The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (29 page)

Between his face guard and any rubber mask, Carl may get by the senator’s security detail.

I’m running so hard that I’m panting when, finally, I reach the tunnel leading out into the field. The crowd is going wild.

The senator is already out there.

Sadly, the two men who make up his security detail have both been shot in the head.

I see Carl now, just ahead of me. And yes, I have a clear shot—

As if sensing me, he turns. 

Carl recognizes me—

And smiles. He is daring me to take my best shot.

To shoot the father of my children.

One second of remorse is all he needs to pull out his gun and shoot me instead. I duck just in time, but there is nothing in the tunnel to hide behind.

His second shot is luckier, and he wings me. I fall, dazed and bleeding.

I’m fading out.

He strides over. I can feel him standing over me. Why does he hesitate?

Because he’s debating whether he should finish me off.

Just then the crowd roars and claps. Senator Dunlap is ending his folksy oratory. Carl knows it’s now or never. He kneels over me. We’re close enough for one last kiss—

Instead he yanks my locket from my neck.

“You damn bastard,” I whisper. My voice feels as if it’s coming out of an echo chamber.

“A keepsake. This way, I’ll always have something to remember you by.” He throws me a smile before heading down the tunnel.

He turned his back on me…

Shame, shame, shame on him for doing it again.

The bullet from my Glock hits him on his left side, beneath his shoulder.

He stumbles a bit before falling on his knees. He looks so pathetic, crawling on the ground.

When, finally, he drops onto the concrete, his breath is now a mere wheeze.

For once, I did not shoot to kill.

Yeah, yeah, I know: I talk a good game.

No, I don’t love him anymore. But he is still the father of my children.

I realize now that my role in our children’s lives is why his bullet missed me, too.

I stumble over to him and pull the locket from his hand. “You don’t deserve this, you sick bastard. You missed Trisha’s birth, remember?”

Then I check his right inside jacket pocket: Yes! there is the anti-detonator. 

The left pocket has the baseball.

I take both, then I slump to the floor, exhausted. 

Behind me comes the clamor of footsteps. A second later I feel Jack’s arms around me, lifting me to his broad chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryan behind him, followed by a squadron of agents dressed in bomb squad gear.

The crowd is getting restless. Ryan pulls another ball from his coat. Jack and I watch as he walks it out to Senator Dunlap.

Our children can now play ball.

Finally, we are safe.

As I pass out, I feel Jack’s lips grazing my forehead. 

Chapter 25

Sticks and Stones

Teaching her children to be gracious during any tense situation is a mother’s greatest challenge! Sadly, children learn early that calling each other bad names, or making fun of each other, can be hurtful. That said, the earlier you can teach your children conflict resolution, the better they will be at defusing tense situations. 

Ironically, such bullying tactics are learned at home, so don’t blame the child! Better to pistol-whip the offending parent. (Yes, that is bullying, too. But demonstrating on someone to whom the child can relate will get your point across most succinctly.)

Jeff’s team lost to the Kennesaw Generals. He did his best, considering the circumstances—his mother’s paranoia against common viruses.

Jeff shrugs off his disappointment. “Dad, do us all a favor: next time Mom wants to put us in quarantine during the biggest game of my life, lock her in a closet or something, okay?”

If only he knew.

We are halfway home when my cell phone buzzes. It’s Ryan. “Good job, Donna.” 

The words are right, but the tone of his voice has me worried.

“Ryan, what’s wrong?”

He pauses before answering, “He escaped. Killed one of the ambulance guards, then jumped out the back—”

In other words, Carl is not out of my life.

And neither is the Quorum.

I’ll have to go on the lam with the children.

So, this is my life? Is this truly what I want for my children?

As long as Carl is out there, we’ll be on the run.

And as long as Jack is a part of our lives, Carl will kill both of us.

I can’t do that to Jack.

I will have to give him up.

If he leaves, it won’t be just because of Carl. Jack has chased him too long and too far to be afraid of him.

