Текст книги "Forever And A Day"

Автор книги: Ann Gimpel

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

He unbuckled his seat harness, started to get up, and then stopped himself. What if she was so horrified by his revelation she came after him? Magic wielders danced to their own drummer, and they never worked with others outside their own ranks. He girded himself. If she were a witch or a Druid, and not a shifter, she might well decide he needed to die. It would be hard, but he prepared for the unpleasant task of taking her down for the duration of the flight if she became unmanageable. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he could prevail in a direct contest.

She killed Jaret Chen.

Ja. But he was doped to the gills on heroin.

Lars scanned his instruments. Everything looked good. He stood and walked out of the cockpit. A cursory glance at the empty cabin told him Tamara had to be in the head. He strode down the aisle and tapped on the door. “Fraulein. Are you all right?”

“No.” She sounded as if she’d been crying. “Leave me alone. Please.”

“We are not done talking.” He waited, but the door remained shut. He could have blasted through the lock with magic, but curbed his almost obsessive desire to hold her in his arms. The thought of her alone and distraught in the small head tangled his gut into knots.

Lars tried again. “Please, fraulein. I cannot remain out of the cockpit for long.”

Moments passed. He’d almost decided to say what he needed through the door when the lock clicked and it opened. Tamara emerged, face blotchy with tears. He held out his arms, but she shook her head. “You’d best get back to the cockpit. I’ll join you once I scare up a bottle of water.”

Lars nodded. “Thank you.” She looked so broken, so devastated, it took all his self-control not to draw her against him, but something in her eyes told him it wasn’t a good idea.

She made shooing motions with both hands. “Get moving. I’ll be there soon enough.”

He walked the length of the plane, punched in the code, and reentered the cockpit. Lars shoved a small wooden block between the door and its frame to hold it open. He automatically checked his instruments to make certain the aircraft was still on course and the engines operating within parameters.

Tamara slid into her seat moments after he’d settled into his and buckled in. She looked pale, but determined, as she sipped a bottle of mineral water.

Lars’ stomach was tight. He gauged the distance between them. In case she became uncontrollable and he had to launch countermeasures, he left his seat harness unbuckled. This was one conversation Garen would never find out about. To discuss something so potentially volatile at thirty-five thousand feet was rash and irresponsible, but Lars couldn’t wait until they landed. His heart ached; his soul felt empty.

He selected his words carefully. “I was surprised when you raced from the cockpit, so I have been trying to figure out if I said something that upset you.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I—I can’t talk about it. You’ve been more than kind. By all the blessed saints, you rescued me. I’d be lying dead on the streets of Nice if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Ja, I know that part. Why did you leave as if demons dogged your heels?”

“I…can’t talk about it.” She repeated her earlier statement and set her water in a cup holder.

He nodded to himself. “Let me begin, then. You thought I was married. I am not. I know you have some type of magic. It is what you employed to heal your bullet wound.”

He kept his eyes on her, watching intently for her reaction. She curled into herself and looked stricken. “Sure and I canna talk about it.” Her brogue got thicker. Her pupils dilated. She looked like a doe about to bolt from a hedge once she sensed a hunter.

“I will not hurt you, Tamara. Not now. Not ever. I understand about magic because I have some of my own.”

She tensed and drew farther from him. Something flickered in the depths of her stricken eyes. Hope, or maybe fear. She didn’t say anything; a pulse quivered in her neck where it beat too fast.

“Are you not interested in what kind of magic I hold?” After a long pause, she nodded. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the sides of her seat. “If I tell you, will you trust me enough to tell me what is wrong?”

“Maybe.” The word ripped from her throat and splatted against him. Glass shards couldn’t have cut deeper. He flinched. Her pain was raw, palpable, and it made his heart hurt.

“You have no reason to trust me.” He blew out a tense breath; the struggle with his cat was worsening. “Recognize I have no reason to trust you, either, but I am taking a huge chance by telling you this. I,” he swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper, “am a shifter.”

