Free The Housewife Assassin's Handbook by Josie Brown Page A

laughing.

    I tell Mary that we’ll be back in time for dinner, but just in case our “run to the store” takes longer than expected, she is to put Trisha to bed no later than eight, and for Jeff and her to go down no later than ten. 
    She gives Jack a shy peck on the cheek. On the other hand, Trisha throws herself into Jack’s arms, body, and soul. It only takes a second for his initial look of shock to melt into gentle appreciation. Jeff’s wary handshake is taken just as seriously.
    I wonder if this cover is going to be harder for him than he initially imagined.
    Already my heart is breaking. Shame on Ryan for putting my family’s emotional wellbeing at risk! He better have a hell of a good reason for doing this to us.
    Jack and I take separate cars. He refuses to be seen in my “mommy mobile.” That’s fine with me. The way he peels out in his Lamborghini Aventador roadster, I’ve no doubt he’s just an accident waiting to happen.
    Three heads that turn as he races down Main Street are those belonging to Penelope, Tiffy, and Hayley. They’re sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of our local Starbucks, dishing some neighbor’s dirt, I suppose. As Jack idles at the corner, Penelope licks her Collagened lips and lifts her sunglasses in order to get a better view of him. 
    This is not lost on Jack. Through his side-view mirror, I can see him honoring her with a wink and that lazy smile of his.
    It’s all I can do not to ram him from behind.
    Instead I lay on the horn.
    As he screeches out of the grand gates fronting Hilldale, I wave at them sweetly. The way they show their obvious disappointment is to ignore me. 
    I wonder how they’d treat me if they thought Jack was my husband. They’d be jealous, for sure. But I know better than to presume it would earn me their friendships, let alone their respect.
    Not that it matters. As soon as I lay down the law to Ryan, Jack Craig will just be a fond fantasy for Hilldale’s méchantes mères .
    An even bigger problem is explaining to my children that he’s not who they think—and hope—he is: 
    Their father.

    “Explain to me why you feel it’s necessary for this jerk to squat in my house and sully the name of my deceased husband?” 
    Ryan looks up from his desk. The weariness glazing his eyes is a symptom of his perennial state of anxiety. He stands up, stretches, and then walks over to the door in order to close it.
    Does he think Jack’s feelings will be hurt? Well, boohoohoo. Fact is, Jack couldn't care less what either of us thinks. He’s too busy flirting with Ryan’s assistant, Natasha.
    “I don’t see it that way, Donna. For the past five years Jack’s been leading our international field work on the Quorum. He’s analyzed their strengths and weaknesses, and because of the mole he’s planted, we now have important intel of their lead players, and their procedures. In fact, if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have discovered their next attack may be here, in a few weeks.”
    “Here, in LA?” The thought that Carl’s killers are so close catapults my heart into my throat.
    Ryan nods. “It’s one of sixteen key metropolitan areas where we know they’ve got active cells. The one correlation between all of them is that they’ve set up in affluent suburban communities. The online chatter tells us that there is a high concentration of Quorum operatives located in the OC. In fact, our intel shows that the Quorum has made Hilldale its satellite headquarters for whatever operation is in play in Los Angeles.” 
    That news stuns me into a chair.
    “Hilldale? Why my neighborhood, of all places?”
    “One thing terrorists have learned well is to hide in plain sight. Doing just that worked for Osama bin Laden for several years, didn’t it?”
    I ignore Ryan’s answer. Still, I feel the dread that comes with knowing that the Quorum is so close.
    But I also feel exhilaration.
    Bring. It. On.
    “Donna, you’re an integral part of