The Ambassador's Wife by Jennifer Steil Page B

the air. She breathes so quietly that Finn has to lean close to her face to reassure himself that she, at least, is still living. He cannot bear the thought of walking out of this room. To leave this room is to return to the echoing emptiness of the rest of the house. To the devastating tidiness of Miranda’s side of the bed. To thinking. And to work.
    JUNE 7, 2007
    Miranda
    It looked
just
like a light switch: a small white plastic square set into the wall next to the bed. The room was dim, and Miranda was tired. So how was she to know? It was Thursday, the start of the Mazrooqi weekend, but Finn had gone into the embassy to finish up some work, leaving her slumbering. She had not woken up in this room very many times, and never alone. So when she slid from the sheets to stand, her sleepy fingers fumbled for the nearest switch, and pushed. A short, piercing beep was the only response. The room stayed dark. That didn’t bode well. She stood naked next to the bed, puzzled. But hearing no further noises, she made her way downstairs in search of lime juice. There was no point in getting dressed. She was alone in the house and it was warm. Besides, there was something a little thrilling about walking naked down such an elegant staircase, in a house usually bustling with overdressed people.
    Her cell phone rang before she was back upstairs. “Sweetheart, are you all right?” Finn, sounding out of breath, phoning from the embassy.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said, setting the glass of pale green juice down on the table next to the bed before she spilled it. “Why?”
    â€œOne of the house panic alarms has gone off—”
    â€œOh no…” Her stomach started to curl into itself.
    â€œDid you hit an alarm?”
    â€œWell, um, it looked
just
like a light switch…” She wondered how much trouble she was in.
    â€œWell, Tucker is on his way over to reset the alarms, so let him in. Probably useful for you to know anyway.”
    â€œI’m really sorry. But you might have mentioned it was an alarm; it really looked so much like—”
    â€œIt’s all right, but six armed men are about to break down the front door, so you might want to get downstairs.”
    â€œOh god, I’m not dressed!” Just then the house phone began to ring, and she heard a pounding on the front door. “I have to go!”
    â€œGo, go. They are just going to want to check the house, so let them do that.”
    â€œOkay, okay. Shit, I’m really sorry.”
    She put the phone down and reached for the closest things she could find to put on, a green Indian blouse and black skirt left on an armchair. Pulling the blouse over her belly as she ran down the stairs, she reached the bottom just as the front door flew open and several dark men with machine guns stormed the front hall. Immediately, they moved toward the living room and kitchen, their eyes searching the upstairs balcony for intruders. A rosy-cheeked British man with short-cropped blond hair led the team of invaders. This must be Tucker. She hadn’t met him yet; he had arrived in Mazrooq only recently, to take over the training of Finn’s close protection team. Hell of a way to introduce herself: her clothes wrinkled and twisted around her body, her corkscrew curls standing out from her head in every direction, her face still creased from sleep. And obviously too dim-witted to know what a panic button was. She had so hoped that they’d get along.
    â€œI am so, so sorry!” she said. “I’m afraid this is all my fault.”
    â€œNo worries!” Tucker smiled at her, his blue eyes still glancing around the house. “At least this way I finally get to meet you. You must be Mira.”
    â€œHow did you guess?”
    â€œTucker.” He shook her hand before continuing. “Actually, we’ve never tested that particular button, so now at least we know that it works.”
    â€œLooks