The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide (4 page)

He’s still glowering as he storms back into the room. He nods to the sentry. “Unlock the lady.” 

The sentry murmurs his own “Yes, sir” and my arm charms are off, finally. 

“At least someone believes the baloney you’re serving up, Mrs. Stone.” Reynolds’ dark glare is proof I’m not out of the woods yet. “The CIA director has agreed that house arrest back in Hilldale, California will do—for now. You’re to be monitored with an ankle bracelet until we’re able to validate your story. In the meantime, if we find Prisoner 1982 anywhere near you, or if we find proof that you had anything to do with his escape, you’ll find yourself back at Guantanamo, answering to me. Do you understand?”

I tilt my head to gauge the distance I’d have to throw the letter opener in order to pierce this jerk right between the eyes.

As if reading my mind, Jack answers, “We thoroughly understand, Major.”

Then he yanks me up out of the chair and hustles me out the door, catching the letter opener as it slides out of my sleeve.

Spoil sport.

“Donna, quit squirming! I’m spreading more of this aloe goop on the carpet than on your back.” 

“I can’t help it! Every time you touch my skin, it burns like hell. And besides, the stuff is ice cold.”

“Things could have been worse.” 

“Oh? How so?” I turn over to face him. 

The private plane sent by Ryan Clancy, our boss at Acme Industries, isn’t as plush as Lynch’s, but it will do. At least the six-hour flight home gives Jack and me one thing: time alone together, without other operatives, let alone our children, and the sideshow acts inherent with raising three kids.

I can think of one very good way we could take advantage of it. Unfortunately, I’m too sore to follow through.

So yeah, I have a right to be grumpy.

Gently but firmly, Jack shoves me back down onto the floor of the plane. His hands are large, but they are also gentle as they massage the lotion into my shoulders. “For starters, Carl could have pushed you out of the plane, and we would have never found your body.” 

I shrug. “He needed a different kind of fall guy. Or I should say, fall gal.”

“I’m sure it’s his short-term goal, but he wants you around for the long haul.” 

“What do you mean by that?” My question comes out in a blissful sigh. Jack’s palms circle slowly down my back, kneading muscles still sore from the hours they laid dormant in an outdoor chaise. 

“If he kills you, he’ll miss the fun of torturing you, one head game at a time.”  Jack’s thumb finds a tight muscle and digs into it. For me, release comes with a groan of pleasure. “Donna, you may not want to admit it to yourself, but he’s still in love with you.”

I sit up with a yelp. “Bite your tongue!”

“Hey, I call it as I see it.” His smile fades. “Not that I can blame him.”

I shudder at the thought. “I guess that’s one good thing about being under surveillance. Carl can’t go anywhere near me unless he wants to risk getting caught.” I hesitate, then murmur, “So, when did Valentina contact you?”

His hand, which has been stroking my lower back, pauses for what seems like an eternity. Finally he mutters, “Just last month. She called Acme’s secure line, which I’d given her before my ‘untimely demise.’ With Carl in custody, she felt safe enough to come back into the fold. And she insisted on testifying against him.”

“Congratulations for turning her.” He can’t see my face, but he can read my voice: 
Bullshit.

“You’ll never believe that she didn’t know the storage unit holding the heat-seeking missile was booby-trapped, will you?”

“No, I won’t. I think she knew someone from Acme was going to be blown to smithereens when that door opened. And my guess is she was hoping it was going to be me, not you.” I can’t help but mutter, “I presume she hightailed it out of Guantanamo the moment she heard Carl flew the coop. She’s right to lay low—and as far away as possible.”

“Acme promised her safe haven in return for her testimony. We’re following through. You know better than anyone Carl has a long memory. After what she said about him, he’ll be out for blood.” Jack’s hands, which have been moving slowly up my spine, stop short. “Is your interest based on your conviction that she still has feelings for me?”

I shrug. I’ll never tell him I already know the answer to that. A long time ago, she told me that she envied me: not for Jack’s love, but for Carl’s obsession. 

So no, I don’t need to know if she has feelings for him. What I really want to know is if 
he
 still loves 
her
? Does he care about her?

Does he know she’s carrying a baby? And if so, does it deepen his feelings for her?

If I come out and ask, will he lie to me?

I find my answer in the way Jack reaches for my waist. 

A shiver goes up my spine. I love to feel his hands on me. 

And his arms around me.

And his cock inside of me.

The sooner the better, sunburn be damned.

He must feel the same way, because he’s lifted me up onto my knees.

Pleasure is his thick thumb and forefinger probing me.

Longing comes with every kiss: on my lips, down my neck, on my nipples, and roaming down, to my pubic mound.

His kisses build my expectation. By the time he enters me, the anticipation is unbearable.

As he pulls me close, I ache with unbound desire and am relieved that I am safely back in his embrace.

Ecstasy is found deep within me, with each of Jack’s thrusts. When we orgasm, I arch up into him. Our spasms leave him shuddering inside me.

We lay there for a half hour before he whispers, “I love you, Donna. Always and forever.”

“Works for me,” I murmur. 

What I don’t say out loud is that I’ll never doubt him again.

