Red Widow Alma Katsu (little red riding hood read aloud TXT) 📖

as though she has much evidence to go on. Still, she remembers Jan Westerling’s face when she told her Theresa had asked about Kulakov: she knew that was peculiar. And Kincaid . . . Lyndsey felt he wasn’t being forthcoming with her.

Theresa. Despite the contradictory evidence, there’s something there. She’s sure of it.

You’re the human lie detector, aren’t you? You should be able to tell just by looking at her. Lyndsey flinches; she’s always hated that nickname. Besides, it doesn’t work that way and she knows it.

Lyndsey has gone for coffee twice this afternoon, even resorting to the office pot of tar because it gave her an excuse to walk by Theresa’s desk. Half the time, Theresa isn’t even there, and Lyndsey slinks around the office to see who she is speaking to. It could point to the next asset to disappear. Then when Theresa is at her desk, their eyes meet, and Lyndsey worries that Theresa might be able to tell that something is amiss. Lyndsey may know all the things that give you away but she’s not capable of preventing them. She’s not a hardened liar. How did she come to be in this strange situation, not one she ever expected, suspecting—knowing—one of her colleagues is a traitor?

The part she can’t understand is why: why would Theresa betray CIA? There’s no reason that she can see—unless it had something to do with Richard’s untimely death. Still . . . It would take a lot for a professional intelligence officer to turn traitor.

First, she has to evaluate the other suspects. Wang—she’s a long shot, and it’s perplexing that Kincaid gave her name. Could he be confused?

She presses her hands to her forehead. With all the recent developments, she’s pretty sure that she’s the one who’s confused. She could use someone to talk it over with.

Eric’s office is steps away.

She raps gently on his door. “Do you have a minute?” she asks.

He nods. She closes the door and takes a chair opposite his desk.

“Have you found our mole?”

“I still need to do more research . . . there’s conflicting information . . .”

“I get it, I get it, you retain the right to change your mind, but you wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t have something. Out with it. Who do you think it is?”

This is her last chance to keep this to herself. In the pit of her stomach, however, she knows there’s a chance she’s right. She owes it to the Agency to speak out.

“I think . . . it might be Theresa Warner.” She holds her breath, unable to believe she’s said this terrible thing aloud. Accused her friend of the worst kind of betrayal. Tell me I must be joking. Tell me it’s not possible.

But his expression remains carefully composed as he reaches for a pen lying abandoned on the desk. He starts tapping it against the blotter. “I’m not going to say you’re crazy. You must have a reason for coming to this conclusion. Walk me through it.”

She goes through the work she’s done, every step of it. She tells him about the poison analysis, the conversations with Westerling. She lays out the conflicting information, too, and that CI seems ready to pin it on Kate Franklin.

“That was really unfortunate, about Kate . . .” Eric says. “But you’re sure that you don’t agree with CI? You’re not just saying that out of pity?”

“If I thought she was the responsible party, I wouldn’t hesitate to say so. But . . . CI is being overaggressive. I don’t think Kate was the mole.”

Eric sighs with relief. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I didn’t think so, either. Not that I had any insight into this particular case; I’m saying that from what I know about Kate. But you wouldn’t be so sure about Kate if you didn’t have clues leading in another direction—am I right?”

When she comes to the part about examining the metadata, she hesitates. “I’m not finished with that. Depending on what I find . . . that could change everything. It could point to someone else. It could exonerate her.”

“Or it could be the nail in the coffin,” he says flatly.

This is what she has been afraid of, Eric jumping to conclusions. “But it makes no sense. The Russians killed her husband. Why would she help them?”

She’s been counting on this being the moment when Eric agrees and says there’s got to be some clue they haven’t picked up on yet, a clue that will reveal the real traitor. Stop me from turning in my friend. But that’s not what Eric is about to say, not judging by the grim set of his face.

“Losing Richard was hard on Theresa—who am I kidding? It was hard on everyone who was Richard’s friend, but none of us can really know what that was like for her. It could be . . . that she’s twisted the story around in her head, and instead of being mad at Richard for taking such an insane risk—because that’s what it was, practically suicidal—she blames the Agency. After it happened, she waged an incredible crusade, trying to get the Director to look into it, when it was an open-and-shut case. What did she expect to find?”

Lyndsey opens her mouth but doesn’t know what to say.

“She might think it’s my fault, too. I wouldn’t blame her. Maybe I should’ve stopped him. I could’ve put an end to it. But the asset was his big coup, you know. His claim to fame. If he could exfiltrate her from under the FSB’s nose, well, it would be the stuff of legends. He wanted to try it and I didn’t feel I could take that away from him. I didn’t expect it to go so wrong—none of us did, obviously.”

His regret is palpable. It’s as though the ghosts from two years ago fill the room, all the anger and drama and regrets. “It’s done. You learn from it—but you have to let it go.” It’s all she can think to say.

“As crazy as it sounds, if Theresa has gone to the Russians as a way to get