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

now, much like a lobster plucked from the sea. He trails his lady friend down the steps of the hotel, toward the curb.  
    Both he and his date wear Venetian facemasks. Her beige armless skintight sheath is sheer, but a spray of diamonds meanders over her breasts and down the center of the dress, front and back, providing some semblance of modesty. It also has a high slit on either side. Her head is wrapped in a matching turban, obscuring any idea of her hair color or its length.
    There is certainly something familiar about her. I wish I could put my finger on it…
    The bellman struggles with their bags. The one holding the bomb is not among them.
    A limo pulls up. The driver jumps out in order to hold the door for the couple, then pops the trunk so that the bellman can stow their bags.
    This time, the bellman gets nary a farthing for his efforts.
    He lifts his right hand. Two of its fingers are raised into a backward V: the international symbol for “vuck off.”
    They drive off, but slow when they are level to the ruckus on the beach. Jean-Pierre frowns at the thought that he may have been set up.
    The limo goes another half-mile before turning left onto a cross street. I tap the screen. “There! Why didn’t they turn right, toward the airport?”
    “Good point,” Jack murmurs. “Jean-Pierre, where does the left side of the street take them?”
    “To the beach pier.”
    Jack grimaces. “So that they can access a taxi yacht, to go to, say, the party on the Divide and Conquer ?”  
    I smile. “I’ve always wanted to crash one of Biarritz’s renowned society soirees.”
    “But not this one, Madame! The women who attend are strictly there for the pleasure of Monsieur al-Sadah and a select group of his friends, all of whom have   ‘ la dependence amoureuse .’”
    “A love addiction?” Jack’s mouth draws into a smirk.  
    I can’t help but laugh out loud. “When it comes to al-Sadah, I know how to nip it in the bud.” With, say, another bullet. This time, in the head. It may be messier, but there should be no doubting the result.  
    Jean-Pierre shakes his head. “I am putting it politely. Every guest brings a putain. Sheis expected to…er, ‘perform,’ either with the gentleman whom she accompanies, or another guest of his choosing.”  
    “Orgies?” I try not to laugh. “How perfectly retro!” Well, if that’s the case, my shorts and a T-shirt won’t get me any further than the gangplank. “If we’re going to crash Salem’s party, all I need right now is a gown.”
    “You plan on attending?” The question comes at me from both Jack and Jean-Pierre.
    “Nicolette was last seen heading for the Divide and Conquer . Her friends may still be there. And now Jack’s pal, Pinky Ring, is on his way there too. When all roads lead to Rome, why not? I assume the hotel’s couture salon is already closed?”
    “Yes! I have a key, if you want to make a purchase.” Jean-Pierre looks confused.
    “Can you also get us into the hotel’s pharmacy?” Jack asks.  
    Jean-Pierre nods.
    “Good, because we’ll need a few syringes, and some Rohypnol. If we’re going to bring them to justice, we have to take them alive”—Jack grins—“but not necessarily conscious. When they wake up, we’ll get our answers as to how they rose from the dead.”
    Jean-Pierre scowls. “If this man—Pinky Ring—is a friend of Monsieur al-Sadah, he will never be brought to justice! As you saw for yourself, the police here bow and scrape to billionaires.”
    Jack pats his arm. “Both men are international terrorists. Their crimes are numerous.” Turning to me, Jack adds, “I’m calling Ryan to tell him that we’ll be facing off with a couple of dangerous suspects. I’m sure his move will be to alert Interpol for back-up.”
    “If what Inspector Clouseau—I mean Duclos said is true, al-Sadah is shipping out in the morning; we’ve got to move fast, with or without back-up,” I remind him.
    “But, if one of