We’re still sleeping when the plane skids to a stop, back home in Orange County.

Then reality sets in. The fridge is empty. The laundry is sky high. My children need help with their homework. 

And Carl is on the loose.

First things first. Lose the ankle bracelet.

That’s easier said than done.

Chapter 3

Six Very Broad Hints You’re Dating a Serial Killer

When it comes to our love lives, we presume we have great instincts as to whom we should date. Wrong! Here are six very big hints that the new man in your life may in fact wish to cut it short:

Hint 1: Instead of emails, he sends love letters…but the words are cut out of old magazine headlines.

Hint 2: He insists on being a gentleman and opening the car door…well, in his case, the car’s trunk.

Hint 3: Instead of cufflinks at the bottom of his sleeves, he keeps a knife up his sleeve.

Hint 4: After every meal out, he rubs down his fingerprints on all shiny surfaces.

Hint 5: All pictures of his previous “girlfriends” are pinned on the wall of his living room, as part of a montage made up of “Missing Persons.”

Hint 6: He likes to entertain you in his basement, where the grand tour includes a coffin which, as he puts it, “I built especially for you. Go ahead, and get in. I want to make sure it fits…”

Big bonus hint: Break up immediately.

Even bigger bonus hint: Run. Fast and far away. 

“Donna Stone, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for the past ten minutes,” shouts Penelope Bing, Hilldale’s queen bee mean mommy, from my front stoop. “What in hell are you doing up on your roof?” 

I peek out from behind my chimney. “Oh! Um…cleaning the gutters, of course!” 

It would be too rude to tell her the truth: that I presumed my roof was the only place left to hide from her. 

It’s been a week since we got home, and still no clearance from the Feds. At the same time, Penelope and her posse—Tiffy Swift, and the unfortunately named Hayley Coxhead—have been relentlessly hunting me down. My guess is that they’re trying to recruit me for one of their many harebrained projects. 

Just how the heck did she find me? 

Ah, I see now: Tiffy is waving to me from her upstairs guest bedroom, beside the high-gauge telescope she has set up in the bay window. 

 “Well, come on down. Have you forgotten it’s your month as Hilldale’s Welcome Ambassador?” 

Whenever Penelope drops her baton of verbal abuse, her number one lackey, Hayley, eagerly picks it up and beats me over the head with it. “We have three new neighbors! None of them have received their welcome baskets. How are they going to know where to shop without a Hilldale Chamber of Commerce directory?”

I shrug. “Google maps?”

Penelope shakes her head in disgust. “Donna, you may have been raised without any social graces, but we refuse to let it reflect on the rest of us.” 

Then I guess a SWAT team holding me spread-eagled on the ground and detonating the welcome basket in case it holds an incendiary device won’t leave a great impression, either.

But that’s the dealio, should I go beyond the perimeter of my yard with this house arrest bracelet on my ankle.

Not that I can say that to Penelope. It would be the scandal of Hilldale.

Penelope sighs mightily. “My God, Donna, get with the program! In fact, we’ve already done the hard work, putting the gift baskets together. All you have to do is deliver them. Even a trained monkey can do 
that
.”

From where I sit, I’m within reach of few loose Spanish tile shingles. Should they fall on Penelope, the worst she’d suffer is a concussion.

The thought is tempting enough that I nudge one with my toe—

It stays put, but I go skittering down the roof instead. The only thing that saves me is a drain pipe, just within reach.

I don’t know how much longer I can hang on when I hear Jack’s car skid into the driveway. At the same time Penelope and Hayley’s heads swivel in his direction, Tiffy’s telescope zooms in on him, too. 

He whistles a happy tune as he hops out. His shirt goes taut over his biceps as he rummages in the car’s trunk for his gym bag. Tall, dark, and too handsome for his own good, Jack is catnip to this pride of tiger moms.

He rewards the women with a big smile. “Ah, two of my favorite neighbors! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hayley nudges Penelope out of her lust-filled stare. “Unfortunately, Donna has once again dropped the ball on the deliveries of the Hilldale Women’s Club Welcome baskets.”

“Tsk, tsk! What a naughty girl she’s been.” Jack’s lascivious tone conjures up all sorts of fun and games. Penelope blushes fifty shades of pink. 

In her dreams.

He winks at me. “Donna my sweet, do you plan on being up there much longer?”

“I should be down in a moment.” Make that a nanosecond. I’m barely hanging on by my fingertips. 

“No rush. Take your time. In fact, I insist on delivering the baskets, as long as Penelope and Hayley tag along to give me directions.” As innocent as he sounds, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Both women squeal as they run to the car. Hayley reaches the front passenger door first, but Penelope shoves her aside and jumps in first.

“No! Don’t leave yet! Wait for me,” Tiffy squeals from the window. She’s out her front door so fast that you’d think her house was on fire.

They wave at me as they drive off.

I do the same. Big mistake. I needed both hands to stay aloft.

Thank goodness, I fall into the pool.

My security ankle bracelet is waterproof, so at least a Homeland Security SWAT team won’t come running.

I needed to wash my hair, anyway.