Day Seven (Sunday)

Scott slept, blissfully without an alarm clock set. When he woke it was nearly noon and he was alone.

He staggered to the bathroom, and then to the living room. Becky was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in her night shirt, with her accounting book in her lap. "Hey, sleepy head."

"You should've woke me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. This is my one day off from rehearsal between now and the wedding. Don't we have a million things to do?"

"A few," she admitted. "We have to think about what we're packing up and what we're taking with us. And review everything, in case you have comments."

"I have no comments," Scott said firmly. "Whatever you want to do is fine. Tell me where to be and when."

Becky smiled. "Chicken."

"Absolutely."

"And we have to get rings."

"Coffee first." Scott went and filled a mug, came back and sat beside her. "How's the studying coming?"

"It's okay. Except I keep thinking of things I should do for the wedding. Things I'm afraid I'll forget." She shook her head. "I called Lily three times already. She told me to make a list and we'd talk about it all tomorrow."

"Smart."

"Uh-huh. I think she told your mother off."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. Neither of them said a word about it. But Kay was pretty much on her best behavior yesterday."

"Huh." Scott ran his hand through his sleep-disheveled hair. "I'd love to have heard that one."

"Me, too."

"I'll go shower."

Becky nodded. "I'll make you some breakfast."

"No, you study, I'll have cereal."

"Okay."

As soon as the shower started, she put down her book and went to make him eggs and sausage.

Mira Kalinich's phone rang ten times. Robert hung on the line patiently. She might not be home, but it was more likely that she was searching for, and cursing at, her phone.

After the twelfth ring, she picked up. "Kalinich," she barked.

"McCall."

"No, you're McCall. I'm Kalinich."

"I knew that," he chuckled.

"Ah, that's only because you can actually find your coffee cup, smarty pants."

If you actually put things away, Robert mused, you might be able to find them again. But he did not say that. Mira was Mira, and chaos came with the package. "I have neglected you this week, my dear, and I'd like to make it up to you. Are you free this afternoon?"

"I could be. What did you have in mind?"

"A surprise. Dress casual. Sensible shoes."

"I only own sensible shoes," Mira pointed out.

"I know," Robert answered. "And that is one of many reasons I adore you. I'll pick you up at one. We'll have lunch."

"All right. But Robert, I don't feel neglected. I understand about the wedding."

"And that," he said warmly, "is another reason I adore you. See you at one."

The door was closed, but Jason Masur entered without knocking. Control looked up with no expression on his face. "What?"

"We need to chat, Control."

"I'm busy."

Masur deposited himself in one of the casual chairs across from Control's desk. "There are operatives in the city, Control."

Control concentrated on the papers before him. "I know," he answered without looking up.

"A lot of operatives. Hell, half the operatives on your payroll are in the city. You having some kind of convention or something I don't know about?"

Control still refused to make eye contact. "It's summer. They're using up vacation time."

"Control." Masur rose, planted his left hip on the edge of the desk. "You may not have noticed, but the Balkans are turning into a giant shitpool."

The spymaster glanced up briefly, then back down. "Don't sit on my desk."

"Your operatives aren't doing me any good in New York, Control."

"I am aware of the situation," Control answered tightly.

With a regretful sigh, Jason rose and rounded the desk to stand directly over him. "I want your people in Europe. Now."

Control looked up at him. Then he pushed back from his desk and rose slowly to his feet. "My people, Jason. They are my people." He was much taller than Masur, and the man had been so close that he now loomed over him. "They will be in Europe when I need them there. But for now, they're right where I want them to be."

"In Europe. Now." Masur met his eyes, challenging him, for a moment. Then he looked away, trying to make it seem casual. "Unless you're just keeping all of them here for the wedding."

"I'll send them when I need to send them." Control didn't move his feet, but he leaned slightly towards the shorter man, the loom becoming intentionally menacing.

"I'm not the only one who's noticed, Control. The Directors are – anxious."

Control did take a step closer then. "The Directors can talk to me directly about their anxieties, Jason. You are not their messenger."

