Lazlo’s Last Stand

Chapter 5

Time passed. Lucia had no idea how much, only that she willed this moment to go on and on, knowing the sharp, bright stab of happiness was too intense to live beyond that…a single moment, knowing whatever powerful emotion had moved Corbett to embrace her would pass, and that when it did the joy inside her would turn to equally intense pain.

And so her reasoning mind bolted for cover like a terrified bunny huddled in darkness, believing it meant safety, while her tired body snuggled into the dangerous haven of his arms.

“Lucia…” His breath sighed unevenly through her hair, and she felt his fingers there, too.

No thinking…no thinking…

Wonder lay on her like soft wool as she lifted her face to the warm hollow of his neck and shoulder. She felt the beat of his pulse on her lips, felt his heart thump against the thick bandage wrap that lay between his chest and hers. She felt the textures of the bandage with her palms, and…when had she put her arms around him? She felt his hand on her back, moving slowly downward to her waist, then below, felt the pressure, subtle at first, then more insistent, pressing her closer…closer.

Someone was shaking. Was it her? Was it him? Panic lurked. A whimper threatened.

No thinking!

Obeying only that directive and stubbornly blind to all consequences, she moved her head, brushing her lips over his skin, savoring the feel of it, the warmth and smoothness, then the roughness of beard, the hard ridge of jaw. She heard his breath catch, then stop. She held hers…and his mouth came searching. Her lips parted, and his breath flowed gently over them. She held herself still…

In the stillness they both heard it: the rhythmic thumping, too firm and steady to mistake for their galloping heartbeats.

Lucia’s eyes flew open in time to see the helicopter’s shadow flit across the skylight. She felt Corbett’s body stiffen. He lifted his head and his hands came gently but firmly to grip her shoulders and hold her away from him.

“Sounds like our ride has arrived,” he said, and his voice had a ragged edge she’d never heard before. Just for an instant his eyes burned into hers, before she nodded and stepped back, fingers pressed to her lips, trapping the tiniest of whimpers behind them.

“I’ve left some clothes for you-here on the dressing table. They’ll be too big-especially the boots, but they’ll keep your feet warm. Put on both pairs of socks-that should help.” As he spoke, he was reeling in the trailing end of bandage.

She took it from him, carefully avoiding his eyes while she brought the end of the bandage to the one just below his collarbone, tied and pulled the knot tight and tucked in the ends. “My things…”

“Yes, of course. I imagine you’ll find them on board before you.”

She lifted her eyes in an unspoken question, but they got no farther than his mouth, captivated by the lips that a moment ago had been a breath away from kissing hers. Now they seemed like the perfectly sculpted lips of a classical statue. That they moved when he spoke seemed magical to her.

“It’s quite likely Adam ordered the chopper diverted to your flat, as backup in case of unexpected…developments.”

She nodded. He touched her arm and turned to go, then hesitated. She held her breath, but at that moment from the bedroom came the polite trill of a telephone. He said, “Quickly…please.” Then went out, closing the dressing-room door behind him.

Alone, enveloped in the scent that was so evocative of him it made her ache, Lucia let her defenses crumble. Eyes closed, she groped for something solid to hold on to and found the dressing table…gripped it and leaned on her hands while the shudders raced through her body, responses to emotions too overwhelming even for tears.

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Since she was too tired to do either, she opened her eyes and found the neat pile of clothing Corbett had laid out for her: Black knit pants, ivory wool turtleneck pullover, black-and-ivory ski jacket. Après-ski boots and two pairs of soft, ultrawarm socks. Thermal-lined gloves, and even a black woolen cap to keep her ears warm. He’d thought of everything.

A small hiccup of laughter burst from her as she picked up the cap and touched it to her lips, then slipped it over her head and her still-damp hair and carefully adjusted it to cover her ears.

“Hello, Edward,” Corbett said, cradling the phone awkwardly between jaw and shoulder while he picked up the pullover he’d laid out on the bed.

“Good gad, Corb, I just heard. Are you all right? What the devil’s going on? They said you’d been shot?”

“Yes, well, good luck I was wearing body armor, eh?” Corbett’s grin was wry. He pressed the speaker button and put the phone down on the bed, then pulled the shirt over his head. As he eased it over his bandaged ribs, he could hear his brother’s snort of vexation.

“Luck? Don’t tell me you were expecting something of the sort? And you let Lucia-”

“Precautions were taken,” Corbett said patiently, slipping automatically into the placating manner he’d employed with his elder brother since childhood. “Lucia’s fine. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.”

“Yes, well, Mum’s quite beside herself. Even Apu has been showing signs of concern, if you can imagine it. You might give them a ring, you know.”

