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Garen pulled his fur-lined leather jacket closer to his body. He paced up and down the asphalt in front of the private airport just north of Boston and glanced at his phone again.
Damn it. They should have been here half an hour ago.
What the fuck had happened? He shook his head and paced some more, grinding his teeth together until his jaws ached.
Their plane sat on the tarmac, waiting. Garen had spent a few moments admiring the sleek Learjet Challenger 300. He was looking forward to copiloting it. If he wasn’t so anxious, he might’ve grinned. He and Lars had flown sub rosa missions in and out of nearly every shithole on earth. They made a hell of a team—and had for hundreds of years.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Garen made a grab for it and looked at the display. It said Private. Not a bad thing, all in all. Everyone in his business put permanent blocks on their caller ID. He punched the talk key and waited. No reason for him to say anything until he knew who’d called.
“We are close. Problems with traffic and road closures.” Lars’ deep voice was welcome.
A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding whooshed out of Garen, and he loosened his grip on the phone. “ETA?” he barked.
“Maybe two minutes.” Lars chuckled. “Although I must admit I would prefer my time with the fair fraulein was not drawing to a close.”
What?
Garen practically choked on, “Really?” He was surprised just how neutral his tone sounded. “And why would that be?” Stomach muscles tense, he waited for an answer that might destroy him. Had Lars taken up with Miranda? It was possible. Lars told him they’d spent the night together in one of Rubicon’s many safe house. A vision of Miranda’s black hair mingling with Lars’ blond locks made Garen nauseous.
“She is warming to me. I just know it. See you very soon, old friend.”
Call Ended flared across the display.
Garen stared at his phone and clenched his jaws. He had to get control of himself before they showed up, or he might rip Lars’ head off.
Tires crunched on gravel. Garen turned toward the sound and saw a silver SUV heading toward him. Long years of caution took over. He strolled to the terminal, pushed the glass door open, and stood off to one side. Because it catered to military personnel flying incognito, this airport was outfitted with bulletproof glass.
Lars’ unmistakable profile came into view. The figure slouched in the passenger seat had to be Miranda. Garen’s wolf was beside himself, yapping and whining. The wolf wanted Miranda, had wanted her ever since she’d come to work for Rubicon International. He thought she was a shifter, but the wolf’s assessment of such things had been wrong more than once.
Garen shoved his animal side deep, pasted a small smile—not too exuberant—on his face, and went to meet them. Lars leapt out first. Garen extended a hand, but the other man swept him into a hug and kissed both cheeks. “It has been a long road. I am glad to see you.” Familiar gray eyes crinkled at the corners.
Garen nodded to himself. He and Lars went back a long way. If his oldest friend had taken up with Miranda, he’d suck it up and wish them every happiness. It would damn near kill him, but he’d figure it out. The other car door opened. He extricated himself from Lars and went to greet his employee. His eyes widened. “Holy shit, Miran— er, Jayne. You look like hell.”
A corner of her mouth turned down. “Thanks, boss. I think.” She twisted around to drag her carry-on out of the SUV and groaned.
“Are you injured?”
Lars walked up to them. “She has deep contusions. I taped her torso. It is all a doctor would have done.”
Years of undercover work took over. So Lars had not only seen Miranda unclothed, he’d even bandaged her. Garen wiped his face clean of expression and tipped his chin up. “Are you certain she’s fit to travel?”
“I’m right here.” Miranda sounded irritated. “Of course I can travel. I just sat in a car for four plus hours.” She moved right in front of Garen, so he had to look at her. “If you want to know how I am, ask me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He inclined his head and hoped to hell his emotions—jealousy, pride, and a touch of amusement—weren’t visible on his face.
“You grow them feisty these days,” Lars noted wryly. “Do you have luggage?”
“It’s already in the plane. I took the liberty of filing our flight plan.”
Lars grinned. “Excellent. One less thing to do.” He grabbed his bag out of the car and made a sweeping motion with one arm. “After you.”
Garen’s forehead creased. “What about the car?”
“My instructions were to leave the keys in it. Someone will come round to pick it up.” Lars hooked an arm through Miranda’s.
Garen bit down so hard he thought his teeth might crack. “Not what I meant. This isn’t Europe. You can’t just leave the car parked in the middle of the street.”
“But it is not—”
“Either you move it, or I will.” Garen crossed his arms across his chest.