The man blinked, and Control knew he was right. Masur was here on his own initiative. Running his own game. "What is it you really want?"

For a moment, he could see Jason considering a denial. Then he said, "I need to move a – package – out of Sarajevo."

"A package."

"A young man. Serbian."

There was something half a note off, to Control's practiced ear. "Why is he important?"

Masur flared. "Because I say he is. You don't get to demand explanations, Control. You just do what you're told. Get him out."

Control considered him for a long moment. The reddening cheeks, the flared nostrils. The pupils just a hint too open. The breathing just a bit too fast.

Masur must have been completely desperate to come to him. Or else the fool thought Control was the least dangerous of his options.

He shrugged uncaringly. "Leave me the information. I'll see what I can do."

"You'll get him out, Control. And you'll do it soon."

"I'll do what I can," the spymaster repeated calmly. He sat down and resumed his paperwork, ignoring the fact that Jason was now practically leaning on his shoulder. Then he said, bored, "Was there something else?"

"Keep me informed."

Control grunted. After a minute, Jason stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Control glanced up to be sure he was alone. Then he sat back, his fingers laced behind his head. Information had always fascinated him. Information that Jason Masur didn't want him to have was especially attractive. It would requite subtlety, of course. No point in tipping his hand. A delicate touch, obtaining and keeping this information. But Control knew just the person.

He was in no hurry, though. He's send her when the situation genuinely called for it.

"Those?" Becky asked.

Scott peered down through the glass counter. "I like them." The bands were simple, platinum, with three horizontal lines etched around them.

The jeweler came over. "Can I help you?"

"We'd like those wedding bands," Scott said, pointing.

"These?" The man unlocked the case and drew out the entire tray. "We have a number of lovely sets …"

"Those," Scott repeated, touching them. "And we need them sized by next Saturday."

"Friday," Becky corrected.

"By next Friday."

The man raised one eyebrow. "In a hurry, are we?"

"We're leaving the country."

"Oh." The clerk took the model number down and got the sizing rings. "They are rather expensive."

"Doesn't matter," Scott said. Then he grinned. "You'll take a check, right?"

"Uh … with proper ID."

Becky giggled. "Do you think it will clear the bank before Friday?"

"Uh … I'm sure it will."

"Oh." They shared a long look. Scott said. "Well, that'll probably be okay."

The clerk eyed them darkly. But he filled out the order form and took their check without comment.

When they were gone, he wrote across the bottom of the order, 'Confirm funds before releasing'.

"I know it's terribly short notice," Kay said, for perhaps the fiftieth time. "But Scott's getting married next Saturday."

Walt brought a glass of ice water and set it by her elbow. He glanced casually at her list. She was apparently more than half done. He listened again as she went through the litany of times and places, and as she launched into the mandatory explanation of her son's European tour. She was getting better at it. The speech was becoming more streamlined, more concise.

Her voice was getting hoarse.

The dryer buzzed, and Walt went and swapped the laundry around. Kay had said she was coming home to look after him, but so far he'd done all the household chores while she hung on the phone with her friends and relatives.

Still, he didn't mind. From what he'd heard of the planning process, he'd gotten off light. If all he had to do was fold his own towels, while Robert McCall was shelling out major bucks for this extravaganza, he was more than happy to fold.

He returned from his laundry trip just as Kay hung up the phone. "I'm exhausted," she announced.

"I bet you are," Walt said. "Take a break. Let's go for a walk."

She shook her head. "Too hot."

"No, it's much cooler today. Nice breeze. Half an hour, Kay. You'll feel better."

She sighed heavily. "I should finish this list."

"Kay." He held his hand out to her. "You can finish when we get back. We'll walk down to the corner and get an iced coffee."

"Tempting."

"It's Sunday. They'll have fresh pastry."

"Walt." Kay shook her head. "You know all my weaknesses."

"I do," he agreed. "Get your shoes."

They went out. Kay walked swiftly at first, as if she were on mission rather than a stroll. But after an achingly fresh cream cheese Danish and a huge iced coffee, she slowed down and held his hand while they strolled under the shade trees.

"You're right," Kay admitted. "This was just what I needed."

