Текст книги "Forever And A Day"

Автор книги: Ann Gimpel

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

“What do you think?” Lars asked.

“Might I clean up a bit first?”

“Of course,” Miranda piped up, adding, “Do you like hot water?”

“Sure and it’s better than cold.”

Miranda laughed heartily. “Not quite what I meant. Come with me. We’ll just pop into the spa. There’s a hot tub and a sauna and a lap pool. By the time we’re done, the boys will have something edible on hand.” She eyed Garen. “Won’t you?”

“Sure darling. Even if I have to order it.”

“I can cook,” Tamara murmured.

“You’re our guest,” Miranda said firmly. “Come on.” She crooked a finger. “I’d love to get to know you better. You can tell me all about Ireland.”

Lars watched as the two women walked out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the spa in the basement. He waited until they were out of sight and quirked a brow at Garen. “That felt staged. What do you need to tell me?”

“Aw, shit. Am I that transparent?”

“Not to the fair fraulein, but I have known you for a very long time. Something has happened. Tell me.”

“I got hold of the car rental agency. By the time they sent someone round to collect their car, it was peppered with bullet holes.”

“I will reimburse you.”

“Not my point. Collateral damage and all that. A much bigger problem is we’re in an all-out war. We need to strike hard and fast to make them think twice about continuing to harass us.”

“Damn it. I had feared something of this magnitude would occur when those men tracked us from the Caspar airport.” Lars took a quick inventory of his body. “Give me a few hours to sleep and eat and then I will be ready to—”

Garen shook his head. “I’ve already deployed troops. You need to heal. Tamara needs a few days when she isn’t worried sick you’ll come home in a box.”

“But this is my battle,” Lars protested.

“No, old friend.” Garen borrowed one of Lars’ favorite appellations. “It is our battle. You may yet be conscripted, but for now you’ve done your part.”

“What exactly is it we are doing?”

Garen’s somber expression shifted into a vicious grin. “What else? We’ve targeted two of the plants where they produce heroin.” He glanced at his watch. “Bombs should be exploding any minute now.”

“Damn! Guess we play hardball. I am glad to be on our side.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, old buddy.” Garen shot a mock frown his way. “If you ever even think about switching camps, I’ll hunt you down and make you sorry you were ever born.”

Lars cocked his head to one side. “I do not believe you have much to concern yourself with on that front.” He slugged Garen in the bicep. Garen hit him back and they grappled with one another for long moments before dissolving into laughter.

Lars loped into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he walked back into the bedroom, he said, “You have delivered your message. What is Miranda talking with Tamara about?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Garen clapped Lars on the back.

Lars rolled his eyes. “Probably not. She is signing her on with The Company.”

“Exactly. Grab something that doesn’t reek of blood and come help me in the kitchen.”

Lars unbuttoned his shirt, toed off his shoes, and unzipped his pants. He tossed the dirty clothes in a pile. Garen whistled long and low. “What?” Lars demanded.

“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.”

“I had a feeling they’d be.” She wanted to bury herself in his arms; instead she walked, straight-backed, from the kitchen table. A clear head would be her ally and Lars clouded her thoughts. According to him, she’d be a part of his life no matter what, but she had a feeling things would be different, richer, deeper, if she signed on with The Company.

For one thing, I’d know what they were all so thrilled about when Garen did that thumbs-up deal.

Tamara reached the top of the stairs and headed for their room. She found her jacket easily enough, slid it on, and retraced her steps, except this time, she let herself out the ornate front door. As she walked down brick steps and wandered through a garden laid out in rectangular and circular planting beds, she made an effort to sort her jumbled thoughts.

Part of the problem was she hadn’t totally moved past feeling like Jaret Chen’s patsy. Her escape had slid from a sure thing, to dicey, to little shy of miraculous after Lars had dragged her out of the taxi. Tamara asked herself what sort of woman would place herself in that kind of situation. Did the fact that she had mean she had the raw material she’d need to work in espionage?

What Garen had inferred about her father was intriguing. Tamara didn’t know much about either parent, beyond who they’d been raising her and her siblings. It was almost as if her family had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy in place, sort of like the U.S. military for their gay soldiers.

