. “I…I don’t know who you mean.”
    “He’s a former East German Stasi colonel who was recruited by the Quorum. I chased him down years ago, in London. When he came west, he hid under an alias. Acme never discovered what it was.” Jack frowns. “I watched as he was hit by a bus and then again by a car. By the time I got to him, he was dead. I took his Quorum ring. It contained intel about the Los Angeles attack that put us together.” He freezes the video frame before leaning in for a closer look. “Looks like he’s gotten ahold of another ring.” He points to the man’s hand.
    The ring is the twin of one I took off Salem: bling given to only the highest-ranking members of the Quorum. Unlike Salem, who wore it on his right ring finger, this man wears his on the smallest finger of his right hand.  
    Salem died, as did this man. So, how could it be that we’re seeing them now?
    The man is exactly as Jean-Pierre described him: short, fidgety, and immaculately, albeit inappropriately, dressed for Biarritz’s sweltering climate.
    On the other hand, the posh woman with him would turn heads in any part of the world. A white sundress drapes her tanned, slim body, which glides along on her four-inch heels as if floating on a cloud. Unfortunately for us, she wears large sunglasses and a hat that covers her hair, obscuring any obvious identifying features.
    Still, there is something familiar about her.
    After the couple is given their suite’s security key by the desk clerk, they make their way onto the beach path that leads to the cabanas.
    “I think I know her—but I can’t put my finger on it,” I point out to Jack. “How about you?”
    “You’re right. I wish we had a better shot of her. Jean-Pierre, can you move to a different security feed?”  
    With a click of a button, we watch as they reach the door to their cabana. As it turns out, it’s just two away from ours.  
    Pinky Ring’s hand alights on the woman’s shoulder. She shrugs it off.
    All this time the bellboy has been waiting patiently behind them, suitcases in tow. His mouth rises into a smirk.
    Angered that the bellboy witnessed the rebuff, Pinky Ring waits until the bellman puts their bags into the room before tipping him at the door: a single Euro.
    The bellman waits until the door closes, then proffers the greatest insult:   hitting his bicep with a Spanish slap.
    And yes, the valise that held the bomb was among Pinky Ring’s things.
    Case closed.

    Jack shakes his head, still stunned. Finally, he turns to Jean-Pierre. “This is the footage where they arrive at the hotel, am I right?”
    “ Oui, Monsieur.”
    Jack taps Jean-Pierre on the shoulder. “Pull up the security camera at the time of their departure.”
    Jean-Pierre nods. It takes a few moments to find the approximate timestamp in the feed, but soon he has it up.  
    Pinky Ring has changed into a tuxedo. However, he is sunburned looking