Miranda's Mate by Ann Gimpel Page A

She never was.
    “She could be if you put a bit of effort into it,” the wolf informed him tartly.
    Garen didn’t bother to answer him.
    * * * *
    Miranda stood on the tarmac, bag slung over her shoulder. The men’s bags were next to her feet. Lars was turning the plane in, and Garen was securing a rental car. Thank fucking God neither man seemed particularly inclined toward conversation. Embarrassment heated her face. She was certain the men had discussed her sexual lapse. After what Lars had told her about the depth of their relationship, it was nearly impossible they hadn’t talked about it.
    I can’t go back. All I can do is hold my head up and get through this somehow. It worried her that Lars would label her and simply assume bedding her was a foregone conclusion. The more she’d thought about it, the less she wanted him to stay with her. She craved her wolf form; once in it, she’d spend the next week or so running wild in the Pacific Northwest’s forests. By the time she resurfaced, her side would be healed—and so would her mind.
    A black Lincoln Navigator rolled up next to her. Garen jumped out and tossed his and Lars’ bags into the back. He held out a hand for hers. She handed it to him and got into the back seat.
    “Don’t you want to sit up front?”
    She shook her head, not totally trusting herself to speak. Lars strode into view. She released a tightly held breath. As uncomfortable as things were with the three of them, it was worse with just her and Garen. Lars settled in the passenger seat; Garen got behind the wheel and asked, “Would anyone like anything before we leave Bellingham?”
    “Food would be welcome,” Lars said.
    “Sure,” she said. “Something quick. We can eat while we drive.”
    “Easy for you to say,” Garen murmured.
    “I can drive while you eat, and then we could trade,” she offered.
    “Nah. I was just teasing you. How do burgers sound?”
    Lars made a face. She saw it in the rearview mirror. “Americans,” he muttered. “Your appetites are so banal.”
    “The last chicken burger I ate in Munich had bones in it,” Garen sniped.
    “That is because the Germans are still trying to rid themselves of American trash.”
    Miranda rolled her eyes, grateful the men were teasing one another.
    She ordered fries, a cheeseburger, and a vanilla shake at the small drive-through. Part of her had wanted Coke, but the shake had more calories, and she figured she needed fuel. “So,” she said around a mouthful of meat, cheese, and mayonnaise. “About that safe house in the countryside.”
    “Are you certain it’s what you want?” Garen asked.
    “If a hotel does not meet your tastes,” Lars added, “it would be easy to move you to another. The presence of crowds would mask our movements.”
    “I’m sure,” she said and sucked some shake through a straw. “After all, it’s not forever. How long will I be invisible? A week? Ten days?”
    “At least a week,” Garen said. “Maybe longer. I need to test the waters after I’m back at HQ. If we can bring you out of hiding earlier, we will.”
    Alarm bells sounded in her brain. “I will have a say in this, won’t I? You might decide it isn’t safe a month from now. I have no intention of burying myself forever.”
    “Even if it means your life?” Lars asked. His voice held a hard edge she hadn’t heard before.
    “Being locked away is a lot like being dead.”
    Garen blew out a breath. It was loud in the confines of the car. “We have three locations between here and the greater Seattle area. The most remote is up Highway 2. The mountains behind Index are rugged. Very few who aren’t locals venture into that area—”
    “—so if I keep my eyes open, I should be able to recognize people who have no business there,” she finished for him.
    “Exactly.”
    “Will you get me a new phone?”
    “Once you return to work.”
    She ate a couple of fries. “Probably wouldn’t work out there anyway—unless it were a