Lars rolled his eyes. “You are in a true snit, my friend. Once we are airborne, you must tell me what is wrong.” He ducked gracefully into the Lexus and manipulated it into a parking spot a few yards away.
Like hell I will. What would I say? Miranda doesn’t belong to me.
He glanced sideways at Miranda. She stared back. “Coming?” he inquired gruffly. “I can take your bag.”
“I’ll take it myself,” she snapped. “Is that our plane?” She pointed. At his nod, she turned abruptly and headed for it.
Feeling like a fool, he clumped after her. What he wanted to do was grill her, make her tell him exactly what had happened between her and Lars, but it would be a mistake. For one thing, it wasn’t any of his affair—not really. For another, she could fuck whoever she chose. He had no right to dictate her choices.
I don’t have any idea what transpired...
He tried to soothe himself as he caught up to Miranda. And then he remembered how Lars had taken her arm with a proprietary air. He set his wolf to sniffing, but all it smelled was soap and shampoo. She’d showered this morning and washed off the evidence.
Miranda stopped at the foot of the stairs leading into the Learjet and spun to face him. “Why are you angry with me? I fulfilled my assignment.” Her mouth was set in a hard line. “I’ll admit it wasn’t the cleanest job I’ve ever pulled off, but I’m lucky I’m still alive. Getting next to Roulan was like waltzing into a serpent’s den and pretending they couldn’t see me. I was so scared, I was almost paralyzed.”
Lars trotted up. Garen balled his hands into fists. He needed to talk with Miranda. Had to find out what had happened in Amsterdam. He knew Roulan was dead, but lacked details.
Almost as if Lars could read his thoughts, he murmured, “Let us get aboard. I will have my headset on. You can turn yours off for privacy, so she can report in.”
Garen felt like an ass. Lars truly was his oldest friend. A mountain cat in his other form, the man was a formidable ally and the other half of Rubicon International’s sprawling spy empire. Garen would be a fool to do anything to erode their long partnership. He felt his cheeks heat. Lars quirked an inquisitive brow but didn’t say anything before mounting the stairs and entering the plane.
Miranda followed him. Garen came last and secured the door. “I’m going to sit in the copilot’s seat until we’re airborne,” he told her. “We can talk after the plane hits cruise altitude.”
“Gee.” Her tone was acidic. “I can hardly wait.”
Garen winced. He actually deserved that. “Look.” He made a huge effort and kept his hands to himself rather than laying one on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. If I’m snarky, it’s because I was worried half sick about you.”
She drew back as if he’d bitten her. “Don’t go getting all maudlin on me, boss. It’s a job, remember? I’ve seen lots of people die. So have you. Emotions cut into our concentration. I’ve heard you preach to the group often enough. Cold, clear detachment—”
The whine of a jet turbine interrupted her words. “Hang onto that thought, Miranda,” he half shouted. “I’ll be back soon.” Garen strode toward the cockpit. She was right. Embarrassment made his stomach clench. This wasn’t the time to drag her into his arms and tell her he’d been watching her for years, had waited for her for nearly that long...
“I need you to sit so we can take off.” Lars held out a headset. Beyond his accent, his voice was devoid of inflection.
Garen dropped into the right seat, buckled in, and settled the headphones in place. Static crackled when Lars communicated with the tower. He nosed the plane into line. “We are third to depart.”
“Yes, I heard that too.”
“What is wrong? You do not seem like yourself.”
Garen shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Lars drew the throttle back to idle when he came nose to tail with the jet ahead of them in line for takeoff. He turned and looked at Garen, his features elegant with feline grace. “You had nothing to fear, my friend. Miranda was with me. I have not lost an operative yet.”
Garen couldn’t help it. He laughed. Lars was the same arrogant shifter he’d always been. “No, my friend.” He mimicked Lars’ accent. “We’ve sacrificed a hell of a lot of civilians keeping our operatives safe, though.”
“Don’t remind me.” Lars scowled and turned his attention back to the Plexiglas windscreen. “She is exquisite. I can see why you would be so concerned about keeping her safe. Barely leashed power bleeds off her. What is she?”
Garen dropped his gaze. “She’s close to her final test. Until then, I’m often not positive about any of my agents.”