Her expressive features ran the gamut; he couldn’t decipher her emotional state because her face changed so quickly. She said something in Irish just before she unsnapped her seat harness and launched herself at him with tears coursing down her cheeks. Damn it! He sprang to his feet and pushed her back into her seat, holding her there easily, while muttering in German and cursing fate, the gods, anyone who might be listening.

“Tut mir so leid, dies zu tun Fräulein.” Lars drew back a fist, prepared to deliver a blow to render her unconscious.

She spoke to him in Irish, and then switched to English between sobs. “Stad. Stop. I doona know what you’re saying. I doona speak German. Why would you be hitting me? Sure and I’m a shifter too.”

Chapter Nine

He froze, not certain he’d heard right. “What? What did you just say?”

She wriggled against his hand splayed across her chest. “Let go of me. I’m a shifter, same as you. I wanted to hug you and you tossed me back into my seat like I was a rag mop dolly.” Tamara tapped at a single ebony claw extruding from the tip of his index finger. Lars fought a sheepish grin, but it was a losing battle. He sank back into his seat with stern exhortations to his cat to retreat.

He wanted to draw her into his arms, hold her close, but he felt suddenly shy. Just because they shared the same magic—and made each other hotter than hell—it didn’t necessarily mean a thing, other than he could let his guard down a few notches. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. I was more startled than hurt.” She rubbed at the reddened place on her upper chest where he’d held her and shot him a rueful grin. “Either I’ll be learning German, or you’ll be brushing up on your Irish.”

He snorted. “Gaelic, Irish, and Welsh are probably the only languages where I cannot hold my own.”

“That’s often the way of it. German is almost the only one I don’t know.” She folded her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “Sure and you’re a mountain cat. I recognized the claw.”

“What are you?” Curiosity burned deep. He wanted to see her in her other form, wanted to get to know all of her.

“The same.”

Joy burned a path through his soul. What were the odds? To hell with caution. He started to open his arms, invite her into his lap, when the plane beeped a warning. Lars turned his attention to the instruments, made a minor course correction, and got up to shut the cockpit door, which was what had spurred the alarm. Overwhelmed by her revelation, he wanted to simply pull her against him and never let go. Instead, he forced himself to take a few steps back. It was wonderful, stupendous, amazing they shared the same magic, but he still knew next to nothing about her.

He settled for brushing the top of her head with his lips before he returned to his seat and buckled in. He motioned for her to do the same. “Maybe now you can finish telling me about your life. You left off when your family moved to Dublin.”

“So I did.” She smiled broadly. “Well then, three of us were still in school, so it kept us busy. The older three stayed in Drogheda, at least for a while. None of them are there now. Mum developed quite a reputation as a virtuoso. Da’s jewelry business flourished, but no matter how well things went, our life always felt tentative. Like a house of cards that could collapse at any moment if our secret became known.”

Lars nodded sympathetically. He understood exactly what she meant. It was one of many reasons he’d remained a confirmed loner. He gestured for her to keep talking. She had a wonderful voice. Low and lyrical, it was like a balm with her Irish brogue softening the consonants and blurring the vowels.

“Not much more to tell. Not really. I went to University College in Dublin, graduated with a degree in journalism, and went to work for the Irish Times. I’ve traveled much of the world writing stories and taking pictures.”

“Boyfriends?” Lars gripped the edges of his seat. It was a hard question, but he wanted to know.

Tamara shook her head. “Oh, and I’ve had my share, but none of them stuck. See, I had this huge secret.” She winked. “There was no easy way to find men who wouldn’t be blowing my cover. I was engaged once, ten years ago when I was but nineteen.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “What always happens when you’re too young to be in love? Mum warned me he wasn’t like us. I’m still not quite sure how she knew, but she did. Once the first blush of sex wore off, we tired of one another and went our separate ways.” She quirked an inquisitive brow. “Your turn.”

Lars just stared at her. Her request was reasonable. Why was he so unprepared for it?

She laughed, a rich, pleasing sound. “Sure and you look as if you just swallowed an elephant.”

