Lazlo’s Last Stand

risk…all that.

“But,” he added quickly, as Corbett’s frown darkened, “no worries, in any case. We’ve got our best people on it, and-” he glanced at his watch “-they’re probably in place, or getting there as we speak. Time I was, as well.” He set his own empty Perrier bottle on the curved marble countertop and gripped the other man’s shoulder as he passed him. “Later, mate. I’ll let myself out.”

As Adam paused in the foyer to listen to the security system engaging behind him, it occurred to him that it sounded a bit like a cage or prison door locking. These days, with the whole agency more or less under siege, that pretty much described it, he supposed. And what a bit of irony that was, considering how near to the real thing Laz had once come, way back when, during that unpleasantness with British SIS.

Sixteen years ago. God, had it really been that long? Sometimes it seemed like yesterday; then at other times, another lifetime. Hard to believe, now, that anyone in his right mind could have believed Corbett Lazlo guilty of being a double agent. It had been a frame-up, of course, and a damn good one, but still. Even more incredible that he’d been brought up on charges, convicted and sentenced to life in prison for treason, and might be there still if Adam hadn’t taken the gamble of a lifetime. Some would have said he was a crazy man to have given up his own job and risked everything to save his best friend.

That’s the way some people-most people-had seen it at the time, anyway. For Adam there had never been any question of a gamble or risk. Stack up loyalty to the service against loyalty to the best friend he had in the world and the man to whom he owed his life many times over…Hell, it was no contest.

Using all the Secret Service tricks and contacts at his disposal, Adam had managed to whisk Laz out of Britain just in time to avoid those slamming prison doors. The two of them had put together an organization of agents, a handpicked few initially, only the very best, people they could trust with their lives. And their first job had been to unravel the conspiracy against Corbett Lazlo and prove his innocence. The latter they’d done in short order. The former…well, that case was still open. And still unresolved.

Sixteen years later that handful of agents had become the Lazlo Group, the most prestigious private-security agency in the world, with a stellar international reputation. Most often they were called in as a last resort, when all conventional means had failed. The Group could be trusted not only to get the job done, but also to be discreet about it. And in exchange for guaranteed results, they commanded top dollar for their work, no questions asked. These days Laz was the acknowledged leader of the group, Adam his right-hand man and still his closest friend. Friend? More like a brother. Closer than any brother-damn sight closer, for sure, than that prick Edward ever was to him. Hard to believe those two sprang from the same loins. Vain as a bloody peacock, that one, even if he did do a decent job for the Group as the moneyman.

Although Laz often consulted with Adam before making decisions about assignments or new agents, Laz’s was the final word. As it had been when he’d recruited Lucia Cordez right off the campus of UC Berkeley. And, as usual, he’d been right; the girl was brilliant. And not just with computers. She had the makings of a first-rate agent, and the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt, either. Fact was, her looks gave her access to places and people not every agent could reach.

Well, they would, if Laz wasn’t so bent on keeping her locked up in his ivory tower, too bloody dense to know he was crazy in love with her. And vice versa.

On the other hand, probably just as well the pair of them were as blind as wombats when it came to matters of the heart, Adam thought as he rode the private car down to the subbasement where, via secret corridors, he would switch to the public elevators in order to access the building’s street floor. Otherwise one or the other of them was bound to notice Adam was crazy in love with the girl himself.

Lucia stalked across the courtyard, which still glistened with the misty rain that had fallen earlier in the evening. Though, to be honest, to call her progress stalking was perhaps overstating it a bit, given that she was wearing strappy sandals with four-inch heels and a gown that limited her stride to something more mincing than regal.

To her extreme annoyance, her escort kept pace with her without compromising his natural elegance one iota.

“I don’t see why you should be upset,” Corbett drawled in an undertone as, in a seemingly natural gesture, he placed one hand on her back just below the edge of the silver fox stole she wore, wrapped tightly against both nervous shivers and Paris’s December chill.

“You might have mentioned it,” she shot back, suddenly breathless.

“I thought I just did.”

“It would have been helpful if you’d done so before I got dressed. I would’ve chosen something a little more-” she swept a hand downward across her front “-a little less…”

The neckline hadn’t seemed that revealing when she’d decided on this particular dress for this evening’s “date,” but now, judging from the caress of the stole’s satin lining she felt with each heaving breath, it did leave quite a lot of her uncovered. Again, to be honest, she hadn’t been thinking all that much about decolletage when she’d chosen the slithery gold gown. She’d chosen it because the color complimented her tawny skin and brought out the auburn highlights in her hair.

Uh-huh, right. Girl, you chose it because it shows off your booty, and you know you look hot in it. If you’re going to be honest…

“You look quite lovely,” Corbett said, in the same tone he might have used to inform her she had a smudge on her cheek. “It isn’t as though you’re meeting the queen, you know-or even the bloody prime minister. Just a minor member of Parliament and his bride-hardly worth getting upset over.”

“A minor member of Parliament and his wife who happen to be your parents.” The last word emerged in a furious hiss. She halted and turned to face him. The horde of butterflies in her stomach turned happy flip-flops at the sight of him, so slim and tall and elegant in his evening dress, the gleaming white of his shirtfront only inches from her own heaving-and now largely uncovered-breasts. She drew a deep breath. “Corbett, you are going to be introducing me to your parents as your, um…They will probably think we…” She paused, met his gaze of cool appraisal, then muttered tartly as she turned to continue her promenade across the courtyard, “Then again, if you’re going to look at me like that, they probably won’t think anything at all.”

“Look at you like…what?”

“Like you’re studying a wine list. Or the morning stock report.”

“Would you prefer me to leer?” He was there beside her, effortlessly in step with her once again, his expression mildly amused. “Perhaps drool a little?”

Lucia had to quell an urge to kick him. How could he be so completely at ease, when she felt as awkward as when she was queen of the geeks in high school? And as nervous as if the captain of the football team had asked her to the prom?

Before she could think of a witty riposte, Corbett said dryly, “Don’t worry, my father will do enough of that for both of us. Well-probably not the drooling.” Then his hand was on her back again, touching her in a way he probably meant to be courteous or reassuring, and his laugh held more warmth and genuine amusement than she’d ever heard in it before. “Don’t worry, I’m joking. I seriously doubt the Honorable Andre Lazlo will be undone by a bit of cleavage.”

Lucia tossed him a look, incapable of coherent speech or thought now that he was touching her again. He smiled back at her, his austere features romantically shadowed by the courtyard’s security floodlights. “Never mind, my dear. You’ll understand, once you’ve met my mother.”

Nodding to the footman dressed in Dickensian costume, Corbett took Lucia’s gloved hand and deftly tucked it into the crook of his elbow. He added in an ominous tone, “You would probably be wise to steer clear of Edward, however.”

Lucia had visited the Paris offices of the British Embassy several times on various errands for the Lazlo Group, but this was her first visit to the ambassador’s residence, the grand old building on the rue du Faubourg St Honore. She barely had a moment to appreciate the spare but elegant entry hall, with its patterned marble floor, red velvet draperies and sweeping curved staircase, before yet another footman was there to relieve her of her stole. She felt decidedly more vulnerable without it. It’s a mission. It’s what he trained me for. I can do this. She lifted her head high and pasted on the confident smile she knew Corbett expected from her.

She was less successful in controlling the tremors inside.

Corbett was aware of the quiver. Slight though it was, he felt it unmistakably even through his jacket and