“You know more than you are telling me.”

It was Garen’s turn to laugh, but it held a chilly edge; he sounded as out of sorts as Lars felt. “Of course.”

“Is there anything else for now?”

“Miranda said to tell you she’s looking forward to seeing you.” He paused for a beat. “And congratulations on a job well done.”

Lars smiled, his pique blown away like sand in propeller wash. “Tell Miranda the same back.”

“I will.” Garen disconnected.

Lars dropped the phone back into his pocket and thought about Miranda, Garen’s mate. A stunning six foot tall brunette with sparkling blue eyes, she also worked for The Company. As lethal as any man, she’d gotten her espionage training in the Green Berets. Miranda was a wolf shifter, just like Garen. Lars nodded to himself. He’d been interested in her, but she’d only had eyes for Garen. He wished them all the best, had stood as best man at their wedding. Garen was his oldest friend. Their relationship went back hundreds of years.

He frowned. What was it that Garen had said after mentioning Miranda? Congratulations on a job well done? What the hell? He hadn’t done anything—other than rely on his wits to stay alive.

Lars bit his lower lip, thinking. He reached into his pocket and fingered the phone, half intent on calling Garen back, but curiosity wasn’t a strong enough reason to add yet another risky phone conversation to the one they’d already had. Still feeling puzzled, he took his place in line with the other travelers. When the shuttle arrived moments later, he asked the driver to drop him at Ermstatter International.

“I can take you to the main terminal, sir. You’ll need to catch a taxi from there. Ermstatter is half a mile from here, but they share our runway system.”

Lars nodded. Easy enough. He slung the straps of his traveling bags over his shoulders and hung on to a strap, since all the seats were taken. It only took a few minutes before the shuttle rolled up in front of the main terminal building. Lars trotted down the steps and headed for a bank of taxis, intent on hiring one.

Brakes screeched. A cab rolled past the line of taxis, cut in front of them, and slammed into the curb. It teetered for a moment, jumped the curb, and came to a stop only a few feet from him. Its driver was slumped over the steering wheel. What the hell? Had the man had a heart attack? Lars moved in for a closer look.

Bullet holes. Crap! This place was as lethal as Afghanistan’s mountains. He scanned the inside of the taxi. A woman hunched into a corner of the backseat. Was she hurt too? Or maybe dead? It was hard to tell just how badly wounded the driver was.

As if they sensed imminent danger, people had fled, leaving just him—and the taxi. Lars pulled open the driver’s door and shut off the engine. He laid a hand over the driver’s carotid and hunted for a pulse.

Dead, damn it. Poor bastard.

Lars sent his shifter senses spinning outward. Was the shooter still close? He’d pretty much have to be. Lars felt a familiar tightening in his gut and a prickling at the nape of his neck; danger was indeed near, but moving away, not toward him. Amazed airport security hadn’t stormed them yet, he yanked open one of the back doors, intent on finding out if the woman had met the driver’s fate.

He heard a soft sob. “Come on.” He kept his voice, low, soothing. “Give me your hand and let me get you out of here.”

She raised her face from her trembling hands; shock raced through him. It was her. The woman from the casino who’d been with Jaret Chen. What the fuck was she doing here at the airport by herself, with a dead taxi driver? There were only a couple of answers that fit; Lars didn’t care for either of them. Suddenly Garen’s congratulations took on a whole new meaning.

“Come on,” he repeated. “We need to get you out of here.” He closed a hand over her arm and dragged her from the taxi. She reached back inside and came up with a smallish suitcase and a shoulder bag.

“Who are you?” Her eyes were so wide with fear, only a small rim of blue showed around dilated pupils. Recognition apparently slammed home, and even the thin strip of blue disappeared. “I saw you,” she blurted, looking panicked. “In the—”

He shook his head, wanting to shut her up. “No time for that, fraulein. I am not on their side. That will have to do for now.”

She nodded mutely, suitcase clutched so tightly, her knuckles were white. She swayed on her feet; he hoped she wasn’t about to sink into shock—or worse, faint. Lars wasn’t sure quite what he’d do if that happened. He tucked a hand under her elbow and guided her a hundred feet to the first taxi in line, hoping like hell the driver wouldn’t tell him to take a hike. Surely he’d seen what had happened. To forestall being turned down, Lars flashed a five hundred franc note at the driver who palmed it and said cheerily, “Where to, sir?”

“Ermstatter.” Lars took the woman’s suitcase and handed it to her once she’d gotten in. He hustled in behind her and slammed the door. “There is another five hundred if you hurry,” he told the driver.

“You got it, sir.” The cabby’s accent was pure Brooklynese. Lars wondered what a New York cabbie was doing in Nice. No wonder he’d turned a blind eye to the cab that jumped the curb—and its dead driver. He’d no doubt seen worse on the streets of New York. As they cruised past the disabled taxi, Lars noticed airport security had finally dispatched agents to look into the accident. Thank Christ he’d gotten Chen’s girlfriend out of there in time. Lars glanced sidelong at her. Honed by years of fieldwork in every hellhole on Earth, his instincts sounded a serious alarm. Garen apparently believed Chen was dead. Had this woman killed him? Was that why things were turning to shit?

“Where are we going?” The woman’s voice was low, musical, and very strained.

“To a place that rents private jets. We are leaving for New York in about forty minutes.”

“But… But I need to go home.” Hysteria danced beneath her words.

Lars laid a hand over one of hers. “We can talk in the plane. Not here.”

“New York?” The cabbie sounded ecstatic. “Hey, take me with you.”

“Next time,” Lars said. He scanned neon marquees and located Ermstatter. “Right there.” He tapped the cabbie’s shoulder and pointed.

“I know where it is.” The man sounded aggrieved and pulled the taxi to a crooked stop near the curb.

Lars got out, handed money to the driver, and herded the woman and her suitcase toward the swinging glass door. Before he pulled the door open, he bent low. “You do have a passport?” She nodded. “Now would be a good time to get it out.” She rifled through her purse and withdrew an Irish passport, with its red cover. He snapped it out of her hand and opened it. “Tamara MacBride from Dublin.” She nodded and yanked her passport back. “Nice to meet you, Tamara. My name is Lars.” He bowed slightly.

“Sure and I don’t know yet whether it’s a pleasure or not.” Her voice carried the lilt of Ireland. It still trembled, but she didn’t look quite as terrified as when he’d hauled her out of the taxi. Even frightened half out of her wits, she was still a striking creature. He wanted to crush her to him, bury his mouth in her hair, kiss her full lips, and tell her everything would be all right.

Not now. Not the time, he chided himself. I am not even sure which side she is on.

“Do not say anything inside the terminal,” he instructed. “Just show the customs agent your passport when he asks for it. I will be busy for a bit signing paperwork for our airplane.”

“Y-you can fly?”

“Ja. No worries, fair fraulein. I will take good care of you.” He opened the door and herded her inside.

•●•

Tamara stood off to one side as Lars signed sheet after sheet of paper at the counter. How was it even possible the man from the casino had rescued her? There was much more at work here than coincidence, and she wished to hell she knew what it was. Trying to appear nonchalant, she eyed him warily and tried to figure out what to do. Odds were good he was one of Jaret’s men, but she’d never met him before. Never even laid eyes on him before earlier tonight. Death had stalked her since she’d left the hotel. Was Lars just one more manifestation of it? He’d said he wasn’t on their side, but he might have lied to pressure her into coming with him.