Текст книги "Forever And A Day"

Автор книги: Ann Gimpel

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

She nodded, her eyes round with apprehension. Lars listened intently. The car had slowed, but it was definitely closer and still moving toward them. Damn it! He’d left tire tracks in the sandy road. They would have been easy to follow. “Listen closely. This is what we shall do. I cannot leave you in the car. You would be a sitting duck.”

Chapter Twelve

Tamara shifted from paw to paw as she waited in a shadowed overhang about fifty human paces from the car. She could cover the distance in three or four easy leaps. Lars’ plan had been simple enough. They’d left the car open as a trap to draw whoever hunted them. It would allow them to determine how many men they had to deal with. If it was only two, Lars said he’d take them both, striking while they leaned inside the car. If it was more than that, they’d regroup. Fortunately, they could communicate telepathically in cat form, something she already knew. Lars had told her it was possible in their human forms as well, but there hadn’t been time to go into any deeper explanations.

She sensed him across from her, still as death, waiting. Cats were excellent predators because they could stay so motionless their prey never knew what hit them. Tamara felt a growl form deep in her chest and swallowed it. Her cat was thrilled by the turn of events; Tamara wasn’t so sure, but she would do whatever she had to. Lars was shaping up to be the man of her dreams, the love of her life. No way would she lose him now. She pictured him above her, making love to her, and her vulva twitched.

Not now. She dug her claws into the dirt as a distraction. A car engine got louder and then stilled. She tried to pinpoint its location and determined it had to be somewhere behind the SUV, but on the same dirt road Lars had taken. Car doors opened, but she didn’t hear them close. Maybe two, maybe three. It was hard to tell when sounds happened at the same time.

Footsteps pounded their way. “There are three,” Lars informed her just about the time she’d come to the same conclusion.

“What do you want to do?”

“Wait till they get closer and I can see what kind of firepower they are packing.”

Of course they wouldn’t come empty handed. Tamara’s cat wanted to leap forward, tear their fucking throats out. What was a bullet or two? Shifters had excellent restorative magic. She kept her cat in line by reminding it Lars was calling the shots. Her cat adored Lars, so it seemed to do the trick.

The men moved cautiously forward. They must have had some sort of communications devices that amplified their voices, but only for one another. She might not have heard them if she’d been human; as it was, every word was crystal clear.

“You sure this is the car?”

“Yeah. Plates match what our hacker picked up off the car rental site.”

A third man, with a heavy accent that sounded Russian said, “I tell you. Better we riddle car with bullets. Tell boss they fought back.”

“No,” the first voice said in refined British English. “These two are wanted alive. Particularly the man. We have tried to get our hands on him for years.”

“Holy fucking crap. Take a gander at this,” the second voice, which sounded American as all get out, muttered.

“What is it?” from the Brit.

“Big cat tracks. Fresh too,” the American answered. “Are there cougars in these hills?”

“That’s a stupid question,” the Brit snapped. “There must be or you wouldn’t see tracks. Hmph. I wonder…” He moved toward the SUV and shined a penlight into the back. Tamara got a good look at him. He resembled many of Jaret’s men. Hard body, hard eyes. He was tall and rangy, dressed in black, with greasepaint on his face and a black watch cap pulled low on his head. “Fuck. They’re not here.”

“Maybe we get lucky,” the Russian smirked. “Cats might have got them.”

“Not very fucking likely,” the American muttered. “Man’s too smart for that. I fought him in Africa. Bastard had some kind of affinity for big cats. It was spooky, I tell you. They obeyed him, danced to his tune like some fucked up Pied Piper.”

“Lars…?”

“Stay put.” One minute he was near her, the next, he flew through the air and drove the Brit and the Russian to the ground. The American pulled a large caliber revolver from a hidden holster. Tamara didn’t stop to think. She launched herself at his back and sank her teeth deep into the side of his neck, aiming for his carotid. Blood shot into the air before he hit the ground, and it just kept pumping. She batted his gun out of range and raked her claws down his head and neck for good measure. Flipping him over, she clawed out his eyes. If he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t be a threat, even if it took him a few minutes to die.

