The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (35 page)

When I was hanging off the side of the building, I summoned my favorite memories of my family, and said my prayers.
 

This time, however, I do some math. An average floor is about ten feet. We’re falling from the nineteenth floor. Since velocity is about thirty-two feet per second, I’ve only got five, maybe six seconds, to survive this fall.

You see? This is why you need to help your kids with their math problems–
you’ll learn something too
.

It helps that Tatyana fell first. I stay vertical, then I lift my knees together and let loose with a kick that should keep her below me.
 

Next, I lunge toward a corner and grapple at anything on the walls that can break my fall, like the elevator cables that hang loosely on all sides. The oil on them makes this a slippery task, but I’m able to grasp one. Instinctively, I wrap a leg around it too–

Which is a good thing because my hand loses its grip–

And I find myself hanging upside down, about twenty feet from the bottom of the shaft.

You see? It pays to go to clown camp with your son’s scout troop.
You may learn something too.

I’m in a better position than Tatyana, who looks like a broken rag doll. Her head sits in a halo of blood. She died with her eyes wide open, and her mouth frozen in a scream.

In fact, it was her long echoing scream that summoned Jack. With the help of Abu and Dominic, he has pried open the lobby level doors of Elevator A.

He sees Tatyana first, below him at the base of the shaft on the garage level. When he doesn’t see me, he looks skyward.

I wave.

Then I unfurl my leg so that I can drop into his arms.

I wish I could stay there forever, but I can’t. “Walther was in on it,” I tell him.

Jack makes the call that will ensure that Walther never makes it outside the confines of U.S. airspace. The closest he’ll get to Germany is a black site in Poland.

I’ll request a visit, every now and then. After what he did to Jeff, I’ll enjoy making him cry.

Chapter 22
 

And a Good Time Was Had by All!

All hostesses are anxious to learn if their parties were enjoyed by their guests. Well, guess what? You’ll know instantly if:

1: Everyone is talking about something that happened there. Except, perhaps an altar sacrifice. Save that for a more select group–say, your weekend Wiccan coven.

2: No one runs out of the house screaming and on fire. Terror is never great for word of mouth.

3: Everyone wants to come back for your next event. Giving out one-hundred-dollar gift cards as party favors truly works!
 

Bonnie Ramsey, the family counselor, smiles broadly and shakes everyone’s hand as Mary, Jeff, Trisha, Jack, Evan, and I file into her large, homey living room. There is no standing at attention. “Sit anywhere you like,” she insists. “And please, call me Bonnie.”
 

Evan and Mary look around warily before deciding on the two easy chairs flanking the open-hearth fireplace. Trisha plops down next to Bonnie’s dog–an old Labrador named Louis–and pets it gently before hugging the old boy’s neck too.

Jack sits on one side of the large settee. I take the other. Jeff burrows between us. He clasps our hands, but holds them down, next to his thighs. He wants us to see him as strong again, but he still has that post-traumatic stress twilight where he realizes he’s safe, but he doubts what he sees with his own eyes.
 

Everyone is the enemy.

Yes, I’ve been there. I feel for him. I want him to trust again.
 

It’s why we’re here.

Bonnie explains that the one rule is that there are no rules. “No one should be afraid to speak their mind. You can cry or laugh. You can blame and accuse. That way, those who are the catalysts of your feelings can respond to you, and the dialogue you so strongly need will begin.”

My children have borne the brunt of my actions. From what I know of Evan’s life, I played a bigger part in it than I could have imagined.
 

I expect a tsunami of pain to come my way, and I brace myself for it.
 

Thank God I have Jack to hold onto.

It takes a while for Bonnie to get my children to open up. No one is surprised that Trisha is first, least of all me.
 

“Mary is mad at Mommy because of our other daddy. But I didn’t like him, so I’m glad he’s gone.” Trisha’s pronouncement is made with her eyes firmly on the dog, because she doesn’t know if her words will hurt Mary, Jeff, or me. “Other people have two daddies, and they don’t mind it at all. But our other daddy made Mommy angry. I didn’t like that.”

“Maybe you would have, if you’d gotten the chance to know him better,” Mary points out. “You had already made up your mind because of”–she looks over at the couch–“Jack.”

“He ran away from us, remember?” Jeff speaks so softly that everyone leans in. “He hurt people! And now we have to live with that. People hate us because of the things he did! They want to…to hurt us.”

Mary can’t argue with that, since she’s experienced it herself. She scowls as she slumps down in her chair.

“Hey, at least your mother didn’t kill your father,” Evan offers.

Mary’s head swings around. It’s the only time I’ve seen her angry with Evan. She opens her mouth to say something, but holds herself back. Instead, she forces herself to turn her head away again.

