“Stand in front of the mirror and see for yourself.”
Lars moved so the wall-mounted mirror showed his reflection and his eyes widened. “Fuck. It is worse than I imagined.” His entire abdomen was black and blue with a perforated scar to the right of his belly button. Glancing down, he assessed his injury with a critical eye. “At least it is healing well.”
“Cats do have nine lives.”
“Best hope I have a few more than that, old friend, else I would have been dead long since.” Lars snapped up a pale green polo shirt from a dresser drawer, tugged it over his head, and went hunting for a pair of sweat pants and some slippers. “By the way, what is for breakfast?”
“Scrambled eggs and coffee.”
“Works for me.” Lars followed Garen downstairs to the kitchen.
“Yeah, well, the ladies might want something more elegant.”
“So?” Lars shrugged. “We can call that bakery and order something. I will take care of that part.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tamara took another slug of excellent coffee and folded her hands over her stomach. “It’s full and then some I am. Thank you boys for breakfast.”
“Quite a spread.” Miranda nodded appreciatively. “I could have sworn we’d be stuck with coffee and eggs.”
“You married a man of many talents.” Garen winked at his mate.
“Don’t start listing them, for chrissakes.” She made a strangled sound as if she was choking back laughter. “Seriously, thanks for cooking—and for not grilling Tam and me while we ate.”
“Since you brought it up—” Garen’s words were cut short by a blast from his cell phone. He fished it out of a pocket and barked, “Report,” while pushing his chair back and loping out of the sunny breakfast nook. It was separated by swinging doors from a kitchen with so many stainless steel appliances they’d nearly blinded Tamara.
Lars and Miranda fairly bristled with tension, their gazes glued to the still moving swinging door Garen had disappeared through.
“What is it I don’t know about?” Tamara asked. The breakfast she’d just consumed turned to a leaden block in her belly.
Garen strode back into the breakfast nook flashing a thumbs-up sign. Lars and Miranda broke into broad grins. “Score one for our side.” Miranda fist-pumped the air.
“Yes, those bastards will be so busy rebuilding, they will not have anyone left over to send after us.” Lars looked grimly satisfied.
“Will one of you be telling me what the fuck is going on?” Tamara heard a shrill note she didn’t care for in her voice, but she hated being odd man out.
Miranda shifted her chair and settled her gaze on Tamara. “You remember that conversation we had down in the spa?”
“Of course.”
Miranda quirked a dark brow. It cut across her tanned forehead like a bird’s wing. “Well?”
Tamara blew out a tense breath. She’d known she’d have to make a decision. What? Was I hoping I’d have a spot more time? Nothing will change, even if I had months.
Lars laid a hand over one of hers. “It is all right, liebchen. Take your time. It is a big decision. I will not think less of you if—”
She waved him to silence and smiled weakly. “Sure and you’re babbling. Never would have thought you’d be the type. I appreciate your concern, and your caring.” She shifted her focus to Miranda and Garen. “I have nothing much to offer. I’m still not understanding why you’d want me to be a part of your company, er, operation.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Garen matched the seriousness of her tone. “I’ve been recruiting agents for a long time. You definitely have the right stuff.”
“You’ll have to work hard, develop enough skills so you feel confident, rather than terrified,” Miranda cut in.
“We wouldn’t rush you,” Garen said. “It normally takes a couple of years to train a field agent.”
Tamara laced her hands around her coffee cup. “So I’d be dead weight for two years? I’m not liking the sound of that.”
“Not at all,” Miranda said. “We always have agents at all stages of training. We consider it insurance, not dead weight.”
“Could I keep on writing—assuming I found newspapers around here I could freelance for?”
“Under a different name,” Garen said, “but that shouldn’t pose a problem since you’ll need several alternative identifications.”
Tamara swallowed more coffee. The next question was hard, but she had to know. “My family. Will they have to think I’m dead?”
“Aw, sweetie.” Miranda lunged halfway across the table and patted her shoulder. “Of course not.”
“But won’t it be dangerous for them if they know I’m alive and where I am?”
“Who are your parents?” Garen asked.
“Leona and Christian MacBride,” Tamara replied, mystified. “Why are their names important?”
Garen drew his brows together into a thin line. “I may know your father. He’s been around for a while, hasn’t he?”
“If you’re asking whether he’s one of the old ones, he is.” Tamara pressed her lips together. “He deals in jewelry. He’s not some kind of revolutionary. Sure and I’d know after all the tragedies I covered in Northern Ireland.”
“That would be in your lifetime,” Garen said softly. “Unless he told you, you’d have no idea who—or what—he was before.”
Lars, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, took her hand again. “I have been thinking—”
“Uh-oh.” Garen snorted. “Always dangerous.”
“Ssht,” Miranda said. “Let’s see what he came up with.”
“Thank you.” Lars inclined his head toward Miranda. “We must proceed in some sort of order—”
“Watch it!” Garen stabbed a finger toward Lars. “Your German roots are showing.”
Lars rolled his eyes. “The order is this, or it could be if Tamara wishes. First, she must decide whether she will sign on with The Company.” He turned his gray gaze on Miranda. “Did you tell her everything? That this is a lifetime commitment with no out-clause?”
Miranda nodded solemnly. “Yup. I covered all the bases.”
“Excellent. Once she decides, then we will bind her with the blood oath, even though she is not yet a vetted agent.” Garen opened his mouth, but Lars shook his head. “Hear me out. We already know she is one of us. The only reason to withhold the blood oath is because you wait until the very last moment to assure yourself your agents are shifters. A tactic I strongly disagree with, by the way.”
“Yes, you’ve said as much,” Garen muttered and made a grab for his coffee.
“She will be safer after the blood oath because it allows telepathic communication among us in human form,” Lars argued.
“He has a point,” Miranda said.
“From my own mate?” Garen tried to look upset, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
“We’re all part of a board of directors that runs The Company,” she pointed out. “If we want to change some aspects of how we do things, we put it to the board for a vote.”
“Hmph. Guess I did agree to that.” Garen’s twitching mouth curved into a grin. “It will take some getting used to, since I’m accustomed to running things.”
“Yes, well I was used to running the European office.” Lars shrugged. “Time marches on, my friend. But we digress. Back to Tamara.” He moved his chair right next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Many game pieces will fall into place, but the linchpin is your decision about The Company. We cannot finish this conversation until you have made up your mind.”
“May I get up? Walk around a bit by myself, maybe out in those lovely gardens.”
“Of course.” Lars got to his feet and held a hand to her. “You will probably want a jacket. It is not as warm as it appears. The grounds are safe.”