Текст книги "Forever And A Day"

Автор книги: Ann Gimpel

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter Four

Lars busied himself in the galley arranging sliced cheese, crackers, and grapes on two Lexan plates. He was grateful for something to do. Tamara quite took his breath away. He wasn’t positive, but what she’d blasted him with in Ermstatter’s reception area had felt a lot like shifter magic.

I only want it to be, he lectured himself, aware how lonely he was. Though he’d shielded himself from the truth of it, Miranda choosing Garen had been one more nail in the coffin closing him off from a world of loving couples. He knew he appealed to women, but his profession, and his shifter blood, kept him aloof. It had never felt fair to open his heart too far—or encourage a woman to fall in love with him—when he had so many secrets to keep.

It was why Miranda would have been such a good choice. An espionage agent and shifter herself, she would have understood his needs perfectly. Despite lots of empty sex, he’d always known he could never seriously consider any woman other than a shifter for a permanent partner. Yes, Miranda had been ideal. More than ideal, actually.

Stop! She belongs to my closest friend.

The door to the head snicked open behind him and Tamara emerged. Spots of color splashed both cheeks, heightening her already-dramatic coloring. “Help you with those?” She arched a brow.

He handed one of the plates to her. “Unless you wish more than this, I am done. What would you like to drink?”

“Is there any juice, or mineral water?”

He opened the refrigerator and scanned its contents. “Both.”

She leaned so close the warmth of her body seared him. Rather than asking, she reached around him and plucked a carton of vegetable juice blend from the center shelf. As quickly as she’d come up next to him, she was gone. Lars felt grateful she wasn’t still hovering. Heat rose up his neck and swept over the top of his head. Selecting orange juice for himself, along with a bottle of water, he shut the fridge and took a steadying breath. He had to tamp down his attraction for her. It would only get in the way. For all he knew, she was in cahoots with Jaret Chen’s gang. She’d certainly looked like Chen’s woman in the casino.

Best tread carefully.

He pulled two napkins from a drawer, picked up his plate, and walked to where Tamara sat. She’d moved to one of the seating configurations where four seats faced one another, two on a side. He set his plate down and went back for his drinks. By the time he settled across from her, her plate was nearly empty. “Would you like more, fraulein?”

She shook her head. “I saw where things were. If I want anything else, I can get it myself. You surely don’t have to be waiting on me.”

He nodded, put a piece of cheese on a cracker, and ate it. Lars knew he was stalling, but he wasn’t certain where to start. It wasn’t as if she was his prisoner and he could fire questions at her willy-nilly. Tamara watched him with her sea-blue eyes over the top of her juice container. At least she’d regained her composure. Perhaps that might be a place to begin. “You are looking more relaxed.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She licked her lips and set the juice aside. “Why were you in the casino?”

Lars bit back a laugh. “Direct. I like that in a woman. Funny, but that was one of the questions I planned to ask you.”

She cocked her head to one side, regarding him intently. “You didn’t exactly answer me.”

Lars narrowed his eyes. “How about if we try a different topic? What is your connection to Jaret Chen?”

She studied her hands. Lars could almost feel her thinking, sorting through half-truths and discarding them. “Fraulein.” He reached across the space between them and placed his index finger beneath her chin to tilt her head so she had to look at him. “It is better for you to remain silent than to weave fabrication. I will know if you are lying.”

She drew back. “How?”

He shrugged. “How does anyone do anything? It is one of my…talents.”

She dragged a breath deep into her lungs, blew it out, and did it again, but she didn’t look away. “All right,” she said after a space of time. “I was his girlfriend.”

“Was?”

She nodded but didn’t offer anything further. Lars let go of her chin. Where to go from here? “Did the two of you have a fight?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Her tone was carefully neutral. “What happens after we get to New York?”

“You changed the subject.”

She picked up a grape, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. “Is that against the rules?”

Lars’ lips twitched. In addition to being stunning, Tamara had a quick mind. “How’d your taxi driver end up dead?”

