Authors: Ann Gimpel
Miranda swathed her long, wet hair in one towel and used another to dry herself. A cursory examination of the medicine cabinet yielded toothpaste and half a dozen toothbrushes wrapped in plastic. She brushed her teeth. Between soap, water, and moving around, she did feel better.
A nondescript pair of black pants along with an oversized black shirt and black jacket lay on the bed. Clean underwear—panties and a jog bra—had been placed atop them. Miranda held the pile of clothing to her nose and breathed deep. Clean. What a luxury. She slid into the underwear and tried wrapping the elasticized bandage around her ribs. Lars had been right. The angle was awkward.
She blew out a breath and made a decision. Pants and boots on, she put the top and jacket over one arm, grabbed the bandage, and opened her bedroom door. The smells of breakfast hit her in the face.
Famished. I’m famished.
She raced into the front room.
Lars got to his feet as soon as he saw her. He pried the Ace wrap out of her hands. “Stand still. Put your arms out to your sides.”
“Can’t we do this after I eat?” Saliva filled her mouth. She swallowed or it would have run down her chin.
“This will only take a minute. It is best when your muscles are warm from the shower.” Expert fingers wove the bandage around her and fastened it with metal butterfly clips. “There, fraulein. Now you may eat.”
Miranda was in such a hurry to get to the food that she nearly forgot to drag the black stretchy top over her head. She inhaled bacon, ham, eggs, and toast slathered with butter and jam. Lars kept her coffee cup filled and remained quiet. He seemed hungry too, though he’d obviously eaten while she cleaned up. Once her blood sugar was heading in the right direction—back up—she took a deep breath. “Better. I feel lots better.” She eyed him. “Do you know anything?”
He nodded but didn’t elaborate.
Her temper, always a liability, sparked. “Well”—she slammed a fist on the table—“if you know something, goddammit, tell me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Garen is in Boston. We will meet him in”—he glanced at his phone—“about five hours at one of the smaller airports just outside town.”
Her mouth fell open; her heart sped up. “Garen?” She shook her head. “You must be mistaken. He’s in Seattle. Why would he be here?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a trap. Part of what happened last night. The bastards who are after me haven’t given up—”
“Stop.” His cold, gray gaze augured into hers. “Give me a little credit, fraulein.” He cocked his head to one side. “My guess is he was worried about your, uh, assignment and moved closer to the East Coast in case he had to…do something.”
“Hmph.” She slugged back more coffee. “It sounds as if you know him. Do you?”
He shrugged noncommittally. “Of course. In this business, we all know one another.”
“I didn’t mean like that.” She hesitated. “We don’t
all know one another
. After all, I just met you at the Amsterdam airport. It sounds like you’re well enough acquainted with Garen to second-guess his motives.” Lars didn’t answer.
Miranda polished off the rest of the food on her plate and opened the foam boxes to make certain she hadn’t missed anything. She glanced at Lars. “How are we going to get from here to Boston?”
“We will drive. There should be a car waiting out front.”
She thought about the geography of the East Coast. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”
He nodded. “Grab your things.”
She glanced at their mess. “Do you want me to, um, straighten up?”
He brayed laughter. “Fraulein. Most agents are men. We are not very good housekeepers. Someone will be along to take care of things.”
* * * *
Lars drove the silver Lexus RX 450 with the same easy assurance he’d flown the Gulfstream. At his insistence, she covered her hair with a black baseball cap and slumped low in the plush leather passenger seat. She tried to engage him in conversation. Instead, he turned the satellite radio to a channel that played German opera. Wagner’s
Tristan und Isolde
blared from the speakers.
Everything she’d eaten sat in her stomach like a brick until they cleared the outskirts of New York City. Once it appeared their car wasn’t on the bad guys’ wanted list, she relaxed enough to digest her meal. Miranda’s thoughts turned inward. It was actually a relief Lars wasn’t hitting on her like he’d done last night. Not that he wasn’t attractive…She glanced sidelong at him from narrowed eyes and nodded to herself. She’d sell her soul if he wasn’t a shifter. What was that he’d said about being quiet as a cat? She opened her mouth to ask him but then shut it. No point in making him believe she was interested. Or in bringing up shifters—a forbidden topic in polite company.
