Mercy Killing (Affairs of State Book 1) by Kathryn Johnson Page A

was working outside of the system and Peter reported him, the CIA operative might be sidelined by his superiors. Then she’d lose her only source of information about her mother.
    She made a decision based purely on instinct. She wouldn’t tell him about Clay. Not yet. “A boy slipped it into my purse, and it doesn’t matter who sent it. You haven’t helped me find my mother. Someone else is at least trying.”
    “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I had no idea…” Peter stared at the picture, his face suddenly more green than flesh should ever look. “I must have sounded like an insensitive jerk, putting you off the way I did.”
    She wasn’t interested in apologies or excuses. “I applied for a visa, in case she didn’t turn up. But the Ukrainian embassy claims it was lost in the mail or their system.” She narrowed her eyes at her husband as another possibility occurred to her. “Accidentally or intentionally? What do you think, Peter?”
    He swallowed, shaking his head. “How would I know? Geesh, Merce.”
    “You didn’t make any inquiries, did you? You’re an employee of the goddamn U.S. State Department, and you didn’t even try to find her. Even though I begged you!” She was past furious. The throbbing in her hip did nothing but increase her wrath.
    “I…I tried. Come on, give me some credit. Things are complicated and…” He reached for her.
    “No!” she shouted. “I don’t want to be comforted. I don’t want to be lied to. I want you to move your diplomatic ass! If you really want to help, then do it. See that the embassy in Kiev finds out what the hell is going on over there.”
    “All right, all right.” He looked honestly shaken now. “Things are clearly more serious than I'd believed.” He took the photo from her, ran up the final few stairs to the second floor, and turned toward his office.
    She followed him back up the stairs and inside his new man-cave. It was a traditional study done up in dark wooden shelves that rose from floor to ceiling another two walls. Leather volumes filled several rows within easy reach, leaving space on the higher shelves for more books. His diplomas and photographs of himself taken with distinguished men in Washington—a Supreme Court judge, the President, two Baltimore Ravens stars—hung on the only free wall. Tall windows overlooked a garden behind the house.
    Peter sat at his desk, laid the photo flat on his blotter. Switching on the green-glass reading lamp he examined it.
    “God! This is beyond belief. Was there a ransom note or anything with it?”
    “No. Just the message on the back. I’m thinking the picture was taken by someone other than her captors.”
    Peter looked up at her standing over him, eyes narrowing to slivers. “How do you know that?”
    “I don’t know. I’m guessing. Since there was no note asking for money, maybe someone wants to let her family know what’s happened to her. Maybe somebody’s trying to help her.”
    “I guess that makes sense, but—” He scowled.
    “But what?”
    “Nothing, I was just…it’s unimportant.” He waved off the rest of his thought.
    “Now you understand why we need to act. If you can’t get our government or the Ukrainians to take her disappearance seriously, I’m going over there. I’ll find her!”
    He was shaking his head even before she finished. “No way. Do you think I’d let you dash off to some godforsaken place where your mother has been brutalized? Where the same thing might happen to you?”
    If she’d been steaming before, now she was ablaze. “ Let me go? That’s my decision, Peter. Not yours.”
    He rolled his eyes in exasperation, stood up and stepped around the desk. “Mercy, I worded that poorly. I apologize.” He grabbed her hands. “Of course it’s your decision.”
    “Damn right!” She shook him loose.
    “But there are people trained to deal with…with whatever this is—a hostage situation or kidnapping for money or anything else. I can make the