The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide (2 page)

One thing that won’t fade from memory anytime soon is her attempt to kill me. 

She better not catch herself alone with me. I live to return the favor. Despite Jack’s conviction that she was just a pawn in Carl’s unholy game of world domination, I know better. 

She was playing for keeps. And what she wanted didn’t include Jack.

 She told me so herself.

She is dressed primly, in a high-necked tailored linen suit that defies Cuba’s sultry heat. The only indication she is feeling any discomfort at all are the few damp tendrils which have escaped from her otherwise smooth ash blond chignon. Her voice, though low, never wavers. Her tale not only corroborates what we know to be true, it’s done with such conviction that even Lynch can’t shake her under cross-examination, but he’s sure as hell trying.

“Why should anyone believe you, when what you say is the only thing that keeps you from being locked in this hellhole alongside Carl Stone, facing a death sentence?” Lynch snarls at her.

“Because I—” she hesitates a moment, then: “Because I was deceived by him, too.”

“You’re lying,” Lynch declares. “You’re here because you’re a woman scorned.”

“No!” Her Romanian accent is more prominent, now that she’s upset. “I’m a woman afraid of a monster who hates everyone, and everything. What he loves is power. I know firsthand the pain he can cause, and the harm he will do, if he’s allowed to walk free. ”

Unfortunately for Valentina, the only person who hates her more than me is Carl. Her testimony here assures this.

When she steps off the witness stand, she has to pass right by him.  Her eyes are drawn to Carl’s. His glare makes her flinch in fear. All the color leaves her face. She steadies herself as she stumbles past him, to one of the courtroom’s rear benches. 

Judge Crowley’s deliberation is short. No one is surprised when he delivers a verdict of treason and a sentence of death by lethal injection.

Jack breathes a slight sigh.

I turn my head so that he can’t see my response. I wish I could control the tears that rim my eyes. 

He must know how I feel anyway, because he asks, “Are you sure you’re up for a final farewell?” 

 During pre-trial negotiations, Lynch was able to wangle a solid concession: a final meeting between Carl and me. 

“It works to Acme’s advantage. So be it.” I shrug. “Besides, I need closure. It will be my last face-to-face with Carl. There’s some solace in that.”

As I grab my purse and head for the door, he murmurs, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

That’s just it. I know he’d do anything and everything to take down the Quorum.

And he knows I will, too.

It’s been a while since Carl has been with a woman. I don’t know what he has in mind for me. No matter. It’ll be worth it, if he gives up the Quorum. 

If he doesn’t do so willingly, there’s always Plan B.

My first stop is the lady’s room. If I’m going to give my ex a final kiss goodbye, I’ll need a new coat of lipstick. 

In other words, Plan B.

Acme has some special lipstick wands for honeypots like me. For example, the one labeled “Cherry Noir” puts my paramours to sleep. Another, “Murder by Mauve,” contains a deadly poison. Since the goal is to get Carl talking, “Chatty Cranberry,” which contains the truth drug SP-117, should do the trick. 

I’ve just applied the protective undercoat of gloss that keeps me from reacting to Chatty Cranberry’s active ingredient when I hear a retching sound coming from one of the toilet stalls. While faking deep concentration on my beauty regime, through the mirror I keep my eye on the stall. 

A moment later the stall door opens and Valentina comes out, dabbing her mouth with a tissue. Now that her jacket is off, the toll the trial has been taking on her is more visible. There are damp spots under the armpits of her blouse. The buttons strain against her very full breasts. 

Slowly, I reach for the 
Murder by Mauve
. In no time at all, it’s open. I palm it like a stiletto, in my left hand. All it takes is a quick slash across her lips, and she’s a goner—

And whoever finds her will click their tongues over the heart attack that took one so young and so beautiful.

Boo hoo hoo. It was the false intel she gave me that almost put Jack in his grave. Let’s just call this tit for tat. 

Apparently Valentina hadn’t realized someone else was here. When she sees it’s me, her red-rimmed eyes grow enormous. Without thinking, her hand goes to her belly.

She has…

A baby bump
.

It’s barely there. Only another mother would notice, and not even by the curve.

It’s her protective stance that gives her away.

Her eyes follow mine, down to her waistline, but only for a moment. When our eyes meet again, it’s in the mirror.

It’s hard to apply Chatty Cranberry with a shaky hand.

It’s even harder to toss the 
Murder by Mauve
 wand back in my handbag. Carrying a terrorist’s child is a life sentence for any woman. I know this firsthand.

Besides, my goal is not to put her out of her misery, but to prolong it.

When I know I can speak without a quiver in my voice, I murmur, “You’re, what, six weeks along?”

She nods. 

“So that’s why you took off.”

“He has children. 
Your children
.” Each syllable is weighted with wistfulness, every word blatantly envious. “He would not have wanted the child, and I would never have given it up. I made the necessary choice.”

Frankly, I think she’s wrong. Carl would want to know, if only to use the kid as a chip in the emotional poker game he plays with her.

The same way in which he uses the threat of taking our children from me.

By dropping my hands to my side, I signal her that she’s free to leave; that as far as I’m concerned, there’s no longer a target on her head. 

There will be no long kiss goodbye. For now, anyway.

She acknowledges my gift with a slight bow.

She heads for the door, but stops when she reaches the threshold, and turns around. “He doesn’t know about this, if you’re wondering.” 

This is her way of asking me to keep her secret.

