The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (9 page)

Finally, their father has come home to them.

We stay suspended in the clinch for what seems like forever.

Then, one by one, the children break away.

Mary, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions, is the first. Slowly and awkwardly, she backs out of the room. The others, less out of doubt than natural shyness, follow suit, closing the door quietly behind them.

I wait until I hear the click of the knob.

Then I turn to him, and with a shy smile, I give him a sidekick to the solar plexus that lands him flat on his face, gasping for breath.

His pain is doubled when, a second later, I’ve wrenched his arm behind his back, straight up and out.

“So tell me, you audacious son of a bitch,” I whisper, “Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Chapter 4

Recycling

Besides the fact that recycling is eco-friendly and a great lesson for children on how to keep our Earth green and healthy, it is also a creative way to take something you may have felt was no longer of use and give it a second life. 

People can be recycled, too. 

By that, I don’t mean second chances or second lives. I mean that body parts make great mulch. (What, did you think I was getting soft on you or something?)

“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.” When, finally, he can speak, his words come out in a husky mutter.

I’m guessing that’s because I’ve got my kitten heel on his jugular.

He’s lucky I’m not wearing my six-inch fuck-me stilettos.

“You think so? You should ask around about that… Oh, sorry, you can’t—because anyone who’s seen me really angry has never lived to tell about it.” 

Despite my chokehold, he’s able to mumble out, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Oh yeah? Tell, me, do you love it when I do this?” I press his arm to the breaking point. “And how about this?” I lean down on my heel again, but just enough.

I’m enjoying the sound of him rasping for air when, from the other side of the door, I hear Mary ask, “Mom, is everything okay in there?” 

That breaks my concentration, enough for him to grab my ankle. Next thing I know it’s me who’s facedown, on the bed. I can feel his knee in the center of my back. The pressure he’s putting on me is excruciating, but I’m not going to let him know that. 

“If you don’t answer her, she’ll walk in here and find us … like this.” This is murmured more as a promise than a threat. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the thought that he thinks he’s scaring me, or the realization that the warmth of his breath on my cheek is turning me on.

Either way, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

I resist the urge to spit in his face. Instead I collect myself, and then in my best sing-song mommy voice, I answer, “Yes, honey, everything is fine! We’re just moving a few boxes in the closet. Why don’t you go downstairs and check on the chicken? If it’s browned, lower the oven to 275. Oh! And do me a favor, and mash the potatoes.”

“Um … Okay. Just call down if you need anything.” She sounds uncertain, but a moment later I hear all three of my children clomping down the stairs.

He’s listening closely, too. I inch my one free hand up slowly. I’m hoping to punch him in the groin—

As if reading my mind, he grabs my arm and curls it behind my back. “Gee, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t take you for the kind who liked the rough stuff, but whatever turns you on.”

To keep from groaning in pain, I let loose with a litany of words that, had I’d heard them coming from my own kids’ mouths, would have me reaching for a bar of soap.

“You’ve got quite a little potty mouth, now don’t you?” To drive his point home, he gives me a smack on the ass. “You know, I can play like this all night, but the boss man may not be too pleased that we’re keeping him waiting.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hiss at him. “Just who are you, anyway?”

I guess he realizes that this really isn’t my idea of a meet-and-greet because suddenly he eases his knee off my back. “You mean you really don’t know? And all this time I thought this was just your way of welcoming me to the family. I hadn’t had you pegged for the type who gets into rough foreplay—”

“Foreplay?” I’m so riled that I sit straight up. So, he wants it rough? Wait until I pull out the Taser I’ve stashed under the mattress…

Then it hits me: “Wait, start over. What do you mean, ‘welcoming you to the family?’ Just who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Jack Craig—”

The name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it…?

Now I remember! What is it that they call him on the spook loops? Oh, yeah: Wild Card Jack. The agent known to shirk protocol whenever it suits him; to bend the rules according to his whims. He’s not above going rogue when the impulse hits—

Especially if there’s a woman around to impress.

“—but you can call me ‘Carl darling.’ That’s my new alias.”

I can’t believe my ears. “The mission calls for you to pretend to be my husband? No! No way in Hell—”

“Look lady, don’t shoot the messenger. It was Ryan’s idea. I told him it was crazy, too.” He shrugs. “No one in their right mind would believe I’d be attracted to someone like you—”

“Oh yeah?...What’s wrong with me anyway?”

“Well to be honest, you’re not exactly my type.”

I’m trying hard not to snicker. “Considering what I’ve heard about your ‘type,’ I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your reputation precedes you, too—or haven’t you noticed that Wikipedia uses your photo beside the definition of ‘man-ho.’”

“You see? This is exactly what I told Ryan. You’re one of those women who have no self-control. You’ll just fly off the handle, mission be damned. Being saddled with you would just tie me down.” 

