The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide (13 page)

In other words, I’m in this alone.

I don’t wait for the elevator. Instead I take the fire exit. I’m seven steps to the floor below when, a moment later, Jack says, “Donna, the elevator isn’t responding! We’re going to try the stairwell.”

The carnage on the eighth floor is in two places. Guillermo Montezuma bled out in front of the elevator. In the third room on the left, an FBI agent stares up at me with dead eyes.

I fly down the stairs to the next floor. Sugar CEO Number 6, Gunter Teichmüller, is laying in a puddle of his own blood. The agent in the room down the hall is gurgling his last breaths. I try to staunch the blood pouring out of him, but I’m too late. He dies in my arms.

I have the bright idea to skip down to the second floor. If the killer hasn’t left the building, chances are he’s there. If he hasn’t made it down that far, maybe I can save two lives.

In any regard, my goal is that he doesn’t leave here alive.

Dominic Gerstner is waiting for me.

I don’t see him at first. Instead I see the body of another FBI agent, in the middle of the hallway. A knife sticks out of his gut, and he gurgles as he sucks in his last few breaths. His eyes beg me to help. 

I crouch to my knees. Instinctively I reach for the assassin’s knife in his gut. In one swift motion, I yank it out of him. I whisper that I’m sorry, that there is nothing more I can do for him. 

At least now I have a weapon to fight his killer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow, rising from somewhere behind me. By the time I feel his slight touch, the knife is already firmly in my grasp. I turn quickly, stabbing my attacker hard in the gut, not just once but three times.

I’m stabbing the corpse of General Huang Zitong.

Six feet away, Gerstner is laughing hysterically. 

Not Gerstner, but Carl. 

I see that now, when he peels off his face mask and pockets it. 

Well, what do you know.

“So, it’s Carl Stone who’s taking down his Quorum buddies?” I shake my head in awe, even as I get into position to take him down. “Why, when you’ve sworn to protect them?”

“What can I say? I’m fickle I guess.” Carl shrugs. “Like my wife.” 

He takes a stab at grabbing the knife, but I’m too quick for him. He nods, impressed.

“If you were going to kill them anyway, why didn’t you just give us their names?” It takes a moment, but then it hits me. “Oh….wait, now I get it! You never knew their names in the first place.” He dodges my elbow strike, but my high kick catches him dead center in the chest. 

He grunts in pain, but shakes it off with a wag of his finger. “Yeah, turning on them would have been sweet. Too bad they were smart enough to stay anonymous, even to each other. But do thank the good folks at Acme for leading me to them, so I could thank each of them personally for their loyalty.” He rolls his eyes. “Frankly, Dominic was the only one I had a bead on, so when he got the Sugar CEO invitation for a night of nookie with some dream bombshell, I thought, ‘Hey, why not crash the party?’ Have face mask, will travel, right?” He eyes me appraisingly. “You know, we still have time for a quickie. How ‘bout it?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, you’re no longer the flavor of the month.”

The way his smile fades, I know I’ve hit a nerve. Well, too bad. I’ve moved on, and he should, too. “Seriously Carl, do you think you’re going to get away this time? Acme and the FBI have this place surrounded.” 

He dodges my knife jab, then throws an elbow at my nose. As I duck, his funny bone finds the wall instead. To double his pain, I let loose with a sidekick. He grunts when my heel rams his stomach. 

Carl gives me an admiring wave. “As much as you’d love me to stick around, doll, it just ain’t going to happen.” He glances at his watch. “In fact, my ride should be here, right about now.”

“Liar!” I lunge at him, but he sidesteps my knife just in time. He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back until I groan in pain. 

The knife clatters to the floor. He jerks me down on my knees. He’s now within reaching distance of the knife. 

As he reaches for it, my leg goes straight out. My heel finds his face, but not before he has a chance to grab the knife. Pulling my head back by my wig, he holds it at my throat. “Hey, I like you as a dumb blonde. Want to come along for the ride? Let me initiate you into the Mile High Club. ”

“Really? You think you’re going to just waltz out of here?”

“Let me prove it to you.” He yanks me off my knees, and shoves me into the elevator. “Going up,” he murmurs in my ear, then he licks it.

I slam my head into his nose. “You’re a pig.”

“Ouch!” Pained, he jerks back. To punish me, he slams my head into the elevator wall. “That’s quite a term of endearment for your hubby.”

“We’re separated, remember? The papers are filed. It’s only a matter of time, so grow up about it.”

“
Boring.
 Admit it, sweet pea, you miss Carl’s love log. Hey, how about some elevator sex, to liven things up?” He kicks my feet apart and slams me up against the elevator wall, holding me against it with an elbow while he uses his other hand to pull up my skirt. A second later I feel his hand between my legs. A finger nudges aside my panties so that another can enter the sweet spot it seeks, moving in and out, faster and faster.

The elevator bell chimes. The door open. 

 “Ah, what a shame, we’re already here! Time to get off.” He lifts his hand so that we can both see his damp fingers. “But you’ve already done that, haven’t you?”

I can make out the sound of the whirring of helicopter blades. Carl’s right, his ride is already here. He drags me, kicking and screaming, toward it. It can’t drown out the cacophony of police sirens, eighteen stories below us. 

“So, what’s the word, Donna, want to make a run for it with me?”

“Go to hell!”

Instead, he crams his lips onto mine, prying my mouth open with his tongue.

Until I bite down hard on it.

