Mission: Out of Control by Susan May Warren Page A

why his smugness made her want to hurl something at him, but if she had fruit of any kind nearby, she’d be aiming for his head.
    Instead she took the paper, folded it and dropped it onto the floor. “I despise the tabloids. If I never saw another one again, I’d rejoice with singing and tambourines.”
    â€œAnd swinging,” he said, in a voice so quiet he may have thought she wouldn’t catch it.
    â€œWhat, you don’t like the swinging song?”
    He finished peeling the orange and broke off a section. “It gives me a coronary. I just know you’re going to fly off that swing and I’m not going to be able to catch you.”
    He would try to catch her?
    â€œIs somebody making breakfast? I’m hungry.” Lyleappeared at the door, wearing his Halo pajama pants and a Hollister T-shirt.
    â€œGood morning, Lyle,” she said, picking up her fork to glare at Brody.
    The twelve-year-old shuffled into the room, holding his Nintendo. He stopped at the table, his thumbs moving.
    â€œYes!” He looked up, grinning at Ronie. “I got to the next level.”
    â€œGood job.” Oh, how she loved that smile. Just having him around, seeing him strong and healthy, made her want to cheer.
    He walked up to Brody. “Hey, man, how you doing? Want to play a round of Mario Cart?”
    She could have imagined it, but Brody stiffened, and then to her shock, a strange look crossed his face.
    She’d almost call it fear.
    â€œI don’t play games, kid,” he said, and turned away.
    It suddenly hit her that maybe that had been the problem all along. He hadn’t been playing games. He had offered her his hand—and macchiatos and pastries and even pizza—in friendship.
    And she’d all but spit on it.
    She stared at her omelet, spilling out vegetables, and took a bite. Simple, but delicious.
    Maybe that was the key. She shouldn’t have played games with him, either. She’d landed them in this mess, and now she’d have to be the one to sort it out. No, she didn’t have to tell him everything, but what if she simply…was herself? While she’d blown any chance of Brody trusting her again, maybe they could be civil to each other. Maybe even become real friends.
    She was just so tired of pretending, tired of the masks.
    Of Vonya.
    She took another bite. Yes, delicious. And simple.
    No more games. At least not until Prague.
    Â 
    The woman just might drive him back over the ocean and straight into the loony bin.
    Or at least, now that he was back in Prague, with his apartment only two blocks away, back to his own digs where he could get a decent night’s sleep and perhaps figure out where he’d left his marbles.
    â€œWho is this woman?” Brody said into his lapel mike. Luke stood on the other side of the room, watching the entrances and Brody’s back.
    â€œWhat, you’ve never seen a pop diva tie balloon animals before?”
    â€œI just didn’t know you could make so many different animals with balloons. Is that a monkey?”
    He hadn’t expected the woman the world knew as Vonya to sit in the middle of an orphanage in the Czech Republic and tie balloon animals for a group of four-year-olds.
    And, wouldn’t you know it, she was good at it, too. Dogs and elephants and birds and even hats. She laughed with the children and spoke to them in what sounded like half German and half Russian.
    â€œWhat’s that language she’s speaking?” Luke asked.
    â€œShe calls it Czech-ish. Although, let’s be clear here, it’s not one of the four languages she speaks fluently. They happen to be German, Dutch, Russian and English.And a smattering of Spanish, Italian and, well, Czech, apparently.”
    From across the room, Luke raised an eyebrow.
    â€œYou know what she told me this morning?” Brody continued. “That German, Russian and Czech are so similar, she can almost speak to half of