A gun went off. She spun, tail and whiskers twitching. The Russian lay in a spreading pool of blood, maybe dead. Didn’t matter since he wasn’t moving. Lars was all over the Brit who’d just fired point blank into his belly. Tamara shrieked a high, feral squeal and pounded her body into the Brit’s side. He went down with a whump and she clawed and bit until she was drenched in his blood.

As soon as she was sure he’d never get up again, she padded to Lars inert body, whining. She nosed him, licked him, and could have cried once she realized he was alive. “Heal yourself, beloved.”

“Get me into the car and drive us out of here.” His mind voice was shockingly weak. She reached for her human form and acted fast. Lars was bleeding. A puddle had formed beneath him. She drove the car right next to him, opened the back door, and tried to lift him, but his cat weighed well over two hundred pounds. After sweating and struggling, she finally had an idea and draped one of the sleeping bags so it hung half out the door. She closed the other end in the opposite door to stabilize it.

“You have to help me.” She buried her hands in his fur. “Goddammit, Lars. Sure and you can’t die on me. Use your claws. Dig into the fabric. If you can help even a little, I think I can boost you inside.”

Making a gurgling sound that made her blood run cold, Lars twisted and dug his claws deep into the sleeping bag. She got behind him and pushed. Between the two of them, his cat’s body slithered inside. She took a moment and wrapped her arms around him. “Hang on, dearest. I’ll be figuring something out.” He licked her face. She stroked his fur, murmured in Gaelic, unable to force herself to let go.

“We must leave. More will come behind them,” Lars said, voice so faint she barely heard him. Blood bubbled from his nostrils and her heart shattered. She slammed the back door and ran around to the driver’s side pulling a sweatshirt over her head as she went. No time to worry about her naked bottom half. As an afterthought, she remembered to open the other back door and move the sleeping bag so it wouldn’t flap against the car as they drove.

She’d never driven a left hand drive car, so it took her a moment to get her bearings. She tried to go slow so she wouldn’t jostle Lars and make things worse. Once they were back on the expressway, she tried calling for him both out loud and in her mind voice, but he didn’t answer. Frantic, she fished his cell phone out of the center console and pushed the redial button. Garen didn’t know her from Adam, but she bet he’d pull out all the stops to help Lars.

“Yes, Lars. What’s wrong?” a sleepy sounding voice said.

“Sure and ’tisn’t Lars. He’s hurt. I need help.”

“Whoa. Slow down.” His voice sharpened with a suspicious undertone. “Tell me your name.”

“Tamara MacBride. Let me activate FaceTime so you can see it’s me.” She wanted to cry, to shriek, but she couldn’t afford a meltdown. Tamara split her attention between the road and the phone, found the FaceTime button and initiated it.

“Got it,” he graveled. “You look like hell, Ms. MacBride. Report.”

She forced herself to speak distinctly, so her brogue wouldn’t run her words together. “Gunmen came after us. Lars took a bullet. I have him in the back of the car and I’m on the highway to Jackson, but he’s not talking to me. I’m scared he’s going to die. Help me. Tell me where to take him to get help.”

“Is he in cat form?”

“Aye.”

“Goddammit.”

“Talk to me.” She pounded the steering wheel. “Why is that bad?”

“Because if he was strong enough, he’d have shifted back. Only reason he’d stay in his cat form is if he’s badly wounded, but then you probably already knew that.”

“What is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Who was that?” Tamara asked, voice trembling.

“My wife Miranda.”

“Och. Lars was telling me of her—”

“Stop. No time for social niceties. Do you have a navigational system in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me as closely as you can where you are.” She did, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She wanted to stop the car, wrap her body around Lars, and will him to live for her—for them.

“All right,” Garen said. “I’ve pinpointed your position on my computer. Drive another twenty-five miles. Pull off the road at Dubois. I’m heading for the heliport on my roof right now. I’ll have a bird in the air in five minutes and I’ll be to you soon. Not more than a couple of hours, three tops.”

