The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (22 page)

We don’t stop until we’ve slammed the front door of our house, double-timed it upstairs, and locked ourselves in my bedroom. He’s laughing so hard that he falls over onto the bed.

It’s contagious. I’m giggling as I land beside him. “What happened?”

“Her mom was giving her a bath. I wasn’t exactly tearing the room apart, but for the life of me, I couldn’t guess where she might have hid it. Then it came to me: ‘think like a little girl.’”

“Oh, now there’s a brain-tickler for you. So where did you find it?”

“Under her pillow. And in the nick of time, too, because then I hear her and her mama traipsing down the hall. I jumped out just before they made it back to the bedroom.” He takes the anti-detonator out of his pocket, stares at it for a moment, and then tosses it my way.

I catch it with one hand. “Thank goodness you weren’t seen! I’m guessing Valerie won’t complain too loudly, since she claimed she never had it in the first place.” Suddenly the realization that I didn’t blow the whole mission after all overwhelms me—

And I’m a sobbing mess. In fact, I’m hiccupping so hard that Jack doesn’t know what to do. He pats me hard on the back, then rubs it gently. When all else fails, he holds me—

And kisses my forehead. Then my cheeks, my lips—

Gee, I guess he knows what he’s doing after all.

The kiss is so deep, and so sweet. When, finally, I have to come up for air, his tongue moves down my neck. I don’t object when he opens my blouse and unclasps my bra, feeding hungrily on my breasts—first one, then the other.

I can feel him: hard and long, through his khaki slacks. He pauses when he feels my hand yanking at his belt—but just for a moment. Then he unzips my skirt, pulling it down off my hips before tossing it beyond the bed.

I love the way he admires what he sees: the red thong.

I laugh. “What were you expecting, granny panties?”

He gives a grudging nod, but I forgive him when his index finger trails down my belly and grasps my thong. Gently he pulls it down off my hips. I gasp in anticipation of what he’ll do next. I can feel my dampness already. He can, too, as his thumb works its way in: gently, then faster … faster—

His middle finger joins it. In no time, he’s got me moaning, writhing—

Wanting him.

If I thought I was prepared for him, I was wrong. Although he eases into me gently, I grasp him tightly when he plunges into me, deeper … deeper…

He, too, is groaning. “You’re … so … tight.” 

I can’t answer him. I am in heaven.

Instead, I claw his back. He takes this as a signal for him to stop, but I whisper “No! Never…” into his ear before I nip at it, gently.

As he drives his cock hard into me, adrenaline rushes through me, overtaking me like a wave. My hips samba to his rhythm, and my legs snake around his long, strong thighs. He seems to grow thicker inside me with every moan he makes—

When we come—together—we are propelled up, before collapsing back down onto the bed, and into each other’s arms.

It takes a full ten minutes for us to catch our breath. Finally when we do, he tilts my head up to him so that he can look at me. I presume that what I see in his eyes must mirror my own: 

Elation.

Fear.

Lust.

When he reaches for me again, I am so ready.

It would be too much to ask for what I had with Carl.

In hindsight, is that really what I want? 

No.

What I need now is this… 

Chapter 14

Hostess with the Mostest

The true test of any housewife is how she treats her guests! From the moment they walk through her front door, they should feel welcomed. They should be wined and dined and feted until they are sated. They should be in awe of the guest list, comfortable in the lush surroundings you’ve created for them, and riveted by your scintillating conversation.

Important Tip: Avoid arsenic in any dishes. Seems that a dead guest has a way of putting a damper on a party. Go figure.

“You two need to get a room,” Emma mutters.

She’s right. Jack and I can’t keep our hands off each other.

I guess we’re embarrassing the children, too. As Jack nuzzles my neck, Mary’s eyes get big, and her face turns red, whereas Trisha giggles and calls us silly.

Jeff just sighs loudly and takes off to another room.

Yes, they know I’m ecstatic, and I know that they are happy for me, even if they don’t dare show it. 

How long will my euphoria last? If we stop the Quorum, then the mission is over, and Jack will be moving on.

If we don’t… Or if one of us gets hurt…

Or killed—

I don’t want to think about it.

I have one goal: eliminate my enemy, so that I can move on with my life.

So that I can live happily ever after—

With Jack.

He walks over to me. In his hand is a cup of my favorite tea. When I reach out for it, our fingers touch, and the connection surges between us. He looks down at me, and almost as if he’s reading my mind, he says, “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m all ears.” If the tremble in my voice makes me sound so desperate, then so be it.

“Tell me: how many gourmet hamburgers will it take to feed all of Hilldale?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We’re throwing a cookout. We’ll use Jeff’s team as the excuse. My God, they’ve made the U.S. regionals. All of Hilldale’s gone crazy over their beloved Wildcats, so why not celebrate?”

“I don’t get it. How will that help us find the Quorum?”

“We’ll invite all the neighbors we haven’t met as of yet. How many are left on the list?”

“We’re down to about eight households. They never seem to be around.”

“The Quorum would love to get up close and personal with the Stones, right? Trust me, all its operatives will come running when the invitation to this little shindig goes out. It wants something it thinks you have, so why don’t we give it a chance to find it?”

I shudder at the thought of the Quorum in my house, rummaging through my things.

Touching Carl’s things.