Jack is not afraid of anything.

The only way he’ll leave us is if he thinks I hate him.

I know what I have to say to him, so that he believes it.

Yes, it will kill me to do this, but it’s the only way I can save us all.

“Why are you being such a bitch?” asks Phyllis. “You know, he’s head over heels in love with you.”

“That’s nonsense. I don’t believe it,” I retort.

This, despite the armload of roses he brings me daily, and his constant caresses.

And in spite of the way he looks at me, as if I’m some sort of precious jewel.

“Suit yourself. But remember, missy: You lost him once. You can do it again.”

I walk out of the kitchen, furious at her interference.

It wasn’t my idea that she drive down to take the kids to her place for the night. It was Jack’s. He feels I’ve grown distant, that we need time to “reconnect.”

What he doesn’t know is that I plan on short-circuiting his love for me the only way I can:

With Carl.

And I’m doing so, in the one place where no one should stand between us: the bedroom.

If anything, Jack is gentler in bed with me these days than before. His voracious lust has been replaced by an urgent tenderness, a focused care. I steel myself so as not to tremble when his hands skim over my body. When his fingers massage and probe me, I bite my lip to keep from moaning or asking for more.

When he moves inside me, I just lay there, as if I’m only tolerating him.

Little does he know how badly I want him.

When finally he surges up inside me, I prick his heart by murmuring one word: “Carl…”

“Fuck it,” he says. Angrily he rolls away from me.

He moves to the guest room.

Keeping our scheduled appointment with Dr. Ramona is also his idea. He hasn’t come out and said it, but it is his last-ditch effort to save us.

What he doesn’t know is that only I can do that.

She smiles as we enter. “How is my favorite couple?” she chirps.

I shake my head. Jack is silent.

“Ah, I see,” she says with a sigh.

She waits for one of us to say something. Finally Jack caves, summing up the situation succinctly. “Donna needs to tell me how she feels about me. I’m hoping she feels she can open up here.”

Dr. Ramona looks over at me expectantly.

It is time to push Jack away.

The tears that roll lazily from my eyes and down the planes of my face are real. I try to calm my shaking hands. The words stick in my throat before I choke them out, 

“I—I think I’m in love with someone else.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Jack mutters.

Of course, he knows who.

“Now, now, all is not lost,” Dr. Ramona insists. “When an issue stands between a couple, sometimes one of the partners projects their love onto someone else. This other person becomes the ‘ideal’ of what she had—or thought she had—with her spouse.” She looks directly at me. “Donna, it is obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together that you love this man with all your heart. For whatever reason, you have decided to hold back for now. I have a suggestion on how to break through this issue, so that you two can once again work on your lives together.”

She smiles mysteriously. “Now, I have to warn you:  a little role-playing is involved–”

Jack and I are both laughing so hard that we’ve shocked her into silence.

It is not a happy laugh. Even she can hear the pain in our howls.

Without looking at me, Jack gets up and heads for the door.

“I know why you’re doing this,” he says on the drive home.

“Doing what?” I don’t turn my head to him. Instead I focus on anything other than Jack. The sunshine. The leaves swaying in the breeze. The smiles of those we pass as we drive through Hilldale.

That’s just the problem: everything reminds me of Jack.

“I know why you’re pushing me away. And you’re right to do it. You and the kids won’t be safe as long as I’m around.”

My head whips around before I can stop it. I don’t have to tell him that, yes, I’m scared for us, and for him.

He sees it in my eyes.

Jack veers to the curb and screeches to a halt. He isn’t prepared for my tears, my babbling, and my ranting: over the fact that, yes, I love him, with all my heart. That I can’t stand the thought of being without him, but for the kids’ sake I know I must.

That I hope we live long enough to one day be together.

He nods and hushes me and strokes my face. Our lips are too close and our wills are too weak to hold back: the kiss is deep and fervent and never-ending, which is great because, really, I want it to last forever—

“Get a room!” yell the cyclists who tap our car as they whiz by.