The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (17 page)

The dress is a low-cut sheath with rows of fringe, top to bottom. I unzip it and slip it on over my head. But then some of the fringe gets stuck in the zipper, and I have to wrestle with it over my head—

“This is just too easy,” Dave hisses in my ear.

He’s got me in a headlock.

“Where is it?” He asks, as his choke hold grows tighter. “What did you do with it?”

Ah, so we’re back to that.

What is it the Quorum thinks I have, anyway?

Through the armhole of the dress, I watch in the mirror as Midge locks the door. From her purse, she pulls out a syringe—

Stupid Dave. The last thing he expects is a knee to the nuts. When he doubles over, I kick the syringe out of Midge’s hand. Her curse is low but harsh just the same. As she scrambles for it, I give her a body check that sends her reeling, head first, into the mirror—

By now Dave has straightened out enough to grab me from behind. He’s got his hands around my jugular. Any moment now, I may pass out—

But not before I heave him up, and back against the wall—

Into one of the dress hooks. It pierces him in the back of the neck.

He hangs there, like a rag doll.

Then the light goes out of his eyes but not before the realization that what he has done to so many others has now been done to him.

It gets no more than a resigned sigh from him.

Midge may be groggy, but she is still awake. She can’t contain herself when she sees her husband. (Partner? Associate? Who knows? Who cares?) Her shriek tips me off that she’s out for blood: mine.

With a flip of both wrists, the cord is taut and ready for my neck. She moves fast to get behind me—

We both fall to the floor. I angle one hand at my throat to keep it from cutting me, but the other is free to end this fight—

The jab from the syringe elicits a gasp from her. It must have hit her jugular because I’m splattered with blood. 

The fatal injection is slow to take effect. When, at last, she closes her eyes for that final sleep, I fall to the floor, gagging and spent.

I wait a few minutes to catch my breath. I take care to wipe Midge’s blood off my face with a spare tissue from my purse. 

It’s hard to keep my eyes focused on the task, what with Midge and Dave’s dead eyes staring out at me from all four mirrored walls. 

When I walk out, I turn the inside lock and close the door behind me. That way the sign on the knob tells any sales assistant who may meander past the room that it is still occupied.

“What a killer dress,” gushes the clerk as she rings up the hot pink number for me.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” I murmur.

Don’t worry, I pay in cash. 

Chapter 10

On the Town

Housewives face a quandary when given the opportunity to go out for the evening. After all, who will watch the wee ones?

Babysitter vetting can be made simple, if you follow these instructions. First, a background check. Next, a list of do’s and don’ts, including who is allowed into the house. And finally, a torture session, to ward off any notion that your instructions be ignored. 

Granted, you’ll never get the same sitter twice, but ask yourself: if the sitter breaks under pressure, would you really want that person back in your house?

“That’s two attempts on our lives, Ryan! One on Jeff, and another on me.” I’m trying to keep my voice calm, it is shaking, and there is nothing I can do about it. “They think I have whatever it is they want. But it must have blown up with Carl.”

Ryan’s phone silences are never easy to read. I wish we were face-to-face, so that I could look him in the eye.

Then he wouldn’t dare lie to me.

Is he lying now? It’s hard to tell.

Finally he exhales. Is he exhausted or annoyed? “Donna, we’ve been over this, remember? Believe me, I wish I knew what it was.”

“Yeah, okay. Just do me a favor: if we catch one of these sons-of-bitches alive, let me have first crack at him. I’m not looking for payback. I’m not looking for closure. I’m just looking for answers.”

I slam the phone so hard that Jack can quit pretending that he wasn’t listening in on the conversation even as he was molding hamburger patties for the kids. They are all upstairs, doing their homework. Finally he glances up, but still he doesn’t say anything, so I have to ask, “What? What are you looking at?”

He hesitates and then shrugs. “Either one of the Kelseys could have given us the answer, if you’d taken them alive.”

He’s right.

The smart ass.

“My bad. I guess I forgot that little fact while they were trying to kill me.”

“I figured as much.” He wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “So I guess it’s safe to say that it won’t happen again.”

“Right boss.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too used to it.”

He has no retort because we both know he ain’t sticking around.

Still, I could just kick myself for saying it. To cover up the fact that I may actually care, I start up the stairs to get ready for our dinner date.

No, not that table…

But yes, the hostess at the Sand Dollar seats Jack and me at the last table on the deck: the one closest to the surf.

The one that was Carl’s favorite.

To cover up my jitters, I order a mojito along with the seared ahi.

“Double that order,” Jack tells our waitress.

We are silent as we stare out at the ocean. Our drinks don’t come until the sun is melting into the horizon. As the last rays of the day splay across the waves, the rum warms me and loosens my tongue. Still, I’m lucid enough to keep the topic on him. “You have no accent. Where are you from?”

