The Housewife Assassin's Deadly Dossier (2 page)

As always, Carl’s wife, Donna, was waiting curbside at LAX’s passenger arrival door. His children, Mary and Jeff, ran up to their father. As they smothered him with kisses, he lifted one child in each arm and hugged them to his chest.

When they finally let him go, he reached down into his valise and pulled out the Wolverine doll. “A birthday present,” he said, as he handed it to Jeff.
 

The little boy held it up, then ran with it back to the car, where his mother was waiting.

“What did you get me?” Mary asked her father as she curled her hand in his.

He held up her hand and kissed it. “I came home, safe and sound.”

“But you always do that, Daddy,” she said with a pout.

“And I always will,” he promised.

It never once bothered Carl Stone that he led a double life. In fact, he took pride in the ease in which he brushed off the cold emotionless demeanor that came with his job as a paid killer.
 

The same meticulous planning that went into his kills had been used in wooing his wife, Donna, whom he loved unconditionally. She was the rock on which his ideals were based. She was the beacon of light that guided him through the dark and treacherous undercurrents of his chosen profession, where money talked and power ruled supreme. Despite having neither, Carl vowed to, one day, reign supreme. His plotting and scheming skills would assure this, too.

The warm, welcoming smile that had Mary and Jeff leaping into his arms also lured his targets closer to him without ever realizing their lives were in danger.
 

And the index finger that slowly but firmly pulled the trigger on his M40 was the same one he used to bring his wife to ecstatic climax during foreplay—although arguably at a more frenetic and sustained pace all the way through the lovemaking that followed.

The kids had fallen asleep on the trip back from the airport. He’d picked up Mary, who was the heavier of the two, while Donna draped Jeff over her chest and followed him into the house.

It took Donna and Carl just a few minutes to tuck the children into their tiny bunk beds.

It took a few seconds for them to strip out of their clothes and fall into the king-sized bed they shared.
 

He took her in his arms as if he’d never let her go. Eventually, his hands would roam over her body, his fingertips lightly skimming every curve—her plump breasts, her rounded hips, then onto the soft valley of her belly—before gently probing the sweet spot between her thighs.
 

In turn, her kisses revived him.

He never failed to feel a charge of anticipation when her lips roamed down onto his chest, or when her tongue circled his nipples, before moving down the taut ribbed plane of his abdomen.

Her touch never failed to harden him.
 

When finally he was inside of her—when he could feel her heart pounding practically in his chest, when he felt her hot breath rise in his nostrils—he felt they were one body.

As was always the case, it was after making love to Donna that he felt closest to her. During this precious moment between them, he wondered if she could read his thoughts, too. Why else would she give that deep, shy laugh that always made his heart skip a beat, and whisper into his hear in a singsong sort of way, “I know what you’re thinking…”

No, you don’t
, he was tempted to say.
But boy, wouldn’t it be interesting if you did?

He wondered how she’d react to the news that he’d murdered Fat Ass just a few hours ago. Or that just last week, when he was supposed to be in Chicago, he stalked a woman through the Bolivian jungle, taking her down with an eight-hundred-foot shot to the back of her head.
 

Would Donna be shocked or repulsed—or worse yet, scared of him?
 

Would she see him as a monster?

Maybe it would turn her on.

Just the thought made him hard again.

As if reading his mind, Donna whispered, “I have a confession to make."

Maybe the timing was right after all.
 

To face her, he raised up on an elbow. “So do I.”
 

“Trust me on this, I should go first.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Carl, I’m…we’re pregnant. The doctor confirmed it yesterday, but I wanted to wait until you got home, so that I could tell you in person. I’m seven weeks along—”

He couldn’t remember what she said after that. Her words were drowned out by the wave of joy washing over him. When it subsided, he realized he was stranded on the barren reality of his dual existence.

“Honey, are you alright?” She took his hand in hers. “I know this pregnancy wasn’t planned, but we’d always talked of having three children—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

Then with another.

Soon she was crying and laughing at the same time.
 

She led him back inside her. This time, there was an urgency–no, more like a savagery to their lovemaking.

As they climaxed in each other’s arms, it dawned on him that she could never know the truth. Even if he tried to level with her, she wouldn’t believe him.
 

And deep down in his heart, he knew if she did believe him, she could never love him. How could she love a killer?
 

She couldn’t. Case closed.
 

Maybe it was for the best. If being in his line of work had taught him anything, it was that life was fleeting, so live it well, and hold onto what you have with both fists.

