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

haven't committed us, have you? Please say you haven't.”
    “I've signed a lease, for three years,” he snapped. His jaw locked; he glared at her. “You’re going to love it.” It was an order, not a promise.
    She felt her entire body flush with anger. It took her over a minute to find her voice. Even then her throat stayed so tight she had to choke out one word at a time.”How. Could. You.” She swallowed, but the lump wouldn’t go away. “How could you do this without letting me even see the place where I was going to live?”
    Peter gave the door a furious shove. “Fuck it, Mercy. Cut me a break, will you? I wanted this to be special for us.”
    He was pouting now. And bristling. She hated when he got like this. 
    “I just wish you'd consulted me. If you'd emailed me photographs of the houses you were considering—” She broke off when he pushed her ahead of him into the foyer. A matronly, gray-haired woman in a navy-blue uniform stood facing her.
    The woman spoke in rapid Spanish then switched to halting English, as if she’d practiced a speech for the occasion. “You are most welcome to our country, Signora Davis. I am most very happy to be for you.”
    Mercy cast Peter a final withering glare then smiled at her welcoming party of one. “Thank you so very much.  This is a beautiful house. Are you the housekeeper?”
    “ Si. Mi nombre es Lupe .” The woman continued in English, “I will introduce you to staff now.”  Lupe looked to Peter, as if for permission, but he was scowling at her. She smoothly altered the plan. “Later I introduce. Señor, he would like to show you around himselfs, and so…I will leave you.” She turned and walked, head high, through a door that Mercy assumed led to the kitchen. The aromas of cinnamon and cloves wafted through the door as she passed through.
    “She’s priceless,” Mercy said. “Forget the house, I just want to live with Lupe.”
    Peter laughed, which she took as a promising sign. Perhaps she shouldn’t have doubted his good intentions. After all, they’d need to do a good deal of entertaining while living here. That would be difficult to pull off in a condo or more modest house. Peter might actually be doing her a favor.
    She wondered to what lengths she’d need to go to impress slave traffickers and worm her way into their lives. Every time she thought about even talking with Lucius Clay she felt nauseous. The idea of having to make polite conversation with actual criminals set her stomach on edge. But she knew in her heart she’d do just about anything if it brought her mother home safely.
    For the first time she noticed the paintings mounted at tasteful intervals along the stucco walls. Several were landscapes she’d painted. Somehow Peter had slipped them out of their Georgetown house and arranged for them to arrive ahead of her.
    She felt herself relax a little. Mercy stepped toward the nearest painting, one of her favorites—a landscape showing the old C&O canal that cut through Georgetown. “How did you manage without my knowing?”
    “I can be pretty sneaky when I need to be.” He winked at her and took her hand in his. “I nearly spoiled the surprise on the flight. It was hard not to tell you. I knew if we started talking I’d blab. Had to keep busy.”
    “I noticed.”
    “Come and see the rest of the place. We’ll start upstairs. That’s the best part.”
    She could feel his excitement through his grip. Being touched this way, with real enthusiasm and maybe even passion, reminded her of how much she’d missed the intimacy of their early months as young-marrieds. They hadn’t made love in weeks.
    On the second floor, Peter stopped in front of a dark, richly grained door—chestnut, she thought. It was identical to at least five others that she could see along the hall. She guessed there must be at least six bedrooms. Large ones, from the spacing between the doors.
    Peter watched her expression as he pushed open the door and