“Can’t do it now, I’m afraid. I’ve a chopper waiting. Do me a favor, won’t you, and let them know I’m quite all right, occupational hazard, et cetera…”

“Off again, are you? I don’t s’pose you care to let your next of kin in on where you’re going and when you expect to return?”

“Sorry,” Corbett said, mentally rolling his eyes at the petulance in his brother’s tone, “you know the drill-client privilege and all that.” Though he could and often did lie to his brother without a second thought, he didn’t enjoy doing so. He told himself it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Edward-he did, as much as he trusted anyone. It was just that he was a firm believer in the old adage that the best way to keep one’s secrets was to keep them-to oneself, that is.

“Must be off. I’ll be in touch.” He thumb-clicked the off button, cutting off whatever protests Edward was preparing to make.

Adam crossed the helipad at a jog to where Corbett waited in the wash from the chopper’s rotors, shoulders hunched against the cold, hands thrust deep into pockets of his long overcoat. He withdrew them to clasp Adam’s firmly in both of his and leaned closer to make himself heard about the noise. “How did it go?”

Adam hitched a shoulder and grinned. “Right as rain, mate.”

“No trouble, then?”

“Nothing me and the boys couldn’t handle.”

“Ah,” Corbett said, nodding absently.

“Just got word from the airfield. Citation’s juiced up and waiting for you.”

“Good. You cleared us for Salzburg?”

“Yep. You’re good to go. As soon as-”

Both men turned together as, right on cue, the elevator door slid open. Adam wondered how being gut-shot 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 protégée. 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 feel his hand on her back, sliding low…pressing her close. Could almost smell his skin…taste it.

Ruthlessly shaking off the memories, she washed quickly, noting as she did that the bathroom, like the adjacent bedroom, was cool but not frigid, in spite of there being no evidence of a heater anywhere. Another aspect of being underground, she imagined. Most likely it would stay evenly cool year round.

Deciding her hair was a wild tangle that she lacked the patience to deal with this morning, she caught it into a gold clasp at the nape of her neck and finger-curled the few tendrils that had managed to escape capture, so that they fell naturally against her cheeks and temples. Then, heart quickening, she composed herself and opened the bedroom door.

And found herself in a large, bright kitchen, which, to her chagrin, was empty except for the woman busily rolling out pastry dough on the flour-covered table. Obviously the singer-she was still humming the jaunty little tune. Evidently, it was firmly stuck in her mind, too.

She broke it off and turned at the sound of the opening door. In spite of a dandelion fluff of snow-white hair, her face was young, unlined except for smile creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She was quite short, and plump in an appealing way, so well-endowed both fore and aft that she reminded Lucia of a little white hen. Her skin was sprinkled with light brown freckles, and her eyes were a clear, vivid blue. Corbett’s eyes.

Seeing Lucia, her flushed face blossomed with a smile, and she gave a little cry that was both a delighted welcome and dismay at her own floury, disheveled state. Hurriedly brushing her hands on her apron and chattering too rapidly for Lucia to understand, she became a small whirlwind of activity, somehow managing to guide Lucia to the far end of the table while almost simultaneously, it seemed, providing her with plate, utensils, napkin and a cup of steaming hot coffee. Lucia barely had time to note that both the napkin and tablecloth were snowy white and decorated with the same exquisite embroidery as the wall hangings in her room, before platters heaped with cold meats, fresh rolls, hardboiled eggs and assorted pickled vegetables and fruit preserves appeared before her.

At the same time she was flitting about the kitchen, the woman kept up a rapid-fire chatter that didn’t seem to require a reply. Lucia kept smiling and nodding and saying the words, Köszönöm szépen, which she knew meant, thank you very much. And when, during a pause in the other woman’s monologue, she managed to insert the Hungarian words for milk and sugar, the woman clapped her hands like a delighted child.

Having produced a pitcher of milk and a small bowl of sugar, the woman paused, pulled out a chair and seated herself on its edge, like a hen on her perch. Then, speaking slowly and carefully, she asked-in Hungarian-if Lucia spoke magyarul. And she had an odd way of pronouncing her name, making it “Lee-sia,” rather than Lu-see-a.

Lucia shook her head apologetically. “Only a little.”

The woman merely smiled even wider and made an erasing motion with her hands as if to say, no problem. Then, speaking slowly and with much use of gestures, she introduced herself as Kati and asked if Lucia had slept well.

Once again Lucia was able to produce the right words from her tiny vocabulary. “Nagyon jól, köszönöm.” She was less successful, however, when she tried to ask about Corbett.

