Read Online Mercy Killing (Affairs of State Book 1) by Kathryn Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Johnson
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cruel. You didn't tell her?” He walked away a few steps, as if to give them some privacy.
“Tell me what?” she asked.
“I wanted to keep it a secret.” He gave a boyish shrug. “This is my way of thanking you for all you've done to help my career. I doubt I’d have gotten this post if it weren’t for your lobbying on my behalf.”
She was surprised but also pleased by his sudden sweetness. This was a Peter she hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Well, we’ve always said we’re a team.” She smiled and reached for his hand. “Besides, it's not exactly a hardship, accompanying you to exotic posts around the world.”
“Of course. But we both know, if you wanted it, you could have had a curator’s position with just about any museum in the world, including the Louvre. Then where would I be? Without you, sadly.”
She was touched. Deeply, heart-achingly touched. “Oh, Peter.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “I just wanted you to know how grateful I am.”
Mercy pulled him close for a rare hug that she needed as much, she suspected, as he did. This didn’t make up for everything that had gone wrong between them, but maybe it was a sign of better times to come.
Brad ambled toward them again. “Sorry if I let the cat out of the bag,” he mumbled, blinking his gentle eyes sheepishly.
Peter clapped him on the back. “No big deal. The surprise will be in seeing our new home.”
8
Through the limo’s tinted windows Mercy gazed up at sleek glass-and-concrete high rises alternating with elegant Baroque churches and Art Nouveau architecture of the early 20 th century. When she’d first learned that Mexico City was the second largest city in the world, only out-sized by Tokyo, she was astounded.
Ciudad de Mexico also was the most colorful city she’d ever seen. Vibrant hues exploded everywhere. Huge pots of geraniums, hibiscus, and roses sat on nearly every street corner. The upscale shops in the Polanco district rivaled the glamour of any in D.C., L.A., London or Paris. But every now and then the car sped past pockets of deplorable shacks and hovels where children in rags played barefoot in garbage-piled alleys. Then, just as suddenly, the car turned back into an area of opulence. Red and blue tile roofs, abundant walled gardens, brilliant white stucco walls, and shutters of every shade in the rainbow.
The limo rolled to a stop in front of one of these mini-mansions. “Are we dropping in on the ambassador?” she asked.
Peter laughed. “Woman of little faith. What sort of house do you think I'd put you in?”
“One we can afford, I hope.” He couldn’t be serious. This was not the house he meant for them to live in.
The driver opened the door for them. She followed her husband out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. Peter slipped his arm around her waist. He guided her up brilliant, hand-painted tile steps toward an ornate door of exotic woods carved into an Aztec pattern complete with ghoulish mouth and bulging eyes. Fascinating, yes. But suddenly she no longer felt in control of her own life.
Mercy pulled Peter up short of the door. “Wait. This isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. Shame on her—questioning his judgment!
“The slum we just drove through, you must have seen it. We're here as a cultural lifeline between the people of Mexico and the United States. How can we expect them to think we care? Here we’d be living in a veritable palace while our neighbors are lucky to find shelter under a rusty sheet of tin.”
Peter was shaking his head. “You don't understand. We represent a powerful and important country. We have a certain status to uphold. They won't respect us if we live in rubble.”
She stared at him. Did she really know this man?
Another thought struck her, lending her hope that she could still salvage the situation. “This is just one of the houses you’ve looked at, right? I mean, you
“Tell me what?” she asked.
“I wanted to keep it a secret.” He gave a boyish shrug. “This is my way of thanking you for all you've done to help my career. I doubt I’d have gotten this post if it weren’t for your lobbying on my behalf.”
She was surprised but also pleased by his sudden sweetness. This was a Peter she hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Well, we’ve always said we’re a team.” She smiled and reached for his hand. “Besides, it's not exactly a hardship, accompanying you to exotic posts around the world.”
“Of course. But we both know, if you wanted it, you could have had a curator’s position with just about any museum in the world, including the Louvre. Then where would I be? Without you, sadly.”
She was touched. Deeply, heart-achingly touched. “Oh, Peter.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “I just wanted you to know how grateful I am.”
Mercy pulled him close for a rare hug that she needed as much, she suspected, as he did. This didn’t make up for everything that had gone wrong between them, but maybe it was a sign of better times to come.
Brad ambled toward them again. “Sorry if I let the cat out of the bag,” he mumbled, blinking his gentle eyes sheepishly.
Peter clapped him on the back. “No big deal. The surprise will be in seeing our new home.”
8
Through the limo’s tinted windows Mercy gazed up at sleek glass-and-concrete high rises alternating with elegant Baroque churches and Art Nouveau architecture of the early 20 th century. When she’d first learned that Mexico City was the second largest city in the world, only out-sized by Tokyo, she was astounded.
Ciudad de Mexico also was the most colorful city she’d ever seen. Vibrant hues exploded everywhere. Huge pots of geraniums, hibiscus, and roses sat on nearly every street corner. The upscale shops in the Polanco district rivaled the glamour of any in D.C., L.A., London or Paris. But every now and then the car sped past pockets of deplorable shacks and hovels where children in rags played barefoot in garbage-piled alleys. Then, just as suddenly, the car turned back into an area of opulence. Red and blue tile roofs, abundant walled gardens, brilliant white stucco walls, and shutters of every shade in the rainbow.
The limo rolled to a stop in front of one of these mini-mansions. “Are we dropping in on the ambassador?” she asked.
Peter laughed. “Woman of little faith. What sort of house do you think I'd put you in?”
“One we can afford, I hope.” He couldn’t be serious. This was not the house he meant for them to live in.
The driver opened the door for them. She followed her husband out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. Peter slipped his arm around her waist. He guided her up brilliant, hand-painted tile steps toward an ornate door of exotic woods carved into an Aztec pattern complete with ghoulish mouth and bulging eyes. Fascinating, yes. But suddenly she no longer felt in control of her own life.
Mercy pulled Peter up short of the door. “Wait. This isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. Shame on her—questioning his judgment!
“The slum we just drove through, you must have seen it. We're here as a cultural lifeline between the people of Mexico and the United States. How can we expect them to think we care? Here we’d be living in a veritable palace while our neighbors are lucky to find shelter under a rusty sheet of tin.”
Peter was shaking his head. “You don't understand. We represent a powerful and important country. We have a certain status to uphold. They won't respect us if we live in rubble.”
She stared at him. Did she really know this man?
Another thought struck her, lending her hope that she could still salvage the situation. “This is just one of the houses you’ve looked at, right? I mean, you
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