Tamara gripped his hand. “What you said helps. Maybe I can forgive myself, but not quite yet. How much longer until we land?”

“A bit less than two hours.” He pointed at her mineral water.

She plucked it from the drink holder built into her seat and handed it to him. “I’ll find us another. Back in a moment.” She got to her feet, moved to his side, and brushed her lips over his. “It will take a wee bit of time for all this to sink in.”

“You have lived through a lot in just a few hours. Be gentle with yourself.”

She cupped his face between her hands. “I’m still annoyed I spent even one extra minute with Jaret, let alone weeks. By all the blessed saints, I waited until I was nearly lost.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, shaking her head back and forth.

“Ssht.” He wrapped an arm around her and held onto her neck for a long moment. “You have time, liebchen. All you’ll need to come to terms with what you did.”

She straightened. “Thank you.” Her footsteps faded as she left the cockpit.

He hoped what he’d said was true. Lars had a feeling at least one pitched battle stood between her and the time he’d promised. Jaret’s operation spanned the globe and they didn’t seem to be taking the loss of one of their key players lying down.

•●•

Tamara wanted to skip down the plane’s aisle. She’d kept a watchful eye on Lars, and he hadn’t even flinched when she’d revealed her appalling behavior with Jaret. Maybe there was hope he could care for her. She was just balancing two bottles of mineral water, a box of crackers, and some sliced cheese when the plane lurched to one side and the ride got bumpy. She convinced herself they’d just hit an air pocket, spread her feet in a wider stance, and bent to troll through another cupboard.

“Return to the cockpit now!” Lars’ voice crackled in the headset she’d never removed.

Her heart slammed into her throat. Not an air pocket. Something was wrong with the plane. She hurtled down the aisle. The cockpit door was shut. Her hands were full, so she kicked it.

Lars pulled it inward, his face a study in determination. “Into your seat. Now. Fasten your harness. It will get very rough.”

Food and water fell from her nerveless fingers and tumbled to the floor as she scrambled to obey. “What’s wrong?”

“We have lost an engine, although I do not understand how it happened. The instruments did not note a malfunction. The right engine simply quit. We might have sucked something into it, but generally birds do not fly this high.”

Her stomach twisted into a burning knot. She clenched her hands together in her lap to stop them from shaking. “Are we going to crash?”

He looked away from his instruments long enough to flash her a thumbs-up sign. “Not on my watch. I do not have time to explain fully, but left rudder will cancel much of the yaw from the dead right engine. Still, our landing will be difficult.”

Questions blasted through her mind, but Tamara ignored them. She didn’t want to disturb his concentration by asking for reassurances beyond what he’d already given her. Lars held several conversations over the radio. She picked up that they’d declared an emergency and would be landing at the nearest airport, which was Caspar, Wyoming. Despite dire straits, Lars was cool and collected. Her admiration for him grew by leaps and bounds as she watched him maintain their course, his hands and feet coaxing the disabled plane through the air. He knew exactly what to do and acted as if things like this were second nature.

In short order, they were lined up with the runway and dropping lower and lower. Fire trucks stood along both sides, their bright red color easily visible. “Brace yourself,” Lars said. The plane hit, bounced, and hit again. Three bounces later, they catapulted down the runway. “Fuck!” he sputtered. “No brakes.”

The plane skidded from side to side as Lars jammed the rudders sequentially. Finally, the plane slowed and rolled to a stop. Emergency personnel converged on the plane, spraying it with some sort of foam.

Tamara blew out a tense, shaky breath. “We had two separate problems?”

He nodded, expression grim as death. “Someone tampered with the brakes—and altered both their gauge and warning lights. We would not have found out until it was too late. Apparently there was just enough pressure left in the lines to allow us to taxi to our takeoff point without alerting me something was amiss.” He shut his eyes for a long moment. “Our engine failure was a godsend in disguise. If we had been one of many planes in a pattern coming in to land, I would not have been able to stop, and we would probably have plowed into another plane once we were on the ground. At least here, they cleared the runway for us.”

The enormity of what he said bit deep. She clawed at her throat to try to get more air. “Chen’s men,” she croaked.

“Who else?” Lars growled. “Keep quiet, fraulein.”

The radio crackled to life. Lars spoke into it, explaining the brake failure and saying they’d open the plane’s door immediately. He stood and extended a hand to her. “We will go into the terminal and rent a car.” He removed his headset and switched it off. She raised an eyebrow. He nodded; she mimicked his actions and tossed her headset atop his. Once no one could hear them, he bent close to her ear. “Now would be an excellent time to amp up that brogue. They will question us. Follow my lead. I do not see how they can detain us, but it may take time before they let us go. That this is a rental aircraft will not help our situation.”

She started to say they may as well remain within the confines of the Caspar airport because there was nowhere to run where Chen’s people couldn’t find them, but it sounded so defeatist, she held her peace. Lars was brave and confident. Maybe if she paid close attention, some of it might rub off on her.

He placed a hand under her elbow and propelled her out of the cockpit. Twisting, he slung the straps to his bags over one shoulder and picked up her suitcase. The rear door chose to be stubborn. As soon as Lars coaxed it open with a combination of German curses and a few stout kicks, they followed two uniformed guards across the tarmac.

An hour later, they were still in a small office answering questions. The guards had examined both their passports, culled through their luggage, and questioned Lars closely about his revolver. Thank God, he’d had it stowed in his luggage and not in an ankle holster. Both guards were middle-aged with muscular bodies and short-cropped brownish hair shading to gray. Hard, flat blue eyes stared at Tamara. “Indulge me, Ms. MacBride. You met this man,” he hooked a thumb at Lars, “at the Nice airport. You’d never seen him before in your life, and you got onto a private plane with him?”

“Sure and that’s about the size of it. I dinna have aught better to do. He weren’t in a kilt, but he’s a fine looking man, wouldn’t ye say?” She winked lewdly.

The other guard’s phone rang. He barked a yes, listened for a moment, and beckoned to his cohort before stepping outside the interrogation room. Tamara glanced at Lars, but he shook his head. Who knew? Maybe the room was bugged. She resettled herself in a straight-backed chair, but no matter which way she sat, it wasn’t comfortable.

The door swung open. “Get up,” the first guard snapped. “You’re free to go.”

Lars stood, smiled, and extended a hand. Neither guard reached for it. “As you will, gentlemen.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Could you recommend a decent A&P to fix my airplane so I might see it returned to Ermstatter in Nice?”

“That’s been handled. Someone from your firm, a Garen LeRochefort, seems to have stepped up to the plate on your behalf.”

“Excellent.” Lars placed his hand on Tamara’s shoulder. “My dear, it appears we are free to locate other transportation.”