Red Widow by Alma Katsu (good books to read for beginners txt) 📗

But most men outgrow their benefactors, yes? A tree doesn’t grow strong if it remains in the shadow of the forest. Besides, Morozov is not above throwing people to the wolves, subordinates as well as rivals; Tarasenko has seen the proof. He’s learned to follow Morozov’s lead: stepped over their corpses, moved into their offices, moved his way up the ladder.

Tarasenko continues drumming his fingers against his desk. An opportunity might present itself from this strange confluence of events. This is how men get ahead in this pestilent kingdom: seeing opportunity before anyone else, and seizing it.

The matter bore watching, very closely.

TEN

TYSONS CORNER, VIRGINIA

It is Saturday, a day for running errands. Lyndsey forces herself to tug on a pair of jeans, tie her hair up in a ponytail, and head over to the sprawling Tysons Corner mall. She only needs a few essentials and promises to get something good for lunch (Tacos? Sushi? Something she cannot make in the barren wasteland that is her kitchen) as enticement to get out of the apartment.

One purchase later (athletic socks), she is standing outside Macy’s when she sees Theresa. Lyndsey is always surprised when she sees someone from work out in the wild, as though the two worlds make a combustible combination and should never, ever touch.

There is no mistaking Theresa. Chic as always, trench coat cinched tightly at the waist, sunglasses pushed on top of her head. She holds the hand of a small boy and has leaned over to whisper something in his ear. The boy stares as though hypnotized by the sprawling play space in front of them. Children brush by him to clamber onto the huge plastic structures. They are all laughing and shrieking except for little Brian. He stares at a neon set of monkey bars with something akin to reverence.

Should she leave them to their moment? But when will Lyndsey have the chance to meet Theresa’s son? She walks over, tiny shopping bag swinging from her arm. “Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

The smile on Theresa’s face seems genuine. At his mother’s prompting, Brian turns to face Lyndsey, his big eyes mapping her face. He must take after Richard, Lyndsey decides. Those wary, owlish eyes.

“This is mommy’s friend. We work together,” Theresa says. Brian blinks and shifts his weight. Theresa crouches to speak to her son. “Why don’t you go play? Lyndsey and I will sit right over there and watch you. You’ll be able to see us the whole time. I’m not going anywhere.”

They sit on a plastic bench together and watch as Brian begins to hoist himself up the constellation of bars until he’s above the heads of the other children. A hint of excitement betrays Brian’s otherwise controlled expression, but his gaze stays glued to his mother, like a dog rescued from the pound.

“Two years Richard’s been gone, and Brian still doesn’t like to go anywhere without me,” Theresa says. The shopping bags at her feet are all from children’s stores. “The therapist says he’ll outgrow it.”

Lyndsey is aware that today will mark a change in her relationship with Theresa. Although they get together every day for coffee, their talks haven’t been overly personal. Lyndsey talks about her widowed mother living alone in rural Pennsylvania, and Theresa mostly frets about how Brian is doing in school. Today feels different, however. Today, Theresa seems to be in a mood to open up.

Does Theresa have any friends? Lyndsey wonders. She seems to have dedicated herself to her son and her son alone. It seems crazy that this has happened to the wife of Richard Warner, once king of their insular kingdom, the pair a golden couple. Theresa Warner had had her circle of friends, a queen with her court, but it seems they’ve all deserted her now. All those people who knew and loved Richard Warner—why aren’t they helping her? It seems Eric Newman is the only one left.

In an odd way, Lyndsey knows what Theresa is going through. They have both fallen from grace, their worlds turned upside down, and are now forced to build new ones. What happened to her in Beirut—that anyone felt threatened enough to want to see her fall—had been a surprise, but it also had taught her a valuable lesson about Langley. Most people keep their resentments hidden. Suddenly, she realizes that she probably understands Theresa better than she first thought.

Theresa watches children scamper agilely over the monkey bars. “I try not to dwell in the past, you know, but sometimes I think about how different everything would be if Richard was still alive.”

Lyndsey’s not sure how much to pry into such a sensitive topic, a man’s death, but Theresa seems to want to talk about it. “You know, I never heard what happened to Richard. The details didn’t reach Lebanon. We weren’t told anything at all.”

Theresa gives her a pained look. They’re not supposed to talk about classified stuff out of the office but it happens all the time, whenever two or more Agency employees are by themselves, wherever there’s a reasonable expectation that they won’t be overheard. They will skirt around the edges, of course. Talk in code, leave out details. Avoid the secret stuff.

Theresa rises from the bench and jerks her head toward a little alcove, close enough so that Brian can still see her, but away from everyone else. They are by themselves, a bubble in a sea of mothers and teenagers, no one paying attention to them.

Theresa takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, ready to bare her soul. She drops her voice. “No one ever told me the whole story. I figured it out on my own from bits and pieces I heard over time. It started with a problem with an asset. The asset was a woman, one that Richard had been running from Langley. There was a case officer on the ground in Moscow, of