“If that means I have to let go of you, I can skip it.” His voice was a husky growl as he nuzzled her ear.

Tamara leaned her head against his chest, savoring the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She reluctantly disengaged herself and rummaged in the back of the car. Thank all the fucking saints his clothes weren’t soaked with blood. She handed him things and helped him dress.

She’d just steadied him while he stepped into his shoes when the whump-whump of chopper blades descended toward them. One moment the helicopter was in the air, the next it had settled to the ground in a cloud of dust. A man emerged, bent low against the prop wash, and ran toward them. A woman exited the chopper right behind him, an imposing looking rifle slung over one shoulder. Once clear of the spinning rotors, she shouldered the gun and moved it in a slow arc. Tamara understood it had to be Miranda covering her mate—and them.

Garen wrapped his arms around both of them. “Not bad for a dead man.” He clapped Lars on the back.

“As one much greater than I once said, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Lars leaned into Garen; Tamara caught the barest glimpse of the depth of their relationship and it warmed her.

“I’d love to catch up,” Garen said, his blue eyes twinkling in a face with strong, severe bone structure, “but we can do that once we’re airborne. Clear everything out of the rental car.” He pulled a watch cap more firmly over longish salt-and-pepper hair.

“Sure and I’ll take care of that,” Tamara said, casting a concerned eye at Lars.

“Can you walk to the chopper?” Garen asked Lars.

“Of course.”

“Then go. Your woman and I will clear the car.”

Lars rubbed his cheek against Tamara’s, turned, and walked slowly toward the helicopter. When he got to Miranda’s side, she left her sentinel post to help him.

“Now you know he’s safe, move quick. We need to get out of here,” Garen said.

Tamara scrambled back into the car, gathered everything that belonged to them, and tossed it outside into a pile. Once she was done, she scooped up an armload, carted it to the helicopter, and went back for more. Between her and Garen, they were done in just a few trips.

Garen grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the helicopter. “Time to go.”

“But the keys? What should I do with the keys?” She dangled them in his face. “It’s bad enough the back seat’s all bloody.”

“Lock up. Keep the keys. If luck is with us, the rental agency will only have to do a bit of cleanup, but I suspect they’ll find the SUV either torched or full of bullet holes.”

Tamara ran back to the car, slammed the doors, and hit the clicker. Remembering Lars’ phone, still buried deep in the console, she unlocked the car, retrieved it, and sprinted for the helicopter. Fear bit deep; her legs shook. Garen’s words had served as an unpleasant reminder that the world she knew was gone. Poof, evaporated like mist on a morning bog. By the time she got to the chopper, everyone was inside but her. She pulled herself up the metal steps and moved out of the way so Miranda could shut and latch the door.

Miranda shoved black hair with white-blonde streaks over her shoulders and half lifted Tamara into a seat. When she struggled with the seatbelt because her hands shook so badly, Miranda fastened it for her. “There now.” The tall woman’s voice was low and soothing, her blue eyes kind. “Everything will be fine.”

Tamara tried to thank her, but all that emerged was a jumble of Irish. The world tilted and spun. Part of it was the helicopter lifting off, but part of it was her body finally having reached a breaking point.

“Aw, crap.” Miranda’s voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a deep well. “Damn if she’s not going to faint.”

“She has every right,” Lars said, pride shining in his words. “Even though she was scared out of her skin, she took care of business and killed two of the men who attacked us. Not just killed, shredded them.”

“You hear that?” Miranda squeezed her shoulder. “You were a hero today. Strong work!”

Darkness swirled closer and closer. She heard Garen murmur, “Sounds like you’ve found yourself a keeper,” just before everything faded away.

Chapter Thirteen

“Goddammit!” Lars bent over Tamara. Anxiety soured his stomach. He reached a tentative hand and smoothed tangled, dark strands back from her face. “Liebchen. Come back to us. We are safe now.” Despite his earlier words, having her unconscious rattled him.

“She’ll be all right,” Miranda said and patted his shoulder. “She only fainted. It will give her mind and body a mini-break.”

His fears marginally alleviated, Lars settled into the seat opposite Tamara. Miranda lurched past him and half fell into the copilot’s seat. “Sorry,” Garen said, his voice tight. “I wanted us out of there before anyone, friend or foe, showed up. So far, we’ve been lucky. No one’s hit me up on the radio complaining we’re off course for the flight plan I filed. Radar guy must be banging the office secretary this morning.”

“What happened to you guys?” Miranda asked as she strapped herself in, settled a headset in place, and handed one back to Lars.

He put on the headset so they could talk over the roar of the dual rotors without shouting. “Jaret Chen’s gang is as determined as the plague. One of the most recent batch they sent to kill us said something curious, though. Apparently they want me more than they want Tamara.”

“Why would that be a surprise?” Garen asked, his hands and feet busy at the controls. “We’ve had more than our share of run-ins with them. Hell, you were supposed to terminate Chen.”

Lars shrugged. “Maybe I deluded myself I was invisible to them. It took a while, but I remembered the American—”

“What American?” Miranda asked.

“Sorry. Let me back up.” Lars hit the high points about the latest attack. “…Anyway, I should have found something to tie to the rear bumper to obliterate our tracks. As it was, I may as well have hung out a sign, LARS AND TAMARA WENT THIS WAY.”

“The American,” Garen prodded.

“Ja. I fought him in Sudan. He probably saw me shift, but all he said earlier was I had an affinity for big cats.”

“Was that the time Garen told me about when you got a pride of lions to help out?” Miranda asked.

Lars chuckled. “One of my finer moments. Those cats could have torn me to bits. That they did not will remain one of the unsolved mysteries.”

“Now that the nitty-gritty stuff is out of the way,” Miranda went on, “tell us about Tamara.” Something distinctly feminine, at odds with her espionage persona, slithered beneath her words.

Lars glanced at Tamara’s inert form and reached over to lay a protective hand on her arm. “She is special.”

“Oooh, don’t tell me you might be falling in love.” Miranda jabbed Garen in the ribs. “It’s the stellar example we’ve set.”

“Do not jump the gun, fraulein,” Lars said to Miranda. “The lady and I have had very little time to get to know one another when we have not been running for our lives.”

“That’s the very best time to assess someone’s mettle,” Garen cut in. “See what they’re made of. From what I can tell, your Tamara is one tough bitch.”

Lars bit back a laugh. “She is not my Tamara, though I might wish her to be.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Garen retorted. “She called me because she was desperately afraid for you.”

“She would have done the same for anyone,” Lars insisted. “After all, I stepped in and helped her in Nice. She is grateful…”

“Why is it so threatening for you to get your confirmed bachelor mind around romance?” Miranda smirked. “I heard her on the phone, and saw her in your arms when we landed. If that’s not a woman in love, I don’t know what is.”