Best tread carefully.

He pulled two napkins from a drawer, picked up his plate, and walked to where Tamara sat. She’d moved to one of the seating configurations where four seats faced one another, two on a side. He set his plate down and went back for his drinks. By the time he settled across from her, her plate was nearly empty. “Would you like more, fraulein?”

She shook her head. “I saw where things were. If I want anything else, I can get it myself. You surely don’t have to be waiting on me.”

He nodded, put a piece of cheese on a cracker, and ate it. Lars knew he was stalling, but he wasn’t certain where to start. It wasn’t as if she was his prisoner and he could fire questions at her willy-nilly. Tamara watched him with her sea-blue eyes over the top of her juice container. At least she’d regained her composure. Perhaps that might be a place to begin. “You are looking more relaxed.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She licked her lips and set the juice aside. “Why were you in the casino?”

Lars bit back a laugh. “Direct. I like that in a woman. Funny, but that was one of the questions I planned to ask you.”

She cocked her head to one side, regarding him intently. “You didn’t exactly answer me.”

Lars narrowed his eyes. “How about if we try a different topic? What is your connection to Jaret Chen?”

She studied her hands. Lars could almost feel her thinking, sorting through half-truths and discarding them. “Fraulein.” He reached across the space between them and placed his index finger beneath her chin to tilt her head so she had to look at him. “It is better for you to remain silent than to weave fabrication. I will know if you are lying.”

She drew back. “How?”

He shrugged. “How does anyone do anything? It is one of my…talents.”

She dragged a breath deep into her lungs, blew it out, and did it again, but she didn’t look away. “All right,” she said after a space of time. “I was his girlfriend.”

“Was?”

She nodded but didn’t offer anything further. Lars let go of her chin. Where to go from here? “Did the two of you have a fight?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Her tone was carefully neutral. “What happens after we get to New York?”

“You changed the subject.”

She picked up a grape, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. “Is that against the rules?”

Lars’ lips twitched. In addition to being stunning, Tamara had a quick mind. “How’d your taxi driver end up dead?”

“What is this? Twenty questions? Except neither of us answers any of them.” She gave her head a little shake. It made the feathered ends of her hair dance around her high cheekbones. “I have no idea what happened. One minute we were almost to the airport. The next, the cab crawled over the curb and you showed up.”

“That is not quite all, fraulein.” Lars set his plate aside and moved to the seat next to her. “You were as frightened as anyone I have ever seen.”

“Sure and wouldn’t you have been?” she countered, drawing herself up straighter in her seat.

“Probably.”

“Next you’ll be telling me you’re used to sharing cars with the dead.”

“I am not certain anyone ever gets used to something like that.” He locked gazes with her, and almost wished he hadn’t. Pools of blue light, her eyes drew him inexorably nearer. Without knowing quite why, he laid a hand on the side of her face. When she didn’t pull away, he traced his fingertips over her full lips. She laid her hand over his. He thought he read invitation in her eyes and leaned closer. It wasn’t a good idea; the sensible part of his mind argued against it—and lost. He replaced his fingers with his mouth. What began as the barest brushing of his mouth against hers turned into a heated kiss.

She opened her mouth to him, welcomed his tongue. He wrapped her in his arms and lost himself in a kiss that held desperation as much as attraction. His headset crackled. The copilot asked for something to eat and drink, or for him to come fly the plane for a bit so he could get his own snack.

Tamara drew away, her breath coming quickly. Her lips were swollen from their kiss and color splotched across her face. “What was that about?”

“The other pilot.” Lars touched his mouth to hers again briefly, aware he was achingly hard. He got to his feet, feeling torn. Part of him, the part belling out the front of his trousers, wanted to ravish the woman staring up at him. His rational side urged caution. He needed to know more, a whole lot more, before he held Tamara in his arms again. If the copilot hadn’t disturbed them, he feared they’d have ended up coupling on one of the airplane’s lush leather seats. As it was, the smell of their arousal hung heavy in the still cabin air.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was low, husky. Her nipples were clearly outlined beneath her sweater, as were the curves of her obviously braless breasts.

“To take care of the airplane,” he said tersely. “I will see you later.”

•●•

Tamara watched his tightly-muscled body walk up the aisle toward the cockpit. She shivered slightly. Because she hadn’t wanted to answer any of his questions, she’d invited the kiss that had turned into something so amazing she still couldn’t quite believe it. His scent, musk and bay rum, clung to her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was still close.

The cockpit door opened. Hope flared, but it was the other pilot, the one she hadn’t spoken with. Short, rotund, and bald, he favored her with a nod before disappearing into the head. When he came out, he tossed some snacks into a plastic bag and loped back up the aisle.

Tamara waited. Surely Lars would rejoin her, but minutes ticked by and he didn’t.

Who am I trying to kid? He probably has either a wife, or a girlfriend, maybe both. A familiar sadness filled her. A man who was that handsome couldn’t possibly not be spoken for. Even if he were free, there was the little problem of her shifter blood. Lars was gorgeous and hot, but definitely not for her.

“What will I do once I get to New York,” she muttered. It was an enormous city and as good a place as any to be anonymous. She’d have to work, but there were a few magazines she’d freelanced for. Perhaps they’d have an assignment or two to keep food on her table. One thing for certain, she couldn’t tell her family anything. Or anyone else, either. She hated to hurt them, but knowledge of her whereabouts would probably place them in grave danger.

Jaret’s drug cartel had a long reach. It was possible no one would miss him, or want to avenge him, which might mean she could return to Ireland someday…

Dream on, sister. It certainly isn’t looking like that right now.

She hadn’t said anything to Lars, but she’d seen two men racing toward the cab just before she’d frozen into a fetal position in the back seat. If Lars hadn’t shown up, she had no doubt they’d have jumped in and taken off. He probably hadn’t seen them because they’d been behind him.

Would I have had the presence of mind to jump out? To scream my head off? She bit her bottom lip. Those were simple questions. She should be able to answer them but couldn’t, not with any level of confidence. If she’d been capable of either of those things, she’d have done them before Lars dragged her quaking body out of the cab.

Maybe she could tell him part of the truth. That she’d returned to her room to find Jaret already dead. Not knowing what else to do, she’d panicked and fled. Tamara rolled varying combinations of words around in her mind. Only a few phrases constituted a bald-faced lie. Despite what Lars had said, no one could determine if she weren’t telling quite the whole truth.

She stood and walked to the cockpit door, raised her fist to knock, and then dropped it to her side. She laid an ear next to the door and dialed in her mountain cat senses. The low hum of conversation filled her augmented hearing. Unfortunately, the men spoke German. Not one of her languages. Now if it had been French, Greek, Irish, or Italian, she’d have been home free.