"I know."

"I still have so much to do. I have to finish these calls, and then tomorrow we need to pick up the invitations and get them stuffed and mailed – the envelopes are pretty much addressed, except those few we need to look up, but I have to remember to stop for stamps, and then there's …"

"Kay."

She stopped. Then she laughed. "You're right, of course. I need to take a break."

They walked. "How's Robert been?" Walt asked.

"He's been remarkably good," Kay admitted. "A bit – absent – but that's Robert. At least he hasn't squawked about paying for anything. Well, he insisted on a buffet dinner, but I suppose that's for the best anyhow. Imagine me calling all these people and asking, 'Can you come to the wedding, and would you prefer chicken or beef?'" She sighed. "And as much as I hate to admit it, Lily has been a great help."

Walt frowned. "His girlfriend?"

"He says not. I don't know. She's very young for him, but – well, that's Robert, too. She is very beautiful. If you like skinny women."

Walt shook his head. "I can't imagine what he sees in her. A woman that much younger."

"She's one of them," Kay answered at once. "You know. Company. He doesn't have to keep secrets from her. I'm sure that makes her very attractive."

"But you don't think there's a relationship there?"

Kay shook her head. "I don't know why he'd bother to lie about it. He's never been very big on protecting my feelings before."

They walked a bit more. Carefully, Walt said, "How are you feeling about the girl?"

"Becky? It doesn't much matter how I feel about her, does it?"

"Robert's girl. Yvette."

"Oh." Kay was silent for a long moment. "I don't know. Angry, hurt, betrayed. And curious. Robert says he never knew about her until a few years ago – and again, why would he bother to lie? And if Scott had known any longer than that, he would have let it slip before now. So I guess I have no grounds to be hurt."

"But you are, anyhow," Walt said gently.

"I am. And especially in light of losing Cathy …" She sighed. "Lily said something that I can't let go of. I mean, I want to just dismiss it, but it won't go away."

"What did she say?"

"That Becky and Cathy would be the same age. And that Becky wants her mother back as badly as I still want my daughter back. That maybe if I wasn't so damn stubborn, maybe we could be some comfort to each other."

"Is she right?" Walt asked quietly.

"I don't know." They walked a bit more. "It hurts to think so. I mean, it feels like I'd be betraying my real daughter, if I let myself … if I …" Kay stopped and blotted her eyes with her fingertips.

"She's not a substitute," Walt said. "She's not a replacement for Cathy. But think about it this way. If your daughter had lived, and Scott was getting married, would you have a hard time accepting his bride as your new daughter?"

Kay said, "Oh." And then, a bit later, "Oh. You're right, of course. She's not a substitution. She's an addition."

"Yes."

She tucked her arm closer through her husband's. "And if Cathy were still here …"

"She'd be celebrating having a new sister."

"I hadn't thought about it that way." Kay shook her head. "Of course, if I'd had a chance to get to know this girl a little better …" And then," But Scott tried, didn't he, and I didn't want anything to do with her. I just wanted to ignore her until she went away. Only she's not going to o away, is she?"

Walt shrugged. "She seemed like a perfectly nice young lady to me."

"How did you get so wise?" Kay laughed.

"Oh, no, I'm not wise. I only did one wise thing in my life, and that was marrying you."

"We should get gifts, while we're out," Becky said.

"Gifts?"

"For Mickey and Yvette. And Lily, and Annie. And your mother and father. Thank you gifts."

"Okay," Scott said agreeably. "Do you have any idea what to buy any of those people?"

"I was hoping you did." Becky grinned. "I don't suppose we can actually buy Mickey a blow dart."

"We can, but then he'll want to use it on Mom."

"Mmmm."

"It might be a good idea," he admitted. "This, uh, might be a really good time for your psychic thing to kick in."

Becky screwed her mouth up into a grimace. "Yes, but of course it never works when I want it to. The only clear vision I've had lately was …" She stopped, shuddered.

"Bad?" Scott moved closer, put his arm around her.

"Confusing. People were all going away."

"Well, we're going away," he pointed out.