“What is this? Twenty questions? Except neither of us answers any of them.” She gave her head a little shake. It made the feathered ends of her hair dance around her high cheekbones. “I have no idea what happened. One minute we were almost to the airport. The next, the cab crawled over the curb and you showed up.”

“That is not quite all, fraulein.” Lars set his plate aside and moved to the seat next to her. “You were as frightened as anyone I have ever seen.”

“Sure and wouldn’t you have been?” she countered, drawing herself up straighter in her seat.

“Probably.”

“Next you’ll be telling me you’re used to sharing cars with the dead.”

“I am not certain anyone ever gets used to something like that.” He locked gazes with her, and almost wished he hadn’t. Pools of blue light, her eyes drew him inexorably nearer. Without knowing quite why, he laid a hand on the side of her face. When she didn’t pull away, he traced his fingertips over her full lips. She laid her hand over his. He thought he read invitation in her eyes and leaned closer. It wasn’t a good idea; the sensible part of his mind argued against it—and lost. He replaced his fingers with his mouth. What began as the barest brushing of his mouth against hers turned into a heated kiss.

She opened her mouth to him, welcomed his tongue. He wrapped her in his arms and lost himself in a kiss that held desperation as much as attraction. His headset crackled. The copilot asked for something to eat and drink, or for him to come fly the plane for a bit so he could get his own snack.

Tamara drew away, her breath coming quickly. Her lips were swollen from their kiss and color splotched across her face. “What was that about?”

“The other pilot.” Lars touched his mouth to hers again briefly, aware he was achingly hard. He got to his feet, feeling torn. Part of him, the part belling out the front of his trousers, wanted to ravish the woman staring up at him. His rational side urged caution. He needed to know more, a whole lot more, before he held Tamara in his arms again. If the copilot hadn’t disturbed them, he feared they’d have ended up coupling on one of the airplane’s lush leather seats. As it was, the smell of their arousal hung heavy in the still cabin air.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was low, husky. Her nipples were clearly outlined beneath her sweater, as were the curves of her obviously braless breasts.

“To take care of the airplane,” he said tersely. “I will see you later.”

•●•

Tamara watched his tightly-muscled body walk up the aisle toward the cockpit. She shivered slightly. Because she hadn’t wanted to answer any of his questions, she’d invited the kiss that had turned into something so amazing she still couldn’t quite believe it. His scent, musk and bay rum, clung to her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was still close.

The cockpit door opened. Hope flared, but it was the other pilot, the one she hadn’t spoken with. Short, rotund, and bald, he favored her with a nod before disappearing into the head. When he came out, he tossed some snacks into a plastic bag and loped back up the aisle.

Tamara waited. Surely Lars would rejoin her, but minutes ticked by and he didn’t.

Who am I trying to kid? He probably has either a wife, or a girlfriend, maybe both. A familiar sadness filled her. A man who was that handsome couldn’t possibly not be spoken for. Even if he were free, there was the little problem of her shifter blood. Lars was gorgeous and hot, but definitely not for her.

“What will I do once I get to New York,” she muttered. It was an enormous city and as good a place as any to be anonymous. She’d have to work, but there were a few magazines she’d freelanced for. Perhaps they’d have an assignment or two to keep food on her table. One thing for certain, she couldn’t tell her family anything. Or anyone else, either. She hated to hurt them, but knowledge of her whereabouts would probably place them in grave danger.

Jaret’s drug cartel had a long reach. It was possible no one would miss him, or want to avenge him, which might mean she could return to Ireland someday…

Dream on, sister. It certainly isn’t looking like that right now.

She hadn’t said anything to Lars, but she’d seen two men racing toward the cab just before she’d frozen into a fetal position in the back seat. If Lars hadn’t shown up, she had no doubt they’d have jumped in and taken off. He probably hadn’t seen them because they’d been behind him.