A long, low whistle filled the cockpit. “Yes. I recall that. It is one place where Rubicon’s policies differ. We find out much sooner at our Heidelberg center. No point in investing all that training if we end up jettisoning an agent for lack of magical ability.”
“It isn’t that I haven’t tried,” Garen protested. “Every time I get close, she slithers away.”
Lars made a clicking sound. “Tch. Maybe you did not have quite the right touch.” Before Garen could inquire acidly just what Lars thought the right touch might be, the other man said, “Here we go.” He gave the powerful engines a healthy dose of jet fuel. They roared merrily and sent them barreling down the runway and into the sky.
* * * *
Miranda twisted in her seat. It was hard to get comfortable. She thought about unwrapping the bandage but was afraid it might make things worse. She’d actually been feeling pretty chipper until they met up with Garen. It was obvious he was unhappy with her. Problem was, she couldn’t figure out why. Not that he’d ever paid much attention to her beyond giving her orders, but at least he’d been pleasant on those occasions.
She teased out scents. Anger, jealousy, fear, possession. Anger was the only one that made sense. She had no idea how many agents worked for Rubicon International, but there were lots—maybe hundreds if you considered their many offices scattered around the globe. She’d find out more about RI once she passed her final set of tests and because a fully vetted agent. Why Garen would be so spun out over one junior-grade operative didn’t make a lick of sense.
Footsteps sounded, and he settled in the seat across from her. She studied his face, but his expression didn’t yield a single clue. He removed his headset, clicked it off, and then inclined his head and met her gaze.
Miranda gathered her thoughts while she removed her own headset and turned it to the off position. She nodded crisply. “Sir.”
Something must’ve clicked because he said, “Report.”
Aha! Commands were a comfort zone—for both of them.
“Brief, full, or extensive, sir?”
“Somewhere between full and extensive. Tell me what I need to know.”
She sucked in a breath. “I arrived in Amsterdam without incident and went to my hotel. From there, I scoped out the strip club our target frequents. I inquired whether they needed another dancer.” Miranda twisted her mouth into a sour expression. “The sicko who ran the place wanted his own private show, so I gave it to him.”
Garen furled his brows. “And?”
She half snorted a laugh. “Bastard came the second I wrapped my hand around him. But he did hire me. I returned to the hotel, got some food, slept a couple of hours, and went back to the club. I was into my third set with half a dozen other girls. It was getting late, maybe three a.m., and I was worried Roulan wasn’t going to show.”
She exhaled noisily. The next part was when things had gone to hell.
Garen gestured for her to continue.
She nodded, her thoughts racing as she remembered. The overweight Romanian with greasy, black hair and little piggy eyes was disgusting. He stank of sweat and rancid food. He’d come into the club with four other men and a group of girls who looked young, barely into puberty. The group had settled at a ringside table.
Miranda nervously pushed hair over her shoulders and sat straighter. “Roulan finally showed up, noticed me right away, and beckoned me over. Made me lap dance for him and the man sitting next to him. It was quite delicate. I had to keep their hands busy everywhere but between my legs where I had a small gun strapped to my thigh.”
She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. She could still feel his nasty fingers pinching her breasts and bottom. “The Fasten Seatbelt sign is still on. Do you suppose I could get myself some water?”
Something flickered behind Garen’s eyes. It might’ve been kindness, but he hooded them before she could be certain. “Lars probably forgot to turn it off. I’ll get you a bottle. We’re at cruise altitude.”
He rustled in the galley across from the head and returned with cheese, crackers, bottled water, and a microbrewed beer. He raised an eyebrow. “Beer might sit well.”
She favored him with a wan smile and reached for the water. “Maybe once I’m done talking.” A flick of her wrist and she removed the cap and drank. Water dribbled down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her hand. “Better. It’s probably not important, but Roulan had six young girls with him. If any of them were over thirteen, I’d be shocked. They were made up like whores.” She shut her eyes for a moment. “The whole thing made me sick.”
“It also makes it easier to do the work we do.” His voice was soft.
She twitched her lip into a sneer. “No kidding. I wanted to wring his neck long before I ended up alone with him, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” She took another drink. “He more or less ordered me to come upstairs with him and his buddies.” At the shocked look that blossomed on Garen’s face, she shook her head. “Pah. I know better. I told him I’d dance for him, but just for him. In the meantime, I’d been trying to maneuver so I could drop a poison capsule I had tucked in my bra into his drink, but his men watched me like hawks. It wasn’t dark enough to do the sleight of hand I needed to pull off something like that.”