Like it usually did when she let it drift, her mind turned to Garen.
Miranda felt a funny flutter behind her breastbone. In just a little while, she’d see him in the flesh. The prospect took her breath away. She barely spent any time with him back at The Company’s offices. He was usually on the top floor where his office was, and she was down in the bullpen with the agents who’d not yet been tenured.
She dragged her cell phone out of her bag. Her finger hovered over the power button.
“Do not do that.”
Her head snapped up. She’d nearly forgotten about Lars. “Not safe yet?”
“Fraulein. After what I believe you did, you will not be
safe
anywhere for a very long time.”
A chill ran down her back. “Okay. So I’ll get a new phone.”
“At the very least. You might want to consider plastic surgery. No way to disguise your height, but a competent surgeon could—”
“No!” The vehemence in her voice surprised her, but her wolf was in full rebellion. “No fucking way. I’ll consider colored contact lenses, but that’s the end of it.”
He shrugged, a rather Gaelic gesture given his Teutonic bloodlines. “Another American expression, fraulein. It is your funeral.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” Miranda kept her voice steady, but it wasn’t easy.
“Maybe. I believe in being practical. It is not accidental Garen traveled thousands of miles. If your target gave him pause…” An oblique glance from those gray eyes grazed her, sharp as shrapnel.
“Fine. So I’m fucked.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The motion made her ribs ache. “At least the bad guy’s dead.”
Savage laughter filled the car. “Good for you, fraulein. You have spirit. Hang onto it. How did you end up an operative?”
The question came out of left field. She launched into an answer before she realized what she was doing. “I was a Green Beret stationed in the Middle East. I had some, er, issues with Army policies.” She bit her lower lip, wondering how much to tell him.
“I would rather you did not feed me a carefully constructed lie, fraulein. One of two things happened. Either they kicked you out for insubordination—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand and gathered shards of dignity about herself. “When my term ended, I chose not to reenlist.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
He snorted. “You guessed correctly last night. I was in a branch of the military.” He cleared his throat. “For those of us who appreciate, shall we say, latitude in how we fulfill our assignments, the military can be a bit confining.”
She snorted right back. “No shit.” Miranda sucked in a breath. She’d just shared more information with Lars than she’d shared with anyone in the years she’d worked for The Company. Agents didn’t discuss anything personal with one another. It was as if they hadn’t had lives before becoming Company employees. She sucked in a breath, wincing as her ribcage expanded. “I told you some things. You tell me how you know Garen.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to shut her down, but then he started talking.
Garen pulled his fur-lined leather jacket closer to his body. He paced up and down the asphalt in front of the private airport just north of Boston and glanced at his phone again.
Damn it. They should have been here half an hour ago.
What the fuck had happened?
Their plane sat on the tarmac, waiting. Garen had spent a few moments admiring the sleek Learjet Challenger 300. He was looking forward to copiloting it. If he hadn’t been so anxious, he might have grinned. He and Lars had flown
sub rosa
missions in and out of nearly every shithole on earth. They made a hell of a team.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Garen made a grab for it and looked at the display. It said
private
. Not a bad thing, all in all. Everyone in his business put permanent blocks on their caller ID. He punched the Talk key and waited. No reason for him to say anything until he knew who’d called.
“We are close. Ran into traffic and road closures.” Lars’ deep voice was welcome. A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding whooshed out of Garen. His grip on the phone loosened.
“ETA?” he barked.
“Maybe two minutes.” Lars chuckled. “Although I must admit I would prefer my time with the fair fraulein were not drawing to a close.”
What?
Garen practically choked. “Oh?” He was surprised just how neutral his voice tone sounded. “And why would that be?” Stomach muscles tense, he waited for an answer that might destroy him. Had Lars taken up with Miranda? It was possible. Lars told him they’d spent the night together in his firm’s safe house. A vision of Miranda’s black hair mingling with Lars’ blond locks made Garen feel ill.
“She is warming to me. I just know it. See you very soon, old friend.”
Call ended
flared across the display.
Garen stared at his phone. He clenched his jaws together.
