Finally, Corbett chuckled. “This happened a year before Phillip met Evelyn. One year, three months, and a few days, to be exact.”
“You’ve never forgotten her.” Sean made the question a statement. “Even after all this time.”
“Phillip recovered first. Loving Evelyn helped him.”
The nonanswer intrigued her. “What about you?”
“I barely remember her face.”
Though she suspected Corbett was being less than truthful, she didn’t comment. Instead, she tried to stick to the information related to the topic. “But Viktor still …”
“Who knows what Viktor thinks?” Corbett’s usually civilized tone was laced with acid bitterness. “Obviously, he still wants revenge.”
“For what? You still haven’t told us what happened to cause the split between you three.”
The strangled sound that came over the phone line revealed the depths of Corbett’s pain. “She chose me.”
“And Viktor didn’t deal with this well?”
“No. Viktor had a psychotic breakdown. He raped and killed her.”
Shocked, Natalie and Sean locked gazes. “He what?”
“He raped and killed her and then blamed me for her death.” Clearing his throat, Corbett made an obvious effort to regain his composure. “I went to the police, but Viktor had disappeared.”
Natalie wanted to ask how and why, but Sean, apparently reading her mind, shook his head.
“Now that you know the past,” Corbett continued. “How will that knowledge help with the present? Viktor has your father, my closest friend. And Phillip somehow believes he can talk sense into a madman.”
Sean’s expression revealed how stunned he was by Corbett’s news, though his steady voice gave away nothing. “Surely you have an operative in place who can help us?”
“SIS might be a better source.”
Natalie shook her head. “No. I’m not contacting them. Until the mole is captured, I can’t trust anyone.”
“I understand. Let me make a few phone calls and see if I can set up a meeting.”
“Just warn your guy,” Sean spoke up. “Have him take precautions. We don’t want another one of your operatives to wind up dead.”
Corbett agreed, promising to phone them back once he’d arranged a meeting.
While they waited for his call, Sean went out for more food while Natalie continued working on the laptop. When he returned a few minutes later with a packet of freshly made roast-beef sandwiches, she put the computer aside. In silence, they devoured the food, washing it all down with warm root beer.
Corbett called a few minutes after they’d finished.
“I’ve got someone working on it,” he said. “My operative is trying to arrange a meeting for you with one of his sources. The guy’s been claiming to know where the Hungarian is holed up. If he talks, he’ll want cash for the information.”
Cash. The one thing they were short of.
“We don’t have any—”
“I do,” Sean interrupted. “How much do you think he’ll want, Corbett?”
“Depending on who you speak with, it could be anywhere from eight hundred euros to eight thousand.”
Sean whistled. “High-priced informants you got there, don’t you think?”
“Not for the kind of information we’re wanting.”
“Corbett?” Natalie heard the tremble in her voice and realized she was perilously close to tears. “If you hear anything else about my father—or from my father, please let me know.”
“I will.”
Natalie disconnected the call and turned away from Sean, not wanting him to see her cry. If she’d ever viewed the world through rose-colored glasses, those had cracked piece by piece, finally shattering with the knowledge that even her own father had lied to her by omission.
She’d nearly made it to the bathroom when Sean grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. As she started to fight him, the dam broke. She cried, her sorrow fueled by frustration and rage. She grabbed his shirt with both hands, holding on as though she might be swept away by the flood of her emotions if she were to let go.
“Damn you all to hell.” And she yanked him to her, pressing her mouth against his.
Shocked, Sean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. But this was Natalie. Natalie. Kissing him, touching him, of her own free will.
Shock gave way to disbelief, disbelief to pleasure. He tried to hold back, but the sweet sweep of her tongue inside his mouth made him dizzy and hot.
But why? Though he wanted to take it further, first he had to know.
He pulled back, unable to resist rubbing nose to nose with her the way they used to do. “Nat?”
She understood without him asking, as he’d known she would. She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze, her own dark with passion.
“I hate you for what you did.”
Part of him understood. “Only a thin line separates hate from love.”
“True.” Pressing her lips to his jaw, she touched his shoulders, sliding her hands down his arms. “As it does anger and passion.”
As badly as he wanted her, he didn’t want it like this. “Not the first time we come together. Not in anger or revenge. I want it to be more.”
“More?” She shook her head. “I could convince you, you know. I still remember everything you liked.”
“You could, but you won’t.”
She went still. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve wanted to make love to you since day one. I could have coaxed you into it a hundred times.” His voice deepened as he remembered. “I’ve forgotten nothing, Nat.”
She started to speak, but he shushed her with a finger against her lips.
“I’ve missed you so damn much. Even though us being apart was my fault, all my fault, I want you to know that not a day went by without me thinking of you. Missing you. Wanting you.”
Her chin dipped. When she raised her head, the shimmer of tears mixed with the passion lingering in her eyes. “I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured. Her words, the lush softness of her voice, felt as much like a caress as her soft hands. “When you … died, you left a hole inside me. Everything was off balance, nothing felt right. Even the everyday things, like drinking my morning cup of coffee without you to share it with, were unbearable because they made me think of you.”
Her voice caught, but she continued. “Your arm around me, your breath against my cheek. The way you liked to sleep, spooning close behind me.”
Low in his throat, he made a sound, a cross between a groan and a growl. She continued to touch him, tentatively at first, then with growing boldness.
“Make love to me, Sean.”
“For old times’ sake?”
“For that and … for the times yet to come.”
At those words, she reached up to pull him to her, but he met her halfway. Slanting his mouth over hers, he drank her in deeply, wanting to believe, needing to believe, with his body as much as his soul.
He hadn’t dared to think of the possibility of a future between them, nor did he dwell on it now. She wanted him, and not out of frustration or