“I grew up in Washington state.” He crushes the mint in the bottom of his drink with a swizzle stick. “The Orcas Islands.”

“I hear it’s beautiful there.”

“It is. But I don’t see myself going back.” 

“Why not?”

He stares out at the ocean. “There is no one to go home to.”

Ah. 

For some reason I’m glad to hear it. That makes me a bitch, I guess. And yet, I’ve got to ask, “You never married?”

“What is this, an interrogation? Am I about to be snatched?” To mock me, he glances over his shoulder.

“We’re getting to know each other, remember? Besides, if I wanted to make you talk, there are easier ways than extraordinary rendition.” This mojito is strong. I can’t tell if I’m charming him with a Mona Lisa smile or leering like some sort of mad clown.

He leans back. “Okay, yeah, sure. You get a question, and then I get one.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, you want to know about any attachments, right?” He chews on his swizzle stick. “Only one that was ever serious. But it’s over now.”

“So you’re divorced.”

His wince is quickly covered over by a shrug. “Things … just didn’t work out. Our lives are too complicated.”

“You’re telling me.” Whatever is left in my drink is gone in one quick swallow. “Like Carl, were you recruited out of the military?”

He nods. “Marine Corps. I served in Somalia, then Iraq.” His lips curdle into a grimace. “Now I’m an international man of mystery.”

“So you enjoy this gig.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” As he reaches for his napkin, his hand grazes mine. It sends a shiver up my spine. “But others tell me I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, you’ve got great buzz, that’s for sure.” I don’t have to tell him that the dish on his bedroom technique is just as notable. The telltale sign is that all the female double agents beg to be interrogated by him.

“Your rep is quite impressive, too.”

“I do what’s needed to get the bad guys.”

“That’s why you’re on this mission, Donna.” He pauses, but his eyes don’t waver away from mine. “Okay, it’s my turn now. Do you still love him?”

His question takes me by surprise. I’m choking down my drink.

He gets up to slap me on the back. (Seriously, does that really work?)

I shoo him away. I don’t want to be touched.

At least, not when I’m thinking about Carl. I have too much respect for him.

But I can’t say that to him. So instead I murmur, “Yes. I still love him.”

Jack says nothing, but his eyes deepen with sadness. I can only presume that this is out of respect for Carl. I would never assume that he is attracted to me.

Okay, I’ll admit it: he’s hot. Maybe that’s because he’s the first man who has reminded me of Carl.

But no man will ever make me forget Carl.

That’s why I feel comfortable saying “Yeah, sure…” when he asks me if I want to dance.

The live band is playing a very sultry version of “At Last.” The lead singer, a woman named Andree Belle, has a husky murmur, perfect for lyrics oozing with lust and innuendo.

Jack holds me lightly but firmly in his arms. We move as if we’re floating. I could attribute this to a mojito high, but why not give credit where it’s due? What I saw him doing with Penelope at the father-daughter dance was just a warm-up. His hands and hips maneuver me slyly, cajoling me into a wanton frenzy, willing me to mirror his moves.

Our bodies fit together snugly.

Maybe a bit too snugly, if in fact he isn’t packing heat.

I’m used to seducing and then killing men when they are at their most vulnerable. Tonight, though, it is me who is fighting the urge to surrender.

I thank God he’s not a mark.

Even as I think that, even as he holds me near—

He ruins everything when he whispers in my ear, “Didn’t you hate him for lying to you?”

The love tango reeling in my heart goes flat before breaking off. I should be breathing, but I can’t.

Hate? Did I hate Carl?

Yes, of course I hated him.

For lying to me. 

For leaving me. 

For not loving me enough to quit Acme.

When, finally, I find my voice, what comes out is barely a whisper. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because I would, too, if I’d been betrayed like that.”

I stumble to our chairs, grab my sweater, and head for the car.

He stays long enough to pay the bill for the ahi we never got to eat.

On the way home, neither of us speaks.

He stops the car half a block from the house.

“What the heck are you doing?” I ask.

“I don’t think you should go to bed angry.” He turns to look at my profile. It’s dark, so I can’t imagine he sees much. Hopefully he can’t tell that my eyes are damp.

My laugh is harsh. “I don’t think you have any say in how I go to bed—”

The next thing I know, he’s kissing me.

There is nothing tender at all about Jack Craig’s mouth. It ravages wantonly. It doesn’t have to probe to persuade, to melt your resistance, to make you realize what you’ve been missing—

To make you crave it even more.

I have absolutely no desire to come up for air. Yes, my lips are hungry for him. Or is it that I need someone to touch?

I can’t answer that now. All I know is that I need this so, so badly.

I need him.

No, I need Carl. 

But he’s no longer around…

What the hell is that annoying tap-tap-tapping?

I look up, and out beyond the car. Seems that someone is tossing pebbles at the window of my guest room—