Miranda said something in the background. Garen muttered, “Yeah, probably a better idea. Miranda thinks it would go faster if you keep driving and meet the chopper in Idaho Falls.”

“I can do that. I am less likely to draw attention if the car is moving.”

“Tamara. They’ve made you.”

Something cold slipped down her spine and she shivered. “What do you mean?”

“The bad guys know what you’re driving. If you were one of my agents, I’d tell you to swap cars, but you probably don’t know how to hot wire one. Just be careful. Lars always carries a gun. Can you shoot?”

She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and said, “Yes.”

“Is the gun where you can get to it?”

“No.”

“Okay, Tamara. Take a deep breath. Stop the car when you can. No rush. Take everything nice and easy. Clean all that blood off yourself and get the gun. Keep it loaded and ready. If anyone but a cop tries to stop you, shoot to kill—and then drive like hell.” She swallowed back nausea and clutched the steering wheel so hard it made her hands ache. “It’s pretty quiet on your end,” Garen said. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Shifters are tough. Keep the faith. See you soon.” The line went dead.

Tamara stared at the cell phone for a long while before she set it back in the console. She listened intently with her cat senses. Lars was still breathing. Thank all the bloody saints. If he died because of the mess he’d gotten roped into saving her, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive herself. In a few kilometers, she pulled off onto the shoulder, retrieved the gun, and dipped icy water from a half-frozen stream to clean herself up, using a shirt from her suitcase as a washrag. Once she’d gotten the worst of the gore off her face and hands, she yanked on the rest of her clothes and shoes, and settled back behind the wheel.

After an incident where another car flashed its brights and honked loudly, she managed to keep her car in its proper lane. The transition to driving on the right wasn’t as automatic as she would have liked. Minutes ticked by; they turned into hours. The night had developed an eerily kaleidoscopic quality when something flashed at her. Low fuel light. Damn it. She glanced at the miniature map on her dashboard and punched a few buttons to find the nearest petrol station. It was thirty-two kilometers. She wondered if she’d make it and slowed the car to extend its range.

The fuel gauge read below empty when she finally saw the neon display of a huge petrol station that obviously catered to truckers. Tamara pulled the car into a shadowed glade, crept into the back, and tugged a sleeping bag over Lars. She kissed his furred face, but he didn’t stir. “We’re stopping for petrol,” she whispered into his ear. “Not that you’d be fussing, but you must remain hidden.” He might have pushed his snout against her face, but the motion was so weak, she could have imagined it.

Her eyes felt hot and gritty as she maneuvered the car back onto the roadway. Everything from finding the car’s petrol filler to counting out unfamiliar money from Lars’ wallet taxed her overburdened brain. At some level, she knew she was running on sheer nerves, but she had to keep going. Had to get Lars to Garen. She choked back the edges of hysteria. Who the hell treated shifters? Sure and not emergency rooms. Not veterinarians, either.

She kept her mind voice calm, soothing, and called Lars’ name.

“I am still on this side of the veil, fraulein. I heard you on the phone a while back. Excellent call. Garen is a good man. Solid.”

“Hush, love. Don’t be trying to talk. Just hang in there.”

•●•

Dawn was breaking, illuminating jagged mountaintops with shades of pink, when she pulled into farm country at the outskirts of Idaho Falls. She hadn’t had any further conversations with Lars, but the steady sound of his breathing filled her with hope. The cell phone jangled. When she uncrimped her fingers from the steering wheel to answer it, she understood how close to the edge she was.

“I see the car,” Garen said without preamble. “Take the next exit, turn right, and drive to the end of whatever road you’re on. I’ll rendezvous with you there.”

She dropped the phone back into the console and ferried the car off the highway. “You hear that, my sweet, my love. Garen’s here. You’re almost safe.”

“No, liebchen, we’re almost safe.”

She was so shocked to hear his out loud voice, she almost plowed into a parked car. “Oh my God. When did you shift back?”

“Only a few moments ago. I was too weak until then. Had to get the bullet out first. Then my cat took more time than I would have liked to heal the damage.”

