Red Widow by Alma Katsu (interesting books to read .txt) 📕

He quiets, perhaps realizing that it wouldn’t look good to resist. He lets the agents lead him away, though not before giving Lyndsey a piercing glare. She figured out his secret but, unlike Cassidy, refused to keep it. You were in on this, weren’t you? Even you. I can’t trust anyone.

Herbert watches Eric leave with her men. To Lyndsey, she says, “You did the right thing. Though I know it was really difficult.”

What will people at CIA say when this comes out? How many will side with her and how many will decide she’s a traitor for not circling the wagons to protect her fellow officers? She might never be trusted again with a special operation because she didn’t cover up what Eric had done. She may have torpedoed what was left of her career.

Herbert is looking at her cell phone and frowning. “My director wants me to brief him in person. Now. I’m going to need to head off.” Lyndsey nods. “It’ll take a few hours before we’re ready to question Tarasenko. You should join us. Call my office when you arrive and I’ll send someone to escort you.”

There’s nothing left to do but to check on Theresa.

The trip to the second floor of Theresa’s house is longer and steeper than she remembers, or maybe it’s because she is suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline high has worn off. The stress of the past twenty-four hours has caught up to her. At the top, a wedge of dim light from Brian’s room spills across the hall. She catches the murmur of low voices, mother and child.

She gives a two-knuckle rap on the door before she steps in. Theresa sits on the bed holding Brian, her chin resting on the top of his head. He looks much younger than his seven years. They hold each other: they are all the other has.

Theresa looks up at her.

“I’m going now. There will be a police unit in front to watch the house tonight.” Lyndsey is merely reminding her. Herbert went through this beforehand, how they don’t think Theresa has anything to fear from the Russians, not right away in any case, but they would leave police protection in place until they have a sense of how the Russians are going to react. Right now, there’s a jumble of vehicles in front of the house and they’ll likely remain there for hours gathering evidence.

Theresa nods as she strokes her son’s head.

“The FBI took Eric in. They have . . . questions.”

Theresa’s eyebrows shoot up, but she keeps mum in front of Brian. The boy knows him, after all. He’s been in their house. Daddy’s friend.

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

Lyndsey has one hand on the bannister when Theresa calls out. “Wait a minute—I want to thank you. This could’ve ended differently, a lot worse, and . . .” She looks down at her son.

“You don’t have to thank me, not after what you’ve been through.” And she has been through so much more than anyone will ever know. Because of what she did tonight, her husband may remain in a Russian prison for the rest of his life. Brian doesn’t know that yet, but he may one day. What then?

“You did the right thing,” Lyndsey says. Theresa deserves to hear it, too. Even if Lyndsey is the only person who will ever say it to her.

FORTY-ONE

The next morning, Lyndsey is sluggish. In the end, she only gets a couple hours of sleep before daylight and traffic noise force her out of bed. Even a hot shower does little to revive her.

For one thing, she had to take a late phone call from Pfeifer. He’d spoken to the attorney general and wanted to warn her that the FBI had decided not to hold Eric overnight. “Barker called someone and threatened hell to pay if they did,” he had told her, an uncharacteristic grittiness in his tone. “I’ll talk to Barker about it in the morning. And Lyndsey, there’s something else. I’ve spoken to a few people about Eric, people whose judgment I trust, and they had some unsettling things to say about him. Clearly, we missed the signs on this one. Obviously there’s something we should’ve caught sooner. We’ll be watching him of course, but his ego is bruised, and that’s the worst thing you can do to a guy like him. Be careful. Keep your distance. At least he doesn’t know where you live,” Pfeifer said in parting. She’s not sure that’s not the case. She remembers mentioning where she was staying to him once, but surely Eric hadn’t been paying attention at the time.

That morning, she spends the gridlocked drive into D.C. wondering if Herbert was able to get much of anything out of Newman before he was released. Will he be fired? Pfeifer had warned her it was unlikely that Eric will face any disciplinary action. Strictly speaking, he broke no CIA regulations or U.S. law. The only offense he’s guilty of is recklessness, which is viewed at Langley as a blessing and a curse. Pfeifer has made it clear that Eric has committed enough wrongs so that his career, if not over, will be ruined. That’s a catastrophe when your career is all that matters. Barker has been particularly outspoken, Pfeifer confided. Apparently, it’s one thing to let a case officer sit in an FBI holding cell but quite another thing to ignore Clandestine Service protocol and bypass proper vetting.

Merely losing his job doesn’t seem like punishment enough. Yaromir Popov is dead. Theresa Warner was tricked into committing a crime and very nearly ruined her life. The unfairness eats at Lyndsey as her car creeps down Route 66.

By some miracle—the capricious D.C. commuting gods smiling on her this morning—Lyndsey finds space in a garage not far from FBI and is able to make good time. A young woman from Herbert’s office escorts Lyndsey, chirping brightly