CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

JEAN NEVER UNDERSTOOD why someone with money seemed to automatically think they could get away with anything, including murder. Granted, enough money bought a murder.

And even more money bought her skills for the murder.

But it never bought a double-cross.

Over the thousands of years that she had been an assassin in the order, she had had clients who had not paid her after she finished a job. That client always paid dearly with his or her life and the lives of those that were treasured by the person doing the double-crossing.

To Jean, a deal was a deal. Yet often people with money thought otherwise.

So the idiot who had not only double-crossed her, but another assassin from the order at the same time, would pay dearly.

In time.

She and Mary Jo were very, very patient killers.

And they both liked to plan.

In fact, they loved to plan.

So they settled into their homes for the winter, still both living the grieving-widow routines when out in public. By the time two months had passed since what she and Mary Jo laughingly called “The Event,” they were spending more and more time together. They hadn’t gone out into public at all together, and Jean had gone back to work after two weeks to keep up appearances.

But six nights a week they had dinner together. Every other night Jean cooked, every other night Mary Jo cooked.

Mary Jo could stir up pasta dishes that could make a person’s mouth water from a hundred paces. And Jean loved to cook with fish and chicken. Both of them, over the centuries, had learned the art of cooking and now they both had someone to appreciate their skills.

And they could talk about where they learned what and not hide the fact of their ages and their experiences. To Jean, that was such a wonderful treat.

Before, her life had been closed off, something to never be talked about. Now, she and Mary Jo both had thousands of years of experiences and learning to talk about with each other.

And wonderful food to share.

In fact, most of the purchases Jean had made in the last month were for better kitchen cookware.

And Mary Jo had been doing the same.

But what Jean had loved the most about the last two months was the flirting and staring into Mary Jo’s dark brown eyes. At times, when Mary Jo left, Jean had just wanted to stop her and kiss her. But as in murder, Jean was very patient in love as well.

Frustrated, but patient.

Just over two months after “The Event,” Mary Jo had gone into New York City to do their first scouting of Stanton Cobble and his life. When she returned on the late train just after eight, Jean met her at the station and drove her home.

“Dinner at my place if you’re hungry?” Jean said as they left the station. She had hoped Mary Jo would be hungry, so had done some prep work on a special chicken dish Jean had learned a few hundred years back in Italy.

“Famished,” Mary Jo said, easing her shoulders around.

Jean could hear the cracking in Mary Jo’s back.

Jean smiled. Long train rides stiffened up her muscles like that as well.

“You sound like you could use a dip in the hot tub after that ride,” Jean said, trying to focus on driving and not think about seeing Mary Jo without clothes on.

“That sounds heavenly,” Mary Jo said, smiling. “But dinner first. I got a lot to tell you about our idiot target.”

“Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes after we get home,” Jean said.

Mary Jo sighed and nodded. “Thanks. That sounds wonderful. Gives me time to take a quick shower and change clothes.”

Again, it took every ounce of training for Jean to keep her eyes on the road and her attention on her driving instead of imagining Mary Jo without clothes on.

Somehow she managed to get them both home safely.

Somehow.