What the hell, he thought, starting toward her. He could use some company.
She seemed to be deep in thought; she didn’t look up until he was standing right beside her.
“Hi there,” he said.
She squinted up at him. “Hello.” Her greeting was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly.
“Did I hear you needed a lift back to town?”
“I have one, thank you.”
“It could be a long wait. And I’m heading there anyway.” She didn’t respond, so he added, “It’s really no trouble.”
She gave him a speculative look. She had silver-gray eyes, direct, unflinching; they seemed to stare right through him. No shrinking violet, this one. Glancing back at the house, she said, “Kistner’s driver was going to take me…”
“I’m here. He isn’t.”
Again she gave him that look, a silent third degree. She must have decided he was okay, because she finally rose to her feet. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Together they walked the graveled road to his car. As they approached, Guy noticed a back door was wide open and a pair of dirty brown feet poked out. His driver was sprawled across the seat like a corpse.
The woman halted, staring at the lifeless form. “Oh, my God. He’s not-”
A blissful snore rumbled from the car.
“He’s not,” said Guy. “Hey. Puapong!” He banged on the car roof.
The man’s answering rumble could have drowned out thunder.
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty!” Guy banged the car again. “You gonna wake up, or do I have to kiss you first?”
“What? What?” groaned a voice. Puapong stirred and opened one bloodshot eye. “Hey, boss. You back so soon?”
“Have a nice nap?” Guy asked pleasantly.
“Not bad.”
Guy graciously gestured for Puapong to vacate the back seat. “Look, I hate to be a pest, but do you mind? I’ve offered this lady a ride.”
Puapong crawled out, stumbled around sleepily to the driver’s seat and sank behind the wheel. He shook his head a few times, then fished around on the floor for the car keys.
The woman was looking more and more dubious. “Are you sure he can drive?” she muttered under her breath.
“This man,” said Guy, “has the reflexes of a cat. When he’s sober.”
“Is he sober?”
“Puapong! Are you sober?”
With injured pride, the driver asked, “Don’t I look sober?”
“There’s your answer,” said Guy.
The woman sighed. “That makes me feel so much better.” She glanced back longingly at the house. The Thai servant had appeared on the steps and was waving goodbye.
Guy motioned for the woman to climb in. “It’s a long drive back to town.”
She was silent as they drove down the winding mountain road. Though they both sat in the back seat, two feet apart at the most, she seemed a million miles away. She kept her gaze focused on the scenery.
“You were in with the general quite a while,” he noted.
She nodded. “I had a lot of questions.”
“You a reporter?”
“What?” She looked at him. “Oh, no. It was just…some old family business.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but she turned back to the window.
“Must’ve been some pretty important family business,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Right after you left, he canceled all his appointments. Mine included.”
“You didn’t get in to see him?”
“Never got past the secretary. And Kistner’s the one who asked to see me.”
She frowned for a moment, obviously puzzled. Then she shrugged. “I’m sure I had nothing to do with it.”
And I’m just as sure you did, he thought in sudden irritation. Lord, why was the woman making him so antsy? She was sitting perfectly still, but he got the distinct feeling a hurricane was churning in that pretty head. He’d decided that she was pretty after all, in a no-nonsense sort of way. She was smart not to use any makeup; it would only cheapen that girl-next-door face. He’d never before had any interest in the girl-next-door type. Maybe the girl down the street or across the tracks. But this one was different. She had eyes the color of smoke, a square jaw and a little boxer’s nose, lightly dusted with freckles. She also had a mouth that, given the right situation, could be quite kissable.
Automatically he asked, “So how long will you be in Bangkok?”
“I’ve been here two days already. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Damn, he thought.
“For Saigon.”
His chin snapped up in surprise. “Saigon?”
“Or Ho Chi Minh City. Whatever they call it these days.”
“Now that’s a coincidence,” he said softly.
“What is?”
“In two days, I’m leaving for Saigon.”
“Are you?” She glanced at the briefcase, stenciled with U.S. Army ID Lab, lying on the seat. “Government affairs?”
He nodded. “What about you?”
She looked straight ahead. “Family business.”
“Right,” he said, wondering what the hell business her family was in. “You ever been to Saigon?”
“Once. But I was only ten years old.”
“Dad in the service?”
“Sort of.” Her gaze stayed fixed on some faraway point ahead. “I don’t remember too much of the city. Lot of dust and heat and cars. One big traffic jam. And the beautiful women…”
“It’s changed a lot since then. Most of the cars are gone.”
“And the beautiful women?”
He laughed. “Oh, they’re still around. Along with the heat and dust. But everything else has changed.” He was silent a moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “If you get stuck, I might be able to show you around.”
She hesitated, obviously tempted by his invitation. Come on, come on, take me up on it, he thought. Then he caught a glimpse of Puapong, grinning and winking wickedly at him in the rearview mirror.
He only hoped the woman hadn’t noticed.
But Willy most certainly had seen Puapong’s winks and grins and had instantly comprehended the meaning. Here we go again, she thought wearily. Now he’ll ask me if I want to have dinner and I’ll say no I can’t, and then he’ll say, what about a drink? and I’ll break down and say yes because he’s such a damnably good-looking man…
“Look, I happen to be free tonight,” he said. “Would you like to have dinner?”
“I can’t,” she said, wondering who had written this tired script and how one ever broke out of it.
“Then how about a drink?” He shot her a half smile and she felt herself teetering at the edge of a very high cliff. The crazy part was, he really wasn’t a handsome man at all. His nose was crooked, as if, after managing to get it broken, he hadn’t bothered to set it back in place. His hair was in need of a barber or at least a comb. She guessed he was somewhere in his late thirties, though the years scarcely showed except around his eyes, where deep laugh lines creased the corners. No, she’d seen far better-looking men. Men who offered more than a sweaty one-night grope in a foreign hotel.
So why is this guy getting to me?
“Just a drink?” he offered again.
“Thanks,” she said. “But no thanks.”
To her relief, he didn’t press the issue. He nodded, sat back and looked out the window. His fingers drummed the briefcase. The mindless rhythm drove her crazy. She tried to ignore him, just as he was trying to ignore her, but it was hopeless. He was too imposing a presence.
By the time they pulled up at the Oriental Hotel, she was ready to leap out of the car. She practically did.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, and slammed the door shut.
“Hey, wait!” called the man through the open window. “I never caught your name!”
“Willy.”
“You have a last name?”
She turned and started up the hotel steps. “Maitland,” she said over her shoulder.
“See you around, Willy Maitland!” the man yelled.
Not likely, she thought. But as she reached the lobby doors, she couldn’t help glancing back and watching the car disappear around the corner. That’s when she realized she didn’t even know the man’s name.