The bathroom door opened. Even though it was a normal sound, he started as if a gun had gone off behind him. The soft patter of her footsteps moved toward him. He arranged his face in what he hoped was a neutral expression and turned.

She gazed at him with a sad, drawn expression and his heart shattered. Had he brought her to this? She’d been so strong, had survived her charade with Jaret Chen… “Fraulein.” He held out his hands.

“It’s all right.” She licked her lips. “Truly it is. I am sorry things got out of control. I assure you I will not be so brazen again.” She looked at the floor. “Sure and I’m not understanding exactly what got into me, but I said that before.”

“If that is what you wish,” he said stiffly, not wanting to betray any emotion that she might construe as pressure to change her mind, “I, too, will be more circumspect. You are a very beautiful woman. Any man would—”

She shoved a hand toward him, palm facing outward. “Stop. It’s better for us to speak of other things. How much more time until we return to the airplane?”

He glanced at his wrist. “A couple of hours.”

She scrubbed the heels of her hands up her cheeks and blew out a breath. “Seems like enough time. Maybe you could be telling me more about this company of yours. The one you’re wanting me to work for.”

“What do you wish to know?”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything.” Tamara walked into the small, open kitchen and began rifling through cupboards and drawers. “My goodness, but there’s a decent selection of ingredients here. While you talk, I’ll be making us a bit of a snack.”

“Ja, the concierge sees these kitchens are well stocked. You do not have to cook for me, fraulein.”

She spun to face him; her mouth was set in a tense line, her eyes were hooded. “I know, but I’m happier when I’m busy. If you see me reach for some ingredient you hate, speak up.”

“I am easy to please. Whatever you prepare will be wonderful.” Lars knew he sounded like an automaton, but his hands were tied. He couldn’t talk about what he wanted to. There were too many barriers. He turned one of the kitchen chairs around and sat, crossing his arms over its backrest. Tamara moved about the kitchen with grace and confidence. She was apparently making an omelet-esque dish with chopped fresh vegetables and grated cheese. Because her back was to him, it spared them having to look at one another.

She’d asked about The Company. What he could tell her about that was limited, since he couldn’t discuss its origins during the Revolutionary War, nor the fact that all field agents were shifters.

“Well?” She spoke to the skillet simmering in front of her, rather than to him. “It seems I have some decisions to make, and quite soon. I can’t be making them without a spot more information.”

“Of course, fraulein.” Lars took a measured breath. “Garen founded the company when he became concerned about the incompetence of the United States government to deal with threats to the free world. It took many years, but he has gathered as fine a team of intelligence agents as exists anywhere. We are loyal to the core.

“For many years I worked for a different company located in Germany. Same objectives, but separate management. Recently, we merged with The Company to better serve our common interests.”

She set a steaming plate in front of him. It smelled wonderful and reminded him how long since he’d had a real meal. “Would you like some tea with this—or maybe coffee?” she asked.

“Tea would be fine.”

She nodded. “Excellent. I brewed a pot, and I made enough for both of us…” She gave an apologetic shrug. “I suppose I should have asked, but I didn’t want to be interrupting you.”

“It is wonderful, fraulein. Thank you. Come sit so you can eat too.”

She brought her own plate to the table, poured tea for them, and spread a selection of condiments in front of him. He looked up from eating. “This is exceptional. Have you ever worked as a cook?”

“Sure and I’ve done a little bit of everything over the years. Cooking, waitressing, receptionist work. My family wasn’t exactly poor, but there was never much left over. I worked my way through college.”

She tucked into her food. He watched her sidelong, thinking she was the most enchanting woman he’d ever met. Of course she wouldn’t want a tongue-tied lout like him. Tamara looked up. “Tell me more? How many people work for The Company? Is Garen the boss?”

Lars nodded and took a sip of tea. It was brewed to perfection, just as the omelet was a succulent combination of crisp-tender vegetables, melted cheese, and just-right eggs. What a plus that she could cook. A plus for some other man, he thought sourly.

He reined in his disappointment and addressed her questions. “Between the European firm and the American one, there are just over a hundred employees. All are independent contractors. A board of directors is in charge of operations, so there is not a boss per se. Garen, Miranda, myself, and two others comprise the board…”

She fed him questions so skillfully, Lars was surprised when he glanced over at the microwave’s clock and discovered they’d run out of time. Even though they hadn’t discussed anything of consequence, he felt better, more balanced, than he had while he’d watched her cook.

“Thank you,” he said and got up. He gathered their few dishes and ferried them to the counter.

“Is it time?”

He nodded. “Yes, the airplane should be ready for us. I need to make a call and confirm our flight plan.” He picked up his cell phone and started to dial when a thought occurred to him. “Not that anyone will ask, but if they do, you are my copilot.”

Her eyes rounded. “I’ve fooled around a wee bit in single engine airplanes, but they’re nothing like what we flew across the Atlantic. I only recognized a few of the instruments in the cockpit. What if they ask for papers? A license?”

“They will not. If anyone should say anything, let me do the talking.” He hesitated. “The basic flight principles are the same, no matter what the aircraft. Perhaps we could use the next few hours to augment your knowledge base.”

A smile bloomed on her face, and she clapped her hands together. “Sure and I’d like that.” For the barest moment, she looked carefree. Lars wished he’d found her before she’d killed Jaret, wished he’d gotten to the man first. Though they hadn’t talked about it, she was probably still figuring out her life would never be the same. That sort of thing sank in gradually. If she had to absorb the full impact of her actions all at once, it might be too much to take in.

He opened his mouth to give voice to some of his thoughts, changed his mind, and simply said, “My pleasure, fraulein.” To avoid further conversation, he glanced at his phone and punched in the numbers to file their flight plan.

Chapter Eight

Tamara settled into the copilot’s seat and put the headset Lars handed her over her head. Thank all the saints the tension had bled out of the air between them. Somewhere between her making them a midday meal and talking about his work, things had cleared. Maybe he’d found a place to stuff his guilt over being unfaithful. She covered a grimace with a cough and rotated her injured shoulder. Though she hadn’t fully finished healing it in shifted form, it was good enough and the pain minimal.

He jabbered to the tower in pilot-ese, and the plane rolled out of the hangar and took its place in line for takeoff. “Do you have a private pilot’s license?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but not very many hours, and all of them in tiny, single engine planes.”

“Why did you not fly more?”