“Sawatdee khrap. Sabaaidee rue khrap?” His raspy words were accompanied by a wide grin.
“Koon Aran, Sawatdee khrap.” Hawke spoke quietly, his tone fluid and musical, his hand still wrapped around Miranda’s. She had the urge to lean her head against his shoulder and close her eyes for just a moment. She’d been sick with worry and fear for hours. Now, with Hawke back, his words flowing in a gentle cadence around her, she wanted to cave in, close off and forget for just a while the trouble she was in.
“Whoa! You’re fading, babe.” Hawke dragged her up against his side, his gaze smoky with concern and some other emotion Miranda couldn’t name.
The older man looked alarmed and shouted something into the apartment before hurrying inside.
“I’m okay. Just daydreaming. What’s going on?”
“Koon Aran has agreed to let us rent his motorcycle for a few days. He’s gone to get it.”
“From inside his apartment?”
“The people who live here have very little. What they have they can’t afford to lose.” As he spoke an elderly woman appeared carrying two bowls, a white porcelain spoon sticking up from each.
She spoke quietly, handing one bowl to Hawke and placing the other in Miranda’s hands.
“She says to eat.”
“What is it?” Miranda glanced down into the bowl, the scent of spring onions wafting from the steamy contents. Wide noodles, small chunks of meat and bits of onion floated in light brown broth.
“Lat Na. Rice noodles in broth with chicken.” Hawke didn’t waste any time digging in to his, and Miranda realized he must be as hungry as she was. Had he eaten while he was gone? Or had he gone hungry the way Miranda had?
He lifted a brow, gestured toward her bowl of noodles. “Eat.”
She did as he suggested, the warmth of the soup sliding straight into her energy-starved body. “It’s good.”
“New things aren’t always bad.” His lips curved, his hard features softening.
Despite her anxiety, Miranda’s own lips curved in response. She might still be in danger, might still be running for her life, but at least she wasn’t alone. The relief of having Hawke back with her would have been comforting if she weren’t so sure that what was coming next was going to be worse than what she’d already experienced. “I still think I’d rather be home.”
“You will be.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Miranda might have asked exactly what he meant by soon, but the elderly man appeared in the threshold of the door, a black motorcycle rolling along beside him.
Hawke pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, handed it and their empty bowls over. Then he turned and met Miranda’s gaze. “Ready?”
No, but the only other choice was to stay behind and there was no way Miranda was going to do that. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He grabbed her hand again, his fingers curving around hers, his calloused palm rasping against her skin. She shivered at the contact, the warmth that spread through her at Hawke’s touch something she hadn’t expected and didn’t want.
“Cold?” His words whispered against her ear and she shook her head, afraid if she spoke he’d hear what she was feeling.
“All right then. Let’s go.” He squeezed her hand then let it go, rolling the bike down the hall.
Miranda hurried after him. In just a few minutes they’d be on the way to Chiang Mai, heading toward the answers they needed so desperately. Miranda wanted to believe they’d find them, that Hawke had been right when he’d said she’d be home soon. But something told her that her journey through Thailand had just begun and that things would get much worse before they got better.
If they got better.
As she stepped out into the balmy night, she could only pray that they would.
Chapter Eleven
Miranda had ridden on the back of a motorcycle before, but never on a dark, empty road in a foreign land; never when she was running from the police and being chased by a killer. Helmetless, she clung to Hawke’s back as the bright lights of the city faded into the distance and the heavily populated suburbs gave way to open, empty land. Rain was in the air. She could feel it in the moisture that clung to her skin and turned her wild, whipping hair into a sodden, slapping mass of curls. Soon the sky would open up, pouring gallons of rain down on their heads, but even then they couldn’t afford to stop. There was too much at stake. Their lives. Their freedom. The life of Hawke’s brother. She knew it. Hawke knew it. No discussion was needed on the subject. They’d drive until they needed gas. Then they’d drive some more.
Mile after mile, minute after minute passed, the first sixty not bad, the second more uncomfortable. By the third, Miranda was shivering with cold, the thin cotton T-shirt she wore no buffer against the chilly night air. The scent of wet earth, rotting plants and asphalt filled her lungs and clogged her throat. She coughed, but couldn’t dislodge the moist fetid air.
“You okay?” Hawke shouted the words above the roar of the engine, his words breaking the monotony of the ride for the first time since they’d left Bangkok.
“Yes.”
“You’re shivering.”
“It’s a little cold, but I’ll be fine.”
To her surprise, the bike slowed, easing to the side of the road, and then stopping, the engine dying, the sudden silence deafening.