But of course, that means nothing to Jack.

“While they’re scoping us out, Abu and Arnie can sweep their houses. Emma can divert the neighborhood security cameras beforehand—and put some here, in the house. Ryan can send in a few other agents. Their cover will be the catering crew. Every cup and plate touched by persons of interest will allow us to gather fingerprints that can be matched to Acme’s database.”

He’s right, though. If we take the Quorum down, it will have been worth it.

“But what if they plant bugs here?”

“Don’t worry! Emma will find any, and squash them.”

I sigh. “While I order ground chop from the butcher, you tell the kids that we’re hosting the biggest block party Hilldale has ever seen.”

Our shindig is the event of the season.

Who would have guessed that Jack is such a party animal? The Hawaiian shirt is a bit much. Or maybe it’s his golf cap, which proclaims US Grade-A Beefcake.

The calypso band is a nice touch. The musicians are all Acme agents. Seriously, when do these guys find the time to rehearse?

Best news of all—there was no need for patty duty. Acme agents are manning the gourmet burger truck that has been wheeled into the back yard. Other operatives, dressed as cater-waiters, are wielding trays holding small plates of tasty treats and jugs of Long Island ice teas.

Our neighbors are loose and happy.

One prime suspect is missing: a guy named Mac Archer. Supposedly he’s married. The nail salon gossip is that she’s a road warriorette with a heavy-duty corporate gig. It could be just his cover.

That’s okay. Soon Rave-On will be calling on him. Here’s hoping he’ll think his wife is pretty in pink lipstick.

The rest of the suspects—the Greens, the Blacks, and the Smiths—are here already. I’ve ruled out the Smiths since they are both over seventy, and he’s in a wheelchair. Tim and Betty Green seem too uncomfortable, so their stick-in-the-mud demeanor must be legitimate. (Spies try hard to fit in.) The Blacks are young, hip, and pregnant. But is her baby bump real? I can’t very well follow her into the bathroom, and I certainly can’t punch her in the gut.

Unless she punches me first.

In any event I’ve made sure that all of our new neighbors have a glass in hand, even if it’s just filled with fruit juice. We’ve got to toast our winning team, don’t we?

We’re in the middle of that toast when the one person I least expect walks out of the kitchen toward Trisha and me:

Aunt Phyllis.

So much for Ryan’s contention that a free trip to China would keep her out of our hair during this mission.

“Well, well, well! While the cat’s away, the mice throw quite a par-tay!” She takes a glass of the spiked tea off a tray held by one of the Acme waiters.

I give her a hug and a kiss, then shoo the waiter away to indicate that her prints don’t have to be dusted. “Wow, Phyllis, I thought you’d still be in the Far East—”

She sniffs. “Frankly, I got homesick after two weeks. But I’ve got to admit it: that country has some of the best Chinese food I’ve ever tasted! Almost as good as Jennie Low’s.” She scans the party. “Quite a crowd, isn’t it?”

Trisha hugs her legs as if she’s never letting go. “Aunt Phyllis, I’ve missed you so, so much! This much!... Oh, and guess what? Daddy’s home!”

“Poor sweetie, I wish that were true.” She pats Trisha on the head.

“But it is, Aunt Phyllis, he is! Tell her, Mommy!”

Phyllis stares down at her then shifts her gaze to me. What the heck am I going to say?

Before I can open my mouth, Trisha points back toward the kitchen door. “Look, what did I tell you? There he is.”

Aunt Phyllis turns around just as Jack walks into the kitchen. I breathe a sigh of relief that he has disappeared just in time, then bend down to whisper in Trisha’s ear, “Honey, why don’t we let Daddy be a surprise, for after the party? In fact, why don’t you take Aunt Phyllis to get a hamburger—”

Oh. My. God.

Trisha is right.

Not that she knows it. 

Carl is standing there, not twenty feet away from me.

It can’t be. It must be a ghost—

No, it is really him. Except he’s blond now. His hair no longer close-cropped, but longish, and he has a mustache.

His eyes sweep the yard but pause when they see me—

They are filled with longing.

Mine must be, too.

That is all he needs to see. Slowly he nods, and puts a finger to his lips…

Then, very casually he walks out through the back yard gate, toward the driveway.

Trisha and Aunt Phyllis are already halfway to the burger trailer as I wend my way through neighbors who greet me with compliments for my hostessing skills, and good wishes for my family.

If only they knew.

The next thing I know, Jack is wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling my neck. Despite the crestfallen look on Carl’s face, I resist the urge to shrug him off too soon, in order to follow Carl. If I do, I’ll give my husband away—

Something I refuse to do. 

I can’t lose him a second time.

Instead, I’ll lose Jack.

Poor Jack.

Poor me. 

Chapter 15

Establishing a Good Neighbor Policy

A “good neighbor policy” is integral to winning new friends and influencing frenemies!

Welcoming new families with a pie is always a good start. And feel free to warn them of some of the no-nos that will have them ostracized by others. For example, using the pets of others as rifle practice is frowned upon, as is sleeping with other women’s husbands—albeit their husbands may argue that it moves you to the top of their list for favored neighbor status.

Should your naughty new neighbors resist your suggestions, invite them over to see your new media room. The fact that it doubles as a torture chamber should encourage them to toe the line!