Tamara made a gurgling noise and stirred. Lars unsnapped his seat belt, moved across the slender aisle, and kneeled by her side. “Liebchen.” He stroked the side of her face. “Can I get you something? Anything? Water, juice, crackers?”

“Sure and a good, stiff shot of Irish whiskey would set well,” she mumbled.

“Aha!” Miranda said. “She’s back with the living. Here.” She handed another headset over. “Give her this. I don’t want to miss anything. What’d she ask for?”

Tamara opened her eyes and grinned as she adjusted the headset over her head. “Whiskey. I asked for spirits. Are there any aboard? I can hear you fine even without these.” She tapped the headset. “Or my cat can.”

“Yeah,” Miranda said. “I’d forgotten. They have better ears than wolves.”

“Is that what you are?” Tamara clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sure and it’s sorry I am. It’s not polite to be discussing such things.”

“You can talk about anything you’d like here. You’re in good company,” Garen assured her. “We band together so we can be who we are—all of who we are.”

“To answer your question,” Miranda shot Garen a pointed look, “he and I are both wolves. Everyone who works for The Company is a shifter. There are a few bears, a coyote or two, lots of wolves, and lots of mountain lions.”

“How are you feeling?” Lars interrupted; concern about her tied his gut into a tight knot. Tamara had been through a hell of a lot.

“Not bad.” She paused for a beat. “So long as I don’t think too hard or too deep about what happened.”

Lars got back into his seat, buckled in, and reached for her hand. She gripped it tightly. “Are there spirits aboard?” he asked Garen.

He shook his head. “We could land in Spokane and have breakfast, or I can just take us home.”

“What would you prefer?” Lars squeezed her hand.

She opened her mouth just before her face crumpled and tears welled. She wrenched her hand out of his, dropped her head into her hands, and sobbed. “Did I say something wrong, liebchen?” His heart ached, but he felt confused too. All he’d asked was what she wanted to do.

He glanced at Miranda, but she mouthed, “Give her a moment.”

“Not you.” Tamara’s voice was muffled. She swiped at her face and raised her head. “It was hearing the word home, and thinking I’ll never have one again. Sorry. God, but I’m a maudlin mess. With a wee bit of sleep, sure and I’ll be more myself.”

“Sweetie,” Miranda’s voice was sharp in the headsets. “You’ve been through hell. You have zilch in the way of training as a field agent, yet you’ve operated as one ever since you terminated Chen. Probably before that since you infiltrated his operation and defenses to get yourself into position to off him. Give yourself a break. Have a meltdown. You’ve earned the right. We train for years to accomplish what you did.”

Lars got out of his seat again, kneeled beside Tamara, and pulled her into his arms. “You will always have a home with me, liebchen. I know we do not know one another well, but—”

“What was that you said?” she squeaked. “Sure and you’re acting right daft. You scarcely know me. I might be a witch by night.”

“Then you will be my witch.” He kissed her forehead.

Miranda cried, “Bravo!” and clapped her hands together.

“You’ll have to forgive my mate,” Garen said. “She always did have a bit of a dramatic flair.”

“Nothing quite like a four-way proposal.” Lars snorted. “Could the two of you zip it long enough for me to talk with Tamara?”

“As long as we can listen.” Miranda chuckled.

Garen glanced over one shoulder and winked at Lars. “Not only dramatic, but a hopeless romantic.”

“Hey!” She elbowed him. “I picked you, didn’t I?”

“We picked each other,” Garen pointed out smugly.

“Shut up!” Lars let go of Tamara long enough to mock punch both of them.

“How about this?” Tamara tugged off her headset and turned it off.

“Excellent idea.” Lars did the same. The chopper’s rough floor made his knees ache, but he wouldn’t have left Tamara’s side if he’d been kneeling on knives.

“Did you really mean that? About home?” Her blue eyes flooded again.

He drew back so their gazes met. “Yes. I meant it.” She opened her mouth, but he laid a hand over it. “You were incredibly brave and resourceful. You got me into the car and us out of there. Had we stayed, more men would have shown up.”

“It has to be more than you thinking I’d make a good field agent.”

He swallowed hard. “It is. I am not very good at talking about matters of the heart, but something about you called to me from the very first moment I saw you huddled in the back of that taxi.”

She smiled. “They call that sex, and the fascination is mutual. I could scarcely wait to get my hands under your clothes.”

Lars shook his head. “The physical attraction is strong, but it is much more than that. I cannot get enough of you. I…” His face heated, but he forged ahead anyway. “…that is, before with women, I left as soon as things were finished. With you, it is different.”

She stroked the side of his face. “I want to believe you—because I feel the same way.”

“I would not lie to you, liebchen. Maybe because I have lived so long,” his blush deepened, “and shared my bed with so many women, I recognize that what we have is different, special.” He gathered her body into his arms again. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned other women, but she melted against him.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s be getting a spot of distance between us and disaster. Maybe waking up together, having a meal or two…” Her voice ran down.

He brushed his lips over the top of her head and got creakily to his feet. The gunshot wound had taken a toll, one which would take at least a few more hours to move past. “We can do this any way you wish, liebchen. So long as I have you near me, that is all I care about.”

He got back into his seat, resettled his headset, and handed Tamara hers.

“Well?” Miranda spun in her seat to gaze expectantly at them. “Do I get to plan a wedding?”

Lars held his breath. When Tamara said, “Maybe,” his heart took flight.

The helicopter settled on the roof of Garen’s Capitol Hill mansion in Seattle with barely a shudder. Lars helped Tamara out and led the way into a house he knew almost as well as his own.

“This is Garen’s home?” Tamara’s eyes widened as Lars steered her down richly carpeted stairs to the room on the second floor where he always stayed. “Sure and it could be a museum with all the paintings and sculptures and—” She stopped dead right in front of a bronze statue of a wolf with a man kneeling by his side. Tamara grazed her fingertips over the glowing metal and turned to Lars. “Whoever made this was exceptionally talented. They look alive.”

“Garen has had many years to collect beautiful things. I am anxious to share my home in Heidelberg with you.”

“Is it grand like this?”

Lars considered the question. “It is difficult to assess how another’s eyes will see something. I live in a manor house that was built in the sixteen hundreds. Of course, it has been modernized.”

Tamara narrowed her eyes. “I’m thinking you’ve owned it for a long time.”

“You would be correct.” He grinned. “When the count was killed, leaving no heirs, I bought it at auction. This way.” He tugged open a door and gestured her inside a large, sunny room in the southwest corner of the house. A king-sized bed covered with a fluffy duvet nestled beneath dormer windows. Antique armoires and matching dressers made of a rich, dark wood lined two walls.

He set down his valise, computer case, and her suitcase, having left a bag of clothing they’d bought for her in the helicopter. She held her arms out from her sides and twirled in place before running to the window and looking outside. “The gardens are incredible.” She turned slowly and faced him. “It’s all a wee bit overwhelming. I’ve led a simple life. Not that I’ve ever been truly poor, mind you, but nor has there ever been much left over.”