I have to get control of myself before they show up, or I’m likely to rip Lars’ head off.
Tires crunched on gravel. Garen turned toward the sound and saw a silver SUV heading toward him. Long years of caution took over. He strolled to the terminal, pushed the glass door open, and stood off to one side. Because it catered to military personnel flying incognito, this airport was outfitted with bulletproof glass.
Lars’ unmistakable profile came into view. The figure slouched in the passenger seat had to be Miranda. Garen’s wolf was beside itself. He shoved it deep, pasted a small smile—not too exuberant—on his face, and went to meet them. Lars leaped out first. Garen extended a hand, but the other man swept him into a hug and kissed both cheeks. “It has been a long road. I am glad to see you.” Familiar gray eyes crinkled at the corners.
Garen nodded to himself. He and Lars went back a long way. If his oldest friend had taken up with Miranda, he’d find a way to wish them every happiness. The other car door opened. He extricated himself from Lars and went to greet his employee. His eyes widened. “Holy shit, Miran—er, Jayne. You look like hell.”
A corner of her mouth turned down. “Thanks, boss. I think.” She twisted around to drag her carry-on out of the SUV and groaned.
“Are you injured?”
Lars walked up to them. “She has deep contusions. I taped her torso. It is all a doctor would have done.”
Years of undercover work took over. So Lars had not only seen Miranda unclothed, he’d even bandaged her. Garen wiped his face clean of expression; his chin tipped up. “Are you certain she’s fit to travel?”
“I’m right here.” Miranda sounded irritated. “Of course I can travel. I just sat in a car for four hours.” She moved right in front of Garen so he had to look at her. “If you want to know how I am, ask me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He inclined his head and hoped to hell his emotions—jealousy, pride, and a touch of amusement—weren’t visible on his face.
“You grow them feisty these days,” Lars noted wryly. “Do you have luggage?”
“It’s already in the plane. I took the liberty of filing our flight plan.”
Lars grinned. “Excellent. One less thing to do.” He grabbed his bag out of the car and made a sweeping motion with one arm. “After you.”
Garen’s forehead creased. “What about the car?”
“My instructions were to leave the keys in it. Someone will be round to pick it up.” Lars hooked an arm through Miranda’s.
Garen bit down so hard he thought his teeth might crack. “Not what I meant. This isn’t Europe. You can’t just leave the car parked in the middle of the street.”
“But it is not—”
“Either you move it, or I will.” Garen crossed his arms across his chest.
Lars rolled his eyes. “You are in a true snit, my friend. Once we are airborne, you must tell me what is wrong.” He ducked gracefully into the Lexus and manipulated it into a parking spot a few yards away.
Like hell I will. What would I say? Miranda doesn’t belong to me.
He glanced sideways at Miranda. She stared back. “Coming?” he said gruffly. “I can take your bag.”
“I’ll take it myself,” she snapped. “Is that our plane?” She pointed. At his nod, she turned abruptly and headed for it.
Feeling like a fool, he clumped after her. What he wanted to do was grill her, make her tell him exactly what had happened between her and Lars. It would be a mistake. For one thing, it wasn’t any of his affair—not really. For another, she could fuck whoever she chose. He had no right to dictate her choices.
I don’t have any idea what transpired…
He tried to soothe himself as he caught up to Miranda. And then he remembered how Lars had taken her arm with a proprietary air. He set his wolf to sniffing, but all it smelled was soap and shampoo. She’d showered this morning and washed off the evidence.
Miranda stopped at the foot of the stairs leading into the Learjet and spun to face him. “Why are you angry with me? I fulfilled my assignment.” Her mouth set in a hard line. “I’ll admit it wasn’t the cleanest job I’ve ever pulled off, but I’m lucky I’m still alive. Getting next to Roulan was like waltzing into a serpent’s den and pretending they couldn’t see me. I was so scared that I was almost paralyzed.”
Lars trotted up. Garen’s hands balled into fists. He needed to talk with Miranda. Had to find out what had happened in Amsterdam. Almost as if Lars could read his thoughts, he murmured, “Let us get aboard. I will have my headset on. It will give the two of you privacy so she can report in.”