Lazlo’s Last Stand

you around in a bit, if you’d like. After we’ve done as much damage to this excellent repast as we possibly can. Kati will never forgive us if we don’t.”

He looked at his old friend in time to catch her putting her tongue out at him, gave her a smile in return, then glanced at Lucia and found her staring fixedly at her plate, as though she was about to burst into tears.

What the bloody hell did I say now? Resigned to the fact that he was never going to be able to understand the woman, he stabbed at a pickled pepper and made no further attempt at conversation for the remainder of the meal.

Though she had no appetite, Lucia managed to eat a roll and a piece of the spicy, hard Hungarian sausage, as well as some peach compote that was really quite delicious. Resisting Kati’s urging to eat more, she excused herself and went to the bedroom, where she tidied the bed, brushed her teeth, then packed all her things back into her suitcases. She was determined not to put Corbett out of his own bed for one more night.

She gave her face a critical once-over in the bathroom mirror, decided against lipstick, then took a fortifying breath and went back to the kitchen, where she found Corbett leaning against the sink and chatting quietly with Kati, evidently waiting for her.

When Lucia entered, he straightened and turned to put his cup in the sink, then placed one hand on Kati’s shoulder and said something to her in Hungarian, too low and rapid for Lucia to catch.

He turned to her, his expression relaxed and pleasant but completely impersonal, reminding her that she was an employee and temporary guest, nothing more. “Ready for the grand tour?”

“Absolutely. Will I need a jacket?”

“For the moment, no. We’ll do the indoor bit first. Shall we?” He waved her toward the far end of the kitchen, opposite the door he’d come in through and to the left of the bedroom. “First, this is the pantry-or storeroom, actually.” He reached past her to open the door on the right and gestured for her to precede him.

As she stepped through the door she saw only blackness. Then bright light flooded the area around her as Corbett reached past her to flip on the switch. Beyond the light the darkness thinned to gray, and she could see that they were not in a room at all, but in the cave itself. The air was cool, and in spite of the quiet hum of ventilation fans, she could detect a faint odor of sulfur.

“Don’t mind the smell,” Corbett said, as if he’d read her mind. “There are thermal springs back in there. That’s where we get our hot water. I meant to warn you-we do filter the water, but you might still notice the sulfur smell. Don’t worry-the cold water, for drinking and cooking and such, comes from a well outside.”

“You’ve certainly made good use of your natural resources,” Lucia murmured, gazing around at the shelves and boxes filled with provisions. “Are those fans the only ventilation? I feel a breeze.”

“Oh, no. The fans merely augment the natural airflow. There’s a sort of chimney back in there, you see. Comes out in the castle ruins on top of the hill.”

“There’s a castle? Really?” She turned to him, her anger with him forgotten, for the moment. “Is it yours? Can I see it?”

His smile flickered like a faulty lightbulb; his eyes touched her, then looked away. “Yes, of course. Though it’s nothing but a ruin now, I’m afraid. In medieval times, the castle’s defenders used the chimney and the cave as an escape route, and as a secret means to bring in water and supplies during a siege. They carved steps and handholds that are still there, although I don’t imagine anyone’s used them for a good many years.”

Lucia would like to have asked to see the secret escape route-certainly she’d have asked many more questions. But she could see Corbett was impatient to get on with the tour, so she merely murmured, “Fascinating,” and followed him back to the kitchen.

“And this,” he said, closing one door and opening the other, “is my…study-for want of a better word.”

Acutely conscious of the person whose private space she was about to enter, Lucia peered hesitantly over his outstretched arm. Then, with an awed, “Oh, my goodness…” she advanced past him and into the room.

The room was smaller than the bedroom, well-ventilated and, when Corbett flipped a switch, brightly lit. And almost every square foot of space was taken up with state-of-the-art computers and the very latest in communications equipment.

She whirled back to Corbett, a dozen questions poised on the tip of her tongue. One side of his mouth tilted upward in a sardonic little smile.

“So I trust now you can see why you really cannot sleep in my study.”

“But…I don’t understand. How-I thought we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, we are. However, there’s a very powerful satellite dish hidden amongst the castle ruins on the hill above our heads. Though, I do come here occasionally to restore my soul, there are a good many reasons why I can’t afford to be out of touch with the world and the people I’ve left behind. Not completely, at any rate.”

She stared at him as realization dawned, and the room seemed to shrink and grow darker around her. And then, with the impact of a wave thumping onto a hard sand beach, all the events of the past forty-eight hours came crashing in upon her, and her insides went sick and cold with dread. Through the ringing in her ears she heard her own voice.

“Have you…been in touch with…anyone? Since we got here?”

He nodded, his mouth grim. “I have.”

“And…have you heard? Anything? About the boy, I mean. Your son. Is he-” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and swallowed past a painful sticky dryness in her throat, but couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

Chapter 6

“He’s alive,” Corbett said. “For now.” He turned abruptly to leave the room, plainly expecting her to follow.

“For now?” She hurried after him, her voice bumpy with conflicting emotions. “What does that mean?”

He closed the door to the study and took two strides into the now-empty kitchen before spinning to face her, moving like an out-of-balance wheel. “He survived the surgery. Apparently the bullet he took in the belly clipped some vertebrae on the way out. Did some damage to the spinal cord.” His voice was quiet, but his eyes burned fierce and bright beneath a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He raked it impatiently back with his fingers. “He’s paralyzed. No way to tell if it’s permanent until the swelling goes down.”

“Oh, God.” Lucia groped for support with one shaking hand and found the back of a chair. “Corbett, I’m so sorry. I never meant-”

“Oh, for the love of God, will you give off blaming yourself?” His words lashed out at her with a careless fury she’d never seen in him before, and she drew back, shocked. “The boy took a gun and went looking to kill someone with it and got himself shot, instead. Whose fault is that? His, I expect. And his mother’s, for putting the hate in his heart. Mine for sure, for putting the hate in hers. It sure as hell wasn’t yours. And somewhere in that frozen rock she calls a heart, the bi-the bloody woman knows it. It’s not you she wants to hurt, anyway, though she won’t hesitate to kill you if she thinks doing so will hurt me.”

And would it hurt you, Corbett?

Stupid thing to ask. Of course it would. He cared deeply about all his agents, she knew that.

She whispered, “Why does she hate you so much?”

For a long suspenseful moment she waited, feeling the burn of those eyes and wondering. But then…the fire in them slowly died, and instead of answering her question he said gently, smiling a little, “I thought you wanted to have a look around.”

She shook her head and gripped the chair back harder. “I deserve to know, Corbett. Since it appears your past has turned my life upside down.”

He gave a soft huff of laughter that held no amusement. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

But he realized as he said the words that even if it had not been so, he wanted very much to tell her… everything. He was a secretive man. By nature, he’d always thought. And this sudden desire to share with a woman the most intensely personal events of his past-and arguably those of which he was least proud-struck him as very odd. Certainly out of character.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “since it’s rather a long story, why don’t you go and put on your winter woolies, and