An image of her statement formed in his mind; he laughed too. “I did not think beyond finding out about you. Of course you would want to know more about me.”

Shining blue eyes augured into him. She nodded. “Now that I know what you are, I sense you’re one of the old ones. My parents are old like that. Me and the current batch of sibs are something like their third or fourth family.”

He grinned. “They must like making babies.”

She drew her brows into a thoughtful line. “That too, but I’m thinking more of it is they’re worried our race will die out.”

He tipped his head her way. “Good thing some of us are on top of that. I certainly have not produced so much as one offspring.”

“Tell me,” she said. “Everything.”

Where to begin? Lars picked through the shards of his life and understood he could hit the high points with very little effort. “I have always been what you might call a mercenary—a soldier for hire. The lifestyle appealed to me. Once upon a time, we were warriors, well-loved, revered. Not so much in modern life.”

He took a breath, scanned the instruments to buy himself a moment to think. “You are correct about me being one of the elders, yet I am younger than many. I was born in 1646 and came to the U.S. around the time of the Revolutionary War. I have faded in and out of lives so no one would notice I did not age as they did. I have known Garen—and a few others—for much of my life. We have always worked together.

“The Company is all those like us. It is one reason you would fit.”

“But I’m far from a warrior.” She gazed at her lap and then looked at him. “The bare truth of it is what I did to Jaret sickened me.”

He nodded. “All that means is you have a conscience. You did not back out, or run shrieking from your rooms. You finished what you began. It is the same for us all. When you meet Miranda, perhaps she will tell you about one of her last assignments in a brothel for human slaves. She almost lost everything freeing them.”

“She must be very brave.”

“Courage comes from the heart.” He tapped his breastbone. “You have a big heart.”

Tamara shook her head. “Not so big. I was scared. So scared I dithered back-and-forth. Weeks passed when I could have…done something.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “There were nights I’d circle the bed with my knife in my hand. I’d get the blade close to him, but damn me if I could force myself forward. I’d creep back to the living room and stuff a towel in my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me crying.”

“What made the difference?” Lars thought he knew, but it would be good for her to verbalize it so it sank in.

She pursed her lips; they flattened into a hard line. When she spoke, her voice vibrated with outrage. “I was sick of him.” She patted her chin with the back of one hand. “Sure and I’d had it up to here with Jaret Chen. Every other night he was stoned, so I could get out of sex because he was more interested in his dope and just fell asleep. That night, he put off his shot…” She gulped air. “I, he…” Her voice trailed off, and her face splotched with shame.

“I will not judge you, liebchen.”

She twisted her mouth into a disgusted moue. “I’d already decided back at the casino that I was going to…finish things, but after we got to our rooms, he made me touch myself. He’s a voyeur, one of them that likes to watch. I started out making a game of it, but I made myself come—twice.” She swallowed hard, but didn’t drop her gaze. “I was afraid if I stayed with him much longer, I’d be drawn into his sickness, his craziness. If that happened, I’d have been lost. Even as things were, he’d never have just let me walk away. I knew too much. Eventually, I’d have ended up dead, just like poor Moira.”

Lars reached across the few inches separating their seats and took her hand. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Her nostrils flared. “Sure and that was harder than telling you about my magic.”

“Because your magic is something you were born with and cannot change. Your actions with Jaret were a choice, one which embarrasses you. I have done many things I am not proud of. We make choices in the field, often when we cannot think as clearly as we would like.”

Tamara gripped his hand. “What you said helps. Maybe I can forgive myself, but not quite yet. How much longer until we land?”

“A bit less than two hours.” He pointed at her mineral water.

She plucked it from the drink holder built into her seat and handed it to him. “I’ll find us another. Back in a moment.” She got to her feet, moved to his side, and brushed her lips over his. “It will take a wee bit of time for all this to sink in.”

“You have lived through a lot in just a few hours. Be gentle with yourself.”

She cupped his face between her hands. “I’m still annoyed I spent even one extra minute with Jaret, let alone weeks. By all the blessed saints, I waited until I was nearly lost.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, shaking her head back and forth.