Tears coursed down her face. It was hard to breathe around the thickening in her throat. Lars was alive. He’d made it. Somehow, she ferried the car to a stop at the end of a deserted road, slammed on the parking brake, and got out. She yanked open the back door and stopped dead. Blood. There was so much blood. How could he still be alive?

“It looks worse than it is. Happened while my cat extruded the bullet.” He got out of the car shakily, and she wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let go. Tamara tried to talk, but she was beyond words as she ran her hands up and down his body, trying to reassure herself he was whole.

“You’re naked as a newborn babe. We have to be finding you something to put on.”

“If that means I have to let go of you, I can skip it.” His voice was a husky growl as he nuzzled her ear.

Tamara leaned her head against his chest, savoring the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She reluctantly disengaged herself and rummaged in the back of the car. Thank all the fucking saints his clothes weren’t soaked with blood. She handed him things and helped him dress.

She’d just steadied him while he stepped into his shoes when the whump-whump of chopper blades descended toward them. One moment the helicopter was in the air, the next it had settled to the ground in a cloud of dust. A man emerged, bent low against the prop wash, and ran toward them. A woman exited the chopper right behind him, an imposing looking rifle slung over one shoulder. Once clear of the spinning rotors, she shouldered the gun and moved it in a slow arc. Tamara understood it had to be Miranda covering her mate—and them.

Garen wrapped his arms around both of them. “Not bad for a dead man.” He clapped Lars on the back.

“As one much greater than I once said, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Lars leaned into Garen; Tamara caught the barest glimpse of the depth of their relationship and it warmed her.

“I’d love to catch up,” Garen said, his blue eyes twinkling in a face with strong, severe bone structure, “but we can do that once we’re airborne. Clear everything out of the rental car.” He pulled a watch cap more firmly over longish salt-and-pepper hair.

“Sure and I’ll take care of that,” Tamara said, casting a concerned eye at Lars.

“Can you walk to the chopper?” Garen asked Lars.

“Of course.”

“Then go. Your woman and I will clear the car.”

Lars rubbed his cheek against Tamara’s, turned, and walked slowly toward the helicopter. When he got to Miranda’s side, she left her sentinel post to help him.

“Now you know he’s safe, move quick. We need to get out of here,” Garen said.

Tamara scrambled back into the car, gathered everything that belonged to them, and tossed it outside into a pile. Once she was done, she scooped up an armload, carted it to the helicopter, and went back for more. Between her and Garen, they were done in just a few trips.

Garen grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the helicopter. “Time to go.”

“But the keys? What should I do with the keys?” She dangled them in his face. “It’s bad enough the back seat’s all bloody.”

“Lock up. Keep the keys. If luck is with us, the rental agency will only have to do a bit of cleanup, but I suspect they’ll find the SUV either torched or full of bullet holes.”

Tamara ran back to the car, slammed the doors, and hit the clicker. Remembering Lars’ phone, still buried deep in the console, she unlocked the car, retrieved it, and sprinted for the helicopter. Fear bit deep; her legs shook. Garen’s words had served as an unpleasant reminder that the world she knew was gone. Poof, evaporated like mist on a morning bog. By the time she got to the chopper, everyone was inside but her. She pulled herself up the metal steps and moved out of the way so Miranda could shut and latch the door.

Miranda shoved black hair with white-blonde streaks over her shoulders and half lifted Tamara into a seat. When she struggled with the seatbelt because her hands shook so badly, Miranda fastened it for her. “There now.” The tall woman’s voice was low and soothing, her blue eyes kind. “Everything will be fine.”

Tamara tried to thank her, but all that emerged was a jumble of Irish. The world tilted and spun. Part of it was the helicopter lifting off, but part of it was her body finally having reached a breaking point.

“Aw, crap.” Miranda’s voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a deep well. “Damn if she’s not going to faint.”

“She has every right,” Lars said, pride shining in his words. “Even though she was scared out of her skin, she took care of business and killed two of the men who attacked us. Not just killed, shredded them.”

“You hear that?” Miranda squeezed her shoulder. “You were a hero today. Strong work!”