A hard man, in particular, always had a target on his back. During a hit, anything could go wrong, and usually something did. This last trip was a perfect example.

Granted, when it came to covering his tracks, Carl was second to none. He had to be. Otherwise, he’d have to kiss the best part of his two worlds goodbye—the universe filled with the love of Donna, Mary, and Jeff.
 

But now Donna had given him yet one more reason to stay alive at all costs.

The thought of losing the world they’d built together was all the incentive he needed to keep his mouth shut, and to busy himself with the next best thing: enjoying the precious time they shared.
 

Donna was surprised when his trigger finger found her, once again.

When she came, she gave that gasp that reminded him of the sound his targets made as they died.

Not that he could ever tell her that.
 

There are just some things you have to keep to yourself.

Carl’s phone was buzzing.

It was a stupid move on his part—leaving it on his bureau, and still turned on, no less. Until now, he’d never forgotten to turn it off the minute he came home.
 

At first, he didn’t hear it. He’d just gotten out of a hot steamy shower and was scrutinizing the bruises he’d earned while raising Fat Ass onto the toilet. By the time he opened the bathroom door, it was too late. Donna, who had been brushing her hair in front of the bedroom mirror, instinctively reached over and picked up his cell.

A second later, Carl was at her side—close enough to hear the man on the other end of the line chattering away in German.
 

Donna was so amazed that she was at a loss for words. The man at the other end of the line must have realized this because he paused, then uttered in perfect English, “Peter? Are you there, Peter?”

“No, there is no Peter here,” Donna said firmly. “You have the wrong number.”

The deathly silence between them was finally broken when, in perfect English, the man asked ever so politely, “Tell me, who owns this phone?”

Before Donna could answer him, Carl plucked the cell out of her hand and disconnected the call.
 

She teared up, but didn’t say anything.
 

He felt her eyes follow him back to the bathroom, where he closed the door behind him. He knew his actions seemed cruel to her. He knew he should put on his game face and say something, but he was too shocked to think through a plausible lie as to why some German person was calling his cell and asking for him as “Peter,” let alone why it should have rattled him in the first place.

Peter was the alias he’d used in his dealings with the Quorum.

He had recognized the voice on the other end of the phone as that of his Quorum handler, Eric Weber.

He’d never given Eric his cell number.
 

Something was terribly wrong.
 

He had every right to be scared.
 

At that moment, he knew exactly what he had to do:
play for time.

He waited a half hour. When he opened the door, the lights were off.
 

Donna was sound asleep.

He took the cell phone with him. After slipping downstairs and out the front door, he jogged down the block to an overlook perched above the traffic flowing up and down the Pacific Coast Highway. When he was sure he was alone, he dialed his client’s number.
 

Eric must have recognized his cell because he didn’t bother with the formalities in greeting the man he knew as Peter by name. “I’m surprised you called back,” he said in English.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Carl replied in perfect German. “I took care of the Canadian problem.”

“You were sloppy.” Eric’s tone sent a chill down Carl’s spine. “You can imagine our surprise when our contact in the Canadian Security Intelligence Service informed us of your affiliation with Acme Industries.”

With that statement, there went the hope Carl may have had that he hadn’t blown his cover.

“We presumed you were following our orders. But I see now how it might work in Acme’s favor as well. One of their clients is your neighbor to the north,
ja
? You’ve now rid it of a traitor. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.” Eric’s chuckled. “For a family man to take on such an assignment—to go under deep cover with a group such as the Quorum—you’re either very brave, or very stupid. Which is it, Mr. Stone? No need to answer. We both know the question has no merit to your future—or that of your family’s.”

“You’re writing me off too soon, Eric,” Carl muttered.

“You’ll have to convince me otherwise.” The response was glib, yet Carl knew Eric too well. He was dead serious. “And at this stage, Mr. Stone, our trust comes at a very steep price. You’ve got less than twenty-four hours to make us an offer that proves your loyalty, once and for all.”

The line went dead.

Carl walked back into the house, but he couldn’t go to bed.

He stayed up all night, until the plan came to him—how he would buy himself time with the Quorum.
 

How he could escape, when the time came.

What he would give up, so that he could protect his family.

When Donna rose at sunrise, she found him staring out the window.
 

He walked over to her. His kiss said it all:
Forgive me, please.

He knew she had when she brought his palm to her cheek. “Always and forever,” she whispered.

Always and forever, he vowed.

What Carl dangled in front of the Quorum was indeed something they couldn’t refuse.