"That wasn't it. And we're coming back. They weren't."

Scott frowned. "People we know?"

"I don't know." Becky shook her head. "There were so many of them, and they were moving so fast …ugh." She shook her head again, hard. "I don't want to think about it. Let's just walk and see what looks good."

"Okay." He shifted his arm to her waist, still close, still protective. "Okay."

Mira stopped on the stoop and stared. "You have got to be kidding."

McCall stepped grandly down from the carriage. "I do not kid, Madam, when I am devoting a romantic afternoon to a lovely lady. If you will?"

"Oh, my." He took her hand. Mira hesitated. "I'm … a little afraid of horses."

"Are you?" Robert paused. "Well, then, you should come and meet Vivian. She is the sweetest horse in the city, or so our driver tells me." He led her casually to the horse's head, reached out to pat the gray's soft nose. The mare curled her lip and brushed it across his fingertips. "There, you see?"

Mira regarded the horse skeptically. "She's trying to eat you."

"No, if she meant to bite me I'd be bleeding. She's seeing if I've brought her a treat."

The horse shuddered a fly away and Mira stepped back. "She's big."

"Well, yes."

She stepped forward again, reached out very slowly and touched the horse's neck. "She's warm."

"Yes."

Vivian tossed her head impatiently, and Mira stepped back again. Robert smiled gently, leaned towards the horse. She lipped at his ear. "She says," he announced, "that's she'd like to take us to the park."

"Oh, she would, would she?"

"She would. She promises to be on her best behavior and not do anything to startle you."

"She promises?"

He leaned forward and let the horse nuzzle his head again. "She promises."

Mira touched the mare's neck again, then stroked it very softly. "She's pretty."

"Yes, she is."

"All right, then. To the park."

Robert grinned. He patted the horse one last time, then led Mira back to the carriage and helped her in. When they were settled, he leaned forward and said, "All right, Roger, we're ready to go. Nice and smooth, all right?"

"You got it, Mr. McCall. Come on, Viv, let's go to the park."

The mare tossed her head again and started off at a sedate walk.

"All right?" Robert asked, settling back with his arm around his lady.

"You really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, no. I am a romantic, yes, but I have great hopes."

They stopped by the music store so Scott could buy spare strings for his violin. "We should be able to get them anywhere," he explained, "but it makes me feel better to have them with me."

Becky said, "We need cello strings."

"Huh?"

"Cello strings."

"I don't play the cello."

"Lily needs them."

Scott blinked. "I don't think Lily plays the cello, either."

"She needs them. It's … it's … it can be her gift."

"Ah." He did not argue with her intuition, though it made no sense to him. He bought both sets of strings.

The sun grew hot, but the breeze was cool. Robert found a grassy spot under a shady tree and spread the heavy red plaid blanket. Mira sat where he indicated and watched in amazement as he unpacked the picnic basket. First there was champagne, in fluted crystal glasses. "To you, my dearest Mira," Robert toasted, and they sipped. Then he brought out china plates and real silverware.

"I thought," Mira ventured, "that picnics involved paper plates."

"Those are American picnics," Robert said. "This, on the other hand, is a proper British picnic. No paper plates. No plastic forks. And absolutely no over-cooked or undercooked food products on sticks over open flames." He opened a golden-wrapped serving dish. "Roast duck." The next was herbed wild rice. There was green salad with sugared walnuts and mandarin oranges. A bowl of huge, perfect strawberries. One package he put back, unopened. "Dessert," he explained. "It's a surprise."

"Good heavens," Mira said. "If I didn't know better, Robert, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"Oh, no, no. Not at a proper British picnic. At least, not in the middle of the afternoon." He smiled. "We'll get to that closer to sundown."

"Oh."

"But I have neglected you, rather shamefully, and I do apologize. And you have been marvelously gracious about it, and I thought I would like to do something appropriately gracious for you in return."

Mira studied him frankly. "This is a side of you I don't think I've seen before, Robert."

He busied himself filling their plates. "Well, perhaps it's a side of me that I should let out more often."

"Just once in a while. Otherwise I'll feel terribly inadequate."