“Ssht.” He wrapped an arm around her and held onto her neck for a long moment. “You have time, liebchen. All you’ll need to come to terms with what you did.”

She straightened. “Thank you.” Her footsteps faded as she left the cockpit.

He hoped what he’d said was true. Lars had a feeling at least one pitched battle stood between her and the time he’d promised. Jaret’s operation spanned the globe and they didn’t seem to be taking the loss of one of their key players lying down.

•●•

Tamara wanted to skip down the plane’s aisle. She’d kept a watchful eye on Lars, and he hadn’t even flinched when she’d revealed her appalling behavior with Jaret. Maybe there was hope he could care for her. She was just balancing two bottles of mineral water, a box of crackers, and some sliced cheese when the plane lurched to one side and the ride got bumpy. She convinced herself they’d just hit an air pocket, spread her feet in a wider stance, and bent to troll through another cupboard.

“Return to the cockpit now!” Lars’ voice crackled in the headset she’d never removed.

Her heart slammed into her throat. Not an air pocket. Something was wrong with the plane. She hurtled down the aisle. The cockpit door was shut. Her hands were full, so she kicked it.

Lars pulled it inward, his face a study in determination. “Into your seat. Now. Fasten your harness. It will get very rough.”

Food and water fell from her nerveless fingers and tumbled to the floor as she scrambled to obey. “What’s wrong?”

“We have lost an engine, although I do not understand how it happened. The instruments did not note a malfunction. The right engine simply quit. We might have sucked something into it, but generally birds do not fly this high.”

Her stomach twisted into a burning knot. She clenched her hands together in her lap to stop them from shaking. “Are we going to crash?”

He looked away from his instruments long enough to flash her a thumbs-up sign. “Not on my watch. I do not have time to explain fully, but left rudder will cancel much of the yaw from the dead right engine. Still, our landing will be difficult.”

Questions blasted through her mind, but Tamara ignored them. She didn’t want to disturb his concentration by asking for reassurances beyond what he’d already given her. Lars held several conversations over the radio. She picked up that they’d declared an emergency and would be landing at the nearest airport, which was Caspar, Wyoming. Despite dire straits, Lars was cool and collected. Her admiration for him grew by leaps and bounds as she watched him maintain their course, his hands and feet coaxing the disabled plane through the air. He knew exactly what to do and acted as if things like this were second nature.

In short order, they were lined up with the runway and dropping lower and lower. Fire trucks stood along both sides, their bright red color easily visible. “Brace yourself,” Lars said. The plane hit, bounced, and hit again. Three bounces later, they catapulted down the runway. “Fuck!” he sputtered. “No brakes.”

The plane skidded from side to side as Lars jammed the rudders sequentially. Finally, the plane slowed and rolled to a stop. Emergency personnel converged on the plane, spraying it with some sort of foam.

Tamara blew out a tense, shaky breath. “We had two separate problems?”

He nodded, expression grim as death. “Someone tampered with the brakes—and altered both their gauge and warning lights. We would not have found out until it was too late. Apparently there was just enough pressure left in the lines to allow us to taxi to our takeoff point without alerting me something was amiss.” He shut his eyes for a long moment. “Our engine failure was a godsend in disguise. If we had been one of many planes in a pattern coming in to land, I would not have been able to stop, and we would probably have plowed into another plane once we were on the ground. At least here, they cleared the runway for us.”

The enormity of what he said bit deep. She clawed at her throat to try to get more air. “Chen’s men,” she croaked.

“Who else?” Lars growled. “Keep quiet, fraulein.”

The radio crackled to life. Lars spoke into it, explaining the brake failure and saying they’d open the plane’s door immediately. He stood and extended a hand to her. “We will go into the terminal and rent a car.” He removed his headset and switched it off. She raised an eyebrow. He nodded; she mimicked his actions and tossed her headset atop his. Once no one could hear them, he bent close to her ear. “Now would be an excellent time to amp up that brogue. They will question us. Follow my lead. I do not see how they can detain us, but it may take time before they let us go. That this is a rental aircraft will not help our situation.”