Hawke shifted, his shadowy form angling toward her. “A little cold? You’re shaking like a leaf.”
He rubbed her arms, his hands sliding against cotton and flesh, generating heat Miranda desperately needed.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Hop off the bike.” Miranda did as he suggested, watching as Hawke did the same. He pulled off his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders. “Put that on.”
“You need it more than I do. I’ve at least got someone blocking the wind.”
“Don’t worry. Being prepared for trouble may not make life’s journey less bumpy, but it makes those bumps more comfortable. Always be prepared.”
“Another Hawke Morran quote?”
“A Patrick Morran quote. My stepfather loved to mix his own wisdom with that of history’s great sages.” He pulled off his pack, grabbed a lightweight jacket out of it, and shrugged it on.
“It sounds like he was a neat guy.”
“He was. Why don’t we stretch our legs? Have some water?”
“I’ve got another five hours in me before I need a good stretch.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but there was no way Miranda planned to be the reason they had to take a break.
“You’re a trooper, babe.” There was a smile in his voice. “But even the toughest soldier has to stop sometimes.” He zipped the jacket she’d put on, and pulled the collar up around her neck, his scent enveloping her—masculine and strong.
“I may be tired of riding on the back of this motorcycle, but not tired enough to risk our lives or your brother’s to take a break.”
“Have you always been like this, Miranda Sheldon?” His hands framed her face, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Miranda’s face heated beneath his touch, her mind suddenly blank. “Like what?”
“Practical. Determined.”
“No.” She used to be a dreamer, her head filled with fairy tales, but that had changed. One too many broken promises. One too many shattered dreams. “I’ve had to learn to be. My nephew was autistic. Practicality and determination went a long way in creating a good life for Justin.”
“And love. I bet you showered your nephew with love.” His hands slipped from her face, and he tugged her a few steps away from the motorcycle, darkness pressing in around them. Somehow it freed the words that Miranda hadn’t been able to say. Not to Lauren. Not to
Max. Not to friends. Barely to herself. “Yes, but in the end, I failed him. The night he died, I was going to a bridal shower, leaving him with my sister for the night.”
“Leaving him with his mother.”
“I was his mother. I should never have left them together. Lauren is self-absorbed. She couldn’t be expected to care for someone with Justin’s needs.”
“What happened?”
“Justin wandered outside while Lauren was on the phone. He was hit by a drunk driver just a block from our house. I know he was looking for me.” Her voice broke, and she stopped, tears clogging her throat and seeping from her eyes.
“You can’t know that.” Hawke wrapped his arms around her, pulling Miranda’s head to his chest, his hand stroking her hair.
“Maybe not, but I believe it.” She let herself relax, the beat of his heart, the quiet inhalations of his breathing steady and sure and as familiar as her own. How that could be, she didn’t know. They were different in every way, his past so far removed from her’s that they were like creatures from different planets. She was quiet, bookish, boring. He was energy, action, barely concealed violence. Yet she couldn’t deny the thread that stretched between them, pulling them closer with every moment spent together.
The thought made her uncomfortable and she stepped out of his embrace. “We need to get going again.”
“We do, but not before I tell you this.” He shifted, leaning close and staring into her eyes. His face was a stone sculpture, cold and hard with only a hint of human warmth beneath it. “I’ve learned in life, babe, that we can’t change yesterday. Believing you could have done something to prevent your nephew’s death is a waste of energy. Instead, you should remember all the love you gave him while he was alive and know you did the best you could for him.”
“That isn’t easy to do.”
“No, but in the end it’s the only way we can keep from being destroyed.” He sounded like he knew what he was talking about and Miranda strained to see more of his expression in the dim light. All she saw were hard angles, harsh planes and secrets; the kind of man that, if she saw him on the street she’d avoid. Yet, here they were a team. Together for however long it took to find the person who’d set Hawke up. Maybe coincidence had brought them together. Or maybe God had. If so, there was a reason for it. One Miranda could only hope she’d eventually understand.
“Hawke—”
“You were right, we do need to go.” He led her back to the motorcycle and climbed on, his tense muscles telling her more than words just how closed the conversation was.
It was for the best. Building more of a connection with Hawke could only be a mistake. Once this was over, he’d go his way. She’d go hers. It was as inevitable as getting back on the motorcycle and heading toward whatever trouble awaited them in Chiang Mai.
Miranda sighed, climbing on the bike behind Hawke, wrapping her arms around his waist, her eyes trained on the asphalt stretching out before them, beckoning them to answers or to death. Miranda shuddered and for just a moment Hawke’s hand covered hers, his fingers pressing gently in silent support.
