Miss Impractical Pants (49 page)

His daughter….
The words played in her head, then moved down to fill a place in her heart. A place she hadn’t really known was empty until just then.
She knew Jim and Sheila loved her, but she’d always wondered if they’d agreed to raise her because they wanted her, or as a favor to her parents out of friendship.
She’d never
know if they had wanted her then, but they wanted her now. And that was enough—
enough to understand, that despite how they came together, she really did have a family of her own.

Katie couldn’t hear the announcer over her sobs. She felt ashamed that in her fears of becoming old and all alone, she
’d
taken so many people for granted. But the passing of each familiar face struck her with a palpable humility. She had never realized how many caring people graced her life and, like it or not, would never leave her. She was surprised to see both her brothers had traveled to show their support. Janice and Beverly Martin gave tearful accounts of her as a child. Dylan’s boss, Senator Hensen, and a handful of other congressman and senators were there—not that they cared for her beyond what her misfortune could do for them in the public opinion polls, but still. There were neighbors, work colleagues, teachers from elementary through high school, Professor Bell and his colleagues…all were among the hundreds who camped on her lawn out of concern for her well-being.

The reporter walked inside Katie’s parents’ house, which was wide open and lit up, and the camera panned across the living room sofa, where all five of her closest friends—Christopher, Anna, Dylan, Rob, and Heather—were sitting. Katie put her hand to the screen, desperate to hear their voices, when a shot blasted through the quiet night outside Stanley’s picture window.

The terrifying sound rattled the broken nerves of the household as everyone dropped to the floor, Kata, Indira, and Marko screaming in horror. Outside, a man’s raspy voice shouted over the commotion, calling out menacing foreign sentences.

“He wants to talk to Mensur. He wants to know what’s happening,” Stanley translated in a whisper.

Janek
ran outside to answer the man’s calls. His hard voice sent a chill down Katie’s spine as she remembered how days ago he was an angry, militant, kidnapping terrorist.

“
Janek
is telling him that Mensur and the hostages have been seriously injured and are being treated by the doctor who lives in the house,” Stanley whispered.

The man shouted another terrifying phrase before shooting off another booming round into the still sky.

Janek
came
running back into the room.

“He says he will return in one hour and he wants to see Mensur and the Duchess alive or everyone inside will be slaughtered like pigs.”

“Mensur is dead,” Stanley announced as he reentered the sitting room, adding another layer of gloom to the somber atmosphere.

Lucas broke the silence, pointing at the door. “Is this the only entry?” he asked the brothers, his shoulders dipping with relief at their affirmative answer. Fresh blood was already creeping through his and Janek’s bandages as they
muscled
pieces of large furniture in front of the door. He cast a scrutinizing gaze at each of the windows and sighed. “We should be safe from anyone entering through the windows as long as they don’t have access to a ladder—let’s pray that they don’t.”

Stanley’s phone vibrated against the floor to the tune of “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Katie and the other women stared at it apprehensively; the men had gone down the hall to retrieve more furniture from the bedrooms.

“Hello?” Katie croaked, unsure if answering was the wisest idea.

“Hello. Is this Kathryn—Kathryn Sutherland?” a no-nonsense woman’s voice asked in perfect American English.

“Yes. Yes, this is Katie.” Something about the authoritative nature of the caller compelled her to use her “best manners” voice.

“Kathryn—Katie,” the voice softened a little. “This is Secretary of State Harriett Clayton.”

“Holy crap!”
Katie gulped, forgetting about her best manners.

“Katie? Katie, are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, Mrs. Clayton…ma’am…I mean Senator…I mean Secretary—”

There was a short chuckle on the other end, and the voice became almost maternal—not a tone Katie would have thought Harriett possessed. “Any of those will do just fine. What I need to know, Katie, is if you are safe.”

Katie took in her surroundings—the men now dripping tracks of blood; the pale-faced, cancer-ridden Indira; the haggard-beyond-her-years Kata, huddled in a heap of frightened tears on the floor; and Marko curled up in the rickety armchair,
who
was somehow sleeping soundly through the commotion.

“No, we are not safe,” Katie forced
herself
to speak evenly. “We have less than one hour to resurrect a dead man or they say we’ll all be slaughtered like pigs.”

“All? Who else is with you, Katie? And who is dead?” Harriett
urged,
her voice crackling through the broken cell phone reception.

“One of the kidnappers is dead. I’m with Lucas. We’re in the home of a doctor and his family. They’re good people.” She fought to keep her thoughts and words succinct.

“Is that the location indicated in your text message?”

Katie nodded,
then
realizing Harriet couldn’t see her, replied, “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Hang in there, Katie,” Harriett resumed her matter-of-fact Secretary of State voice. “We’re going to try to get you out of there.”

