1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook Page 18

  Finally he throws himself on top of me, in a tight bear hug. Even my legs are pinned. In this position it would be so easy for him to bash my head into the concrete floor until my skull cracks open. I envision ending up as the second human popsicle in Nola’s freezer, which I’m sure, he’ll dump somewhere in the middle of the ocean—

  But no. He just waits until I quit squirming, then reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He presses a single digit, and murmurs into it: “Time to pull the canary out of the mineshaft.”

  I jerk my head straight up.

  He groans when my skull hits his nose. “Damn it, Donna!” He smacks the back of my head with the cell phone, then places it beside my ear.

  “Donna,” says Ryan in his always calm, mannered way, “You have to believe me when I tell you that Jack is not your enemy.” He hesitates before adding: “It’s Carl you have to worry about.”

  “Carl? . . . then . . . you know about Carl?”

  “Yes, we’ve known for quite some time that he’s alive, and that he’s finally contacted you.”

  It’s a trap. It’s got to be . . .

  As if reading my mind, Jack says, “I know you want to believe it was me who killed Nola, but don’t you think Rin Tin Tin would have mauled me by now, had I attacked her?”

  He’s right, of course.

  “Look, I know that Carl told you that I’m head of the Quorum. But the truth is that he’s the bad guy, not me. He faked his own death. We figured it out about three years ago—”

  “You’re lying! He’s been chasing down the Quorum—”

  “Donna, for your sake, I wish that were true.” He shakes his head, as if to shake out the pain I’m causing him. “Do you remember when Nola moved into the neighborhood? Wasn’t it about the same time when the man you shot tried to break into the house?”

  I wrack my brain to remember. “Yes . . . okay, so what?”

  “Nola was one of us. She was an Acme operative. She went deep cover, years ago, for this day: when Carl would finally come home to you. To his family.”

  “Nola has been spying on me?”

  “Nola was here for your protection. As back-up.”

  “Oh my God!” Suddenly it hit me: how nosy she’d been about me, even flirting with Jeff in order to ask questions—

  And now she lies at the bottom of her freezer.

  Jack loosens up so that, finally, I can roll out from under him. Oddly he doesn’t fight me. In fact, he proffers me an old stool in which to sit on.

  Or I can just walk out and leave.

  To Carl.

  But I don’t, because deep down in my heart I know Jack is right.

  This is all a bad dream.

  “Carl killed Nola.” I’m not asking Jack, I’m telling him.

  “Yes.” His voice is filled with the same regret I’m feeling.

  But only I know why he did it. “Oh my God, Jack: I’ll always have it on my conscience that I was the one who tipped him off about her! I told him that I thought you were sneaking around with her—”

  “I know, Donna. I heard you.”

  “What do you mean, you heard me?”

  “You’ve been bugged ever since the night of our party, after Carl made contact with you.”

  “A bug? But he made sure to search me whenever I entered! Where, my clothes? My purse?”

  “Um . . . no, not exactly. Your inner thigh, near your—well, your crotch.”

  “How the hell—”

  “A stick-on tattoo. It looks like a small as a birthmark. I put it on you that night, when we made love.”

  “Why, you son of a—”

  “Donna, we were betting that eventually he’d contact you. You were too close for him to resist. And he’d known I had moved in. We needed to hear if he’d tell you anything about his op.”

  “You mean, you were trying to find out if he had flipped me!” I’m so angry that I can’t think straight. “I presume you got your answer while you were eavesdropping.”

  “Yes, we did.” He smiles. “Not that we ever doubted for a minute that you’d do the right thing. But if he’d had any concerns about your love and your belief in him, he might not have been so forthcoming.” His smile fades. “It would have been deadly for you. Nola is proof of that.”

  “Carl has a tell: that little catch in his throat.” A tear rolls down my face. “He lied to me about Nola. I know that they—that she and he . . . ”

  “Don’t blame yourself. Like the rest of us, she knew the risks of the job.” He shakes his head sadly. “We got in touch with her the moment her cover was blown. Sadly, he got here before she could get away.”

  I stare down at Nola. The horror I see in her face turns my blood to ice. My urge to somehow console her is overwhelming. Without thinking, I grasp her clinched hand—

  There is something in her palm.

  As I pry her knuckles open, Jack looks at me as if I’m crazy. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Embedded in her palms is a bronze medallion bearing a likeness of . . .

  Ronald Reagan?

  I glance over at Jack. “What do you think it means?”

  His eyes grow big. “Carl is adamant that you leave town tonight. That means his op goes down sometime tomorrow. Well, guess what? Tomorrow the second Republican Primary debate is being held at the Reagan Library.”

  “That makes sense. He feels it’s the politicians who have the most to gain—and to lose…Oh my God! He has the anti-detonator!”

  Jack shakes his head adamantly. “But I hid it.”

  “Not very well. I found it, and—stupidly, I gave it to him.”

  Which he will use to cause political anarchy—all in the name of a big payoff.

  Other women may be married to flirts or jerks or abusers. I’m married to a monster.

