Miranda's Mate Read Online Free

from the shower.” Expert fingers wove the bandage around her and fastened it with metal butterfly clips. “There, fraulein. Now you may eat.”
    Miranda was in such a hurry to get to the food that she nearly forgot to drag the black stretchy top over her head. She inhaled bacon, ham, eggs, and toast slathered with butter and jam. Lars kept her coffee cup filled and remained quiet. He seemed hungry too, though he’d obviously eaten while she cleaned up. Once her blood sugar was heading in the right direction—back up—she took a deep breath. “Better. I feel lots better.” She eyed him. “Do you know anything?”
    He nodded but didn’t elaborate.
    Her temper, always a liability, sparked. “Well”—she slammed a fist on the table—“if you know something, goddammit, tell me.”
    The corners of his mouth twitched. “Garen is in Boston. We will meet him in”—he glanced at his phone—“about five hours at one of the smaller airports just outside town.”
    Her mouth fell open; her heart sped up. “Garen?” She shook her head. “You must be mistaken. He’s in Seattle. Why would he be here?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a trap. Part of what happened last night. The bastards who are after me haven’t given up—”
    “Stop.” His cold, gray gaze augured into hers. “Give me a little credit, fraulein.” He cocked his head to one side. “My guess is he was worried about your, uh, assignment and moved closer to the East Coast in case he had to…do something.”
    “Hmph.” She slugged back more coffee. “It sounds as if you know him. Do you?”
    He shrugged noncommittally. “Of course. In this business, we all know one another.”
    “I didn’t mean like that.” She hesitated. “We don’t all know one another . After all, I just met you at the Amsterdam airport. It sounds like you’re well enough acquainted with Garen to second-guess his motives.” Lars didn’t answer.
    Miranda polished off the rest of the food on her plate and opened the foam boxes to make certain she hadn’t missed anything. She glanced at Lars. “How are we going to get from here to Boston?”
    “We will drive. There should be a car waiting out front.”
    She thought about the geography of the East Coast. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”
    He nodded. “Grab your things.”
    She glanced at their mess. “Do you want me to, um, straighten up?”
    He brayed laughter. “Fraulein. Most agents are men. We are not very good housekeepers. Someone will be along to take care of things.”
    * * * *
    Lars drove the silver Lexus RX 450 with the same easy assurance he’d flown the Gulfstream. At his insistence, she covered her hair with a black baseball cap and slumped low in the plush leather passenger seat. She tried to engage him in conversation. Instead, he turned the satellite radio to a channel that played German opera. Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde blared from the speakers.
    Everything she’d eaten sat in her stomach like a brick until they cleared the outskirts of New York City. Once it appeared their car wasn’t on the bad guys’ wanted list, she relaxed enough to digest her meal. Miranda’s thoughts turned inward. It was actually a relief Lars wasn’t hitting on her like he’d done last night. Not that he wasn’t attractive…She glanced sidelong at him from narrowed eyes and nodded to herself. She’d sell her soul if he wasn’t a shifter. What was that he’d said about being quiet as a cat? She opened her mouth to ask him but then shut it. No point in making him believe she was interested. Or in bringing up shifters—a forbidden topic in polite company.
    Like it usually did when she let it drift, her mind turned to Garen.
    Miranda felt a funny flutter behind her breastbone. In just a little while, she’d see him in the flesh. The prospect took her breath away. She barely spent any time with him back at The Company’s offices. He was usually on the top floor where his office was, and she was down in the bullpen