Miranda drained the water bottle and forged ahead. The sooner she got done with this story, the better she’d like it. “Roulan jumped up and grabbed me around the waist.” She tried to maintain a professional demeanor but wasn’t able to suppress a shudder. “Ugh. He smelled so bad, it was all I could do not to knee him in the balls and judo chop him right there in front of everyone. His teeth were rotting and... It doesn’t matter. I followed him upstairs. Two of his men trailed after us. I stopped at the top of the stairs and told him I wasn’t interested in servicing his men.”
Garen couldn’t hide the concern etching his forehead into deep lines. “Cut to the chase, Miranda.”
“He reassured me it would only be us and that his men were there to guard the door. He obviously knew his way around the upper level of the club because he seized my wrist and nearly dragged me into a room that was tricked out like a cheap bordello. Once we were inside, he laid himself on the bed, unzipped his trousers, and dragged his cock out. He told me to take my clothes off, so I guess he planned to work on himself while I stripped.”
Miranda fisted her hands in her lap and forced herself to take a deep breath. “I knew that wouldn’t work. I had to be closer to him, so I took off my top and slipped out of my gauzy pants. For once, my thigh holster and gun slid down without a hitch. He was so busy jacking himself, I’m sure he didn’t notice me bury them in my clothes. Anyway, I waltzed over to him and asked him to suck on my breasts. The second he lowered his head, I buried my hands in his greasy hair, got him in the cranial nerves, and rendered him unconscious.”
“Sounds pretty clean so far.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I was getting ready to kill him, but even though I hadn’t made any noise, somehow his men knew—” She hesitated. “I’m not certain they knew he was out, but they knew something was wrong. I heard a commotion outside the door and made a dive for my gun. They raced into the room. I shot one. That’s when Roulan somehow regained his senses. Next thing I knew, he was hammering me in the side with a lead pipe.”
“Christ.” A disgusted look curled Garen’s finely modeled mouth into a scowl.
Shame filled her, and her cheeks grew warm. “I’m sorry, boss. I know I botched it. But how was I to know Roulan’s men had some sort of paranormal link to him?”
“Keep talking. Two against one aren’t bad odds.” He shot an appraising glance her way. If there’d been concern on his face earlier, it had fled. “What happened then?”
I turned into a wolf and killed both of them while their mouths were still hanging open... Crap! I can’t tell him that.
“Um, I got lucky. Wrenched the lead pipe away from Roulan and brained him with it. The other guy tried to run. Caught him in the back of the head with the pipe before he made the stairway.”
Garen eyed her intently. She looked away, studying her hands. There was no way he could tell she’d just lied to him. Or was there?
To cover her discomfiture, Miranda hurried on. “I knew I didn’t have much time before everyone in the place converged on the upstairs room. I bundled my clothes, tied them around my waist, and went out a window. Lucky for me those old buildings are made of uneven stonework. I’ve never climbed down anything so fast. Once I hit the street, I disappeared into an alley so I could throw my costume on. After that, I ran like hell, flagged a cab, and headed for my hotel so I could get my bag and my clothes.”
“You should’ve gone straight to the airport.”
“Really? My breasts were hanging out of a barely-there top. I was wearing harem pants and sandals in cold weather. And carrying a snub-nosed .38.”
“Mmph.” He cleared his throat. “I stand corrected. Still, you’re fortunate you weren’t followed to your hotel.”
“No one knew where I was staying. The creep who owned the nightclub never asked for my passport or any kind of ID. Even if he had, I’d have given him one of the phony ones other than Jayne Powers.”
“Still. They got a good look at you. You’ll have to go to ground for a while.”
She bit her lip. She’d been afraid of that. “I’d really rather not, sir. I like being busy. Not sure what I’d do with myself.”
“Not your choice, Miss Miller.”
Crap! He never calls me by my last name.
Miranda wanted to bury her head in her hands. Instead, she met his bright-blue gaze. “I’d like to turn this into a learning experience, sir. Please tell me what I did wrong.”
An odd look flitted across his face. “You can discuss that with the other junior agents once you return.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll be in the cockpit if you need me.” He picked up the unopened beer and pushed it into her lap. “You’re looking a little pale, Miss Miller. Drink up. It will be several hours before we land.”
