The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (20 page)

“You’ll miss it, won’t you?” Tally and I are sitting on chaise lounges on a sliver of beach caught between a placid Pacific and a hardened lava ridge. Her plane landed only a few yards away, on the hard-packed sand.

From what I can tell, we’re in the middle of nowhere–certainly south of Lázaro Cárdenas, but certainly north of ticky-tacky Guerrero Negro. The owner of the beach’s sole food truck speaks only Spanish. Since Tally doesn’t know the language, when I grabbed our piña coladas, I ordered dinner for us, too: soft tacos filled with thin-sliced marinated steak.
 

To keep our hunger at bay while we wait for our order, the cook hands me homemade tortilla chips, along with a bowl of yummy salsa.

“
Delicioso
!” I exclaim. “What’s in it?”

He beckons me forward. “
Un ingrediente secreto
,” he whispers. “
Crema de anacardo
.”
 

Ah! Cashew cream. I’ll remember that for when I make it at home.

But right now, I’m a million miles from there, at least emotionally. Maybe that’s why Tally’s question doesn’t seem so hard to answer. “The fact that it’ll be over by next week is hitting me just now. But I’ve got my children to think of.”

Tally shrugs. “It’s why I chose not to have kids. You can’t be a kamikaze and worry about getting home in time to make dinner.”

“At some point, you’ll want to get out of the game,” I point out.

She snorts. “You know the odds. They’ll take me out feet first.” Her gaze never wavers. “Look, Donna, if you hadn’t met the ambiguous Mr. Stone, who’s to say you wouldn’t have stumbled into the armed services, or some government job, or Acme, or with some other cowboy organization that handles the bad guys for the rest of the world? Don’t fool yourself! You always had it in you. It’s just that he provided the detour.”

“Yes–and, eventually, the on-ramp, too.” I shrug.

“Hey, trust me, I get it.” All the fun has gone out of her voice. “I made a choice, too–and I don’t regret it in the least. I came into this world alone, and I’ll go out the same way.” She shrugs. “Despite what you think, you will too. Remember: kids grow up, and move out. They get lives of their own. So, you see? The odds are you’ll end up just like me anyway–alone.”

I shake my head adamantly. “Not exactly. I’ll have Jack.”

She laughs. “Who ever knew Wild Card Jack Craig would end up being someone’s Mr. Right!” Tally feigns ignorance. “How did you meet him again? Ah, yes, through Acme! And now, you have your happily ever after story–or do you? Don’t tell me you don’t worry about him with each mission. And don’t tell me you don’t already regret that you won’t be by his side every step of the way.”

I can’t because she’s right–I do.

But I no longer have the privilege. She does.
 

I’m okay with that, because I know she can hold her own in any dogfight.

I smile and tip my glass to her. “He’s in good hands with you. Tally Lloyd, you’re invincible–a veritable Super Woman.”

“Trust me, I too have my Kryptonite.” She digs into the salsa with a chip and takes a big bite.

I laugh. “Oh? What’s that?”

She waits until she swallows before answering. “I’m severely allergic to nuts.”

Oh hell, now she tells me.

The fact that I’ve quit laughing gets her attention. She follows my gaze. When she realizes I’m staring at the dip, her eyes open wide with fear.

Just as she pulls out the epi-pen from her jacket pocket, I reach out to calm her. Our hands collide and the one thing that will save her life falls onto the sand bar. As she gasps for air, I reach down for the epi-pen, but a wave washes over it, and it tumbles just out of reach.

By the time I grab the epi-pen, it’s too late. She is convulsing.

The bartender informs me that the nearest clinic is twenty miles away by rough road, and tosses me the keys to his jeep. I practically carry her to it because anaphylactic shock has overtaken her.

By the time we get to the hospital, all they can do is pronounce her dead on arrival.

The call to Ryan is not one I look forward to making. He must not like seeing my telephone number on his Caller ID because he growls hello into the phone.
 

My message is the last one he needs to hear. After a litany of curses, he shouts, “This is crazy! It’s true what they’re saying! You’re a black widow trainer!”

“Well, my esteemed colleagues are wrong!” I retort indignantly.

“I say it is! Three strikes, Donna!” He hyperventilates another few moments. When he calms down, he growls, “Tell the truth. Are you doing it on purpose?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean–
killing off the competition
.”

“How dare you! I won’t even dignify that with an answer! Listen, if you prefer that I bow out of training a replacement–”

“Prefer it? Hell yeah, I prefer it! And so would anyone who wants to apply–if there’s anyone left. Once the word gets out, I doubt that very much indeed. Oh, and Ms. Stone, one last thing.”

“What is it, Ryan?” I wince because I’m afraid to hear his response.

“If you expect to collect any of your exit package–or for that matter, whatever bonus you’ve accumulated this year to date–you’ll first have to attend a minimum of three SA meetings.”

