The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (10 page)

Ryan nods. “It’s one of sixteen key metropolitan areas where we know they’ve got active cells. The one correlation between all of them is that they’ve set up in affluent suburban communities. The online chatter tells us that there is a high concentration of Quorum operatives located in the OC. In fact, our intel shows that the Quorum has made Hilldale its satellite headquarters for whatever operation is in play in Los Angeles.” 

That news stuns me into a chair.

“Hilldale? Why my neighborhood, of all places?”

“One thing terrorists have learned well is to hide in plain sight. Doing just that worked for Osama bin Laden for several years, didn’t it?”

I ignore Ryan’s answer. Still, I feel the dread that comes with knowing that the Quorum is so close.

But I also feel exhilaration.

Bring. It. On.

“Donna, you’re an integral part of this mission.” Ryan looks me in the eye. “You know the natives, the terrain, and the scuttlebutt. And of course, your special skills are second to none.” 

I smile appreciatively.

“Well, maybe second to another,” he adds, hesitantly. “As an assassin, Jack is every bit your equal.” He leans forward. “If they fall for the notion that Jack is Carl, we can flush them out. And finally we’ll have them right where we want them. That’s why it’s so important for you two to make this work.”

“Sure okay, I get it. Jack Craig walks on water. But we have one big logistical issue: whereas the kids don’t remember their father, Aunt Phyllis surely does. And she practically lives at our house.”

Ryan’s smile is naughty. “I’ve already taken care of Phyllis. She’s the grand prize winner of a six-week all-expenses paid trip to China from her favorite radio show. You’ll probably get a call from her later this afternoon with the big news.” His smile fades into a grimace. “By then, this mission will be over—one way or another.”

Ryan has all the bases covered. If I want in on this mission, I have to accept it.

I do so, with a shrug. “Well then, I guess I owe him an apology.”

“You can thank me later.” The teasing tone in Jack’s voice, coming from behind me, sends a tingle up my spine. As he slips past me, he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, “Kissing and making up is half the fun.”

Instead of turning around, I glare at Ryan. What else can I do? He knows I’ll do anything to take down the Quorum.

Even if that means putting up with Jack Craig’s shenanigans.

“If you don’t mind, Donna, I’d like you to host another asset, too.” Ryan grabs a file and slides it across the desk to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief and see that the picture inside is that of Emma Honeycutt. “No problem there! Emma’s a wonderful tech. If it weren’t for her ComInt, I wouldn’t have found that Iraqi agent on that Laguna Beach job. She can set up in the bonus room, over the garage.”

Ryan nods. “Well, she’ll have her work cut out for her with this mission, too. As you and Jack eliminate possible suspects, she’ll be your ghost surveillance and electronic intel. Her cover will be that of a foreign exchange student whom you’re hosting.”

“In our neck of the woods, that won’t raise too many eyebrows. In fact, exchange students are coveted—especially if they’ll double as au pairs.”

Ryan laughs. “Considering her aversion to children, I’d hardly expect her to be up for babysitting duties, too.”

“If she wants to nip any offers in the bud, warn her to wear short skirts, and to pretend to speak Swedish. That way the neighborhood MILFs will see her as competition for their husbands’ affections and avoid her like the plague.”

“Will do. And of course Abu will be close by, on foot, acting as your eyes, and conducting passive probes.” He frowned. “Should you need any special toys, Arnie Locklear will drop them, He’ll be finessing a cover, depending on the situation.”

Finally, something that brings a smile to my lips. Arnie’s disguises are legendary. On a job in which I stopped an assassination attempt on the Pope during his recent visit to San Francisco, Arnie was able to slip me through security by posing as a nun. Him, not me.

Ryan glances over at Jack. “Why don’t you bring her up to speed with what we know?”

Jack turns to me. For once, he looks serious. “It’s not much, but we ran across some chatter that they’ll strike sometime within the next four weeks. We also know that they’ve just purchased some yellowcake uranium from a Chinese gangbanger in Monterey Park: one of the Chin Wahs: a kid named Xie Tong.” That lascivious smile of his has crept back onto his lips. “He’s big into titty bars. We’ve already set you up to take the day shift tomorrow, at one of his favorite hangs, the Spearmint Rhino. Find out where he got the stuff.” 

I look at Ryan. “Do we want him eliminated?”

He shrugs. “An ‘accident’ that won’t tip off the Quorum we’re onto them would be preferred. But if you torture, don’t leave marks. Although frankly I think the LAPD Gang Taskforce would hand a medal to anyone who took him out.”

“Consider it done.” I smile innocently. I start for the door, and then turn as I pass Ryan. “I have one last question. Is it true that you came up with the idea of ‘marrying’ me to Jack?”

Ryan blinks twice. It's his poker tell.

That’s what I thought. Jack Craig lied.

I turn to Jack. “So it was 
your
 bright idea. Why am I not surprised?”

He frowns. He's about to say something, but then he thinks better of it and closes his mouth.

I’m trying hard to keep the hatred out of my voice. I turn to face him. “You’ll sleep in the guest room, at the end of the hall. And just so it’s on the record: I won’t put up with any of your silly little games. I’m locking my bedroom door.”