"I meant the appreciation for your patience, not the proper British picnic."

"This is delicious." Mira tried everything on her plate, slowly. She was comfortable in silence with Robert, which he treasured about her best of all. "So how goes the wedding planning?"

"It goes," he said. "Kay seems to have everything well in hand."

"Kay? Not Becky?"

"Becky is merely a willing victim, I fear."

"Ahh. And how are you and Kay getting on?"

Robert sighed. "We're managing to be civil, mostly. For the sake of the children." He drained his champagne glass and refilled it. "She did not take the news about Yvette particularly well."

"I imagine not. When will she be here?"

"Yvette? Tomorrow."

"I look forward to meeting her."

"Oh, you shall," Robert promised. "She's going to live in Scott's apartment while he's abroad."

"Really?" Mira smiled. "That's convenient for everybody."

"Yes. I'm pleased about the whole arrangement. I don't really know Yvette very well. I look forward to spending time with her. But this week won't be easy, with her and Kay together."

"Well," Mira said philosophically, "perhaps now that Kay's had time to adjust to the idea, it will go better than you expect."

"From your mouth to God's ear."

"Is there anything I can do to help? With the wedding?"

Robert shook his head. "Not so far, thank you. Between Kay and Lily, they seem to have things under control."

"Ah, you've gotten the mysterious Lily involved."

"Scott recruited her, actually. She's being Switzerland."

"Between Kay and Becky?"

"Yes."

"More like Poland, if you ask me. Trampled by opposing armies."

"No, no. No one tramples Lily Romanov. Certainly not Kay."

"Interesting. And do I get to meet her, too?"

McCall hesitated. "She's Company."

"And you've taken great pains to keep me away from your Company friends, I've noticed."

"I have," he admitted.

"Afraid they'll tell me about your wicked past?" she teased.

Robert shook his head gravely. "No. Afraid you'll piece it together from things they say in passing. One of the hazards of keeping company with a historian, I'm afraid, is that you're far too good at putting things in historical context."

"Were you really that bad?" Mira asked.

"I was," Robert said firmly. "I always told myself it was for a greater good, served a higher purpose – but I was among the worst of them."

"And now you've changed."

"I tell myself I've changed."

"I've seen how you've changed. I've seen the people you've helped."

McCall shrugged. "It would be better, Mira …"

"Oh, stop it. I'm not a child. You don't need to protect me from who you used to be."

"I know." He took her hand and kissed it. "And for that I am profoundly grateful. But there are things … things that would frighten you, and things that I am deeply ashamed of. And I would rather you never met any of my former associates."

Mira pursed her lips, but she nodded her agreement. "As you wish."

"But," Robert continued, "as much as I might wish that, a great many of them will be at the wedding, and they are all dying to meet you."

"Oh." Mira brightened considerably. "Well. I look forward to it, then."

"At least one of us does."

"If we empty one closet and one dresser …" Scott began.

"Yes," Becky agreed. "She can't bring all that much on the plane with her, can she?"

"Unless she ships it ahead."

Becky groaned. "Well, let's make a pile in the living room of all the stuff that's going with us. And then we'll see what's left in here. Maybe we can consolidate."

"That's a plan."

"The kitchen's okay as it is – we don't even have to empty the refrigerator. And the bathroom's fine. It's really just in here. We can box it up and have Mickey take it to Lily's place."

Scott nodded. "Or we can just haul the boxes up and put them in Mira's apartment. She'd never notice a few more."

His bride smacked his arm. "Stop it. You were a pack-rat too when we met."

"I was not."

"You had fifty-seven plastic cups from Taco Bell."

"Well, yeah, but I used them all."

"Because you never washed dishes."

"That's beside the point. I used them." He frowned. "Speaking of pack-rats, I have to call Rory."

"I thought he wasn't speaking to you." Rory had been the keyboard played in the band Scott was in; he'd taken it very personally when the other band members announced that they needed to leave the band and make a living.

"He isn't, but if I get him to play the wedding, I'm sure he'll get over it."

"Just Rory?" Becky asked.

