The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide (16 page)

So, Jack begged her to come back. Why am I not surprised? 

“If she’s so afraid of him, don’t you even wonder how she got back into his good graces? She had to promise him something important.” I’m baiting him to see if she told Jack that she’s pregnant with Carl’s child.

 “I never question her methods. Just like I never question yours.” Jack drops his head with a sigh. “But she delivered the goods. Besides the splitter feed, she gave us the name of his helicopter pilot. Reynolds already has him in custody. The intel the pilot gave us has put us back on Carl’s trail.” He frowns. “Don’t worry, Valentina is back in hiding. She knows he’s figured out she leaked something to us. I rue the day I introduced them. ”

He still has feelings for her.

I should have realized Valentina will always be part of Jack’s life, which means she is also a part of mine.

And since she’s always playing both ends against the middle, Carl will be too.

Well, I’m going to nip that in the bud, once and for all.

Another woman might go into denial, pretend he’s being honest when he tells her she shouldn’t be threatened. Or she’d turn up the heat of passion so that he’d forget his old flame.

Not me. Instead, I tell him, “Sleep in the guest room tonight.”

The sadness in his eyes makes me flinch, but I’m standing my ground. For now, its better this way.

If I’m sleeping in Jack’s arms, I can’t slip out and find Valentina.

When I find her, I’ll find Carl.

There’s a new canary in the mineshaft.

Chapter 13

Learning His Lingo

They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus, which is why we don’t understand each other.

Pshaw! The key to unlocking his heart is learning to communicate with him. That said, learn these few key phrases of ManSpeak to prove you understand him completely:

Key Phrase #1: “Let’s fuck.” It’s probably the most important phrase to know. Forget “Please,” and even “Pretty please.” He’ll do anything you want and give you anything you want, if you say this to him instead. 

Just make sure he gives you what you want before you go to bed.

Key Phrase #2: “Drop it, or you’re a dead man.” Whereas he responds to direct commands (such as “Drop it”), the operative word here is “dead.” Feel free to use a visual, too. For example, a gun, cocked and aimed at his privates.

Key Phrase #3: “Money talks, or girlfriend walks.” A man loves a woman who knows the value of a hard-earned dollar. So yeah, don’t be afraid to limit your time, or to tie it to some specific monetary value. Say, a hundred an hour, cash on the nightstand.

Key Phrase #4: “Don’t do that, or I swear, I’ll bash in your head.” Again, a direct command (“Don’t do that”) is preferable to something wishy-washy (“Um…no?” or “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you”). Also, a threat works wonders, especially when accompanied by something that brings home the message. Like a bat aimed at his noggin.

When it comes to his spycraft, Arnie’s lips are as tight as a gnat’s ass. But they loosen up a bit when he’s shoveling in a helping or two of my very berry pie.  

It helps that the pie is laced with SP-117. 

To make sure he’d be the pie’s only victim, I left it out on the kitchen counter only a half-hour before his usual midnight chowboy run on my fridge. By the time he notices that I’m standing behind him, the pie has already lulled him into clueless affability. 

“Oh, hi, Donna!” He spews fruit juice and golden brown crust as he giggles my name.

“Shhhh, Arnie. Let’s not wake everyone in the house.” I put a finger over my lips, then pour him some milk. Can’t have him choking, now can we? At least, not until he gives me what I’m looking for. “Hey, I was wondering, where is Jack keeping Valentina?”

“Um….well, ya know, there are some things even Jack keeps from me. Unfortunately, that’s one of them.” He guzzles the milk, then gives a satisfying burp.

Lovely. 

Manners aside, I force a smile onto my lips. But to make my point, I whisk away the pie tin out of reach. “So, you’re telling me you have no idea where she is?”

Terror rises in his eyes. “I don’t! I swear!” In desperation, he adds, “Hey, here’s an idea: why not track Jack from the GPS coordinates coming from his cell phone?”

“You’re brilliant, Arnie!” I grab Jack’s phone from his coat and toss it at Arnie, along with my iPad. “Now, pull up his location from yesterday, say, around noon.”

Any wariness he has in hacking Jack’s cell dissipates in the heady aroma coming from the fresh baked cinnamon coffeecake I’ve pulled out of the oven. Arnie lunges at it, but I scoop it out of the way, just in time. “Bad boy! First things first.”

Arnie gives a deep sigh and goes to work.

 A few swipes later, I have what I need: an address in Manhattan Beach. I zoom in on a live webcam shot. It’s a nice little cottage, on a quiet little street.

A part of me wants to play it straight; to just waltz up to the front door and ring the doorbell, but I know she’s got a security camera trained to the front gate. If she sees me, she may panic and call Jack.

That’s the last thing I’d want.

It’s time she and I talked, just the two of us.

“Now, hack into the security system and read me the alarm code. While you're at it, put any webcam feeds on a loop.”

Arnie nods. Every now and then his eyes shift longingly to the coffeecake, but he stays on task until he gives me what I want.

“Done,” he declares.

“Good boy,” I shove the cake his way.

The way he attacks it, you’d think this was his last meal on the way to the electric chair. While he eats, I murmur, “You won’t remember we had this conversation, will you, Arnie?”

He shakes his head. I can barely make out what he’s saying through lips laced in sugar and cinnamon, but it sounds like “Best. Babka. Ever.” 