“What? Now, that’s not fair, Ryan!” I sputter. “Just what the hell is SA?”

“Spooks Anonymous. It’s a non-profit organization that was set up by the covert-ops community as a way to help with the emotional decompression of exterminators and other highly stressed assets, so that they may better re-assimilate into society.”

“You’re kidding, right? Granted, our jobs may be abusive at times–your harassment now is a good case in point–but it’s not as if we’re strung out on some drug!”

“No, I’m very serious. There’s an active chapter in Los Angeles. I know someone who may actually consent to be your sponsor. You’ll get a call from Bosworth Hobart within a day or two.”

“Sounds peachy.” I slam down the phone.
 

When I pick it up again, it’s not to call SA, but to get George down here with a helicopter, as soon as possible. I request that he pick me up in equipment that can handle Tally’s body as well.

Tally was wrong about one thing. She didn’t die alone.
 

But she shouldn’t have died at all.
 

By the time I get home, it’s after midnight.

The house is dark. Jack’s car is not in the garage, so I assume he’s still at Acme.

I’m quiet as I walk upstairs because I don’t want to wake Aunt Phyllis or the children.
 

I pause when I pass Mary’s door. The urge to hold her in my arms is overwhelming. No matter how briefly you’ve known them, watching helplessly as the last seconds of someone’s life flows out of them makes the relationships you care about most even more precious. I don’t like that the estrangement with my daughter has gone on this long. I want to talk to her, and to laugh with her again.
 

I open the door, just a crack. Her body is just faintly outlined through the moonlit night coming in through her window.

Her body, and someone else’s.
 

Their bodies are so close that if I didn’t know my own daughter’s size and shape so well, they could pass as one, despite the fact that he is taller.

Not to mention blond.

Oh…

Fuck.

No way.

She’s sleeping with her Mystery Date.

Instinctively, I draw my gun with one hand, and yank the covers off with the other.
 

Thank goodness, the boy is sleeping over the sheet, and Mary is under it. Both of them are fully clothed.

As Mary and her friend-hopefully-not-yet-benefitted scramble out of bed, my daughter exclaims, “Mom…Please, don’t shoot him! It’s not what you think!”
 

I waver from doing so. Finally, I drop my arm and flip on the overhead light.

Even when my eyes adjust to the brightness, I still can’t believe who’s standing in front of me:

It’s Evan Martin–Bobby and Catherine’s son.

Okay, yeah, this I have to hear.
 

Chapter 13

Party Crashers

Inevitably, word will get out that you’re throwing the social event of the year, if not the decade. (I’d say century, but I haven’t seen your guest list, so I reserve judgment on that for now.) I might as well warn you now that some starry eyed wannabes will do their utmost to crash your party. The best way to handle unexpected guests is to:

1: Scan your party periodically with hidden webcams. You can’t be everywhere at once, so why not plant digital video cameras in every room? Not only will you catch interlopers, you may also see those who sneak off into your bathroom to make out. (Bonus! You’ll get to listen in as your besties gossip on what they really think of you.)

2: Hire bouncers. Raid this week’s trendiest hot spot for a couple of brawny guys who won’t take any guff from an insistent party crasher. (Tip: make sure they have at least a fifth grade education, so that they can read the guest list you hand them.)

3: Release the hounds. Yes, I know. You’re worried that despite the incomparable training received by your pack of Tibetan mastiffs, one of them may tear into the wrong guest. Not to worry! Upon arrival, spray skunk essence on those who belong.
 

Should this cause a mass exodus, you’ve still accomplished your goal: getting rid of undesirables.

I used to think that even on the worst day of your life, hot cocoa had a way of making the world right again.

Not today. Not if half of what Evan is telling us is true.

“So, Evan is the boy you’ve been sneaking around to see?” I ask Mary.

She nods defiantly. “We’ve stayed in contact since–well, since his father’s funeral. He’s dropped out of school. He’s been living in cheap hotels. I convinced him to come out here because he’s got nowhere else to go, Mom! When he got here, he found one off the 405, but now he’s run out of money.”

I shift my gaze to Evan then back to her. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“I would have, but Evan was being stupid about it.”

Evan turns red. “I’ve been making a lot of dumb decisions lately. I felt that with all the bad blood between you and my mom, you’d figure out a reason to say no, and that would make Mary even madder with you than she already is.”

I don’t want to tell him that her anger is already at fever pitch.

He has a point about one thing. Under normal circumstances, the fact that Catherine tried to stab me to death should have put a damper on any goodwill I have toward her family, but it did just the opposite: I truly feel sorry for Evan.

Even more so since the parent he needs most is the one he no longer has in his life.

“Mother, when Evan finally agreed to come here, you’d just gotten back from a trip,” Mary says. “But by then, you’d heard I’d been slipping out during lunch to meet with him, and you went ballistic and accused me of…of...” She glances over at Evan, too embarrassed to go on.

I turn to Evan. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”