“Would it have changed anything if we had?” mused my husband.
“I think so. He was trying to tell us that his home wasn’t safe, to warn us off going there. We knew something was wrong when we showed up there with József. He said it, remember: Dr. Szabó was scared to death. We should never have gone there. We’ve led Zoltán’s enemy straight to his front door.”
“It’s his own fault for not keeping his head down,” my brother insisted self-righteously. “If he hadn’t gotten himself shot at in that office of his, we wouldn’t have had to go bumbling around, trying to pick up his traces. We’d all be eating wiener schnitzel in the Sacher by now, safe and sound.”
“Is that all you care about?” I was shouting now. “Everyone we’ve met here in Budapest is in danger, thanks to our bumbling around, and yo
