Lazlo’s Last Stand

and me. I only want to talk.”

She sank slowly back into the chair but didn’t relax. “We have nothing to talk about, Corbett Lazlo.” Her voice was cold, her eyes hard. “Nothing at all.”

“We have a son.”

Sparks flared in her eyes, and he saw for a moment the fiery young girl he’d known. “I have a son. He is no part of you and you are no part of him. And never will be.”

He only shrugged and asked softly, “How is he?”

“He will live-a cripple.” Cassandra’s voice was a bitter snarl. “You did this to him. Are you happy now?”

Corbett shook his head. “You kept his identity from me and from the world. You trained him to be a killer, then turned him loose on his own father. You bear the responsibility for what’s happened to him, Cass. You, and no one else.”

“You betrayed me!” She surged out of the chair, still gripping its arms as if to stop herself from lunging at his throat. “You made me betray my own father-my brother, my own family.”

“Yes, and now I know what it feels like,” Corbett said, watching her with narrowed eyes, every nerve in his body on alert. He forced a smile. “You’ve won, Cass. You’ve destroyed the agency I built, killed a number of my friends and sent the rest into hiding. And turned someone I trusted against me. So you’ve done everything you said you’d do, haven’t you? You’ve won. That’s what I came to tell you. And to make you a deal.”

She straightened to her full height and looked down at him with cold disdain. “What deal could you possibly offer that would interest me? As you say-I have won. You have nothing to deal with. Nothing.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, aren’t you? There’s still the boy. My son.” She tensed, and so did he. He saw murder come back into her eyes. “That’s right, Cass. He’s my son, and I want him. I mean to do everything in my power to save him from you. And I’ll keep up the fight as long as it takes. Until you, me or both of us are dead. Unless…”

“Unless?” Her voice was as hushed and deadly as a snake’s hiss.

Corbett rose to his feet. As tall as she was, he still looked down at her. “I will give up any attempt to win back my son in exchange for two things from you. First, I want your word that you will call off your dogs-leave Lucia Cordez alone.”

“Lucia? Oh, yes…” She smiled unpleasantly. “The little computer whiz you are so fond of. The one who shot my son.” The smile vanished. “You ask a lot. What is the second thing-perhaps…the moon?”

“No.” Now it was he who smiled. He hoped it wasn’t a nice smile. “Nothing so romantic. All I want is to know who my betrayer is. Who has been feeding you the inside information that has made it possible for you to destroy the Lazlo Group? I want to hear you say the name.”

“You want to know that?” Just for a second he saw her gaze flick past him, and her eyes brighten with a terrible gleam of triumph. Then she threw back her head and laughed. His heart hammered in his chest. “You would like to know who betrayed you, Cor-bey? That I will tell you-with the greatest pleasure. It was her, of course-” She flung out an arm and pointed, with all the dramatic flare of an opera diva. “-the computer genius herself…”

Corbett heard a sharp gasp behind him and spun toward the sound, so that he barely heard the name he’d asked for.

“…Lucia Cordez.”

Lucia barely heard the words, either. All she saw was Corbett’s face. Corbett’s eyes. The fierce blue light of his eyes, and the color draining out of his face.

“Lucia?” It was a question, whispered in disbelief.

She felt frozen, incapable of movement, unable even to shake her head or utter words of reassurance and denial, or even his name. All she could do was lock her eyes with his.

He moved toward her, then, but Cassandra was faster. She sprang, lithe as a panther, and managed to thrust her body between Corbett and Lucia, grab Lucia’s arm and turn them both so that she held Lucia in front of her with the arm twisted painfully behind her back.

“Don’t struggle,” she hissed in Lucia’s ear, “or I will kill him where he stands.” She reached her free arm around Lucia’s side just far enough so that she could see the tiny but lethal gun she held half-concealed in her palm. “And you, Cor-bey,” she said, “make one move and I kill her instead. Right in front of your eyes, the way you killed my brother. Of course, I plan to kill her anyway-what did you expect, that I would take your deal? Go ahead-try to take your son from me. He hates you now, as much as I do. That is all I care about- that you will never have him. Never!”

The guttural shout seemed to hover suspended over the silent trio…until the silence was broken by a word, spoken in a weak voice made harsh by shock and pain.

“Maman?” All eyes jerked to the occupant of the wheelchair rolling soundlessly toward them down the corridor. “Is this true? This man-est-il mon pere?”

Cassandra gave a gasp that sounded almost like a sob and brought the barrel of the gun up, leveled it, aimed it straight at Corbett. The gunshot that followed blended with a scream of rage and pain, as Lucia stabbed a sewing needle deep into Cassandra’s thigh.

Cassandra’s wild shot and shouted threats brought the police guard at a dead run with gun drawn. He and Corbett both froze, however, when Cassandra turned the gun and pressed the barrel against Lucia’s neck.

Lucia then heard the clatter of running footsteps, but any hopes she might have had of imminent rescue died a moment later when at least half a dozen of Cassandra’s armed bodyguards came thundering onto the scene. She could only cling to Corbett’s anguished eyes as the uniformed policeman hastily dropped his weapon, and the muscular orderly stepped in front of the wheelchair to shield its vulnerable occupant from flying bullets.

Cassandra’s cackle of triumphant laughter had barely faded from Lucia’s ears when she heard a loud metallic click very close by. And then a cheerful voice with an unmistakable Australian twang.

“Right-O, Cassandra, m’darlin’, that is, indeed, a pistol barrel you feel snuggling up against your pretty head. Now then, I want you to tell all your naughty boys to throw down their toys-there’s a good girl.”

From what seemed like every corner and nook, every door and corridor in the hospital, came a silent and deadly army, every one of them dressed in black and sporting, on caps, sleeves or jackets, green intertwined pentagrams, the logo of the Lazlo Group.

And then, for the part of the world Lucia occupied, at least, time seemed to stop. All around her was motion, noise, confusion, but where she was…all was silent. Even her heart, her breath was still. She existed in that frozen state like a princess in a fairy tale, cast under a witch’s spell, until the voice, the right voice…and the touch, the right touch, restored her to life again.

“Lucia-my God-”

“Corbett…” Dazed, she put out a hand. Felt stiff fabric, and beneath it the rigid thickness of body armor.

“Lu-are you-God, I thought-I hoped…”

She felt his cheek, bristly with beard, against hers. Heard the tremor in his voice. Her heart began to beat again, hard against the body armor. “Corbett, I’m sorry. I had to come. I found the mole. I’m so sorry. It’s-”

“Edward. Yes, I know.” His voice was guttural, thick with the grief he couldn’t show-not here, not now. Not with his men all around him and an image to uphold.

Lucia, being a woman and therefore not so stupidly constrained, drew a sharp, shuddering breath, buried her face in the warm curve of Corbett’s neck and let her tears fall where they pleased.

In the parking lot across the street from the hospital’s main entrance, Adam Sinclair leaned against the fender of his BMW and contemplated his future. Time for a change, he thought, watching the couple just now emerging from the revolving doors and making their way down the steps, arms around each other’s waists, as if they couldn’t bear to be separate from each other even for a moment.

What the hell-he hadn’t been home in a while. Maybe he’d see what sort of excitement Oz had to offer these days.

First, though, there was one last job he had to do-for the Group-and for his oldest and best friend.

He straightened and waved to the couple, who checked then crossed the street to join him, almost running together in perfect step.