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.”