Darkness swirled closer and closer. She heard Garen murmur, “Sounds like you’ve found yourself a keeper,” just before everything faded away.

Chapter Thirteen

“Goddammit!” Lars bent over Tamara. Anxiety soured his stomach. He reached a tentative hand and smoothed tangled, dark strands back from her face. “Liebchen. Come back to us. We are safe now.” Despite his earlier words, having her unconscious rattled him.

“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.

“Did you really mean that? About home?” Her blue eyes flooded again.

He drew back so their gazes met. “Yes. I meant it.” She opened her mouth, but he laid a hand over it. “You were incredibly brave and resourceful. You got me into the car and us out of there. Had we stayed, more men would have shown up.”

“It has to be more than you thinking I’d make a good field agent.”

He swallowed hard. “It is. I am not very good at talking about matters of the heart, but something about you called to me from the very first moment I saw you huddled in the back of that taxi.”

She smiled. “They call that sex, and the fascination is mutual. I could scarcely wait to get my hands under your clothes.”

Lars shook his head. “The physical attraction is strong, but it is much more than that. I cannot get enough of you. I…” His face heated, but he forged ahead anyway. “…that is, before with women, I left as soon as things were finished. With you, it is different.”

She stroked the side of his face. “I want to believe you—because I feel the same way.”

“I would not lie to you, liebchen. Maybe because I have lived so long,” his blush deepened, “and shared my bed with so many women, I recognize that what we have is different, special.” He gathered her body into his arms again. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned other women, but she melted against him.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s be getting a spot of distance between us and disaster. Maybe waking up together, having a meal or two…” Her voice ran down.

He brushed his lips over the top of her head and got creakily to his feet. The gunshot wound had taken a toll, one which would take at least a few more hours to move past. “We can do this any way you wish, liebchen. So long as I have you near me, that is all I care about.”

He got back into his seat, resettled his headset, and handed Tamara hers.

“Well?” Miranda spun in her seat to gaze expectantly at them. “Do I get to plan a wedding?”

Lars held his breath. When Tamara said, “Maybe,” his heart took flight.

•●•

The helicopter settled on the roof of Garen’s Capitol Hill mansion in Seattle with barely a shudder. Lars helped Tamara out and led the way into a house he knew almost as well as his own.

“This is Garen’s home?” Tamara’s eyes widened as Lars steered her down richly carpeted stairs to the room on the second floor where he always stayed. “Sure and it could be a museum with all the paintings and sculptures and—” She stopped dead right in front of a bronze statue of a wolf with a man kneeling by his side. Tamara grazed her fingertips over the glowing metal and turned to Lars. “Whoever made this was exceptionally talented. They look alive.”

“Garen has had many years to collect beautiful things. I am anxious to share my home in Heidelberg with you.”

“Is it grand like this?”

Lars considered the question. “It is difficult to assess how another’s eyes will see something. I live in a manor house that was built in the sixteen hundreds. Of course, it has been modernized.”

Tamara narrowed her eyes. “I’m thinking you’ve owned it for a long time.”

“You would be correct.” He grinned. “When the count was killed, leaving no heirs, I bought it at auction. This way.” He tugged open a door and gestured her inside a large, sunny room in the southwest corner of the house. A king-sized bed covered with a fluffy duvet nestled beneath dormer windows. Antique armoires and matching dressers made of a rich, dark wood lined two walls.

He set down his valise, computer case, and her suitcase, having left a bag of clothing they’d bought for her in the helicopter. She held her arms out from her sides and twirled in place before running to the window and looking outside. “The gardens are incredible.” She turned slowly and faced him. “It’s all a wee bit overwhelming. I’ve led a simple life. Not that I’ve ever been truly poor, mind you, but nor has there ever been much left over.”

“Do you think you will be comfortable here?”

“Oh my, yes. It’s as if I’ve died and been reborn somewhere better.”

A sharp tap sounded on the door just before Garen opened it, with Miranda right behind him. “We’re going to get something going for a late breakfast. Care to join us?”