About the only thing I know is they raised other kids. We never did find out about our older brothers and sisters because it was too dangerous…

One of the huge pluses of signing on with The Company would be being able to claim all of who she was. To not have to hide anymore. Shifters who admitted what they were had been forced into compounds. They wore electronic ankle bands to track their movements. At first, it had been just in the United States, but Canada, Europe, and the U.K. were quick to pass similar laws. All that had happened before she’d been born—except the electronic ankle band part—so she’d never lived in a time when she didn’t have to lead a dual existence.

She sat on a stone bench and inhaled the mingled scents of damp flowers and greenery. The Pacific Northwest was rainy and verdant. In many ways, it reminded her of Ireland. Deeper thoughts buffeted her. She’d known at some level she’d never be able to go home once Jaret was dead. She hadn’t allowed herself to go there because it might have crippled her resolve.

Maybe I’m more like Lars and Garen and Miranda than I know…

Tamara got to her feet and made her way back into the house. The group wasn’t in the cozy breakfast nook anymore. It didn’t take her long to locate them in another of the home’s many downstairs rooms. She walked through the door of a cheerful sitting room with a stone fireplace at one end. Colorful occasional chairs and sofas were scattered in small conversational groupings. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls. Lars, Miranda, and Garen turned at the sound of her footsteps.

Lars leaped to his feet, his heart in his eyes. He held out both hands to her, but she shook her head. “Sure and you’re an amazing man, but my head is clear and I don’t want to muddy things. It is kind of you to invite me to be a part of what you have been building for a long time.

“I thought about a lot of things while I was outside, but maybe the biggest one is I’m sick of feeling like a second-class citizen, of pretending to be what I’m not. So,” she looked right at Lars, “regardless of whether you and I end up together or no, I accept Garen’s offer.”

Miranda whooped. She jumped out of her chair, ran to Tamara, and swept her into a huge hug. “Enjoy the love now,” she said. “I’m a bitch in the field.”

Garen shoved his mate aside and shook Tamara’s hand. “Welcome aboard.” Miranda looped an arm through Garen’s and pulled hard. He looked at his mate. “What?”

“They need to talk,” she said pointedly and dragged Garen out of the sitting room.

•●•

Lars still had his hands extended toward her, but he felt suddenly shy and awkward, and dropped them to his sides. “Ja. Miranda is correct. There is much to talk about. Would you like to sit? Or maybe walk a little more? You never did take your coat off.”

“So I didn’t. Sure and walking would be perfect.” She turned and strode out of the room. He followed her, wanting to touch her, at least hold her hand, but he understood she had to come to him. He caught up to her at the front door and held it open. “Such a gentleman,” she murmured.

“It is the time I came from. Men were trained to care for women then. It was ingrained.”

She set a moderate pace; he walked by her side. A light rain fell, more of a mist than anything. “So what happens next?” she asked.

“For us, or for you and The Company?”

She stopped a moment, forehead creased in thought. “Both. Start with The Company. Come on.” She brushed damp hair back from her face. “This is easier when we’re on the move.”

He fell into step next to her again. “You will share blood with Garen, and then we will develop a training regimen for you. It will be similar to a job. You will have a schedule to increase your physical endurance, and to teach you skills to be effective in the field.” He took a breath. “There are milestones. When you have accomplished a minimum amount of them, we will give you your first assignment.” He couldn’t keep a fond smile off his face. “I am afraid much of it will feel trivial after the things you have already done.”

“What were Garen and the rest of you so stoked about earlier?”

Lars started to relay an annotated history of their war with Chen’s gang, decided it was overkill, and settled for saying, “We had to do something to make Chen’s people back off, so Garen deployed agents to destroy two of the labs where they refine poppy juice into heroin.”

She halted and turned so she faced him. “Sure and it can’t be that easy.” She snapped her fingers. “You blow up a lab and they go away.”

“It is not. But we did slow them down. Their priority will be to rebuild, so they will leave us alone—for now.” He inhaled sharply. “The war is never over, liebchen. There will always be bad guys.”

“What you do is important work.”

He placed a finger beneath her chin. “What we do is important work. You are one of us now.”

