“Zoe said she did. She said she wears these cute little outfits with lots of skin showing. Picture someone like that unclogging your kitchen drain? She probably has helpers to do the dirty work. Like some man.”

“I never thought of that. Yeah, a man to do the unclogging, and all she does is show up to collect the bill. She has a French manicure for whatever that’s worth. But if she does earn that much, why would she give it up to make half that amount?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe like us, she has something to prove and she wants to serve her country,” she said, her eyes wild at the thought of what she was committing herself to.

Upstairs, the other three Rainford wives sat huddled in a nest of blankets and comforters. They looked up at the round man, their eyes full of awe, shock, and disbelief at what he was suggesting.

“Let me make sure I have this straight. You’re offering the three of us jobs that pay fifty-five thousand dollars a year. We’ll be good Americans if we take you up on your offer. We get a gun to shoot the bad guys. We’re going to live somewhere for a whole year and train to become mercenaries. We’re going to a place you can’t pinpoint for us right now because it isn’t on any map. You want us to work for an organization that is so secret, no one knows about it. After said training, we receive a bonus and owe you four years of work. Three, actually, since the training year is subtracted. It’s a dangerous job, and our lives could be put in jeopardy. For all intents and purposes we will drop off the face of the earth. In other words, the minute we agree, we cease to be who we are. Right?” the belly dancer asked.

Poke Donovan smiled. “That about sums it up, Mrs. Rainford.”

Kayla showed her pearly whites. “Okay, count me in.” She sounded like she was agreeing to go to the grocery store for a friend. “But,” she said cheerily, “I think you need to sweeten this deal a tad.” She looked around at the others to see their heads bobbing in agreement.

Donovan clenched his teeth. “My superiors do not negotiate.”

“Well then, I guess you should be on your way,” Olivia said.

“All right, all right, I’ll listen. What exactly would sweeten the deal?”

“More money,” Zoe said. “Like exactly what I was earning in the private sector.”

“Six-hundred-thread-count sheets and Egyptian cotton towels. I personally like pink ones,” Olivia said.

“My CD collection,” Kayla said.

Sam shrugged. “All of the above.”

“Wait here. I have to make a phone call.”

The women high-fived one another.

Donovan returned and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, well, let me show you to the door, Mister Donovan,” Sam said, pushing the pumpkin toward the door.