Which brought her back to thoughts of Dr. Renton Ward.
He was a handsome man, not gorgeous in the standard movie-star tradition, but she wouldn't kick him out of bed. There was a certain air about him that she didn't often sense in fellow scientists—a hidden sensuality, she thought, that would require some digging on her part to realize its full potential. There was confidence, as well, beyond the sort that basked in the reflected glow of monographs and textbooks published. Renton Ward was not so much a man of science, she decided, as he was a man.
She thought of poor old Safford then, and had to smile. She was aware of the pathetic rumors circulating back at Georgetown, hinting at some great affair between herself and Dr. Stockwell. She encouraged the absurd belief as best she could, for reasons of her own. It kept the other campus Romeos at bay, for one thing, and it also seemed to satisfy her self-styled mentor, the illusion of a love affair relieving him from any need to stumble through the motions on his own.
Tonight, ironically, had been the first time Stockwell showed her any warning signs of jealousy. Perhaps their change of scene, to the exotic East, had goaded him to speak. In any case, she knew the situation would bear watching. There was no point leading Safford on, provoking some misguided confrontation he was sure to lose.
Try as she might to focus on the object of her visit to Malaysia, Audrey's thoughts strayed back to Renton Ward. Pike Chalmers didn't like him—that was obvious—but Chalmers had a major ego problem. God's gift to women, and a one-man mutual admiration society to boot. It made her skin crawl when he stared at her, undressed her with a gaze that felt like clammy hands on her flesh. She knew exactly what he wanted, from the moment they were introduced. He'd need to be watched on the trail, where true to type he might revert to original primitive man, though she wasn't certain those progenitors deserved such a comparison. The crunch would come if Chalmers tried to act on his desires, take what he fancied and to hell with her consent.
The nightclub looked like any other tourist trap in Southeast Asia, geckos clinging to the wall around a garish neon sign, but Audrey didn't mind. It was a change from the hotel and a diversion from the omnipresent native vendors with their handicrafts, who made the city seem like one huge marketplace.
Inside the smoky, strobe-lit club, a cut-rate stereo was throbbing with the tones of Barry Manilow, advising anyone who cared that he had written songs to make the whole world sing. A smiling hostess looked around for Audrey's escort, finally grasped that she was on her own, and led her to a table near the bar.
"You are American?" the hostess asked.
"That's right. Is there a problem?"
Smiling at the very thought. "Tudak sisah," she said. "No problem."
Coming back with Audrey's rum and Coke, the hostess also brought a tiny U.S. flag, its toothpick staff embedded in a piece of cork, and placed it on the table, near the scented candle that was Audrey's only source of light besides the flashing strobes.
Of course, thought Audrey with a smile. The flag would label her a tourist so that no man in the club mistook her for a prostitute on call. In some parts of the world, the little banner would have been a magnet for hostility, perhaps inviting physical attack, but there was said to be no great dislike for Yankees in Malaysia. If all went well, she could enjoy a drink or three in peace, unwind a bit and then walk back to the hotel in time to catch some sleep before her scheduled wake-up call at half-past four.
"We're both alone, I take it."
She recognized the voice with a sinking feeling before she saw Pike Chalmers, looming like a grizzly bear beside her table. What rotten luck for her to pick the very bar where he was killing time.
Or was it simply luck? Could he have followed her from the hotel?
"What a surprise," she said, no indication in her tone that she was thrilled by the coincidence.
"Mind if I join you, then?"
"The truth is—"
"Marvelous." He pulled the second chair out, carried it around the table to her left and settled in beside her. "There we are, all nice and cozy, then."
"I can't stay long," she said.
"No problem." Chalmers flagged the waitress as she passed and ordered a double whiskey, neat. "I couldn't sleep myself," he said. "Too much excitement, what?"
"I wouldn't think there's much about a trip like this you haven't seen before."
"You never know," said Chalmers, staring at her breasts. She felt the nipples pucker with embarrassment and knew that he was bound to misinterpret the reaction. If only she had worn a jacket, or at least a bra!
"I understand you have experience in the Malaysian jungle."
"Love, I've got experience around the world. You name it—Africa, the Amazon, New Guinea, India. One jungle's fairly like another when you're on the ground. New predators to watch out for, o' course, but that's my specialty."
"So I was told."
"One of my specialties, at least."
The wink made Audrey want to scream. This man was one great chauvinist cliche personified, an oinker in the first degree. She felt a sudden need to take him down a peg or two.
"I've never understood the thrill attached to killing helpless animals," she said, still smiling as an angry flush suffused his features.
"Helpless? Love, there's nothing helpless in the bush, except a man with no experience. The bloody ants and flies can kill you, never mind the tuskers, cats and buffalo. You ought to see the souvenirs I carry on my hide sometime," he told her with a yellow smile. "You might stop sympathizing with the beasts and have a bit of care for me."
"But surely, when you make a special trip to kill them with your traps and guns, whatever they do to you is self-defense."
The hunter's smile turned brittle. "Self-defense, you say? It may seem different to you on the trail, when you've got hungry jackals or a tiger sniffing at your tent flaps. You'll be bloody glad to have a man beside you then."
"Let's hope it never comes to that," she said. "If you'll excuse me—"
Audrey rose to leave, her drink untouched, but Chalmers gulped his whiskey down and bolted to his feet.
"The streets aren't safe this time of night," he told her, peering down the V-neck of her blouse. "I'll walk you home, love. Tuck you in all safe and sound."
"If you insist," she said.
"I do, indeed."
The club on Market Street held no attraction for Remo, with its smoky atmosphere and reek of alcohol. He would have passed it by without a second thought, except that Audrey Moreland chose that very moment to emerge, with canned music trailing after her and Pike Chalmers almost treading on her heels.
They made an awkward couple, standing on the sidewalk for a moment as if neither one of them could find the proper words to end a dismal date. A second glance at Chalmers, though, and Remo knew he wasn't anxious for the night to end. As for the look on Audrey's face, it could be anything from boredom to an alcoholic daze. He didn't know her well enough to judge, beyond a vague impression that she seemed unhappy in the big man's company.
So much for aimless rambling.
Remo faded back into the shadows of a nearby alley, wailed while the mismatched couple shared a few more words, then turned back in the general direction of the Shangri-la. He gave them half a block, then fell in step behind them, pleased that he could follow someone for a change, instead of watching out to see if he was being tailed.
They covered half a dozen blocks before Pike Chalmers made his move. The street was narrower than most, lights few and far between. From twenty yards behind, Remo saw Chalmers drape his arm across the woman's shoulders, Audrey flinching from his touch as if the arm had been electrified.
"Now, love, don't be that way."
Without the background noise of Market Street, the big man's words were clearly audible.