“Do you think you will be comfortable here?”

“Oh my, yes. It’s as if I’ve died and been reborn somewhere better.”

A sharp tap sounded on the door just before Garen opened it, with Miranda right behind him. “We’re going to get something going for a late breakfast. Care to join us?”

“What do you think?” Lars asked.

“Might I clean up a bit first?”

“Of course,” Miranda piped up, adding, “Do you like hot water?”

“Sure and it’s better than cold.”

Miranda laughed heartily. “Not quite what I meant. Come with me. We’ll just pop into the spa. There’s a hot tub and a sauna and a lap pool. By the time we’re done, the boys will have something edible on hand.” She eyed Garen. “Won’t you?”

“Sure darling. Even if I have to order it.”

“I can cook,” Tamara murmured.

“You’re our guest,” Miranda said firmly. “Come on.” She crooked a finger. “I’d love to get to know you better. You can tell me all about Ireland.”

Lars watched as the two women walked out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the spa in the basement. He waited until they were out of sight and quirked a brow at Garen. “That felt staged. What do you need to tell me?”

“Aw, shit. Am I that transparent?”

“Not to the fair fraulein, but I have known you for a very long time. Something has happened. Tell me.”

“I got hold of the car rental agency. By the time they sent someone round to collect their car, it was peppered with bullet holes.”

“I will reimburse you.”

“Not my point. Collateral damage and all that. A much bigger problem is we’re in an all-out war. We need to strike hard and fast to make them think twice about continuing to harass us.”

“Damn it. I had feared something of this magnitude would occur when those men tracked us from the Caspar airport.” Lars took a quick inventory of his body. “Give me a few hours to sleep and eat and then I will be ready to—”

Garen shook his head. “I’ve already deployed troops. You need to heal. Tamara needs a few days when she isn’t worried sick you’ll come home in a box.”

“But this is my battle,” Lars protested.

“No, old friend.” Garen borrowed one of Lars’ favorite appellations. “It is our battle. You may yet be conscripted, but for now you’ve done your part.”

“What exactly is it we are doing?”

Garen’s somber expression shifted into a vicious grin. “What else? We’ve targeted two of the plants where they produce heroin.” He glanced at his watch. “Bombs should be exploding any minute now.”

“Damn! Guess we play hardball. I am glad to be on our side.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, old buddy.” Garen shot a mock frown his way. “If you ever even think about switching camps, I’ll hunt you down and make you sorry you were ever born.”

Lars cocked his head to one side. “I do not believe you have much to concern yourself with on that front.” He slugged Garen in the bicep. Garen hit him back and they grappled with one another for long moments before dissolving into laughter.

Lars loped into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he walked back into the bedroom, he said, “You have delivered your message. What is Miranda talking with Tamara about?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Garen clapped Lars on the back.

Lars rolled his eyes. “Probably not. She is signing her on with The Company.”

“Exactly. Grab something that doesn’t reek of blood and come help me in the kitchen.”

Lars unbuttoned his shirt, toed off his shoes, and unzipped his pants. He tossed the dirty clothes in a pile. Garen whistled long and low. “What?” Lars demanded.

“Stand in front of the mirror and see for yourself.”

Lars moved so the wall-mounted mirror showed his reflection and his eyes widened. “Fuck. It is worse than I imagined.” His entire abdomen was black and blue with a perforated scar to the right of his belly button. Glancing down, he assessed his injury with a critical eye. “At least it is healing well.”

“Cats do have nine lives.”

“Best hope I have a few more than that, old friend, else I would have been dead long since.” Lars snapped up a pale green polo shirt from a dresser drawer, tugged it over his head, and went hunting for a pair of sweat pants and some slippers. “By the way, what is for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs and coffee.”

“Works for me.” Lars followed Garen downstairs to the kitchen.

“Yeah, well, the ladies might want something more elegant.”

“So?” Lars shrugged. “We can call that bakery and order something. I will take care of that part.”

Chapter Fourteen

Tamara took another slug of excellent coffee and folded her hands over her stomach. “It’s full and then some I am. Thank you boys for breakfast.”

“Quite a spread.” Miranda nodded appreciatively. “I could have sworn we’d be stuck with coffee and eggs.”

“You married a man of many talents.” Garen winked at his mate.

“Don’t start listing them, for chrissakes.” She made a strangled sound as if she was choking back laughter. “Seriously, thanks for cooking—and for not grilling Tam and me while we ate.”

“Since you brought it up—” Garen’s words were cut short by a blast from his cell phone. He fished it out of a pocket and barked, “Report,” while pushing his chair back and loping out of the sunny breakfast nook. It was separated by swinging doors from a kitchen with so many stainless steel appliances they’d nearly blinded Tamara.

Lars and Miranda fairly bristled with tension, their gazes glued to the still moving swinging door Garen had disappeared through.

“What is it I don’t know about?” Tamara asked. The breakfast she’d just consumed turned to a leaden block in her belly.

Garen strode back into the breakfast nook flashing a thumbs-up sign. Lars and Miranda broke into broad grins. “Score one for our side.” Miranda fist-pumped the air.

“Yes, those bastards will be so busy rebuilding, they will not have anyone left over to send after us.” Lars looked grimly satisfied.

“Will one of you be telling me what the fuck is going on?” Tamara heard a shrill note she didn’t care for in her voice, but she hated being odd man out.

Miranda shifted her chair and settled her gaze on Tamara. “You remember that conversation we had down in the spa?”

“Of course.”

Miranda quirked a dark brow. It cut across her tanned forehead like a bird’s wing. “Well?”

Tamara blew out a tense breath. She’d known she’d have to make a decision. What? Was I hoping I’d have a spot more time? Nothing will change, even if I had months.

Lars laid a hand over one of hers. “It is all right, liebchen. Take your time. It is a big decision. I will not think less of you if—”

She waved him to silence and smiled weakly. “Sure and you’re babbling. Never would have thought you’d be the type. I appreciate your concern, and your caring.” She shifted her focus to Miranda and Garen. “I have nothing much to offer. I’m still not understanding why you’d want me to be a part of your company, er, operation.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Garen matched the seriousness of her tone. “I’ve been recruiting agents for a long time. You definitely have the right stuff.”

“You’ll have to work hard, develop enough skills so you feel confident, rather than terrified,” Miranda cut in.

“We wouldn’t rush you,” Garen said. “It normally takes a couple of years to train a field agent.”

Tamara laced her hands around her coffee cup. “So I’d be dead weight for two years? I’m not liking the sound of that.”

“Not at all,” Miranda said. “We always have agents at all stages of training. We consider it insurance, not dead weight.”

“Could I keep on writing—assuming I found newspapers around here I could freelance for?”