The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (3 page)

I’m examining another photo in the dossier: that of Breck and his wife. He’s square-jawed, just gray enough at the temples, and his mouth is set in a knowing smirk. Jolly indeed. Babette is a comely blonde in Carolina Herrera. Their daughter, Janie, is a miniature version of her, pearls and all. Babette is his third wife. From the sad look in her eyes, she may not be the last. 

Ryan tosses Jack an official-looking badge. “Several financial and media bigwigs have also been invited. Peace isn’t a cheap endeavor. Someone has to invest in it, and to get the rest of us to believe they mean it. Acme recently arranged for you—that is, ‘Carl’—to accept a partnership in one of the Swiss investment firms invited to this powwow. In the past, the bank has made very substantial investments in Breck Global Industries. As the bank’s sole stateside officer, ‘Carl’ has a ticket to this shindig.” 

“What’s my cover?” I ask.

“You’re to become Babette’s closest friend in the neighborhood. Your daughters are the same age. Start by setting up a playdate. While this cover won’t exactly give you day-to-day access to Lion’s Lair, you’ll be Jack’s plus-one to the reception welcoming Asimov. That would be the prime time for a hit. And if you snuggle up to Babette right, you may have other opportunities to cover Jack, should the need come up.”

I can’t believe my ears. “What makes you think she wants a new BFF?”

“She’s lonely. Breck keeps her on a very short leash.”

Jack smiles. “I can see why.”

Ryan’s slight grin tells me he does, too. “And besides, with the boatload of political dignitaries in town, Breck will be too busy to pay a lot of attention to her.”

“Won’t the other guests be bringing their wives along for this junket?” I ask.

Ryan shakes his head. “I doubt it. If anything, they’ll be relying on Breck to provide any ‘diversions’ needed. He’s a notorious womanizer.” 

I glance down at the photo of Babette. No wonder she looks so sad.

He points to the pit of humanity beyond his office’s glass wall. Case officers are babbling into headsets to deep-cover assets. The eyes on the surveillance operatives dart from webcam to webcam, following targets and warning field agents of any imminent danger. 

“Acme already has your team in play,” Ryan continues. “Your ComInt will be handled by Emma Honeycutt. If it’s okay with you, Donna, we’ll have her work out that bonus room you have over that garage.” 

Jack smiles. “Ah, perfect! The return of the Swedish exchange student, ‘Inga Larsson.’ I guess Emma’s not too happy about going blond one more time, and she fakes a lousy Swedish accent. Ryan, can you ask her to work on that?”

Ryan shakes his head. “Ha! Not on your life. But be my guest.”

Just beyond Ryan’s glass wall, Emma sits at her desk. She’s trying on a long, ash-blond wig over her jet-black punk cut. Jack gives Emma a thumbs-up. She returns his greeting with a middle-finger salute. 

Some things never change.

“Because of the tight security mandated by the participating heads of state, everyone attending will be in lock-down mode inside Lion’s Lair,” Ryan explains. “We’ve got Arnie Locklear, in tech ops, placed with the florist who will be providing the bouquets in all rooms throughout the estate. That way Arnie can plant bugs where we need them, and monitor them as well. We’ll also tap into Breck’s security feed, in case we need to divert the guards from seeing you at work. Arnie is working on cracking it now, but the feed is buried pretty deep. In fact, we’ve yet to learn who is managing security for the event.”

Jack nods. “How will we handle any necessary drops?”

“Abu Nagashahi will still be your cutout. He’s putting the ice cream truck on hiatus during the summit, so that he can moonlight as the Breck’s dog whisperer. That puts him inside the estate, pretty much whenever we need him there. Janie has a Jack Russell that goes by the name of Eddie. Unfortunately, Eddie pees all over the place. If this habit can’t be broken during the summit, Breck is threatening to give the dog away.” 

Well, that certainly has my attention, and not just because I know every kid in Hilldale—including my own—relies on Abu for their mid-afternoon sugar fix. “But Abu hates dogs!”

“For this mission, he’s getting over his aversion. We’ve made sure he came highly recommended from the Brecks’ dog trainer.”

Jack laughed. “Between handling us and saving Eddie, Abu will have his hands full.”

“He’ll have some help from Arnie. He’s got a few new toys up his sleeve for both of you. He’ll debrief you on them tomorrow. ”

Through Ryan’s glass wall, I spot Arnie at his desk, fiddling with a dog collar. Just then, Emma walks by. Arnie can’t help but stop and admire the view. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice that the collar is smoking until it burns his hand, at which point he mouths Damn! Damn! as he drops it to the floor and stomps out the flames. There is no hope this particular gadget is being prepped in time for Abu. In the meantime, I wonder if Emma will ever catch onto the fact he’s got a crush on her.

“Jack, now that you have a place at the table, try not to break anything while you’re there.” He’s speaking to both of us, really.

I smile innocently. “If Breck doesn’t own a helicopter, I’d say it’s doable.” 

“Are you kidding?” Ryan raises a brow. “He owns a fleet of them. He builds them, remember?”

“Oops! My bad.”

“I’m not kidding, Donna. No one but us knows how close the prince came to being the cause of a retaliatory action. If the Ukrainians or Chechens have their way, President Asimov may not be so lucky. Just make sure World War III doesn’t happen on your watch.”

To prove I’m duly chastised, I nod and keep my mouth shut. Ryan is in no mood for backtalk. 

I have kids. I get tired of it, too.

