“She’ll be all right,” Miranda said and patted his shoulder. “She only fainted. It will give her mind and body a mini-break.”
His fears marginally alleviated, Lars settled into the seat opposite Tamara. Miranda lurched past him and half fell into the copilot’s seat. “Sorry,” Garen said, his voice tight. “I wanted us out of there before anyone, friend or foe, showed up. So far, we’ve been lucky. No one’s hit me up on the radio complaining we’re off course for the flight plan I filed. Radar guy must be banging the office secretary this morning.”
“What happened to you guys?” Miranda asked as she strapped herself in, settled a headset in place, and handed one back to Lars.
He put on the headset so they could talk over the roar of the dual rotors without shouting. “Jaret Chen’s gang is as determined as the plague. One of the most recent batch they sent to kill us said something curious, though. Apparently they want me more than they want Tamara.”
“Why would that be a surprise?” Garen asked, his hands and feet busy at the controls. “We’ve had more than our share of run-ins with them. Hell, you were supposed to terminate Chen.”
Lars shrugged. “Maybe I deluded myself I was invisible to them. It took a while, but I remembered the American—”
“What American?” Miranda asked.
“Sorry. Let me back up.” Lars hit the high points about the latest attack. “…Anyway, I should have found something to tie to the rear bumper to obliterate our tracks. As it was, I may as well have hung out a sign, LARS AND TAMARA WENT THIS WAY.”
“The American,” Garen prodded.
“Ja. I fought him in Sudan. He probably saw me shift, but all he said earlier was I had an affinity for big cats.”
“Was that the time Garen told me about when you got a pride of lions to help out?” Miranda asked.
Lars chuckled. “One of my finer moments. Those cats could have torn me to bits. That they did not will remain one of the unsolved mysteries.”
“Now that the nitty-gritty stuff is out of the way,” Miranda went on, “tell us about Tamara.” Something distinctly feminine, at odds with her espionage persona, slithered beneath her words.
Lars glanced at Tamara’s inert form and reached over to lay a protective hand on her arm. “She is special.”
“Oooh, don’t tell me you might be falling in love.” Miranda jabbed Garen in the ribs. “It’s the stellar example we’ve set.”
“Do not jump the gun, fraulein,” Lars said to Miranda. “The lady and I have had very little time to get to know one another when we have not been running for our lives.”
“That’s the very best time to assess someone’s mettle,” Garen cut in. “See what they’re made of. From what I can tell, your Tamara is one tough bitch.”
Lars bit back a laugh. “She is not my Tamara, though I might wish her to be.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Garen retorted. “She called me because she was desperately afraid for you.”
“She would have done the same for anyone,” Lars insisted. “After all, I stepped in and helped her in Nice. She is grateful…”
“Why is it so threatening for you to get your confirmed bachelor mind around romance?” Miranda smirked. “I heard her on the phone, and saw her in your arms when we landed. If that’s not a woman in love, I don’t know what is.”
Tamara made a gurgling noise and stirred. Lars unsnapped his seat belt, moved across the slender aisle, and kneeled by her side. “Liebchen.” He stroked the side of her face. “Can I get you something? Anything? Water, juice, crackers?”
“Sure and a good, stiff shot of Irish whiskey would set well,” she mumbled.
“Aha!” Miranda said. “She’s back with the living. Here.” She handed another headset over. “Give her this. I don’t want to miss anything. What’d she ask for?”
Tamara opened her eyes and grinned as she adjusted the headset over her head. “Whiskey. I asked for spirits. Are there any aboard? I can hear you fine even without these.” She tapped the headset. “Or my cat can.”
“Yeah,” Miranda said. “I’d forgotten. They have better ears than wolves.”
“Is that what you are?” Tamara clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sure and it’s sorry I am. It’s not polite to be discussing such things.”
“You can talk about anything you’d like here. You’re in good company,” Garen assured her. “We band together so we can be who we are—all of who we are.”
“To answer your question,” Miranda shot Garen a pointed look, “he and I are both wolves. Everyone who works for The Company is a shifter. There are a few bears, a coyote or two, lots of wolves, and lots of mountain lions.”
“How are you feeling?” Lars interrupted; concern about her tied his gut into a tight knot. Tamara had been through a hell of a lot.
“Not bad.” She paused for a beat. “So long as I don’t think too hard or too deep about what happened.”
Lars got back into his seat, buckled in, and reached for her hand. She gripped it tightly. “Are there spirits aboard?” he asked Garen.
He shook his head. “We could land in Spokane and have breakfast, or I can just take us home.”
“What would you prefer?” Lars squeezed her hand.
She opened her mouth just before her face crumpled and tears welled. She wrenched her hand out of his, dropped her head into her hands, and sobbed. “Did I say something wrong, liebchen?” His heart ached, but he felt confused too. All he’d asked was what she wanted to do.
He glanced at Miranda, but she mouthed, “Give her a moment.”
“Not you.” Tamara’s voice was muffled. She swiped at her face and raised her head. “It was hearing the word home, and thinking I’ll never have one again. Sorry. God, but I’m a maudlin mess. With a wee bit of sleep, sure and I’ll be more myself.”
“Sweetie,” Miranda’s voice was sharp in the headsets. “You’ve been through hell. You have zilch in the way of training as a field agent, yet you’ve operated as one ever since you terminated Chen. Probably before that since you infiltrated his operation and defenses to get yourself into position to off him. Give yourself a break. Have a meltdown. You’ve earned the right. We train for years to accomplish what you did.”
Lars got out of his seat again, kneeled beside Tamara, and pulled her into his arms. “You will always have a home with me, liebchen. I know we do not know one another well, but—”
“What was that you said?” she squeaked. “Sure and you’re acting right daft. You scarcely know me. I might be a witch by night.”
“Then you will be my witch.” He kissed her forehead.
Miranda cried, “Bravo!” and clapped her hands together.
“You’ll have to forgive my mate,” Garen said. “She always did have a bit of a dramatic flair.”
“Nothing quite like a four-way proposal.” Lars snorted. “Could the two of you zip it long enough for me to talk with Tamara?”
“As long as we can listen.” Miranda chuckled.
Garen glanced over one shoulder and winked at Lars. “Not only dramatic, but a hopeless romantic.”
“Hey!” She elbowed him. “I picked you, didn’t I?”
“We picked each other,” Garen pointed out smugly.
“Shut up!” Lars let go of Tamara long enough to mock punch both of them.
“How about this?” Tamara tugged off her headset and turned it off.
“Excellent idea.” Lars did the same. The chopper’s rough floor made his knees ache, but he wouldn’t have left Tamara’s side if he’d been kneeling on knives.