She’d never driven a left hand drive car, so it took her a moment to get her bearings. She tried to go slow so she wouldn’t jostle Lars and make things worse. Once they were back on the expressway, she tried calling for him both out loud and in her mind voice, but he didn’t answer. Frantic, she fished his cell phone out of the center console and pushed the redial button. Garen didn’t know her from Adam, but she bet he’d pull out all the stops to help Lars.

“Yes, Lars. What’s wrong?” a sleepy sounding voice said.

“Sure and ’tisn’t Lars. He’s hurt. I need help.”

“Whoa. Slow down.” His voice sharpened with a suspicious undertone. “Tell me your name.”

“Tamara MacBride. Let me activate FaceTime so you can see it’s me.” She wanted to cry, to shriek, but she couldn’t afford a meltdown. Tamara split her attention between the road and the phone, found the FaceTime button and initiated it.

“Got it,” he graveled. “You look like hell, Ms. MacBride. Report.”

She forced herself to speak distinctly, so her brogue wouldn’t run her words together. “Gunmen came after us. Lars took a bullet. I have him in the back of the car and I’m on the highway to Jackson, but he’s not talking to me. I’m scared he’s going to die. Help me. Tell me where to take him to get help.”

“Is he in cat form?”

“Aye.”

“Goddammit.”

“Talk to me.” She pounded the steering wheel. “Why is that bad?”

“Because if he was strong enough, he’d have shifted back. Only reason he’d stay in his cat form is if he’s badly wounded, but then you probably already knew that.”

“What is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Who was that?” Tamara asked, voice trembling.

“My wife Miranda.”

“Och. Lars was telling me of her—”

“Stop. No time for social niceties. Do you have a navigational system in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me as closely as you can where you are.” She did, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She wanted to stop the car, wrap her body around Lars, and will him to live for her—for them.

“All right,” Garen said. “I’ve pinpointed your position on my computer. Drive another twenty-five miles. Pull off the road at Dubois. I’m heading for the heliport on my roof right now. I’ll have a bird in the air in five minutes and I’ll be to you soon. Not more than a couple of hours, three tops.”

Miranda said something in the background. Garen muttered, “Yeah, probably a better idea. Miranda thinks it would go faster if you keep driving and meet the chopper in Idaho Falls.”

“I can do that. I am less likely to draw attention if the car is moving.”

“Tamara. They’ve made you.”

Something cold slipped down her spine and she shivered. “What do you mean?”

“The bad guys know what you’re driving. If you were one of my agents, I’d tell you to swap cars, but you probably don’t know how to hot wire one. Just be careful. Lars always carries a gun. Can you shoot?”

She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and said, “Yes.”

“Is the gun where you can get to it?”

“No.”

“Okay, Tamara. Take a deep breath. Stop the car when you can. No rush. Take everything nice and easy. Clean all that blood off yourself and get the gun. Keep it loaded and ready. If anyone but a cop tries to stop you, shoot to kill—and then drive like hell.” She swallowed back nausea and clutched the steering wheel so hard it made her hands ache. “It’s pretty quiet on your end,” Garen said. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Shifters are tough. Keep the faith. See you soon.” The line went dead.

Tamara stared at the cell phone for a long while before she set it back in the console. She listened intently with her cat senses. Lars was still breathing. Thank all the bloody saints. If he died because of the mess he’d gotten roped into saving her, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive herself. In a few kilometers, she pulled off onto the shoulder, retrieved the gun, and dipped icy water from a half-frozen stream to clean herself up, using a shirt from her suitcase as a washrag. Once she’d gotten the worst of the gore off her face and hands, she yanked on the rest of her clothes and shoes, and settled back behind the wheel.

After an incident where another car flashed its brights and honked loudly, she managed to keep her car in its proper lane. The transition to driving on the right wasn’t as automatic as she would have liked. Minutes ticked by; they turned into hours. The night had developed an eerily kaleidoscopic quality when something flashed at her. Low fuel light. Damn it. She glanced at the miniature map on her dashboard and punched a few buttons to find the nearest petrol station. It was thirty-two kilometers. She wondered if she’d make it and slowed the car to extend its range.

The fuel gauge read below empty when she finally saw the neon display of a huge petrol station that obviously catered to truckers. Tamara pulled the car into a shadowed glade, crept into the back, and tugged a sleeping bag over Lars. She kissed his furred face, but he didn’t stir. “We’re stopping for petrol,” she whispered into his ear. “Not that you’d be fussing, but you must remain hidden.” He might have pushed his snout against her face, but the motion was so weak, she could have imagined it.

Her eyes felt hot and gritty as she maneuvered the car back onto the roadway. Everything from finding the car’s petrol filler to counting out unfamiliar money from Lars’ wallet taxed her overburdened brain. At some level, she knew she was running on sheer nerves, but she had to keep going. Had to get Lars to Garen. She choked back the edges of hysteria. Who the hell treated shifters? Sure and not emergency rooms. Not veterinarians, either.

She kept her mind voice calm, soothing, and called Lars’ name.

“I am still on this side of the veil, fraulein. I heard you on the phone a while back. Excellent call. Garen is a good man. Solid.”

“Hush, love. Don’t be trying to talk. Just hang in there.”

Dawn was breaking, illuminating jagged mountaintops with shades of pink, when she pulled into farm country at the outskirts of Idaho Falls. She hadn’t had any further conversations with Lars, but the steady sound of his breathing filled her with hope. The cell phone jangled. When she uncrimped her fingers from the steering wheel to answer it, she understood how close to the edge she was.

“I see the car,” Garen said without preamble. “Take the next exit, turn right, and drive to the end of whatever road you’re on. I’ll rendezvous with you there.”

She dropped the phone back into the console and ferried the car off the highway. “You hear that, my sweet, my love. Garen’s here. You’re almost safe.”

“No, liebchen, we’re almost safe.”

She was so shocked to hear his out loud voice, she almost plowed into a parked car. “Oh my God. When did you shift back?”

“Only a few moments ago. I was too weak until then. Had to get the bullet out first. Then my cat took more time than I would have liked to heal the damage.”

Tears coursed down her face. It was hard to breathe around the thickening in her throat. Lars was alive. He’d made it. Somehow, she ferried the car to a stop at the end of a deserted road, slammed on the parking brake, and got out. She yanked open the back door and stopped dead. Blood. There was so much blood. How could he still be alive?

“It looks worse than it is. Happened while my cat extruded the bullet.” He got out of the car shakily, and she wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let go. Tamara tried to talk, but she was beyond words as she ran her hands up and down his body, trying to reassure herself he was whole.

“You’re naked as a newborn babe. We have to be finding you something to put on.”