Lazlo’s Last Stand

would compare to the twisting pain he felt in his belly, watching Lucia step out of that elevator and come toward them. Her eyes went straight to Corbett’s and his stuck to her like limpets. This was it, the beginning of the end. Adam was about to put the two people he loved most in the world on a chopper and send them off to a private hideaway together. He guessed the odds they wouldn’t figure out they were crazy in love with each other at slim to none.

He locked his grin in place and braced himself for Lucia’s goodbye hug. “You behave yourself, you hear me? And no worries…”

“No worries,” she answered back, with a little break. Then she kissed his cheek and ran for the waiting chopper, holding on to her hair with one hand.

Corbett was there again, gripping his hand hard. “Listen, my friend, you keep your head down. And watch your back. You know this is going to get ugly…”

“You can count on it.”

Corbett paused, nodded and started to turn, but Adam caught his shoulder and held on.

“Just one thing.” He wasn’t smiling now, not even close, and he had to push his words past the rocks in his chest. “You know I love you like my own brother, but if you let anything happen to that lady, I will hunt you down like a dog.”

For a long scary moment the other man’s eyes burned into his. Then one corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ll have to hunt me down in hell, then, brother, because if anything does happen to her, it’ll be over my dead body.”

“Right you are, then,” Adam returned. “Just so we understand each other.” He squeezed Corbett’s shoulder and stepped back.

“I believe we do.” Corbett gave him a little salute. “Bonne chance, old friend.”

“G’day and good journey, mate.”

He watched Corbett walk stiffly to the waiting helicopter and climb aboard then pull the door shut after him. Watched the shiny black LG chopper lift off, bank sharply and thunder away across the rooftops of the city. Unaware of the cold damp wind, he went on watching the chopper until it was just another pinprick of light in the clearing sky.

Someone was singing.

Lucia lay with her eyes closed and listened, enveloped in the luxurious warmth of a feather bed, the old- fashioned kind so soft and deep it seemed one might sink into it far enough to drop out of the world completely.

She’d certainly tried her best to do so last night, and for a time, it appeared, had succeeded. Her recollection of the last few hours of the journey, including the arrival at their destination, was limited to disconnected bits and pieces, a montage of hazy impressions:

Cold. Cold that stung her nose and cheeks and made her shiver even in the warm clothes she was wearing.

Fighting to stay awake, fighting a desire to sleep so overpowering it was like torture.

Moving, constantly moving-by helicopter to the group’s private airfield in the French countryside not far from Paris, then by private jet to Salzburg, and finally, by rented car through Austria and into Hungary-so that even when the motion stopped, her body still felt as if she were in a boat on a choppy sea.

Delighted greetings delivered in hushed voices, in a language she recognized only enough to identify as Hungarian.

Warm soup, pungent with garlic and paprika. Gentle hands leading her, guiding her, helping her undress. And into bed. And the sensation of falling into a warm and welcoming darkness.

Where she lay now, listening to the sounds of dishes clattering and cookware clanking and someone singing.

It wasn’t a radio or television or CD player. The voice was female, untrained and probably not young, but had a joyous lack of self-awareness that made it captivating in spite of a tendency to crack and warble. And even though Hungarian wasn’t one of the languages in which Lucia was fluent, and she could only understand a word here and there, the tune was so catchy, the rhythm so bouncy, it made her smile.

She opened her eyes to gray daylight that seemed to come from a small round skylight in the center of the room. There were no windows. There would not be in a house, as Corbett had told her, that was mostly underground. She drew her arms from under the downy comforter and, stretching, bumped one elbow against an embroidered wall hanging. The bed was roughly twin-sized and daybed style, with one long side against the wall. The embroidery was thick and lush, intricate patterns of stylized birds and flowers done in vivid colors on felt backing. Having tried her hand at embroidery, as well as cross-stitch and needlepoint, Lucia knew true artistry when she saw it.

Intriguing aromas-coffee and others less familiar-were beginning to drift into the room along with the singing, and Lucia’s stomach gave an enthusiastic response. Last night’s bowl of soup had been both warm and filling, but was now only a dim memory. She was, she realized, famished.

Throwing back the comforter, she wallowed up out of the feather bed and in doing so made several discoveries that nurtured the amazingly upbeat mood with which she’d awakened. For one thing, she was wearing a loose nightshirt made of thin, much-washed cotton that felt soft as a caress on her skin. And the rug beneath her bare feet was warm sheepskin.

When had she become so aware of these purely sensual things?

How odd it was to feel such a sense of well-being after the last forty-eight nightmarish hours.

The room was fairly large, and it needed to be in order to accommodate the several massive pieces of furniture, which in addition to the bed included a wardrobe, chest and dresser, all carved and painted with flowers and birds in the same style as the embroidery. Looking around, she discovered two more causes for rejoicing: The bags Adam had packed for her, and which she hadn’t yet had a chance to explore, had been brought in and were waiting for her on a low chest near the foot of the bed. And she had a private bathroom-tiny, but complete with a bathtub and a handheld shower nozzle!

As safe houses went, she thought, this one could probably be considered downright luxurious.

The bouncy little tune now seemed to be permanently stuck in her mind, and she hummed it while she set about discovering what sorts of personal belongings Adam had considered essential for a woman in protective exile. Her personal laptop, of course; that one was a no-brainer. And, yes, the floppy handwoven cloth bag containing her current needlepoint projects and supplies. Her overnighter, she found, held toiletries, cosmetics, makeup and…yes, underwear. She couldn’t help it-her cheeks burned as she explored the selection and realized just how thorough Adam had been.

In her big roll-along suitcase she found not only the clothes she’d probably have chosen if she’d packed for herself, but other things, thoughtful little things, some even she might not have thought of. The framed photograph of her parents and her alarm clock from her nightstand; her MP3 player; the glasses she wore when her eyes got tired, and out of sheer vanity, only at home; her digital camera; the novel she’d been reading with her place still marked; the battery-free LCD flashlight from her nightstand drawer-her section of Paris was prone to power outages; the little tin of her favorite hard candies.

The happy little song died on her lips as she held the pretty tin and thought of Adam with wistful sadness. If only she could be in love with him, she thought, instead of Corbett, who only saw her as his protegee. Though, of course, she did love Adam. She loved him dearly, but unfortunately for both of them, rather like the brother she’d never had.

And thinking of Corbett…

He was here somewhere. Close by. Perhaps even now he was sitting in that aromatic kitchen, drinking coffee, smiling along with the singer. For the next several days-who knew how long?-she’d be sharing his living quarters, his personal space. Would he finally let her begin to know him, not just as employer but as a person…a man? Especially after those precious moments in his apartment.

Would he have kissed her if the helicopter hadn’t interrupted? A knot gathered in her chest, and a little shiver rippled through her.

Hurrying, she selected a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater in rich coppery tones she knew complemented her hair and skin, picked up her overnighter and went into the bathroom. The thought of a hot bath was a seductive one, but she was even more eager to be out and about. To go…to see…

Corbett. His face filled her mind, his eyes burned into her memory. She could almost