Runa frowned. “I think I remember that. Isn’t it mostly ceremonial? She would bring the staff out and bang it onto the floor at the start and end of each Assembly session.”
“It is. But it also means that she met most of the Assembly’s members and knew all of the major players.”
Runa groaned. “It could literally be any member of any House in the state.”
“Yep.”
The political undercurrents within the Assembly were so complex it would take a supercomputer to sort them out. I made a note of everyone Sigourney was in office with, starting with the former Speaker Linus Duncan. Linus would take my call. He’d served as a witness to the formation of our House. Whether he’d tell me anything was a different question entirely.
We watched Shadow wander about. Arabella was still MIA and worry gnawed at me. My sister could handle herself, but Diatheke’s roster of killers was nothing to sneeze at.
“My brother is an emotional zombie, my sister is missing, and I found out that my mom was a hit woman.” Runa sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I suspected. The math just wasn’t adding up. She didn’t make enough from her forensic work to cover our bills. I mean, it wouldn’t even pay my tuition. When you asked me to go through her bank statements, I went back to the beginning of her records twelve years ago. You know what I found? Large deposits for consulting work. A hundred grand, two hundred grand. One was for half a million. Half a million, Catalina.”
“Must have been a high-risk target.”
“At least she was good at her job, right?” Runa gave a short laugh. “It’s one consulting fee after another, and then eight years ago everything just stopped. This was right about the time she told me that she wanted to spend more time with us. She must have stopped ‘consulting.’”
“I’m sorry,” I told her again.
“I can’t ask her any questions. I can’t say, ‘How could you do this?’ or ‘What were you thinking?’ So I went to my house yesterday. I talked to the ash and then I cried. I might be losing it.”
“No,” I said. “You’re keeping it together just fine. Better than I would.”
Runa shook her head. “I looked at the files on the flash drive. I thought maybe she was a kind of Robin Hood, who only killed bad people. She wasn’t. She killed whoever they paid her to kill.”
In the real world, there was no honor among thieves and no Robin Hood assassins.
She turned to me. “Ragnar can never find out. He wouldn’t understand. I can rationalize it somewhat. We were in debt, we were about to lose the house, we would go hungry. I don’t condone it, but all my mom knew was how to be a mother, a wife, and a superb poisoner. She was an amazing assassin. I don’t even know how she did half of the stuff on that flash drive. So, I’ll deal with it. I have no choice. But my brother can never be told. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I said.
Shadow squatted and peed at a random spot.
I clapped my hands and crooned in a high-pitched voice, “Good girl, good girl.”
Runa whistled and made “woo” noises.
Shadow kicked her back legs, trying to scour the pavement, and strutted off.
“About Alessandro,” Runa said. “I shouldn’t have made the decision to work with him without talking to you. He was there, and he asked me, and I answered honestly. Brain wasn’t engaged.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was just trying to squeeze more information out of him. Your mother hired him to kill her assassin. He isn’t going away until he nukes them, so we can either work together or we can keep bumping into each other with unpredictable consequences.”
Runa raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep bumping into him, just a little bit?”
I gave her the Look of Death. “No. I found out that Alessandro has been staying across the street, so I disassembled his car window and then walked into my bedroom and found him posing on my bed like some sort of erotic poster.”
“He was posing on your bed? Was he naked?”
“No.” I wish. “But he was holding the picture I had left on the nightstand.”
Runa frowned. “Wait, the picture? The pink, glitter heart picture?”
I nodded. “Yep. That’s the one. I took it to my room. And now he knows about my kid crush and he’s mocking me.”
“Well fuck,” Runa said.
“Fuck” was a good way to put it.
“Look on the bright side,” Runa said. “If he steps out of line, I can poison him, so blood will come out of both ends simultaneously and continuously.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“You must think I’m crazy.” The smile slid off Runa’s face. “Joking while my mother is dead, and my sister is missing. Maybe I am, a little, and if I was by myself, things might be different. But I have my brother. I’m trying my best to not freak the fuck out. I’m trying to be positive and hopeful, and pretending that everything will be okay. But I know nothing is okay and sometimes I just want to scream myself hoarse.”
I hugged her. “Runa, you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation or an apology. Terrible things have happened to both of you, and you do whatever you need to do to get through it. If you want to strip naked and dance in the street throwing glitter in the air, nobody would blink an eye. It’s your grief. You own it.”
She wiped her eyes.
The door of Rogan’s HQ opened, and Bug emerged into the light of the streetlamp. He wore a clean khaki T-shirt and a pair of dark pants. His face was clean, and his hair was damp and brushed.
“That’s my cue to go inside,” I told Runa. “This is Bug, Rogan’s surveillance guy I told you about. He doesn’t do well with strangers.”
“No sudden moves?”
“No, he’s okay with sudden moves. Just don’t expect him to do small talk.”
Runa was right. The lemon roasted chicken did smell amazing.
The entire family had gathered for dinner, all except Arabella. She’d finally charged her phone and replied to my seven texts with “I’m okay, keep your panties on.” I composed an eloquent reply rich with four-letter words, sent it to her, and hadn’t heard anything back.
The table was full. Mom and Grandma talked quietly; Runa was making eyes at the chicken; Bern and Bug carried on a conversation in low voices. Matilda took the bread rolls off the baking pan and arranged them in a basket. Ragnar volunteered to distribute forks, knives, and napkins. Just a normal Baylor dinner.
Leon, wearing oven mitts, pulled the enormous roasting pan filled with potatoes out of the oven and held it while I scooped them into a pretty white dish.
“Grandma, Aunt Penelope, me and Bern, Bug, Runa and Ragnar, Matilda, and you,” Leon said. “Nine people, but ten plates. Who is the extra plate for?”
“We might have a guest for dinner.” I put the salad dressing on the table.
“Like who?” He put the pan onto the stove and pulled the oven mitts off.
I opened my mouth to answer. The doorbell rang, echoing through all of our cell phones. Leon tapped his phone. His eyes sparked with indignation. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I went to answer the door.
The icy assassin who killed the strike team and then stalked me in my own room was gone. Instead, Instagram Alessandro stood in the doorway, carrying a bottle of wine. He wore impeccably tailored brown pants and an indigo blue dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons open, just enough to give a great view of his muscular neck. His boots, leather, ankle-high, and expensive, matched the outfit. His brushed then artfully tousled hair framed his face. He’d shaved, and the masculine perfection of his features was on full display; the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strong, clean line of his jaw, his sensual mouth . . .