As we turn to leave, I reach for the plate of cupcakes, but Ryan slides it just out of reach.

“Take the dossier. Leave the cupcakes.”

It’s nice to know I’ve been forgiven.

My mother was right. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

As Jack and I walk toward the car, I toss him the keys to the SUV. “You don’t mind picking up the kids, do you? If I’m going to play bestie to a fashionista, I need to do a little shopping.” 

“Can’t it wait? We’ve got an hour before school lets out. Seeing Harry with his hot tub harem made me realize we rarely take advantage of our own double Jacuzzi tub. What’s the use of owning one if we never use it together? You know there’s nothing I’d love more than a little afternoon delight. But duty before pleasure. Story of our life, right?”

 “Do you mind picking up Trisha from her ballet class? And on the way there, can you drop Mary at her piano teacher’s house? Jeff has my permission to hang with Cheever Bing until dinner time.”

“I’m getting used to this new Wednesday drill.” The tone of Jack’s voice is nonchalant, but his smile has faded. His eyes, usually the hue of fresh evergreen, have deepened, too. “I’ve done it, what, every week this month, am I right?”

“Oh, have you? I hadn’t realized.” I feel my cheeks flush with guilt.

He shrugs. “No hassle. I love hanging with the kids. You know that.”

They love him, too. He is the only father they know. To them—and to the rest of the world, he has lived up to his alias, ‘Carl Stone.’ The real Carl—the one I loved, lost, avenged heartily, then discovered how he deceived me heartlessly and cruelly—is long gone.

It’s finally time to bury him.

“Sure, whatever. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me, somehow.” He puts his arms around my waist and draws me close to him. His kiss is firm and filled with longing.

I can’t help but melt into it. But his loving gaze breaks my heart.

He is an infinite quantum of solace to a woman whose life is pitted with deceit, death and revenge. I guess that’s why he doesn’t ask what I’ve been doing on Wednesday afternoons.

Trust me I want to tell him…

But I can’t. Instead, I touch his cheek gently with the back of my hand. “Ha! The other moms will be thrilled to have you there. The ballet master, Dimitri Yerkov, is more Nureyev than Baryshnikov. They’ll appreciate your male energy.”

And let’s face it. Jack Craig is primo beefcake.

Best yet, he’s all mine.

My kiss good-bye—long, deep, and filled with desire—seals my vows: to him, and to myself.

As soon as I break the vow I made to Carl.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

I gasp as I turn to face the man who probes me so deeply. His words cut me deeper than any knife. 

My God, I’m in such pain! Does he see it? Why doesn’t he care?

But he does. I know this. 

Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, like this, together again.

No one knows where I am. The thought of this frees me to be myself in this small, dark room. For the past six Wednesdays, it has been my sanctuary, and he has been my release. 

So, why does he want to hurt me now?

To prove the shackles that have bound me for too long can no longer keep me down, I spit out the declaration he has been waiting so patiently to hear these past few weeks:

 “No! I don’t love him. I can’t! Not after what he’s done to me.”

 “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

I wince at the question. It smarts worse than any whip, but I’m not defeated. I’m not broken. I’m no longer submissive to my greatest fear:

That, once again, the real Carl Stone will ruin my life.

 “Yes, I know what I must do.” I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds.

My inquisitor’s lips rise in the slightest of smiles. “Excellent, Donna. And when will you do it?”

During our other covert sessions, whenever I’ve risen from his black leather chaise, I’ve ached from the beating I’ve taken. The memories we fear most do us the most harm. They smack, pummel, and flog us for life. 

Today, though, I feel no pain. Instead, I’m as light as a cloud. 

“Tomorrow,” I answer him. “Tomorrow, I file for divorce from Carl.”

My psychiatrist, Dr. Hartley, rises to shake my hand. “You’ve made excellent progress, Donna—and in such a short amount of time! Some women are unwilling to recognize a husband’s desertion as an opportunity to put their lives on a new, better path. They cling to the thought he’ll return to them, and that life will go on the way it had before he left. Or they take the blame and punish themselves by staying in an emotional abyss from which they never move on. But not you. With your children, a thriving career and your new relationship, you realize you’ve got all the ammo you need to annihilate the emotional pull Carl still holds over you.”

Ammo. Yep, I’ve got plenty of that.

But so does Carl. 

I have the bullet scar to prove it.

It should be interesting to see how Carl responds to being served divorce papers.

“Donna, in your mind, he’s already dead. This is the way it has to be.”

“He was dead, Doc. If only he’d stayed that way.”

“No, no, no! Repeat after me. ‘My ex is dead.’”

I do, three times. If only saying so made it come to pass. 

Hearing me say it out loud puts smile on his lips, if not mine. That’s okay. My job has taught me how to fake it. “Great session, Doctor Bob! I can tell it was as good for you as it was for me.” 

My impulsive hug leaves him blushing. Gee, I guess it really was.

Chapter 3

Welcoming New Neighbors

Welcoming a new couple into the neighborhood is a wonderful thing to do! A great leave-behind: personalized gifts, in a beautiful keepsake basket you’ve woven yourself. Consider filling it with fresh flowers and herbs from your garden, a jar of homemade preserves, and perhaps a cake or pie. 

Alas, should these newcomers wear out their welcome sooner than you’d hoped, the improvised explosive device you woven into the base of the basket will make the right impression: say, a gigantic hole in the middle of their lot, where their house once stood.