“So I am. It will be taking a wee bit of time for that to sink in.” She licked her lips, gaze somber. “Now. About us.”

“I am falling in love with you.” Shock waves rocked him to his conservative core. Was it possible he’d actually said that?

“You’ve got that just-swallowed-an-elephant look about you again.”

“Probably, but it is because such things do not come easily to me. I will care for you, liebchen. Protect you. Love you. Shelter our children from harm.”

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She closed the distance between them and he folded her into his arms, rejoicing in the feel of her body against him. He wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless, and do a whole lot more beyond that, but he satisfied himself with her body molded to his and her scent eddying about them. They weren’t quite done talking. He had good news and wanted to make certain she knew because it might set her mind at ease.

“Garen checked his records. They helped him remember some things about your father.”

“Really?” She drew away, hope burning in her eyes.

He nodded, “Really. Come, liebchen. There is an enclosed gazebo at the end of this walkway with a brazier I can light if you are cold. It would be more comfortable and get us out of the rain.”

They didn’t talk, but she did take his hand while they navigated the inlaid brick walkway past a fountain and up a few steps. He opened the summerhouse door and dusted off cushions that sat on a bench built into one wall. The air smelled damp, so he fired the electric brazier; it glowed cherry red from its raised, round dais in the center of the room.

He sat with his back against the wall and his feet propped on the stove’s platform. She curled her body against him. He sensed her waiting for him to say more. “Most of this is not my story to tell. You must ask your father. He worked with Garen for well over a hundred years, both in the Old Country and here in the United States.”

She twisted so she could look at him. “Da was a…a spy?”

Lars nodded. “So he will understand and support you in your new occupation.”

Her forehead creased in concentration and she closed her teeth over her lower lip. “It also means he can keep Mum and everyone safe.” She blew out a tense breath. “Och and that was one of the things that worried me the most, once the deed was done and Jaret was dead. I was scared silly my hare-brained scheme to avenge Moira would mean someone would come after my family. There would have been no living with myself if something happened to them because I was rash and stupid.”

He kissed her forehead and smoothed the concern from it with a gentle hand. “Your father can take care of himself. Bet on it.”

“Why wouldn’t he have said anything?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I know the answer. It’s the same reason we shied away from anything related to being shifters.”

“So long as you brought that up,” Lars settled a hand in her hair, drawing her thick locks through his fingers, “there is one more thing.”

“What might that be?”

“I asked you once, half in jest, if your family had taught you anything about shifters and mating.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“You come from old stock, as do I. There are other types of shifters, like those who become lycans when someone bites them. It is different for them than for those of us who inherit our dual form.”

“You’re telling me this for a reason, but for the life of me, I’m not sorting it out.”

“That is because I am not being very clear. Let me start over.” He pulled her head against his chest and caressed it, loving the feel of her hair, and of her next to him. “The shifter mate bond is a gift we old ones bear. It is why I am so drawn to you, and you to me, even before we make love in both our forms. It will take time for you to accept, but you are the only woman for me. And I the only man for you.”

“What if I hadn’t shown up?”

“I gave up on finding my mate long ago, gave up on having children. I am still astonished our paths crossed. To answer you more directly, if I had not met you, I would have continued as I was. My work was my life. At times it was almost enough, and when it was not, I volunteered for particularly dangerous assignments to drive my loneliness away.”

“Well and that clears up why I never could make things stick with a boyfriend.” She snuggled closer. “It feels so right being in your arms, but it’s like a miracle, too, and it’s damned hard to believe in them. Not since I grew up, anyway.”

They sat for long moments with her cradled against him. He knew what he wanted, what he needed. Before he could get the words out, she said, “Today is a day for chances. If you’re willing, I’d like for us to shift and make love.”

His heart cracked and spilled over. Tears were closer to the surface than they’d been since he was a boy. She moved away from him, placed a hand on either side of his face, and closed her mouth over his. He read love and longing in her kiss, along with heat and hope as she nibbled, licked, and suckled his tongue.

His cock swelled, desperate to take her, make her his forever. He broke their kiss. “Are you certain?”

She smiled, her lips flower-petal soft from their kiss. “Aye, I’ve never been more so.”