"He has a new band. Same music, new players."

"Oh. Okay." Becky shook her head. "I have got to get a couple more hours of studying in."

"All right. You pull out the stuff you're taking and then study. I'll grab my stuff, box up the rest, and make dinner." She looked at him again. "Okay, I'll order dinner. And go pick it up. Deal?"

"Deal."

"You promised me dessert," Mira said, much later, as they settled back in the carriage.

"I did," Robert answered. He opened the basket again and found a Thermos bottle of steaming coffee and two small china cups. Mira held while he poured, and while he found the last full serving dish. "For such an elegant meal, there is only one dessert that will possibly do."

"I can't even begin to guess."

"Of course you can. It's your favorite."

"My favorite?"

"Yes. Your favorite sweet."

"That would be you, Robert."

He grinned. "Your second-favorite sweet, then."

"That would be …" her eyes lit as he removed the last cover, "Twinkies!"

"Twinkies. Are you surprised?"

"I'm delighted. But these hardly seem to fit with the proper British picnic."

Robert shrugged. "Well, we must make certain concessions to being in the colonies, you know."

Mira threw her head back and laughed out loud.

"Mickey?"

"Out here."

Anne walked to her door and peered out. Mickey was sitting on the steps, rather hunched over. "You okay?"

"Fine." He sat up and half-turned, a dress shoe over one hand and a buffing cloth in the other.

"Oh." She went out and sat beside him. She had a stack of proof sheets in her hand. "I don't think I've ever seen you polish shoes before."

"Usually I just throw them out." He continued to work on the shoe until it reflected the setting sunlight. "Special occasion. How's the proofs?"

Anne sighed. "The church is good. The hotel's going to be tricky. All those big windows. Easy to catch glare."

"You'll handle it."

"I just don't want to screw this up. They should have hired a professional."

"Annie, babe, you are a professional. You have three books and a whole shelf full of awards to prove it."

"Yeah, but those weren't weddings."

Mickey sighed. "The pictures will be great."

"I don't know."

"You've spent too much time with Kay."

"What?"

Satisfied with the first shoe, Mickey put it down and started on the second. "Kay McCall has impossibly high expectations of everything and everyone. She drives Robert bonkers because he can't live up to them. And now she's getting to you."

"I don't know. She was really pretty reasonable when I was with them."

"Trust me. The pictures will be fine."

"I hope so." Anne glared at the proofs some more, then looked away. Her neighborhood was settling down, the children starting to trickle in for baths and bedtime stories. The older teens were coming out, quietly. Not attracting their parents' attention. "I kinda like this."

"What?"

"Shooting the wedding. It's different from – well, being in a war zone."

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Not that much different."

Anne elbowed him. "It's a slower pace. I can take my time, think about the shots. About what I want. And everybody's happy."

"And nobody's getting blown to pieces," Kostmayer offered. "You could do this, you know. Set up a little shop here, do weddings and bar mitzvahs and proms. You might like it."

"And miss everything in Europe?"

"I wish to hell you would."

They were silent for a moment. "Mickey …"

"I know. I'm just saying, if you like this, there's nothing that says you can't sit out a war or two. God knows there'll always be another one."

Anne hesitated. "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. It's gonna be bad."

"But you're still going."

Mickey looked at her. "I'm still going."

"Well," she said slowly, "maybe if I'm there we could meet up somewhere. You know."

"Meet up or hook up?"

"Yeah."

Kostmayer grinned slowly. "You used to be such a respectable girl."

"Right up until I met you."

He shook his head. "I'll see what I can arrange."

"Oh, good."

After sundown, Becky put her book away. "That's it. If I don't know it by now, I never will. My brain won't soak up any more."

"Good," Scott said. "Come see."

She followed him into the bedroom. He proudly displayed his entirely empty dresser and two empty drawers in hers, plus an empty closet. There were five cardboard boxes in the hall, ready to move. "Perfect," she pronounced. "Thank you."

They trailed back to the living room and gazed at the massive pile of things they'd decided to take. "That's pretty much ridiculous," Becky said.

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "We may need to cut that down some."

