She glanced at Robert, surprised to see that he’d made a joke. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“Good, I hate big slimy lizards with fangs.”
Despite the seriousness of the subject she smiled. It was an odd moment for humor, but she knew that during prolonged periods of high stress, humor could be a powerful tool against despair. As a doctor, Robert would know that. She wondered if he was using humor for her benefit or his.
“The outer wall is topped with concrete,” she said. “Shards of glass and concertina wire were imbedded in the concrete.”
“Guess he doesn’t want his neighbors popping over unexpectedly.”
“I don’t know him well. I mean, on a personal level. But from talking with him and others who know him, I was able to put together a sort of psychological profile.” She slid a sheet of paper from a manila folder. “From all appearances he’s a paranoid sociopath suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
Scowling, Robert took the paper and skimmed it. “Nice.”
“I wouldn’t recommend pissing him off.”
Shaking his head, Robert cursed. “What the hell kind of crazy bastard are we dealing with?”
“A very dangerous one.”
Lily jumped when a crack of thunder shook the walls. She knew Robert was watching her, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t want him to know how jumpy this was making her.
“Have you ever heard anyone mention an American doctor by the name of Alex Morrow?” he asked after a moment.
Lily repeated the name, knowing it was familiar, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it. “I’m not sure. Who is he?”
“He’s an environmental geologist. An American who disappeared during a conference in Holzberg.”
“He’s a friend of yours?”
Robert nodded. “I need to find him.”
She’d been wondering about his motivations for showing up, for having so many questions about DeBruzkya, and realized a piece of the puzzle had fallen neatly into place. But she also knew Morrow wasn’t the only reason Robert was here. “You think DeBruzkya is involved in Morrow’s disappearance?”
“I think he’s involved up to his bald head and beady eyes.” Crossing his ankle over his knee, he absently began to massage his thigh.
Lily watched for a moment, remembering his limp, and felt a tug of guilt. She wondered how badly he’d been injured on that last terrible night. She wondered if he’d been able to forgive her.
“Do you need something for the pain?” she asked.
His gaze jerked to hers. For an instant she saw surprise in its vivid blue depths, then his eyes hardened and cooled, like molten steel plunged into ice water. “I’m fine.”
“I couldn’t help but notice your limp yesterday.”
As if realizing he’d been massaging his thigh, he released it and leaned back in the chair. “It’s a long walk from Rajalla to your cottage.”
“What happened, Robert?”
His expression darkened. He glanced toward the window, then at her. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that night.”
“I just…” She struggled with words she couldn’t quite get right. “I don’t. I just…I’m sorry you were hurt.”
His gaze burned into hers. “So am I.”
She felt the heat of his stare as surely as she felt her heart roll over and begin to pound against her breast. Outside, the storm hurled rain and small hailstones against the tin roof. Even though it was still early, the windows had gone dark.
“I took a hit from some shrapnel.” He looked away, and she wondered if, for an instant, he was back at the pub, hurting and angry because she’d refused to leave with him. She wondered if he blamed her. If he hated her.
“Were you badly injured?” she asked.
“Compound fracture of the femur. A few bone fragments. But there wasn’t any arterial damage.” He shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “A titanium pin, a few bolts, and I’m almost new.”
“My God.” The night flashed horribly in her mind’s eye, the images hitting her with the same force as the bombs striking the ground. Some nights she could still feel the hot breath of the explosion. The smell of singed hair. The pain of her burns. “That could have been fatal.”
“That’s one of the advantages of being a doctor. You get into a tight spot in the field and you can treat yourself.” He grinned, but the grin was tight and plastic, and she instinctively knew the injury had been much worse than he was letting on.
“Some British medics picked me up,” he said. “They shot me up with morphine and put me on a plane to Paris. It took a couple of surgeries, but the surgeon was able to save the leg.”
“Does it still bother you much?”
He offered a wan smile. “Only when I have to hike six miles blindfolded in the rain.”
Hurting for him, trying not to imagine what he’d gone through, she looked down, realizing her knuckles were white. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It must have been terrible.”
“It was a long time ago.”