The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

Chapter 9: Dressed to Kill

Chapter 9
Dressed to Kill

A wife should always look her best for her husband. Granted, sexy dresses make it so difficult to hide a weapon! You can't exactly strap a Magnum to your sparkly belt or an AK-47 over your shoulder as if it were a pashmina.

Helpful Hint: Some Berettas are compact enough to fit into even the smallest evening clutch. For example, the Tomcat is only five inches long, and yet it packs quite a punch! And in a really tight squeeze, there's always the folding stiletto. (Down to three inches! Fits into most hollow-heeled Louboutins.)

*****

"Mom! Mom, wake up! We're late for school!" Mary's voice comes to me through a fog of bad dreams, a pounding head, and mucus congestion.

I groan and roll over. Try as I might, I can't open my eyes. They are crusted over. Maybe that's a good thing, since opening them will mean seeing what I already hear from the digital clock, which is droning its Bad Mommy wail.

We are sooo late.

"Um... I'll be up in a minute." Even as I say this I realize I'm too woozy to sit up. If I do, I may upchuck all over the floor.

I have some kind of crud, thanks to a Rave-On stop at the Callahan's house. Bitsy Callahan's toddler nephew hadn't quite gotten over his cold. Of course she waited to tell the Nice Lipstick Lady only after I picked him up.

I feel Mary's hands gently pushing me back down onto my bed. "Mom, Jeff is asking Dad to drive us, so don't worry."

Dad.

I still find it hard to hear how easy the children have transferred their affection for Carl to Jack. My guilt over this is enough to propel me off the bed-

And into Jack's arms.

"Whoa, cowgirl! Didn't you hear the little lady? I've got everything under control. Here, gulp this down."

His words are lighthearted, but by the tone of his voice, I know he means business. What's the use of struggling?

Besides, I'm parched from my fever. So I take a sip. It goes down smooth: lemon, honey, some thyme.

As I go limp, I feel him move me back onto the bed. The blanket goes around me, but I'm still shivering, from chills and fever-

Or is it his touch?

*****

Something is stirring, here in my bedroom.

I'm still woozy, but my fever has broken. Instinctively I pry open my eyes-

There he is: tall, dark, and those large deep-set eyes so sad, just as I remember him. He sits there with his laptop, unaware that I am awake; that I need him, want to hold him in my arms-

"Carl..." My voice sounds so far away.

My whisper has garnered his attention. He puts down his laptop and leans forward-

The haze clouding my eyes drifts away. The man I see before me is not Carl.

It's Jack.

I turn my head toward the wall. This moment of weakness leaves me ashamed.

He doesn't say a word. Not the usual jibing taunt, nothing.

It takes me a few moments to pull it together. Finally when I do, I turn back toward him, with a smile. "Thanks for covering the kids, Jack."

"No problem at all. They're a delight. Mary made the lunches while Jeff made Trisha's breakfast. I checked their homework-"

His façade of nonchalance cracks when he sees the tear of pride rolling down my face. His hand reaches for mine. When our fingers touch, the heat I feel from him makes my heart beat faster. "You're so lucky to have them in your life, Donna."