Maybe she could tell him part of the truth. That she’d returned to her room to find Jaret already dead. Not knowing what else to do, she’d panicked and fled. Tamara rolled varying combinations of words around in her mind. Only a few phrases constituted a bald-faced lie. Despite what Lars had said, no one could determine if she weren’t telling quite the whole truth.
She stood and walked to the cockpit door, raised her fist to knock, and then dropped it to her side. She laid an ear next to the door and dialed in her mountain cat senses. The low hum of conversation filled her augmented hearing. Unfortunately, the men spoke German. Not one of her languages. Now if it had been French, Greek, Irish, or Italian, she’d have been home free.
Damn! She made her way back to the settee where she’d started out and shrugged her jacket over her sweater. Lars had said he’d see her later, whatever that meant. She’d assumed he’d return to talk with her, but he didn’t appear to be in any big rush. If he felt guilty about kissing her, because he’d been unfaithful to someone, she could let him know she didn’t hold any expectations on account of that kiss.
That’s it. I’ll make it clear I need a friend, not a lover. Maybe he’ll know somewhere in New York I can stay for a few nights, just until I get my bearings.
•●•
Lars swiveled his body to get his legs away from the rudder pedals and stretched them. A few moments before he’d heard Tamara right outside the cockpit door. When she didn’t knock, he’d tensed. What did she want? Was she part of the group trying to get rid of him?
He stood and walked to the door, sniffing for the telltale odor of explosives. It wasn’t likely, but he had to check. If the plane exploded, she’d die right along with him and the other pilot.
“Was machst du?” the copilot asked.
“Nothing.” A bit more confident, Lars cracked the door. All he smelled was her earthy scent, full of jasmine and lilacs. He shut the door, feeling ridiculously pleased. She’d wanted to talk with him but had chickened out. Maybe that meant…
Stop. It means nothing. He returned to his seat and scanned his instrument cluster. It was still an hour before they’d land. His satellite phone vibrated against his side. Lars pulled it out and punched Answer.
“Ermstatter told me you have a woman with you,” Garen said, not bothering to start with hello. “Who is she?”
Lars glanced at the copilot. “Would you mind?” He pointed to his phone.
The taciturn man actually smiled. “Not at all. I’d welcome a break. I’ll return before we enter our final approach to land.” He glanced at his watch. “That should give you about half an hour.”
“Thanks.” Lars waited until the copilot left and the door locked automatically behind him. He could use the numeric code panel to return to the cockpit. Lars shifted his attention to Garen. “There is much you do not know.”
“I’m listening. Talk fast. These satellite calls cost an arm and a leg.”
Lars was just finishing when Garen broke in. “This line’s as scrambled as I can make it. Chen is dead. At first they suspected you, but you’re in the clear. Scuttlebutt, at least from his people, is the woman did him.”
Breath whooshed out of Lars. “She does not seem the type,” he stammered.
“I didn’t know hit people had a type,” Garen said dryly.
“No wonder they tried to kill her at the airport.” Lars closed his teeth over his bottom lip, thinking.
“I did a little more research just now, once I had your passenger’s name,” Garen went on. “Tamara’s sister was Chen’s woman. She died of a drug overdose about eight months ago.”
Puzzle bits ticked into place. Tamara must have avenged her sister’s death. “I cannot just turn her lose in New York,” Lars muttered. “Chen’s gang will find her, kill her.”
“Have you talked with her about any of this?”
“I tried—”
“It speaks well of her that she had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut.”
“Christ! Stop interrupting me!” Lars tightened his hand on the yoke. The plane shuddered before restabilizing.
“We could use her,” Garen said flatly. “Sounds like she’d make a good agent.”
“Do you have reason to believe she’s a shifter?” Lars asked carefully. He tamped down wild hope racing through him.
“Maybe. Her sister was. So are others in her immediate family.”
“But that is marvelous news.” Lars clamped his jaws together before something else slipped out.
Unfortunately, Garen had known him a long time. “Marvelous? Why do I get the impression this Tamara is a knockout?”
Lars snorted. “If you have done as much in the way of research as I suspect, you have already seen a photograph.”
“Now that you mention it…” Garen drawled, letting his words dangle. “Bring her to Seattle. We can figure things out from here.”
“What if she does not want to come?”
“Fuck her into insensibility. You can be downright irresistible when you put your mind to it.”
A laugh bubbled up from his belly, followed by another. In moments, he was hooting with laughter, and relieved as hell no one could see him. When he could talk again, he said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, old friend.”
“Hey. Miranda even considered taking you for a roll in the hay, and she’s quite discerning.”
“She told you that?” Incredulity was like a one-two punch after his bout of mirth.
“She tells me everything, just like you told her about you, me, and all those women we shared in some of the world’s hellholes.”
“Touché.” Heat rushed upward from his chest. He had told Miranda a lot, probably way more than he should have. “Sorry. You were not mated then.”
“Stand down. I’m not pissed. Let me know when you’re airborne again and give me an ETA. I’ll send a car and driver to meet you at Boeing Field.”
Lars opened his mouth to reply, but Garen had disconnected. He reattached the sat phone to its belt clip and digested what he’d heard. It explained a lot. Tamara would have blamed the kingpin heroin dealer for her sister’s drug overdose death. He set his mouth in a firm line. Too bad about that. It must have been hell having a family member who was an addict. He couldn’t even imagine the heartache something like that would cause.
It was incredibly gutsy of Tamara to put herself in the line of fire to avenge her sister’s death. She must have been a hell of an actress to deceive someone like Jaret Chen. Rumor had it he was an addict, but he ran a damned tight ship.
Handy that he’s dead. Makes my life easier.
The cockpit door creaked open, and the copilot got back into his seat. “Did you call the tower?”
“I was just getting ready to do that.” Lars keyed his mike and relayed their position to JFK. The air traffic controller fed him a list of instructions, which he jotted down.
The copilot held out a hand. Lars handed him the list, and the copilot fed data into the onboard computer system. “How is our passenger?” Lars asked carefully.
“Napping.” The copilot looked up and winked. “Quite the looker. Friend of yours?”
Lars made a noncommittal gesture. “Are you returning to Nice immediately?”
The copilot nodded. “Yes, but not the way you might expect. Ermstatter made me reservations on Swissair. I’ll be cutting it close because we had more of a headwind than I’d anticipated. Could you take care of buttoning up the plane?”
“Of course. I am surprised you would not want to stick around to fly it back to Nice.”