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

down my throat.
    My hand grabs the bulge in his Armani tux, and I hear him gasp. The sound is music to my ears. “You’re the hitter, aren’t you?”
    He winces in pain, but he’s still able to mutter, “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Alexei Asimov. You’re here to take him out, aren’t you?”
     “What? You think I’m the—the shooter? Hell no, babe! I’m the consultant heading  up Asimov’s security team.”
    He’s laughing so hard at my shock and awe that I almost lose my grip on him.
    Almost, but not quite.
    When I walk off the dance floor, I’ve left him doubled over, and not because he’s still laughing at me.

Chapter 10
    How to be the Perfect Guest

    It’s your turn to enjoy the hospitality of others! Your drive to be the consummate hostess also provides you with insights on how to be the ideal guest. 
    For example, if the hostess seems overwhelmed, offer to lend a hand. Choose a task in which your expertise will make it quick and simple: say, setting a table, arranging flowers, or diffusing a bomb. Your hostess will certainly appreciate your efforts, and compliment you on your handiwork. 
    Remember: guests never overstay their welcome, so do not be the last one out the door—especially if you fail at dismantling the bomb, and it is due to go off before the party is over. 

    Alexei Asimov is one smooth-talking dude.
    His voice caresses and inspires. His compliments about our “heavenly Hilldale” are eloquent, drawing ahhhhs and applause from the locals, who have no desire to reconcile today’s graciousness with a fiendish curriculum vitæ filled with decades of brutality.
    His vow to do his part for “eternal peace on Earth” earns him a standing ovation. I can only imagine the onslaught of frenzied hysteria that filled his ears when, in the Ukraine, he gave his machine gun-toting army the command to fire at those who had just dug their own mass graves.
    Put a man in a tux, call him a statesman, and all is forgiven.
    Carl stands just behind Asimov, to his right. A second member of the Russian security team is to his left. I spot others, every ten feet or so, mumbling, sotto voce, into well-hidden headsets. 
    Jack is also muttering, to Ryan. Cursing, really. Ryan has just informed us that Carl’s role on Asimov’s advance team has given him diplomatic immunity.
    In other words, he’s been removed from the Terrorist Screening Database, as well as all international security watch lists.
    That still doesn’t get him off my personal shit list.
     “But what if Asimov is being set up by the Quorum, and Carl’s the shooter we’ve been looking for all along?” Jack asks.
    “Listen, you two, I don’t like it, either.” Ryan’s bitterness is merited. He recruited and trained Carl for Acme. It was on his watch that Carl was turned by the Quorum. 
    Ryan sighed deeply. “Until Carl makes his move, we have to give him the same leeway as any of the others on Asimov’s security detail. This mission depends on staying close enough to Asimov to protect him, especially if the hit is going to be an inside job. Donna, if that means turning on the charm so that Carl accommodates us, do it.”
    Jack and I exchange glances. It’s not what either of us wants to hear. I know I don’t have to reassure him of this, but I press his hand to my lips anyway. 
    Yes, I know Carl is watching us, but I don’t give a damn.
    “And if it turns out you’re right and Carl’s the inside man,” Ryan adds, “you’ve both got your orders: shoot to kill.”
    The ghost of a smile accompanies Jack’s slight nod. 
    Not that he needs Ryan’s permission to do so. And if what Carl said is right—about Jack letting him walk because he thinks I’d hate him for taking Carl out—then I’ve got to let him know that he has my permission, too. 
    If I don’t kill Carl first.
    The father of my children is also a menace to society. I may not be able to change his role in my kid’s lives, but I can keep