"I don't think I even own a suitcase any more."

"Maybe we can borrow some from Dad."

"True."

"Tomorrow," Scott said. "We'll deal with that tomorrow. Rory's in, by the way." He flopped onto the couch. "C'mere."

Becky sat down and leaned against him. "Sunday night."

"Young Ones," he agreed at once.

He turned on the TV and they watched back-to-back episodes of raunchy, silly British sit-coms. "Now I feel better," Becky announced.

"Good." Scott clambered to his feet. "We should go to bed."

Becky took his hand and let him pull her to his feet. "I'm not all that tired for a change."

"Even better."

At ten, Robert's telephone rang. He growled at it.

"If you don't answer," Mira said sleepily, "it'll be Kay announcing that she's come back tonight."

"I don't care," he answered.

"You took away her key?"

"She never had one."

"Clever man."

Five minutes later it rang again. Grumbling, but more awake, Robert threw on his robe and stomped to the kitchen. "Robert McCall."

Mira stayed in bed, listening drowsily. From her lover's voice, there was no major emergency. He seemed to be talking to a friend, about the wedding. In a few minutes he returned and slid under the sheets next to her. "Problem?"

"No, no. Old friend. Richard. He's … also Company. Was. He's retired. Heard about the wedding somehow."

"Will he be there?"

"Richard? No. No, no. But he is sending a gift, of sorts."

"That's nice of him."

"Yes."

They were silent for a time. "You're worried, aren't you? About the wedding?"

"No, no. Well, yes, but no. Not really. Whatever happens, it will be fine."

Mira nodded. "About your friends, then."

Robert shifted. "You know the history of the Balkans as well as I do."

"Old history. Not so much currently."

"Old history, new history. It's all the same, there. Wars last a thousand years, old rivalries, old grudges … what's coming is just the latest battle. And my friends will be there. And some of them may not return."

"You can't help that, Robert."

"Well, that's just it, you see. Perhaps if I was there with them, I could help them. Some of them. Perhaps if I went, a few more of them would come home."

Mira was silent, but her arms shifted to comfort him.

"But then, too, I know that if I went there, if I let myself be drawn back into that … world, I would destroy myself. I know how much I can endure before I break, and I have already done so. One more lie, one more betrayal …"

Then he stopped. He had been around this circle a hundred times, a thousand. His friends might die if he were not there. His friends might die if he were.

But of one outcome Robert McCall was certain: If he went back to the Company, his soul would surely perish.

He turned in the dark and drew his lover close.

Control entered the apartment through the little door in the kitchen, as he always did. It was far safer, more concealed. Secretive. Everything about the whole damn relationship was secretive.

He locked the door behind him and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dark. The apartment was silent. He knew Lily would not be sleeping. She would have been awake from the first turn of his key in the lock.

He ran his hand through his hair, then across his face. His five o'clock shadow was a day old. He'd needed a hair cut a week ago, and a shower at least two days ago.

He shouldn't have come here. He should have gone to his own apartment and cleaned up, gotten some sleep – Lord, but he was bone-weary. But there were some rests better than others, and none in this world for him better than in his woman's arms.

She wouldn't care what he looked like.

He paused at the kitchen. He was hungry again. But he was more tired. He walked into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and locked it. If someone came after them here, that lock would give then five extra seconds, tops. But five extra seconds, when you were Control, could be the difference between being the killer and the killed.

"Hey," Lily said quietly in the dark.

"Hey," he said back. He shed his clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed. They'd been rumpled when he'd left the office; no one would expect them to be less rumpled when he got back.

He heard, as much as saw, her arms stretch out to him in the darkness. "Come."

"I should shower."

"Later."

Grateful, exhausted, he slid under the covers next to her. Lily rolled towards him, put her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her leg over his. He could feel his tension draining away, and almost immediately he began to drift towards sleep. She was fresh, clean, and he wasn't. "I should …" he began.

Her lips covered his. "You should sleep," she murmured.

"Mmmm." Four hours, he decided as he slid from consciousness. It was the most continuous sleep he'd had in weeks. Four hours. Four …