  Chapter 22

  Dirty Laundry

  Laundry detergents that are eco-friendly are not only great for the environment, but for your family, too! The one you choose should be biodegradable, hyper-allergenic, and EPA-recommended, to ensure that it is devoid of phosphates and surfactants.

  A laundry detergent makes a great weapon, too! Just stuff it into the nose and mouth of your victim. It will choke them to death before it poisons them—and the clean-up is easy!

  You wouldn’t know it by looking outside my living room window, but our sleepy little block is a beehive of activity. A van marked “Miracle Carpet Cleaning” is across the street in Nola’s driveway. Its driver and his crew, all Acme operatives, are cleaning up her very untidy murder. Soon they will drive away with her corpse, her frozen tomb, and all her personal belongings.

  I asked Ryan if we can keep Rin Tin Tin.

  Paul Cheever will soon have another four-bedroom, four-and-a-half bath listing that boasts a pool and a tricked-out media room. The tricks Paul will miss the most, however, are the ones Nola turned on him all these years, as she garnered useful gossip on possible Quorum operatives.

  The tow-headed “college students” who traipsed up to “Inga’s” garage apartment an hour ago, Swedish-English dictionaries in hand, are really a crackerjack tech support unit that has been assigned to her by Ryan after a group dye job.

  Even Ryan is here, up in the guest room. Our boss was smuggled into my garage in the large box carried by a couple of jacked UPS guys.

  Considering Ryan’s size, they should both be out tomorrow with a back ache.

  I feel for them. I feel for him, too, but he knows that now that it’s time for him to come clean about Carl when I whisper: “Tell me the truth about my husband.”

  Ryan glances over at Jack, who gives him a nod. Then he takes my hand. “You may want to sit down for this, Donna.”

  Slowly I sink into the chair behind me.

  “We’ve suspected Carl of joining the Quorum sinc
e the day he left you.”

  “Then the attempt on his life was a set-up?”

  Ryan nods.

  “But…but why would he go rogue, let alone join the organization he had sworn to fight?”

  “My guess is that Carl saw the role terrorism now plays in the world,” Jack answers me. “At some point it dawned on him that it was more lucrative to embrace their mission: to create havoc with the world’s nations and conglomerates, then blackmail them. In the so-called war on terrorism, the Quorum is the winning team, and Carl only plays with winners.”

  He’s right there. More than anything in the world, Carl hates to lose.

  But sometimes the right side is not the winning side.

  “How do you know so much about my . . . husband?” For once, that word tastes sour in my mouth.

  “Jack was the first Acme operative to pick up Carl’s trail. He’s been tracking Carl and his cell across the globe,” Ryan explains.

  “The timing was always off for his capture—until now.” Jack’s nod is modest. “For once the timing was in our favor. With the president terming out and the vice president retiring, the next election will be a toss-up. Tomorrow the Quorum will have the perfect opportunity to make waves: the GOP’s primary debate.”

  “That it put Carl in proximity of his family was, I’m sure, a double-edged sword. I presume he appreciated the opportunity to watch you and the kids from afar. But he had to have been concerned about your proximity to Ground Zero.” Jack pauses. “Of course he was going to make contact. He loves you.”

  “You think so? Becoming a terrorist is an odd way of showing it,” I say crisply.“I wonder if it was Carl who tried to take Jeff that day after practice.”

  And to think I almost shot my own husband . . .

  Which begs the question: did Carl send the killers after me while I was in Saks Fifth Avenue?

  My husband played me for a fool. For that matter, so has Acme. “Ryan, if you’ve known all these years, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The obvious reason is that we didn’t know how you’d respond to the news.” Ryan says. “I’m sure it’s pretty hard to hear that your husband is a top assassin in a rogue terrorist organization.”

  If he’s suggesting I have a temper, well yes: if I could, I’d kill Carl—literally and figuratively.

  “I guess my ignorance made me the perfect honeypot for the mission.” I shrug. “Well, one of two, anyway. Poor Nola.”

  She may be dead, but I’m the stupid one. Because of me, Carl has got the anti-detonator. Even if we’re close enough, we won’t be able to stop him. My shame gives me the shivers.

  Ryan pats my hand, but that does little to calm my shaking. “Donna, we took a calculated risk by not telling you. You’re still our one shot at capturing Carl. But your success depends on his believing that you don’t know he flipped sides,” says Ryan.

  “Then I guess I should go over and retrieve the detonator. I can use the excuse that I’m there to pick up his getaway car—”

  Jack frowns at Ryan. “You mean, she’s got to go back over there, to him? Is that necessary?”

  Ryan nods at me. “You’ll need to act as if you’ve bought into his plan, no questions asked. You’ll grab the kids, then drive the car out of Hilldale and up to Pasadena, to your Aunt Phyllis’s house. She can keep the children at her house overnight. I’ll have an operative waiting there who will swap cars with you and drive Carl’s car up to his Mill Valley safe house. That’s just in case he’s tracking your whereabouts somehow.” He forces a smile onto his lips. “Then check into the Anaheim Hilton Suites, under the name ‘Dee Reed.’ It’s only a half-mile from Edison Stadium. Tomorrow morning Phyllis and the kids will pick you up at the hotel in plenty of time for Jeff’s game. Later tonight, Acme’s SWAT team is raiding 415 Locust Street, so this thing may be all over, one way or the other, before the primary debate even begins.”

