Page 180 of Lethal Obsession

“They’re marine biologists,” I explain. “They were always off on research trips when Lars was young. It’s why he spent so many holidays with Alexei back when they were at boarding school.”

“Yeah.” Benny gives a humorless laugh I don’t quite understand. “That’s why.”

“Where’s Lourdes?” I look around. “I thought she’d be in here with you.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen her.”

I feel the first prickling of alarm. “She came down ahead of me, with Jack. I hope nothing has happened—”

“Oh, for Chrissakes.” Benny rubs a hand over his face, looking half amused, half irritated. “She still hasn’t told you, has she? No,” he answers his own question. “She wouldn’t have wanted to upset you.”

“Told me what?”

He tilts his head toward the elevator. “If you go two floors down and visit your brother, I’m sure you’ll find Lourdes. Oh, dear lord,” he says in exasperation when I look confused. “Why do you think Lourdes was on that yacht, Ofelia? Because she fancied hanging out with two gay boys having a torrid affair?”

I stare at him. “Wait,” I say slowly. “Do you mean that Lourdes—and Mickey—”

But I don’t need to finish the sentence before the pieces start falling into place:

All the sudden recitals in London—that she didn’t want me to come to.

Her eyes shining after my performance in Granada: “Mickey! Tell your sister how amazing she was . . .”

The way she looked at him when we fought back on the yacht, her soft touch on his arm as she murmured, “Cuidado . . .”

Of course, Lourdes and Mickey.

I’ve just been too damn blind and self-involved to see it.

Benny slow claps, giving me an extremely sardonic look. “I hate to think how long that would have taken. Lars and I had money on it, actually—” He cuts off abruptly and slumps forward, face in his hands, all trace of humor gone. “What the fuck am I going to do,” he says brokenly, “if he doesn’t make it? How can I finally have met the love of my life—only to lose him, just like that?”

I put my arm around his shoulders. At first he tenses under my touch, but I leave my arm where it is, and eventually he drops his head and begins to cry.

36

Alexei

“I confess, I’d been looking forward to the Bellini villa.” Mak opens a leather case and pulls out a cocktail shaker, glass, and mini bottles of gin and vermouth. “It’s a good thing I brought my own martini.” He casts a dry eye at a stray hen crossing the chipped tiles of the abandoned farmhouse.

“Booze isn’t an issue.” I open the door to an ancient refrigerator. “Jack’s men were staying here, so there’s a full bar lying around. Snacks, too.” I pull out olives and cheese.

Mak pours the mini bottles into the shaker, adds a handful of ice, gives it a brisk shake, then pours himself a glass and adds an olive from the dish. “Christ,” he says, closing his eyes briefly after the first swallow. “I needed that.”

He’s extremely suntanned, leaner than usual, and is sporting enough cuts and bruises to give a fair indication that wherever he’s been spending his time, it’s been less than peaceful.

“You look like you’ve taken a kick or two.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Busy time.” He’s unusually terse.

“I take it from our earlier conversation that the world is headed for some kind of shitstorm.” Oddly, there’s a certain comfort in knowing that it isn’t just my world going to hell.

Mak eyes me over his glass. “Ever heard of the Strait of Hormuz?”

“Nope.”

“You will.” His mouth twists wryly. “And buy some oil stocks. Actually, buy a lot.”

“Noted.”