Knowing how Carl likes to shoot the messenger—really, to shoot anyone who gets in his way—I’ve got no problem sparing him this bit of news.

The door squeaks as it shuts behind her.

I have to redo my lip gloss. I look like a clown, and this is no laughing matter.

My children will soon have a half-sibling. I’ll be tied to Valentina for the rest of our lives.

And so will Jack.

I wonder if she told him about the pregnancy.

If it turns out he doesn’t know about it, he’s not hearing it from me. As it is, his feelings about her are too raw for that little bombshell. The last thing I need is for him to feel sorry for her.

“I’m glad you came. This last time anyway.” Carl smiles at his own double entendre.

His attempt at gallows humor leaves a lot to be desired.

The prisoner’s visitor gallery inside Gitmo’s classified facility known as Camp 7 is nothing fancy. It was constructed from cinder block. Its sole window is barred, and wrapped in steel mesh, allowing the moist Caribbean air to waft through. The two armed guards posted outside the door are part of the Marine Corps’ Task Force Platinum. But even that battalion is just the first layer of the security onion in which Carl and other high value detainees are cloistered.

The guards kept their eyes straight ahead, but their lips curled into a smirk when I entered the room.

That’s okay. Whatever strings Carl and his lawyers pulled to get me up close and personal with him works to Acme’s favor, if I can get him to spill his guts on the Quorum. 

 “We both want closure, Carl. That is why I’m here.” As I sit down across from him, I place my hands on the table between us. “Time to cut a deal, don’t you think? Now that the Quorum sees you as a lost cause, it won’t care if the government puts a needle into your arm.”

I tilt my head toward Mason Lynch, who sits in a chair off to one side. He’s engrossed in some legal brief. I wonder if it has anything at all to do with Carl’s case, or if he’s already moved on from what is obviously a lost cause. As soon as this little tête-a-tête is over, his private Gulfstream G650, sitting on Gitmo’s runway, is ready to whisk him back to his gilded Manhattan cage on Lexington Avenue. 

When I came in, Lynch rose and shook my hand to thank me for coming. I grabbed his arm with both hands, which gave me a perfect opportunity to slip a sticky GPS microdot inside the pocket of his jacket. My hope is that his first stop will be the offices of his client, the Quorum, to deliver the bad news of Carl’s sentence. 

 Carl’s response to my remark is a snort. “I guess you’re right. Either way, I’m a dead man. Maybe it will be a shiv in the shower. Or maybe I’m in for another rambunctious round of waterboarding.”

 “I can help you, Carl. Just give us the names, and before I leave Guantanamo, you’ll have a deal that will allow you to leave with me, and to live your life incognito.”

“Don’t be such a silly little fool, Donna.”

“I’m trying to save you! Do you think the Quorum could find you, even with your knowledge of spycraft and a deal that includes Witness Protection?”

“But of course! It’s a sea serpent with 11 heads and tentacles in every nook and cranny of our government, including the Department of Justice.” Even facing the gallows, he can crack a smile. “But I invite you to ply your coquettish wiles in an effort to change my mind.” 

Finally, his hand reaches for mine. 

When I don’t pull away, his eyes seek mine out. “I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again,” he mutters.

There’s a part of me that would still like to believe he has feelings for anything; not necessarily me, but perhaps for the life we once shared. Or at least for our children. This thought makes it easy for me to tear up. “Carl, why did you ask for me?”

“Didn’t they tell you? My death row wish is a conjugal visit.” 

Seeing my glower, he laughs and adds, “Oh, quit playing hard to get. You know you want it, too.” His smirk fades. “Truth is I have something for you. I can’t make up for all the sorrow I’ve caused you, but I hope it redeems me in your eyes somewhat.”

He snaps his fingers at Lynch, who looks up, startled. “That little item I asked you to get from my safety deposit box: did you bring it?”

“I have it right here.” Lynch picks up his valise and walks over to us. When he opens it, he pulls out a box and puts it between Carl and me.

“Go on, open it,” Carl says.

“I take off the rubber band, and then open the lid. Inside are photos from his childhood, which had disappeared with him. Also in the box are an old Bible and an antique brooch.

I recognize both items. They belonged to Carl’s grandmother. “I… you want me to have these?”

“Sure, why not? They won’t do me any good where I’m going. And… well, if you ever tell our children the truth about me, I don’t want them to think I was all bad.”

“Wow, Carl. I’m touched.” I purse my lips, to keep from biting off the Chatty Cranberry. 

He takes that as a come-hither look and raises a brow, in anticipation.

Works for me. Anything to get him kissing and telling. But I can’t seem too anxious, or he’ll be suspicious. “I guess one kiss wouldn’t hurt. For old time’s sake, I mean.”

 “Yeah, I thought this sentimental tripe would put you in the mood.”

Ignoring him, I lean in for the smooch that will have him bearing his soul to me.

Carl has my arm twisted around my back. “Say even one word and I’ll break it,” he hisses into my ear. 

The next thing I know, Carl has pricked my bicep with his Grandmother’s broach. 

What the hell
, I try to say, but the words seem stuck in my mouth. In fact my whole body seems to be freezing up.

I’ve been drugged
.

In no time, Lynch is on his feet. He glances at the guards. His lawyerly instincts are to protect his client. Seeing that the Marines still have their backs to us, he rushes over and hisses, “Carl, please don’t do anything that will make things worse.”