The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (18 page)

Edwina sees me. Her eyes open even wider, if that is possible. She shakes her head No.

It’s against everything my gut tells me is the right thing to do: kill the son of a bitch. And yet, I hesitate.

Because the woman he’s raping in front of me is begging me to leave them alone.

Walking away would save me from being reprimanded for an unsanctioned hit.

It would save our mission, too.

And so I nod back, and walk away, disgusted at Breck. And at myself, too, for buying into Edwina’s irrational need to put up with him.

Just as I make it to the doorway, Breck groans, spent. So much for fifty shades of Breck. More like fifty seconds.

The satisfaction in his voice curdles my blood. “My God, Edwina, you’re bleeding? Well, what do you know, a thirty-year-old virgin! Who’d have thought it. You need to get out more, live a little. After the summit, why don’t you take some time off? Maybe you’d like to join me on my private island.”

I slip down the hall before I change my mind and kill the son of a bitch.

I awaken to the sound of someone crying. Only when I hear Jack whisper, “It’s okay, Donna. I’m right here for you…” do I realize it’s me.

As we lay in bed together, he holds me as if he’ll never let me go.

After the hell I’ve seen, this is my heaven.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He strokes my back gently. He isn’t asking me to relive the horror of Edwina’s rape. He saw it for himself. The moment I activated the microdot, the camera hidden inside caught it all, in living color, for those monitoring it to see: not just Jack, but Ryan and Arnie, too.

By the time I got back to the room, Jack had already texted Ryan his recommendation that I be pulled from the mission: not for what it might do to me, but for what I might do to Jonah Breck, to the detriment of the mission.

Ryan texted back RECOMMENDATION DENIED. 

When Jack showed it to me, I threw the cell phone up against the wall. “So much for safety in the workplace.”

Then I showered and stumbled into bed.

In my nightmares, I was Edwina, pinned to that wall. 

And there was nothing I could do about it.

Now that I’m fully awake, I realize the metaphor, even if I don’t appreciate the irony. 

My whisper is so soft that I don’t know if Jack hears me. “I can’t get her—her total submission to him—out of my mind.”

“You gave her the opportunity to stop him. She decided not to take it. Please Donna, don’t blame yourself for that.”

I turn to face him. I can’t see him in the dark, but that’s okay. His scent—a pungent essence of talcum and sweat and strength—is the reality I crave in my surreal existence. His features are etched deeply in my fondest memories, my fiercest fantasies, and the prayers for my future.

His gentle kisses on my brow don’t surprise me, nor does the touch of his finger, which wipes the tears from my cheeks. He may not believe this, but I yearn to have him inside of me. This desire is not born out of lust, but the need for comfort. When I seek him out with firm practiced hand, he whispers, “We don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to, Jack. I need to have you with me, this way.”

I build him up and guide him into me. This act of love takes place on our sides. No one dominates. No one is subjugated. Each of us takes with awe and appreciation what is given and received with an open heart. With each thrust, we moan together.

Until we come, in unison. The explosion is hot and furious and silent, except for the gasps of bliss that escape too soon for two people for whom every moment of life is precious. 

Now nothing evil or cruel can force its way into my soul. 

When we are done and he has fallen back asleep, it strikes me that our response to this incident brought us back together, even closer than before. 

But we’ll be torn apart again when the inevitable happens: when we have to pretend to be what we aren’t, a couple. 

No more. 

I’m through playing house. I want a real husband, and a real life.

Chapter 15

Seating Arrangements

When devising your seating chart, always keep your favored guests close at hand! If the guest is male, he is to be seated on your right, whereas an honored female guest will be seated to the right of your spouse.

Should you find the delicate hand of your female guest of honor in the lap of your spouse, resist the urge to pour scalding soup down her décolletage, or to cut her jugular with the steak knife. Doing so only serves to ensure a death penalty. Too many witnesses, so little time! 

Instead, excuse yourself between the main and dessert courses in order to cut the brake line in her car. The timing is believable, and it’s a quick fix to an odious problem, especially if you’re serving something as complicated as Baked Alaska or Crepes Suzette. (Again, resist the instinct to toss anything flaming in your guest of honor’s lap. Payback is sweeter when brake fluid is involved.)

Just before eight o’clock, I wake to find I’m alone in bed. Jack, who has to pretend be at Breck’s beck and call, must be out on the golf course with our host. 

If Breck is lucky, he won’t be left alone with Jack. 

