Lazlo's Last Stand

Four faces turned toward him, and then once more, all motion, all sound, stopped.

The doctor’s uncertain gaze traveled from one emotion-wracked face to another. Paused at Cassandra…focused on Corbett.

“Are you the parents of Troy DuMont?”

And time resumed its normal cadence.

Too dazed to do otherwise, Corbett simply shook his head, while Cassandra DuMont whirled, tearing herself out of Adam’s grasp.

“I am! I am his mother. Tell me—my son—is he…” Her voice was the terrible croaking of a mother in terror.

“He’s still in surgery at the moment,” the doctor said in calm, British-accented English. “He’s come through quite well, thus far. If you’d care to come along with me, there’s a place upstairs where you can wait more comfortably.”

Cassandra threw a look back at Lucia. Corbett waited with muscles tense as she hesitated, the battle between a madwoman’s thirst for vengeance and a mother’s love for her child played itself out, the struggle written in anguish across her face. Then she gasped and bent forward as if she’d taken a blow to her stomach, and began to move backward toward the elevator as if pulled against her will by an irresistible force. In the doorway she paused, made a V-sign with two fingers like the forked tongue of a snake and stabbed them at Lucia.

“Chienne! Tu es fichue…”

The words were in French, but the venom in them was unmistakable in any language. Bitch! You are dead. For several seconds after the elevator doors had closed there was utter silence.

Adam broke it first with an explosive laugh. “Always was a charming wench. Did I understand her correctly? Did she say—”

“Later.” Corbett’s face was grim as he jerked his head toward Lucia. “We’ve got to get her out of here. Cassandra won’t wait for the outcome of the boy’s surgery to make good on that threat. How’d you get here?”

“Caught a cab, actually, since the other lads weren’t inclined to wait around to give me a lift.”

“That’ll have to do. See to it, will you?” The grip on Lucia’s arm tightened.

As she allowed herself to be steered toward the exit doors, she watched in a kind of numb bemusement as Adam turned up the wattage of his smile and swooped in upon the poor desk nurse, who’d been hovering behind her counter like a mouse behind a leaf, and was looking more confused than alarmed. She stammered a bit as she announced that she’d already summoned security, and blushed when Adam told her cheerfully to cancel that and summon a taxi instead.

Lucia thought it interesting that the girl who’d been steadfast in facing down a wildly distraught mother’s demands, seemed completely flustered in the presence of Adam’s Aussie charm.

As for her own feelings, they were in such turmoil she felt all but paralyzed. Though oddly, not with fear. It was anger she felt, and an irrational sense of betrayal. Irrational, because what right did she have to be jealous of anyone Corbett chose to involve himself with? But jealous she was. And this was even more odd because she’d never minded—well, not terribly—the parade of nubile beauties he’d “dated” briefly on and off over the years.

But this? A son?

For there to be such passionate hatred now, she knew, there must once have been an equally passionate love.

The automatic doors whisked open to admit a gust of cold misty air. Its effect on Lucia was like a slap in the face, and while it did nothing to lessen her misery, it did serve to snap her out of her sleepwalking state.

“It is December,” she said in a voice that matched the weather, and gazed pointedly at Corbett’s chest, which was quite bare and still trailing an assortment of tubes and wires. “You might want to put on some clothes.”

She didn’t mention her own state of undress, but drew some satisfaction when his startled look took in the thin blanket she was clutching around her. Noting the fact that it didn’t come close to covering her legs, and that those legs were clad only in torn nylon stockings.

His mouth hardened and his brows drew inward. Still dragging her with him like a recalcitrant child, he made a swift U-turn and headed back to the E.R. Doctors and nurses immediately surrounded them, scolding and warning in two languages of the irresponsibility and dire consequences of their actions. Which Corbett, of course, ignored, and instead demanded his clothes. A nurse, looking troubled, nevertheless scurried to fetch them. With equal imperiousness, since Lucia’s clothes were unavailable, Corbett demanded she be provided with something to wear in their stead. Another nurse hurried to obey.

None of this surprised Lucia in the slightest. It was simply the way things were done with Corbett Lazlo.

A short time later, still clutching the blanket but now dressed in nurses’ scrubs and squeezed between Corbett and Adam in the backseat of a cab driven by an apparently suicidal Haitian, Lucia listened to a conversation in which her immediate future was being planned. It was a two-way dialogue, without any input at all from its subject.

“We’ll need a chopper,” Corbett began as soon as they were seated, destination given and the taxi in motion.

Adam’s response was brisk. “Already on it, boss. It’s warming up as we speak.” There was a brief pause before he added, “I’m assuming a safe house?”