Kati seemed confused until Lucia tried asking instead about “Mr. Lazlo.” This time she got a bright smile, a nod and an enthusiastic, “Ah, Lacsi!”

From there she went happily into explanations, apparently having forgotten Lucia’s language limitations, until interrupted by some thumps and scufflings from outside the door. At this she popped out of the chair, clutching her apron, and began to bustle about, setting another place at the table.

Lucia sipped coffee and fought to compose herself while her heart lurched into overdrive.

The door opened and a man entered the kitchen along with a swirl of cool damp air. Corbett, of course. Yes, but a Corbett so different from the one Lucia knew, if Kati had introduced him to her as some other Lazlo-a long-lost brother or cousin, perhaps-she would not have been surprised.

He was wearing a fur hat, dark wool trousers tucked into high boots, a heavy coat that hung open to show its sheepskin lining and a laced-up vest over a dark green shirt. In the crook of one arm he carried a rifle-not the first time Lucia had seen him with a weapon in his hands, of course, but this time Corbett seemed at once less lethal and more…stalwart. Masculine. Though, that may have been partly because he was also unshaven, the dark stubble and cold-reddened cheeks making his eyes seem even bluer than they usually were.

I can’t stare, Lucia thought, and quickly looked away. My eyes…my face will surely give me away.

But Corbett barely glanced at her, his eyes flicking over her as he nodded a mute good-morning.

Lucia watched silently from the corner of her eye as he put the rifle on brackets above the door then turned to greet Kati with a wide smile, bending down so she could kiss him soundly on both cheeks. This activity left him liberally dusted with flour, which Kati tried to brush off his vest, only making matters worse.

Sadness, a kind of wistful envy, caught at Lucia’s throat as she watched the two of them laughing and bantering back and forth with what was obviously easy familiarity and genuine affection. It spread through her chest like a strangling vine, when Corbett, having shed his coat and hat, seated himself at the table and faced her at last, and she watched the robust stranger vanish in a heartbeat, along with the smile.

“Did you sleep well?” The question and tone were formal, proper, correct. Corbett as usual.

The well-trained butler was back, Lucia thought as she replied, “Yes, thank you for asking,” determined not to be outdone in the matter of manners, at least. She picked up her coffee cup and sipped without tasting.

“I see you’ve met Katalin.”

“Yes, though the introductions just about covered the extent of my Hungarian.” She smiled and raised her cup to Kati, who was standing behind Corbett, beaming at the two of them, floury hands wrapped in her apron.

“Ah. Perhaps I should tell you, Kati can speak English,” he said dryly. “She just prefers not to.”

Upon hearing this, Kati made a hideous face at Corbett’s back, and Lucia ducked her head and drank more coffee to hide a smile and a quivery gulp of laughter.

After a moment she set down her cup and steeling herself, lifted her eyes to his face. He wasn’t looking at her, of course. He hadn’t, not really, not directly in the eyes, since the encounter in his dressing room. When he’d come so close to kissing her. So this was how it was going to be from now on?

Damn you, no!

Clamping her teeth together, she counted slowly to five, then asked bluntly, “And how are your ribs this morning? Were you able to get any sleep?”

He grunted and made a brushing motion with his hand, dismissing both the question and his injury as of no consequence. So much, she thought, for good manners.

Silence fell, except for Kati, who had gone back to her pastry and was once again humming the catchy Hungarian tune. The room was sultry and fragrant with cooking smells. Warm. Cozy. Comfortable. Or it should have been.

The silence became too much for Corbett. The twin spots of color on Lucia’s cheeks shamed him. The images in his mind tormented him-her eyes, bright with angry tears as she’d said the words he’d been hearing ever since, even in his sleep.

“You’re not my teacher anymore…”

But what had happened-almost happened-between them was in no way even remotely her fault. He was behaving like a first-class jackass.

Taking up his coffee cup, and along with it his lagging self-control, he produced what he hoped was a pleasant expression and directed it at the object of his tortured thoughts.

“So,” he said, “what do you think of my hideaway?”

She gave him a sideways glance as she attacked a chunk of kolbász with her knife and fork-obviously angry with him still. “I haven’t seen much of it, except for my room and this one.”

“Well, then, you’ve seen most of it. Other than that, there’s just my study. There.” He gestured with his cup toward one of the two doors that opened off the back of the kitchen.

She paused with a bit of sausage halfway to her mouth to look at him with eyebrows raised. “Then…I’ve taken your bedroom?” She put down her knife and fork, her lips tightening. “You shouldn’t have done that. I can just as well sleep in the study.”

“Actually, you can’t,” Corbett said, spearing a slice of ham with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. “I’ll show 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.