“Damn it!” He shouts. His hand swings around to slap me, but he stops himself just in time. “Can’t damage the merchandise. Or in this case, the fall girl.” 

He shoves me onto the deck and trots toward the copter.

I pull myself onto my feet. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see,” he shouts over the helicopter’s revving engine. “Don’t worry! You know what they say, orange is the new black!”

There is nothing I can do as his copter rises straight up into the night sky except shoot him a bird.

I circle back toward the elevator, but it’s gone.

I’m running to the rooftop’s stairwell door when it bursts open. Jack, Abu, and Ryan run through, along with a twenty-member FBI SWAT team.

Jack’s eyes sweep over me with concern. When I look down at my white ensemble, I see why. 

I’m covered with the blood of at least five men.

But I’ve got an alibi. 

I think.

Chapter 10

Is He Lying to You?

Up until now, you’ve had no reason to think your new Mr. Maybe is anything but a gentleman and a scholar. However, there are a few red flags you should be aware of:

Red Flag #1: Your girlfriend claims he asked her for her phone number.

Wishful Thinking: He’s planning a surprise party for you, and needs her help!

Reality Check:  No, he’s planning a date with her. And you’ll be surprised how easy it is to break his neck when you find them kanoodling.

Red Flag Number 2: He insists you tell him your ATM number. Over the next couple of weeks, you notice your balance is dwindling down, in twenty dollar increments.

Wishful Thinking: Life is a Monopoly game. Eventually there will be a bank error in your favor.

Reality Check: Life is not a Monopoly game. It is a Survivor reality show. And right now, you are losing and he is winning. Time to exile him to the Island of Misfit Jerks. Otherwise, you’re the loser.

Red Flag #3: He asks you for the keys to your new car because he says he wants to check the air in the tires. But three days later, you still haven’t heard from him, let alone seen your car.

Wishful Thinking: He’s taken your car to his mechanic for a thorough  check-up, and it’s taking longer than anticipated.

Reality Check: Face it, he’s long gone. He’s hit the road. He’s outta there. Without you. 

Perhaps things aren’t really so bad. You may not have a cute ride, but all the walking you now must do is great for your legs.

“Mom, since it’s Friday, can I sleep over at Babs’ house? Wendy’s parents have already said it’s okay for her to go.” Mary carefully keeps her head down as she pours syrup over her pancakes.

The reason she avoids looking me in the eye is because she's afraid I’ll ask if Babs' mom will be in for the evening.

I won’t ask, because I already know the answer: she won’t, since she’s a single mom who works as a nurse on the Hilldale Hospital night shift. 

Three girls alone at a sleepover with Trevor and his buds, Wally and Eddie, on the prowl? I think not! Of course, if I accuse Mary of trying to pull the wool over my eyes, she’ll pretend to be offended. 

I’ll just have to make this a win-win for both of us. She keeps her innocence, I keep my sanity. “Hey, why don’t you host the sleepover instead? You can have a 
Pretty Little Liars
 marathon! I’ll send Dad for pizza, and cupcakes from Beyond Heavenly. That way, Babs’ mom doesn’t have to rush home from work, should any emergencies arise. You know, like Wendy’s and Wally’s braces locking together when they make out.”

Mary processes that for a moment. Having it over here may frustrate her boyfriend, but it allows her to save face with her girlfriends, and it certainly appeases me, now that she’s figured out I know the score. 

Finally she nods. “Alright, you’ve busted me. Does that mean we can’t sleep in the media room?”

I smile sweetly. “Of course, honey, if that’s what you’d prefer.” 

What I don’t say, (and she doesn’t know) is that all windows and doors are wired to infrared security cameras that trigger alarms, so there is no way the boys can sneak inside after Jack and I go to sleep.

Note to self: build a trap door on the threshold of the back entrance. Nothing deep enough to break a neck, but one that will do some damage to a teen boy’s psyche. 

Maybe fill it with water, then toss in a few baby alligators.

“If the girls want to have a few boys over, as long as we’re home, too, I don’t see any harm in it,” Jack mutters from his computer, where he’s writing up a report that he hopes will cover our asses after the bloodbath in Playa Del Rey. 

Mary rewards him with a hug before running off to text her besties with the change of venue.

I pinch Jack’s arm. “‘No harm,’ eh? Sure then, feel free to sit in on all the fun and games. In fact, maybe you can spin the bottle for them.”

“That would be a lot more fun than watching you pace a trench in the floor.”

“I'm worried. Why haven’t we heard from Ryan?” 

“He’s probably getting reamed out, as we speak.” He frowns. “My guess is that no news is good news.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be Reynolds’ scapegoat. Even if I’m not put permanently under lock and key, I’m sure to lose my job.”

“Reynolds has nothing on you.”

“Says who? Certainly not Carl. In fact, he boasted I’ll be his ‘fall girl.’”

 “Sure, he talks a good game, but it won’t be the first time you’ve managed to outsmart him. Speaking of games, isn’t it time you gave Mary a little leeway? She’s certainly not boy crazy.”

“Not everyone can fend off peer pressure.”

His right brow raises as he smiles. “Are you speaking from experience?” 

 “Of course not! I—I was as pure as driven snow.”

“Are you telling me you never played Truth or Dare?”

“Never!” Yeah, sure, a few times. Not that he needs to know it. If we were playing now, I’d have to take the dare. And I’m sure I’d love it.

“How about Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

“Most of the boys I knew were too horny to last that long. Don’t you mean seven seconds?”

“Aha! So you have played it.” Jack leans over me. “Well, I’ve got staying power.”