“I don’t trust any of our ‘safe’ houses. There’s only one place I know of where I can be certain Cassandra can’t get to her.”

Tempted to thrust her hand in the air like a first-grader, Lucia cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me?”

“Ah—the old homeland?” This was Adam, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Corbett nodded. “It’s the only place I can think of that’s not on anybody’s radar.”

“Even mine.” Adam again, wryly. “So you’ll be wanting the Citation, as well, I presume?”

“Excuse me!” Lucia said, more loudly. “I presume I’m the one you’re talking about whisking away to parts unknown. Do I get any say in this?”

“No!” Corbett and Adam responded together.

Lucia did a slow, silent five-count during which she managed to swallow her anger and remind herself it was she these two insufferable alpha males were bent on protecting. Though she wasn’t entirely clear as to why that was. The revelation that Corbett Lazlo had a son—one evidently bent on killing his own father—had driven all other intelligent thought from her mind.

“Forgive me,” she said, when both men seemed to be waiting for her to speak, “I’m trying to understand what just happened. And what it is about this particular woman that has you both turning tail and running for cover like…like—”

“Yeah, mate, I wouldn’t mind a bit of explanation, myself.” Adam’s tone was semiserious, for once. “This is the same Cassandra DuMont we know from our old SIS days, right? Daughter of Maximilian DuMont, late and unlamented head of the dastardly organization we call S.N.A.K.E.?”

“Snake?” Lucia said, incredulous. “The organization Dani pretended to work for as the Sparrow?” Dani Moore, a former SIS agent, had recently married a Lazlo Group man, Mitchell Lama. The two had uncovered a disloyal Lazlo Group employee, Chloe Winchester, while on a mission together for Corbett. Chloe had thought Lucia had gotten the job she should have had and had been selling Lazlo Group inside information to the SIS in a twisted revenge scheme.

“Yes,” Corbett said. “We got into the habit of calling them that back in those ‘old SIS days,’ mainly, I suppose, because that’s what the bastards were like. Silent and deadly.”

“Right-O,” said Adam. “You never knew what rock you were going to find the blighters hiding under, coiled up and just waiting for the moment to strike.”

“We used to try and outdo each other coming up with clever things for the letters to stand for,” Adam said with a chuckle. “‘Sinister Network of A-holes, Killers and Extortionists’—that was one of me own, I believe.”

“My personal favorite was ‘Society of Nasty Auld Knaves and Evildoers,’” Corbett added dryly. “I believe the current SIS meaning is ‘Syndicate of Nasties, Assassins, Killers and Evildoers.’”

“I know they’re killers for hire. Tell me what your connection is to them.”

“They started out as mercenaries. Their leader was Maximilian DuMont. He was a French mercenary in Southeast Asia during the early days of the Vietnam conflict, before he got a taste of the drug trade and decided it was a bit more lucrative than fighting other people’s wars for them. Made a mint of money, and when the Soviet Union fell, he was in a perfect position to expand into the arms business. Recruited a lot of ex-KGB agents who had an inside track to where the surplus weapons were stockpiled. There was a major war going on at the time among all the weapons dealers over who’d garner the lion’s share of the spoils. Max and his thugs came out on top, mainly because there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do to eliminate the competition, and those competitors knew it. If they valued their homes and families, they got out of Max’s way. If they didn’t…well, then they probably died along with their wives, mothers and children.”

Lucia, though warm enough snuggled between the bodies of two big men, nevertheless felt a chill. “My God. And Cassandra DuMont is this monster’s daughter. No wonder—”

“Oh, that’s not the half of it,” Adam said with gossipy glee. He leaned forward to speak to Corbett around Lucia. “You want to tell her the rest, mate, or shall I?”

“Oh, by all means, be my guest.” Corbett’s tone was acidic—just short of bitter. Not at all like him.

And which didn’t appear to faze Adam. “After a few major arms deals featuring Soviet weaponry were traced back to the DuMont organization, SIS—CIA, too, I should think—got interested. Laz and I were part of the team on Max’s trail. We got a bit too close, apparently, because old Max decided we needed to be taught a lesson. Sent his daughter to seduce the lead agent on the case, which happened to be our friend, here.”

As Adam talked, Lucia watched Corbett’s profile, trying to decipher the tight smile and narrowed eyes in the everchanging light inside the cab. Wanting to understand the tension she could feel in his body, pressed up against her side.

“She was supposed to set him up—to be kidnapped, tortured, murdered—probably all three, based on Max’s track record. It was a warning to the rest of us to back off. That was the plan, anyway. Trouble was, things didn’t go quite according to Maximilian’s plan. You see, Cassandra fell for Laz, arse over teakettle—”