Would I have had the presence of mind to jump out? To scream my head off? She bit her bottom lip. Those were simple questions. She should be able to answer them but couldn’t, not with any level of confidence. If she’d been capable of either of those things, she’d have done them before Lars dragged her quaking body out of the cab.

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.”

“I do as instructed. I was told your employer would take care of returning our aircraft and that you will be continuing in this same plane to your final destination.”

Lars blew out a pleased breath. As usual, lady luck was with him. His life would be much simpler without the copilot hanging around. It would make it easier to have a frank discussion with Tamara. FAA regulations aside, he didn’t need a second pilot to fly the plane. Now if he could just clear New York without anyone bothering him about that little detail, life would truly be sweet.

Chapter Five

Tamara feigned sleep because she didn’t want to have to make small talk with the other pilot. Once he went back into the cockpit, she straightened in her seat and looked outside. They’d backtracked through dawn across the Atlantic, and the sky along the eastern seaboard was just pinking with the first rays of today’s sun. She buckled her seatbelt and readied herself. The plane cut smoothly through the air, landed with barely a shudder, and taxied into an enormous hangar. Once they came to a stop, she got to her feet.

The cockpit door opened and the copilot rushed past her, flight bag in one hand and a garment bag slung over his arm. “Hope you had a nice flight,” he called over one shoulder and popped the rear door. She stared after him. Should she follow? Tamara took a few tentative steps toward the plane’s open hatch.

“Fraulein,” Lars called from the cockpit. His voice was so clear it took her a moment to realize the copilot had left the door open. “Wait, if you please. I must shut things down here, and then I will assist you.”

She looked longingly at the cockpit door, wanting to spend more time with Lars, even if it was only walking from here to customs. I’m being ridiculous—and pathetic. I can take care of myself. It’s best for everyone if I leave now, wind my way through the customs line on my own… “Sure and I’ll be all right,” she called back. “Thank you so much for your kindness.”

Lars exploded through the cockpit door. “Do not leave. It is not safe. I have five more minutes work.”

“What do you mean not safe?” she sputtered. “I just arrived. Surely no one could possibly know—” In lieu of an answer, he grasped her wrist and pulled her down the plane’s aisle after him. Back in the cockpit, he sank into a plushy, padded seat.

Tamara gaped at the array of instrumentation. The entire dashboard, and much of the plane’s ceiling, was covered with round displays, square displays, levers, dials, and everything in-between. “By all the blessed saints.” She tapped a few of the displays and shook her head. “How do you keep them straight?”

He interrupted clicking things off, and making notations in a leather-bound notebook, long enough to look at her. “You should see the large, commercial jets. They have many more controls. There.” He got to his feet. “We can leave now. I will instruct a flight crew to have the plane ready for us. We depart in eight hours.”

His words hit home. “We?” She squeaked the word out. “What are you meaning by we? I must find my own way. I can’t let you—”

“Ssht. Enough.” He set his jaw in a hard line and nudged her back into the cabin.

She walked to where she’d left her suitcase, hefted it, and tried again. “Like I started to say earlier, thank you kindly. Might you have any idea where I could stay in this city?”

He nodded curtly, dropped the satellite phone into his computer case, and picked up his two bags. “We can discuss that—and other things as well—once we have cleared customs.”

“Sure and we can be discussing it.” Concern warred with her better judgment. “Why are you believing I’m still in danger?”

“We need privacy for that conversation, fraulein. It will occur once we have finished with customs.”

He sounded so distant, so formal; she stared at him. Was this the man who’d been within a hairsbreadth of laying her on the plane’s floor and making love to her? Maybe he really does have a wife. She cleared her throat to mask her discomfiture. “How long will that take?”

“Depends how busy they are this morning. Generally, the private plane passengers receive preferential treatment.”

A uniformed man appeared in the plane’s rear door. “Welcome to the U S of A,” he said, sounding more fatigued than jovial. “When will you require the plane again, sir?”