She started to say they may as well remain within the confines of the Caspar airport because there was nowhere to run where Chen’s people couldn’t find them, but it sounded so defeatist, she held her peace. Lars was brave and confident. Maybe if she paid close attention, some of it might rub off on her.

He placed a hand under her elbow and propelled her out of the cockpit. Twisting, he slung the straps to his bags over one shoulder and picked up her suitcase. The rear door chose to be stubborn. As soon as Lars coaxed it open with a combination of German curses and a few stout kicks, they followed two uniformed guards across the tarmac.

An hour later, they were still in a small office answering questions. The guards had examined both their passports, culled through their luggage, and questioned Lars closely about his revolver. Thank God, he’d had it stowed in his luggage and not in an ankle holster. Both guards were middle-aged with muscular bodies and short-cropped brownish hair shading to gray. Hard, flat blue eyes stared at Tamara. “Indulge me, Ms. MacBride. You met this man,” he hooked a thumb at Lars, “at the Nice airport. You’d never seen him before in your life, and you got onto a private plane with him?”

“Sure and that’s about the size of it. I dinna have aught better to do. He weren’t in a kilt, but he’s a fine looking man, wouldn’t ye say?” She winked lewdly.

The other guard’s phone rang. He barked a yes, listened for a moment, and beckoned to his cohort before stepping outside the interrogation room. Tamara glanced at Lars, but he shook his head. Who knew? Maybe the room was bugged. She resettled herself in a straight-backed chair, but no matter which way she sat, it wasn’t comfortable.

The door swung open. “Get up,” the first guard snapped. “You’re free to go.”

Lars stood, smiled, and extended a hand. Neither guard reached for it. “As you will, gentlemen.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Could you recommend a decent A&P to fix my airplane so I might see it returned to Ermstatter in Nice?”

“That’s been handled. Someone from your firm, a Garen LeRochefort, seems to have stepped up to the plate on your behalf.”

“Excellent.” Lars placed his hand on Tamara’s shoulder. “My dear, it appears we are free to locate other transportation.”

“You won’t be flying anything like that Gulfstream without a copilot,” one of the guards snarled. “They may be looser about regulations in Europe, but the FAA—”

“I would not dream of it,” Lars cut in pointedly. He picked up his bags, along with hers, and motioned for her to follow him.

She got to her feet and opened her mouth, intent on figuring out what they were going to do, but he murmured, “Not now. You would be surprised which walls have ears.”

It was good advice. It also drove home how woefully ignorant she was of the spy trade. She’d been damned lucky to have gotten in and out that mess with Jaret. Sure and I almost didn’t escape, she reminded herself. Lars stopped at a bank kiosk, inserted a credit card, and it spit a stack of U.S. money into his hand. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out her wallet, meaning to get some funds of her own, but he took it from her hand and placed it back into her handbag.

What the hell? I can’t talk. I can’t use the money kiosk… Even though she respected Lars’ instincts, Tamara gritted her teeth together. Would she be reduced to little more than a helpless child before everything was said and done? To mask her annoyance, she picked a neutral topic as they stood in line at the car rental counter. “You were wonderfully competent after we lost that engine. You knew just what to do. It was as if things like that happen to you every day.”

“Thank Christ they do not. It is why I practice, though. Garen flies too. He and I simulate emergencies, and we work our way through them.” As if on cue, Lars’ phone jangled. He pulled it out, tapped the display, and said, “Ja?”

The conversation was short and one-sided; less than a minute passed before Lars disconnected and pocketed his phone. Tamara wanted to ask about it, and about why he hadn’t let her use her own credit card at the bank kiosk, but they’d finally moved to the head of the queue.

“How can I help you, sir?” The car rental representative smiled blandly. Though young, she appeared tired. Blonde hair hung untidily about her face and her uniform shirt had come untucked.

“We would like a one-way rental. Four wheel drive, please.”

“Very good, sir. Where will you be leaving our car?”

“Jackson Hole.”