  One way or another.

  They will shoot to kill. I have to resign myself to that fact.

  “Will you be okay?” Jack’s concern is both appreciated—and annoying.

  “What do you care?”

  I meant for that to be flippant, but he’s not smiling.

  “Because after tomorrow, I want you to be able to get on with the rest of your life.”

  I could love him for that.

  Will he stick around, to find out?

  I guess I’ll know by this time tomorrow.

  The back door to Carl’s house has been left unlocked. I tap gently. I’m standing in full view of the kitchen window. I don’t have a purse, or even pockets on my dress.

  I’m no Trojan horse, from his point of view.

  From mine, I’m just a woman with a shattered heart.

  The door opens into a silent house. I can’t see him, but I know he’s in there.

  I saunter in, like a woman eagerly anticipating the touch of her illicit lover. I can’t let him know how I really feel:

  Like a fool who knows she’s been tossed over for the thrill of the kill—

  And now she’s out for blood.

  I’m halfway into the living room. Quickly I scan it for the detonator, but it’s nowhere in sight.

  Suddenly I feel him, behind me. He touches my shoulder very gently, with something ice cold, and I shiver.

  Is it a gun? A knife?

  Slowly I turn, praying that my trembling lips don’t give me away.

  It’s the car key.

  He tosses it up in the air. I catch it with one hand.

  Bullseye.

  His eyes search mine, as if looking for some telltale emotion. What is it? Fear? Hate? Disgust?

  If he had x-ray vision, he’d certainly find all of that and more: in my heart.

  Instead I steel myself to demonstrate the one true and priceless feeling I’ve lost:

  Trust.

  I do this by taking him in my arms.

  By abandoning myself to his voracious kisses.

  And by sobbing with joy, begging him to take me.

  His face is set with the determination of a man who knows what he wants, and will do whatever he can to get it.

  Right now, right here, he wants me.

  I press up against him so that he makes no mistake: I want him, too.

  I move toward the bedroom, but in one rough motion he jerks me back against him. Any tenderness Carl may have had toward life—toward me—has long disappeared. “Let’s do this here.” It’s not a request. It is a command.

  Aw hell! Why here? I’ve got to find that detonator! “But I—”

  He shuts me up with a kiss that doesn’t seduce but suffocates.

  His hands move from my shoulders to my breasts. His mouth follows. Soon he is on his knees in front of me. As he spreads me with his fingers, as he thrills me with his tongue, I think about all the pain I’ve suffered these past six years;

  Of all the tears I’ve cried while mourning him;

  And of all the happiness that could have been ours, had he never left us.

  My love was never enough for him. I realize that now.

  As I look down at his head, the idea of cracking his skull open with a hard jab of my elbow is suddenly very appealing.

  Or perhaps I could crush his larynx. All it would take is a quick punch with my fist.

  My God, how easy it would be to stab him in the jugular with the car key. Then this nightmare will finally be ove . . .

  The thought of this makes me orgasm.

  So much for foreplay.

  Chapter 23

  Well-Balanced Meals

  A well-balanced meal consists of high fiber, as well as nutrient- and mineral-rich fruits and vegetables. Protein is also important, but in reality animal proteins are not as healthy for us as what we can get from dark green vegetables.

  Just thin
k what a world this would be if animals didn’t have to worry about being killed for food!

  And just think what a world this would be if evildoers didn’t have to die for their cruelty!

  “Darn it, Mom, I don’t care if there is some kind of flu virus going around! I’m not spending the night at Aunt Phyllis’s! Tonight everyone is going to be the pep rally for Jeff’s game!” Mary slams the back of my car seat with her foot, as if she’s a child.

  Trisha copies her, just to see how it feels.

  Through the rearview mirror, I raise a brow at Mary: my signal that it is not up for debate. She turns her head so that I can’t see the tears falling off her cheeks.

  It’s been like this for the full hour it’s taken us to get to Pasadena. Frankly, I couldn’t get away soon enough. Right about now, while I keep up the pretense of trusting Carl, the Acme SWAT team is storming his house.

  It beats watching his perp walk to a security van, in view of all our neighbors and the children’s friends.

  Or worse yet, seeing him pulled out in a body bag.

  Mary is not the only one who’s upset over the family’s change in plans. Jeff’s constant outbursts are driving me crazy. “The hell I’m missing my own pep rally—just because I might catch a cold or something! I’m the star pitcher! You’re—the meanest mom in the whole world!”

  All I am trying to do is save his life. Go figure.

  Oh yeah, and stop the annihilation of sixteen hundred innocent people, including the four Republican presidential primary frontrunners.

  We reach Aunt Phyllis’s house just in time. She comes out to greet us as she sees us pulling into the driveway.

  “All of you get out of the car—NOW,” I holler.

  Jeff and Mary jump out in record time, stomping past Phyllis and into the house. I guess I won’t get a kiss good-bye.

  I can’t say that I blame them. I am a very, very bad mommy.