“You’ve got some nerve, saying that to me!” I reach for the phone. “I’m calling Ryan right now.”

“Fine by me. If we’re going to take down the Quorum, I’ll need a swallow who doesn’t carry around her emotional baggage like a third boob—”

“Third boob? Why you… Wait! The Quorum? What’s that got to do with you?”

A brow raises just as the smirk hits his lips. “What, you haven’t had time to read the directive? I presume Abu handed it off to you at the ice cream truck." He scrutinizes my backside critically. “I would have guessed you’d have torn into it before you even got into that mommy mobile they’ve saddled you with. From the looks of things, you’re not opposed to a sugar fix every now and then.”

“How dare you!”

“Just teasing. Look, it’s not as if you’re a total heifer but a little toning up wouldn’t hurt. Might get rid of those love handles.” He has the audacity to put his hands on my hips.

When I try to slap them away, he smiles, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he nudges me closer, as if we’re playing some sort of game, until I’m right up against his rock hard abdomen—

And it’s not the only thing that’s hard—

“You know what they say: sex is the best exercise,” he coaxes seductively. “Since we’ve got to play house anyway, might as well enjoy the fringe benefits, right? Hey, I won’t even mind if you close your eyes and call me Carl—”

My punch to his jaw has him reeling backward, into the wall. “Dream on, you son of a bitch. Just to let you know: you’re not half the man Carl was.”

He grimaces as he rubs his jaw. “Just trying to do my conjugal duty.”

“Get dressed. And make it snappy. I want to get this meeting with Ryan over pronto. I’ve got to be home before eight, to put Trisha to bed.”

“Speaking of beds, do you like the right side, or the left? For that matter, are you a top or a bottom? Not that I’m partial, either way—”

To shut him up, I toss his clothes at him.

As he grabs for them, his towel drops to the floor and I’m given a full-on view as to what all the spook loop fuss is about—

Wow.

Okay, I’m wrong. He’s got at least one thing in common with Carl.

To hide my shock and awe, I turn and walk out of the room, slamming the door behind me. 

Even from the bottom of the stairway I can hear him laughing.

I tell Mary that we’ll be back in time for dinner, but just in case our “run to the store” takes longer than expected, she is to put Trisha to bed no later than eight, and for Jeff and her to go down no later than ten. 

She gives Jack a shy peck on the cheek. On the other hand, Trisha throws herself into Jack’s arms, body, and soul. It only takes a second for his initial look of shock to melt into gentle appreciation. Jeff’s wary handshake is taken just as seriously.

I wonder if this cover is going to be harder for him than he initially imagined.

Already my heart is breaking. Shame on Ryan for putting my family’s emotional wellbeing at risk! He better have a hell of a good reason for doing this to us.

Jack and I take separate cars. He refuses to be seen in my “mommy mobile.” That’s fine with me. The way he peels out in his Lamborghini Aventador roadster, I’ve no doubt he’s just an accident waiting to happen.

Three heads that turn as he races down Main Street are those belonging to Penelope, Tiffy, and Hayley. They’re sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of our local Starbucks, dishing some neighbor’s dirt, I suppose. As Jack idles at the corner, Penelope licks her Collagened lips and lifts her sunglasses in order to get a better view of him. 

This is not lost on Jack. Through his side-view mirror, I can see him honoring her with a wink and that lazy smile of his.

It’s all I can do not to ram him from behind.

Instead I lay on the horn.

As he screeches out of the grand gates fronting Hilldale, I wave at them sweetly. The way they show their obvious disappointment is to ignore me. 

I wonder how they’d treat me if they thought Jack was my husband. They’d be jealous, for sure. But I know better than to presume it would earn me their friendships, let alone their respect.

Not that it matters. As soon as I lay down the law to Ryan, Jack Craig will just be a fond fantasy for Hilldale’s
méchantes mères
.

An even bigger problem is explaining to my children that he’s not who they think—and hope—he is: 

Their father.

“Explain to me why you feel it’s necessary for this jerk to squat in my house and sully the name of my deceased husband?” 

Ryan looks up from his desk. The weariness glazing his eyes is a symptom of his perennial state of anxiety. He stands up, stretches, and then walks over to the door in order to close it.

Does he think Jack’s feelings will be hurt? Well, boohoohoo. Fact is, Jack couldn't care less what either of us thinks. He’s too busy flirting with Ryan’s assistant, Natasha.

“I don’t see it that way, Donna. For the past five years Jack’s been leading our international field work on the Quorum. He’s analyzed their strengths and weaknesses, and because of the mole he’s planted, we now have important intel of their lead players, and their procedures. In fact, if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have discovered their next attack may be here, in a few weeks.”

“Here, in LA?” The thought that Carl’s killers are so close catapults my heart into my throat.