Lars glanced at what appeared to be a very expensive wristwatch. “It is nearly six thirty a.m. Shall we say between four and five this afternoon?”

“Which would you prefer, sir?”

“We can split the difference. Have her prepared to roll at four thirty.”

“You got it. Are you and the lady ready to deplane?”

Lars quirked an eyebrow at her; Tamara nodded. The man stepped aside, and she walked down the stairs and into an enormous hangar. She turned to Lars, who was right behind her. “Why are we inside?”

“It is better for the airplanes to be out of the weather, but the real reason is it allows customs to search for contraband, and lessens the odds of someone smuggling anything into the country.”

She glanced about. “Where do we go?”

He pointed and then placed a hand beneath her elbow. “Last door at the end of the hangar.”

Customs went as smoothly as everything else. Lars hadn’t been joking when he’d told her flying this way would spoil her forever. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Follow me.”

They took an elevator to a well-appointed, private lounge with a killer view of the runway. He held a brief discussion with a young blonde woman behind a counter before joining her. “I have rented us a small suite for the day. My company has an apartment in the city, but I do not wish to take the time to travel to it.” His gray gaze bored into her. “Does that meet with your approval?”

“I guess so.” She pursed her lips together. “I still think…” He laid a hand over her mouth, forestalling the rest of her words. “Now you look here.” She drew away and kept her voice low. “You cannot be treating me as if I were a child.”

He bent close and spoke near her ear. “Please, fraulein. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves. Our rooms are very close. Just down that hallway.”

She took a measured breath. If he hadn’t tossed in that bit about her being in danger, she would have just picked up her suitcase and lost herself in the crowd. As it was, maybe she should hang around long enough to see what he knew. She’d been assessing him surreptitiously while he spoke to the blonde, and his insistence that she stay didn’t feel like a trap. Sincerity all but shimmered about him. “All right.” She jerked her chin upward. “Lead out.”

His relief was palpable. He held the door of the lounge open and ushered her down a long hallway, up a half flight of stairs, and to a door marked 15-C. After a momentary grapple, he pulled an electronic key card from an inner jacket pocket and swiped it across a panel next to the door.

She stepped through once the door swung inward, and her jaw fell open. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but the well-appointed suite laid out before her rivaled her accommodations in Monte Carlo. Beige and off-white sofas with plump, colorful cushions were arranged around a big screen television. A small kitchen sat off to one side with stainless steel appliances and a rectangular table. Across from the kitchen were two closed doors, presumably a bedroom and bath.

She dropped her suitcase and purse, and spun to face Lars, who had just closed the suite’s door and activated the deadbolt. “Tell me about the danger. Now.”

“Would you care for something to eat or drink?” He divested himself of his valise and computer bag, tossing both onto the floor near a coffee table.

“No. The sooner you tell me what you know, the sooner I can figure out how I’m going to survive here.”

•●•

Lars swallowed. He’d spent the last half hour of the flight considering how to approach Tamara. Simply blurting out that he thought she’d killed Jaret would probably be a mistake since she was still skittish enough to bolt.

“Well?” She tapped one foot impatiently and settled her hands on her hips. “Did you lie about me being in danger? How would you have found out about something like that?”

“No, fraulein. I did not lie. This conversation might go better if we were more comfortable.” He settled on one of the sofas and patted the spot next to him.

She started his way, and then veered off and sat on the sofa at right-angles to his. “Okay,” she said through tight lips. “I’m comfortable enough.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy. Lars steepled his fingers together, surprised by how sweaty his palms were. He’d faced down seasoned killers with more aplomb than he felt right now. “I work for an organization that makes it their business to know things. While we were airborne, one of my associates called. Ermstatter told him you were on the plane, and he wanted to know who you were. Once I told him, he did some research through an extensive computer network.”

Her eyes widened and she drew into herself like a puppy that had been kicked. Lars extended a hand toward her and hastened on. “You have nothing to fear from us. Earlier you asked why I was in the casino. I was tracking Jaret Chen. It probably will not surprise you to know he is dead.” Lars sent his shifter magic outward, casting it in a net to assess both her reaction and the truth of her next words.