Evan is so caught up in his own pain that he is oblivious to hers. “My father loved my mother, but it wasn’t enough for her! He just wanted to get away from her lies–and I did, too. I was glad he was going to divorce her! At least that way, he’d have had the option of never seeing her again.” He stops because he’s choking on his sobs. “But she’s my mother! Despite having taken him from me, as long as she’s alive, I’ll have her in my life.”

Mary’s frown softens. She reaches out in order to put her hand over his. “Somewhere along the way, my father must have quit loving my mother,” she murmurs. “Why else would he have left her…and the rest of us?”
 

Hearing her say this is the crack in my emotional dam. I let my head drop to my chest so that I can cry.
 

Jeff turns and hugs me. “Don’t cry, Mom, please! We don’t miss him, really! We miss the idea of him. And you did, too. But eventually, you did the right thing. You learned to love someone who will always love us, too, and be there for us.” He grasps Jack’s hand again.
 

Jack squeezes it tight.
 

Mary goes over and takes hold of Jack’s other hand. He looks up at her. His eyes glimmer with dampness. Her tears fall into her long hair as she smiles down at him.

Trisha is as transfixed at the tableau in front of her as I am.
 

But it doesn’t last forever. Mary asks, “Mom, did you mean it when you said you’re quitting?”

Jeff’s damp smile fades. “Don’t,” he implores me. “Then who will protect us?”

“I will,” I swear to him. “And so will Jack–always!”

“No! …I mean, I know that. What I’m trying to say is”–he takes a deep breath before he continues–“if you quit your job, they’ll always be out there. They’ll always be able to do this–not just to us, but to everyone! We can’t be scared of them–or they win.”

Jeff is no longer crying.

Jeff is no longer afraid.

My Jeff is back.

Mary is nodding. Despite their sibling squabbles and teasing, they’ve always shared an unbreakable bond. Jeff’s death would have shattered his sister. Instead, the harsh reality of his abduction brings a sharp clarity to the bittersweet blur of her childhood memories of Carl.

The love she had for her father cannot negate his bad deeds.

She bends over me to give me a kiss on my forehead. Finally, she forgives me for the role I played–the role I
had
to play–in Carl’s death.

I had expected our session with Bonnie to go on all afternoon, but the way she rises, I realize that she agrees with me that we’ve accomplished what we set out to do today:

My family will heal.

As we walk out, Trisha asks if we can take Louis with us.
 

I shake my head no. “Bonnie has given us so much already.” I give her a hug.

Chapter 23

Thank-You Notes

After attending a party, most guests send thank-you notes. However, if you don’t receive them, here’s why:

Reason One: The note got lost in the mail. That being said, let the appreciative guest know as soon as possible. If (
quelle horreur!
) he or she admits to not having sent one, refer to Reason Two.

Reason Two: The guest is not at all well mannered. If this is the case, cross him or her off your next invitation list! If you want to be around baboons, you know the way to the local zoo.

Reason Three: The guest had a lousy time. Not that you’d know it by the way he gobbled down your canapés, swilled your liquor, and tried on your best pair of Louboutins. (You know this, because you have a videocam in your closet.)

If this is the case, feel free to excommunicate him as a friend. Tell him he can have the Louboutins, too, now that he’s stretched them out. He will also have to buy you a new pair. Otherwise, he’ll be the latest sensation on YouTube when others realize he does a mean rumba in five-inch pointy stilettos.

The memorial service for Mara Portnoy takes place at sunrise, on Acme’s rooftop. Not everyone in the organization knew her. Still, all of Acme has turned out for it.

Her name has been carved in the wall next to that of the love of her life, Kiril.

Those who shared missions with her speak out about her bravery, her sense of humor, and her love of life.

In Jack’s case, his anecdote is one of levity. I join the others gathered here in wiping away tears of sorrow as we roar with laughter about the rainstorm in Prague and its bloody aftermath.

The tears flow again when it’s my turn. I keep my voice level as I describe her selfless act in saving Jeff. Then I read the note my son wrote her, in which he describes his sadness at facing death without getting to say goodbye to those he loved, and his resignation when he saw the bullet coming his way, and how Mara’s arms around him felt like angel’s wings.

When I can no longer speak because the memory has become a hard knot in my throat, I place Jeff’s heartfelt note beside her urn.

Mara will not be alone in her vault deep within the Wall.
 
Jack had hoped to surprise her with the deed that would help right the wrong he did to her. Sometime last week he’d contacted Nikolay Krastevich, the Bulgarian covert operative Jack had charged with disposing of Kiril’s body. Nikolay tracked down her lover’s cremated remains, which had been interred in a Bulgarian mausoleum.

Kiril’s ashes now share Mara’s urn.

Together they will rest in peace for eternity.