He shrugs. “No need. I already told you: you’re not my type.  Trust me; as soon as we wrap up this mission, I’m out of your picket-fenced suburbia.”

“I guess that’s why you haven’t even bothered to address the most important issue of all: how my family will react when, inevitably, you leave us.” My stare dares him to look away. “Mr. Craig, my children have lived without their father for almost six years now. They have little if any memory of him, and a lot of emotional trauma over their loss. Take this as fair warning: if you hurt them, you’ll find yourself paying a very high price for it.”

I don’t wait for another one of his smart-ass comments. I just walk out the door.

When we get home from Acme, the kids have already set the table. It was not lost on me that they’ve used the good china and silver, that they are bathed and dressed in their Sunday best.

It is a very special evening: Daddy is finally home.

Until bedtime, they watch our every interaction: how we address each other (yes, I’m gritting my teeth every time he calls me “Dear”); and if and when we touch.

Or more accurately, how we make it a point not to do so.

Hell, we’re barely exchanging smiles. Just … small talk.

Granted he’s polite and friendly, but all night long he keeps them at arm’s length: emotionally, anyway. If he talks to them at all, it’s to quiz them about our neighbors and their friends’ parents: how long have they lived in Hilldale? Are they allowed to come over and play in their friends’ houses? Are their parents nice to them?

The way he questions them is subtle, but the bigger issue, at least to the children, was why he’s more interested in everyone else. What they want instead is for him to take an interest in them, to get involved in their lives.

In other words, they want him to act like a father; to return their love.

I know I should be glad that he’s agreed to keep his distance. Like me, he realizes that, in the long run, that’s best all the way around. Still, it hurts to see my children try so hard to win his affections.

For most of the evening, Mary seems wary of him. I presume she was unable to reconcile the man before her with her memories of the real Carl. 

But then, as we clean up after their meal, she murmurs as casually as possible, “Mom, would you mind asking him if he’ll take me to the Father-Daughter dance?”

I freeze with my hands in hot sudsy dishwater. “Well … sure, if you want. But I think it would mean more, coming from you.”

I can’t tell her that he’ll laugh in my face if I ask.

I pray he won’t have the same disdain for her; that at the very least he’ll come up with a good excuse that lets her down easy.

Or that he says “Yes.”

But no, he won’t do that. Because we have a deal.

Even if it means making Mary cry.

She nods slowly, taking in my motherly advice, my false hope. “I guess you’re right. Okay, sure. I’ll do it. This week, in fact.” As she puts down her dishrag, she straightens her shoulders, as if steeling herself for that momentous task.

When he blows her off, she’ll hate him. 

Maybe that would be best. That way, when inevitably the time comes for him to walk out on us, she won’t give a damn.

Eventually she and I will work through it. In therapy. 

Hopefully before I’m old and gray.

If I live that long. As you can imagine, my job is rife with occupational hazards. 

Chapter 5

Divvying Up Household Chores

Granted, your hard-working hubby is doing his fair share just by bringing home the bacon. But by encouraging him to take on a couple of those tasks himself, he’ll soon have more respect for all you do on your family’s behalf.

If his excuse for turning you down is that he’s “too tired” or that “it’s women’s work,” there is a simple way to convince him otherwise: food poisoning.

Afterward he’ll readily insist on cooking all the family meals—or better yet, treating you to dinner out, at a restaurant of your choice. Now, how romantic is that?

Trisha is slapping me awake. “Mommy! MOMMY! Can Daddy take us to school today? Please? Pretty please?”

I groan as I open one eye. It’s still dark outside. The florescent face of my bedside clock shows me that it’s four-thirty.

Before Jack entered our lives, there is only one other man who could get her to rise before the crack of dawn: Santa Claus.

“We’ll see, honey. Maybe if you ask him sweetly.”

The stuffed polar bear that has been her constant companion since birth bumps along the carpet as she makes her way back to the door.

“Trisha, don’t go ask him now! He’s sleeping!”

“No, he’s not. His room is empty. That’s why I thought he was in here, with you.” She turns, with a frown on her face. “Don’t mommies and daddies sleep together?”

“Yes—I mean no, not all the time.” I’m stuttering like an imbecile. I wonder where Jack went. “Listen, little one, go back to your room. Daddy may still be gone when it’s time for school. You know, he’s got to go to work. But tell you what: I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, and then we’ll sing ‘That’s How You Know’ on the way to school. Won’t that be fun?”

Trisha nods listlessly. Her tiny mouth turns down at the sides, and her head hangs low. That wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for.

Even if he comes home in time, he’ll turn her down. Granted I’m sure he’ll come up with a good excuse and say no as kindly as possible, but she’ll feel rejected just the same.

I sigh as I try to fall back asleep, but I can’t. There’s too much on my mind. I go through the day’s agenda: After I drop the kids at school, I have to run over to Monterey Park, to eliminate the Chinese gangbanger. Then there’s the never-ending carpool…

And hopefully by the time I get back, Emma will have moved into the bonus room.

Last on the list, but certainly not least: Jack will break Mary’s heart by refusing to take her to the Father-Daughter dance.

I put the pillow over my head so that no one will hear me cry.