She sucked in a shaky breath and kept her gaze on the floor. “I found him that way in our rooms. I was afraid,” her voice trembled, “so I ran.”

Lars felt her lie in the pit of his stomach, but didn’t confront it directly. “I also know about your sister and her drug problem. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Tamara looked at him then; her blue eyes held a haunted edge. “Moira never used drugs,” she said, a hard edge of defensiveness roughening her voice. “That animal killed her and made it look like an overdose.”

“All the more reason you would have wanted him dead.” Lars kept his voice low, gentle. “I am no stranger to killing, fraulein. Some people are so bad they deserve their fate.”

“Oh.” Her voice was desolate, broken. “I’m guessing you know, then, or you wouldn’t have said that bit about bad people.”

“Ja. I know. It takes much courage to—” A rush of unintelligible words in Irish tumbled from her, drowning out the rest of his sentence.

Her eyes filled with tears and overflowed. She ignored the flood. “Y-you won’t be telling anyone,” she moaned and wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d never get warm again. “Oh dear God, you said one of your associates knows too.”

Lars couldn’t stand to see her suffer. He moved to her side and took her into his arms. She sobbed against him while he smoothed her hair and waited for the storm to subside. “You need not worry about my associate, Garen, or myself. Or any who work for my firm, The Company. What we, yes, we, must concern ourselves with is that Jaret Chen’s gang has apparently decided you killed him. It is why they came after your taxi—and why they did not bother me again after accosting me on my way to the airport. I thought it curious at the time they did not send another agent after my car, or simply shoot the tires out, but now I understand why they left me alone.”

She pulled away from his chest and snuffled, wiping her sleeve across her face. Lars handed her a handkerchief from one of his many pockets and she blew her nose. “What was I supposed to do?” she demanded. “He killed my only sister. I’m certain of it, though I don’t have the kind of proof a magistrate would want. Moira’s death nearly killed our da. My family will never be the same.”

“You do not have to justify yourself.” Lars held her gaze. “I had planned for Jaret to meet with an…untimely accident. It is why I was in Monte Carlo. I owe you a debt, since you did my job for me.”

Tamara sucked in a surprised breath. “Y-you work as a…an…” Her voice ran down. She couldn’t get the word out.

“I work in international security,” he said smoothly. “Many activities comprise my line of work.”

“Oh.” She glanced down. “Maybe I’d be wanting something to drink after all.”

“Of course.” He stood and strode to the kitchen, where he took a quick inventory. “It appears we have juice, mineral water, beer, and quite the selection of wine and hard liquor.”

“Is there any Irish whiskey?”

He chuckled. “Of course, fraulein.” Lars plucked a small, sealed bottle from its shelf, found a shot glass in the cupboard, and returned to Tamara.

She ignored the shot glass, twisted the top off the liquor bottle, and drained half of it. “Whew. Burns.” She shook her head. “It’s actually a relief someone knows,” she blurted. “Makes it seem less hideous, somehow.”

“I understand.” He sat next to her again and opened his arms. After a hesitation, she allowed him to hold her. “Let me tell you a story, fraulein.”

“Sure and I’d like that. It will give me something else to think about.”

Lars nodded to himself. That was his intent, to normalize what she’d done and help her come to terms with it. He wouldn’t bother to mention that the story he was about to tell had happened almost three hundred years before.

He tightened his hold on her and began to talk. “When I was much younger, I was involved in a…situation. I worked for a bank then in Berlin. My friend, Garen, had come into the bank because he and I had made plans to have supper together. He was waiting for me to finish with the day’s work. A robber entered the bank, intent on getting as much money as he could. Garen has an almost psychic side. He intuited what the man was about, even before he approached the counter with his ransom demand, and jumped him. They rolled about on the floor. Garen was shot.”