Or with me, for that matter. Despite what Ryan says, accidents do happen. 

I sigh when I hear a rap at my door. I pray it’s not Carl.  

When I crack it open, I find Edwina standing there. She cleans up nicely. No bruises, no red-rimmed eyes.

But the moment our gazes cross, she looks away. Still, I have to ask, “Why?”

She smiles for the cameras. Then, for the benefit of anyone listening in, her voice is cheery as she asks, “May I come in?”

Of course I move aside so she can enter.

If only it were that easy to get into someone’s head.

Edwina stands by the window, staring out onto the wide expanse of verdant lawn. I’m patient, busying myself with the task of pouring tea from the breakfast cart. Jack must have requested it for us before he took off.

When I hand her a cup, the tremor in her hand causes it to rattle in its saucer. I touch her wrist gently.

“You must think I’m a fool.” Her whisper has the gale force of a lost soul.

I shake my head. “I think you were scared. And overpowered by him. I don’t mean just… physically.” It’s my turn to look away. “He’s got money. He buys power from everyone. I get it. You felt helpless.”

There is no joy in her laugh. “No, you’re wrong. I knew that, eventually, he’d take me. And I wanted it.”

She stops when she sees the horrified look in my eye. “Please, don’t look at me as if I’m some pathetic fool because I mean what I say. You see, it’s the only way I can—”

Her eyes opened wide at the realization that she may have said too much. “Let’s just say that we have a symbiotic relationship. He depends on me, and I want to keep it that way. So it works… for now.”

“How did you meet?”

Her eyes narrow. “He’s an old family friend.” She sips the last of her tea, then sets the cup on the coffee table. “I’ve come to ask a favor. Really, the request is Mr. Breck’s.”

Seeing my frown, she quickly adds, “No, it’s… it’s nothing like that. In fact, he has moved on to—well, let’s just say, his attention span is fleeting.”

Good to know, since my trigger finger is itchy. I shrug. “What does he want?”

“Perhaps you can join Mrs. Breck on her shopping engagement, and then for quick lunch prior to the ballet. Her personal shopper is… she is indisposed.”

I can only imagine how, and with whom.

“You see, today is Mrs. Breck’s birthday. I’ve also arranged for lunch at Il Fornaio. Once there, you’ll be taken into a private room, where Mrs. Breck’s new friends will surprise her. Won’t that be fun?” Edwina wraps her arms together, as if a chill just came over her. “While she’s out, I’ll be coordinating the set-up for her surprise party: a circus! The event planner will deliver the tent the moment Mrs. Breck’s driver, Robert, signals us that you are far enough down the road. After dinner, the Brecks will take a stroll around the grounds. We’ll all be waiting for them in the gardens below the house. By the way, her new friends are invited to the party as well.” 

She smiles through her pain, and through mine, too. Penelope and the gang? Well, there goes my appetite.

“Mrs. Breck will presume you’ve arranged the lunch. Mr. Breck would prefer that. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Stone.”

“Of course not.” What else can I say? To tell the truth to someone whose whole existence is based on a complete lie would be a waste of breath. “It seems you’ve thought of everything, Edwina.”

“I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.” A shadow of a smile darkens her lips. “Nobody is perfect. Then again, if that were the case, neither of us would be here and praying we were anywhere else, now would we? The driver will ring for you, promptly at ten thirty.” 

“I think I’m falling in love with your husband.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, Which one? But that would be silly. Of course, I know Babette is speaking about Jack. No doubt about it, Carl also exudes an animal magnetism, but five minutes alone with him and you’ll see immediately that he’s an acquired taste. 

You’d have to be a glutton for terrorism.

My gaze shifts from the Cavalli frock in my hand to Babette’s center reflection in the three-way mirror, where she holds a Michael Kors crepe gown with a fishtail hem against her. “I can’t say that I blame you. It’s an easy thing to do.”

“He is truly kind.” She doesn’t look up at me. Instead, she shakes her head, as if the thought is something she finds hard to fathom. “He came into the nursery the other day, to check on Trisha. The way in which she jumps into his arms! If only Janie…” Her voice trails off. 

When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes. “We’re enrolling Janie in a boarding school.”

“But why? I thought the whole point of building Lion’s Lair and settling in Hilldale was so that she could stay home with you.”

“I want that more than anything in the world! But now, with Jonah’s pending appointment, we feel Switzerland is a happy medium.”

“Switzerland? That’s on the other side of the world!”