Try? Try?
The word hummed through Katie’s mind, offering very little comfort. If it weren’t Harriett Clayton on the other line, Katie would have given her a piece of Yoda advice:
Do or do not. There is no try!

“Katie, I’m going to turn the phone over—there’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

And her brief conversation with Harriett Clayton was at an end.

“Katie, love, is that you?” Lottie’s little voice trilled down the line.

“Yes, I’m here,” Katie squeaked, wiping away a tear.

“Oh thank the Lord you’re not dead! Can you put my son on the phone?”

Katie called to Lucas, who halted his work to hobble as quickly as possible over to her, holding his pained side. His befuddled look was enhanced by the bruise around his eye.

She held the phone out to him. “It’s your mom.”

He took the phone eagerly. “Hello Mum!”

“Hello Chicken, I love you so much. And I’m so proud of you for not letting them run off with Katie alone—though if you ever do it again, I’ll run you through with me dullest kitchen knife for giving me a heart attack.”

“I love you, too, Mum.” A tear trickled down his cheek.

“Can you put Katie on the line? There’s something I want to tell the both of you.”

Lucas pushed the speakerphone button. “Right, we’re both here.”

They heard her take in a deep inhale. “You two cheeky little monkeys!” she reprimanded in an unamused tone.

Lucas and Katie stared at each other, dumbfounded.

“If you make it out of there alive, so help me I’ll skin both your hides for deceit.”

“Mum, what are you running on about?” Lucas asked.

“Don’t think for one second I didn’t recognize the bra the forensics team found shoved in the bottom of your shopping bag, Chicken,
before
they were able to trace it back to Ms. Katie.”

Katie bypassed red and turned purple. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that in front of Harriett Clayton.”

“Damn right, I said it front of Harriett Clayton, and the Waverlys, too. I’d say it in front of bloody Barack Obama if he were here. I want you two to admit you’ve been very naughty bunnies.”

Lucas said sternly, “Mother, this really isn’t the time.”

“Bollocks! This may be the only time! You’re not going to die thinking you’ve pulled the wool over me eyes.”

“Mum, I think you’ve misunderstood the situation.”

“Have I? I’ve heard an account from an old village fisherman describing the sunrise escapades of a couple matching just your description.”

A mortified groan escaped Katie’s lips. “People are going to think I’m a slut-bag!” she groaned, more to herself than anyone. “I could die today with Harriett Clayton thinking I’m a slut-bag. You might as well engrave ‘slut-bag’ on the headstone that will sit above my mangled body!”

“Oh
Lordy
!
Have the terrorists been giving her drama lessons?” Lottie quipped.

“Katie, no one thinks you’re a slut-bag,” Harriett Clayton called solemnly through the phone.

“Listen Mum, we have to go,” Lucas broke in. “Things are about to turn very serious here. And for the record, Katie has higher morals than you give her credit for. Nothing happened between us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Lottie sighed impatiently. “Of course that’s not what I wanted to hear!” Her gloating tone vanished into aggravated disappointment. “I don’t want to hear about Katie’s high morals. High morals won’t bring me grandbabies.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!” Lady Waverly cooed in the background.

Regaining her composure, Katie grabbed the phone from Lucas. “Goodbye Lottie. I hope I live to make you regret this conversation,” she said, and clicked the phone shut.

Another shot rang out—only this time, Janek and Stanley were waiting by the window to answer the gunman’s calls. The men yelled at each other through the glass.

Katie was terrified again and desperate for a distraction. She watched Kata, who focused diligently on finishing her weft.

“May I help?” Katie dared approach the woman, hoping the desire to help was a universal language. The woman understood, and wordlessly turned over a stool and tied fishing line across the legs, preparing Katie for her lesson. Kata slowed her pace, making exaggerated movements for Katie to follow. It didn’t take long for her catch on, and soon her troubled mind was absorbed in the task of looping tufts of horsehair.

Lucas paced the floor, raking his fingers through his hair. “I wish I could understand what they’re saying out there!”

“Sit down and let me show you how to do this,” Katie urged. “It’ll help take your mind off things.”

“I don’t think it will,” he protested.

“Then do it to help Indira.”

He gave a reluctant nod and sat down across from Katie at the stool, allowing her to be his teacher.

Stanley approached quickly. “They are coming. We’ll have to hide in the cellar.”

“How much time do we have?” Lucas jumped to his feet, pulling Katie up with him.

“We have told him that Mensur is in bad condition.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Lucas replied.

“He has gone to get the others to see what should be done,” Stanley continued. “Ten, fifteen minutes—maybe—plus the time it takes them to get through the barricade against the door.”