The town of Manhattan Beach lies on a hill that slopes gently toward the ocean. Streets run parallel to the water, affording the majority of the homes on both sides of the road views to die for.

The cottage Valentina now calls home is about two blocks from the beach and about six blocks north of the town’s main boulevard. It is surrounded by high walls on all sides, and has a garage that opens onto an alley. 

I catch my first glimpse of her when she goes out on the deck to watch a sherbet sun dissolve into the whipped cream haze that tops a dark water horizon. She doesn’t betray her pregnancy by stroking her belly. It’s only been a couple of weeks since I last saw her, and she’s still as slim as ever.

Make that drawn and tired.

In the best of health, hiding from Carl is a draining experience.

Disarming the alarm takes a second. I’m in the house in no time flat. She is in the living room when I enter the kitchen from the garage. She’s holding up something she’s just taken out of a shopping bag from a baby boutique: Wonderland, in Los Angeles. It’s an adorable little onesie, blue and white stripes.

She’s hoping for a boy.

But of course. That would keep Carl on her good side.

“How did he take the news?” I ask.

She freezes then releases a bored sigh as she turns to face me. “For now, it’s still our little secret, yours and mine.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Give me a break! After your testimony, carrying his child is the only thing standing between you and a bullet. We both know that.”

She laughs, as if I’ve just told her the most delightful secret. “I have other powers of persuasion.”

“What you really mean is that you sold out Acme, and will continue to do so, until Jack gets wise to you.”

She shrugs. “You’re stating a supposition. Give me the facts.”

“Fact one: Acme plans a sting to round up the Quorum’s hierarchy. Fact two: Carl kills one of the members, and shows up in his place. Fact three: the only way Carl would have known about the sting was if you relayed the message to him.”

 “Perhaps.”

“But you had to do it in a way that didn’t raise Jack’s suspicions.”

A smile creeps onto her lips.  “You’re getting warmer.”

“In some manner, you made him an accomplice without his knowledge.”

She laughs as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Ah, you see? You’re better at this than you think! But I don’t hear a question in all that blather.”

“You planted a tracker on him when he wasn’t looking, didn’t you? That way, all Carl had to do was follow him.” 

Her eyes flutter, just for a moment. 

The one valuable lesson I learned from my alcoholic father is that everyone has a tell. I’ve just found Valentina’s. I brace myself for her lie.

“You know Jack better than that,” she declares. “He’s too smart for something that simple.”

Yes, I know Jack. He wouldn’t take something from a compromised asset—unless he trusted her completely.

He trusts Valentina.

But Valentina sold him out. She got him to divulge the when and where and how of the Quorum-palooza.

And now she’ll walk away, leaving others to clean up the blood-soaked mess. 

If Jack knew this, would he forgive her? 

No, of course not. She is his weakness. Carl knows it, and like he said, he exploits it every chance he gets.

I should kill her right now.

But I can’t. 

All I can do is pray that Jack believes me when I relay her confession. Even then, I’ll have to find the tracker she somehow planted on him. That way, he’ll have to face the truth that, once again, his Valentina sold him out.

But by then, Valentina will be long gone.

 “I don’t think there is anything we have left to say to each other. I did what I had to do, to survive. If and when Jack discovers the truth, he will accept it, even if you don’t.”  She beckons me to the front door. “You’re right about one thing. When I am far enough along, Carl, too, will have to accept my child, and me with it. Just as he accepts you.” She smiles. “We both know it’s the only reason he still hasn’t killed you. Goodbye, Donna. Take good care of Jack.” 

Victory is hers, but it is as hollow as her future with Carl. She knows firsthand how hard it is to love a man who is beguiled by another woman.

I’m about to start for the door when we hear the faint buzz of a doorbell.

 “UPS. Anyone home? We need a signature.”

I’m just a few feet behind her when she opens it. 

Her smile fades. Fear clouds her eyes.

Or is it resignation?

The bullet rips through her chest.

She stumbles backward then falls, face up.

The UPS man drops to the floor beside her, feeling for a pulse. When he looks up, he sees me staring at him. 

I should have the advantage. I saw her assassin—Carl—before he saw me. 

But I didn’t move. I can’t move.

Realizing that I’m still in shock, he smiles, stands up, and readies the gun again, this time for me.

“Sorry Donna, you know how it is: collateral damage. But don’t worry, sweet pea! I’ll make it look like one hell of a cat fight.”

He expects me to tear up. Or to run for it. Or to stand my ground and reach for something, anything, that I can use as a weapon.

What he doesn’t expect is the pity in my eyes. “Carl, you pathetic bastard! Valentina is carrying your baby.”

I could not have hurt him any more than if I’d shot him through the heart. 

His smirk fades even as his eyes grow wide. He falls to his knees. 

Valentina’s eyes, open and glassy, stare out at me over his bowed head. Her lips are moving, but her words are lost in the roar of his grief. As he curses and begs her to hang on, one of his hand cups her belly while the other tries to staunch the river of blood flowing out of her chest.

But it is too late. She is gone.

He staggers to his feet and looks around, taking in his surroundings for the very first time. Even in a safe house, the best spies know not to leave a trace of themselves. Valentina did an excellent job of adhering to this spycraft axiom, except for one thing: the shopping bag from the baby boutique.

 Slowly, Carl picks it up. It takes a full minute before he can force himself to look inside. What he sees there causes him to breathe so heavily that I’m afraid he’s having a heart attack.