And the thread that stretched between them wound itself just a little tighter around her heart.
* * *
Golden fingers crept across the horizon as Hawke pulled the motorcycle into an alley and parked it. The buildings on either side were three stories high, their whitewashed brick facades stark in the hazy purplish light. Cars and motorcycles zipped past the mouth of the alley, rickety pickup trucks and rumbling buses interspersed between them. The humid air was thick with the scent of garlic, spices and a sweet flowery scent that Miranda didn’t recognize.
This was Chiang Mai.
Miranda didn’t know if she should be relieved that they’d finally arrived at their destination or terrified of what would come next.
Hawke climbed off the bike and offered a hand to Miranda. If he was tired, it didn’t show. There were no shadows beneath his eyes, no hollowness to his face. Black stubble covered his jaw and his eyes were eerily light against his tan skin. “That last hour was rough. You did good, babe.”
“All I did was hold on.”
“That’s a whole lot better than the alternative.” He smiled, extending a hand and pulling Miranda off the motorcycle. “Unfortunately, we’re not done yet. We’ve got three blocks to go before we’re where we need to be.”
“Your boss’s house?”
“Yes. He lives in a compound in town. It shouldn’t be hard to get there. Provided he doesn’t already know we’re coming.”
His words did what arriving in Chiang Mai hadn’t, shooting adrenaline into Miranda’s blood and giving her the energy she needed to move. “And if he does?”
“Then we’ll know it soon enough. Come on.” He led her to the mouth of the alley and onto a street alive with early-morning traffic. A vendor moved up the sidewalk pushing a silver cart, a wide-brimmed straw hat hiding his face, his flip-flops slapping against the concrete as he walked. A woman swept the pavement in front of a store, the fan-shape broom swooshing with each brush and sway. It seemed a peaceful, ordinary morning, but that didn’t mean trouble wasn’t lurking around the next corner.
“Do you think they’re out here looking for us?” She whispered the question, afraid that speaking too loudly would upset the balance and send the world tumbling back into terror.
“The DEA or friends of the man who set me up?”
“Either. Both.”
“There’s a chance, but I’m banking on them heading to Mae Hong Son instead.”
“What’s in Mae Hong Son?”
“I have a home there. Men who work for me. Resources available to me. It would make sense for me to go there.” He pulled her around a corner and down a side street, his stride long and confident, as if he had no fear at all that they’d be spotted.
“What do you plan to do when we get to your boss’s house?” If they got there. Miranda still wasn’t sure they would.
“Nothing much. I just want to have a little chat with him.” The grim tone warned Miranda that there might be a lot more to Hawke’s plan than he was letting on.
“What if he doesn’t want to have a chat with you?”
“Did I say I was going to give him a choice?” Hawke shot a look in her direction, his eyes steel-gray and cold.
“Not unless I have to.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Miranda grabbed the sleeve of Hawke’s jacket and stopped. “If you do something to him, we’ll be in even more trouble than we’re already in.”
“Babe, we can’t possibly be in any more trouble. Besides, Jack McKenzie and I have known each other for years. He’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“I do.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you called your boss instead? Just asked him the questions over the phone.”
“It would be better if you were quiet for a while. This isn’t a touristy part of town and your English is going to call attention to us.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, babe. Just be quiet.” He grinned and squeezed her hand.
Miranda’s heart skipped a beat, but she couldn’t quite return the smile. For all Hawke knew, there were a hundred men waiting for them at his boss’s house, ready to arrest them. Or kill them.
“We’re here,” Hawke whispered close to her ear, his words barely vibrating in the air.
Here was a thick white wall topped with shards of glass that glistened in the early-morning sun. Blades of yellow grass clung to the base of the wall, scraggly and unsure.
“Ever ride a horse?”
Hawke’s question took Miranda by surprise and for a moment she could think of no answer. Finally, she nodded. “A few times.
”
“Good. Hand me the jacket.”
Miranda shrugged out of Hawke’s jacket and passed it to him, watching with growing worry as he tossed it onto the top of the fence. Surely he didn’t plan for them to scale the fence. If he did, he was going to be disappointed in Miranda’s climbing abilities. She’d spent her childhood reading books, not climbing trees and jumping fences.
“You first. I’ll follow.” Hawke gestured to the wall, and Miranda took a step back.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
“Sure you are. I’ll give you a leg up. Just mount the fence like you would a horse. Then lower yourself down the other side.”
“There isn’t a horse alive as tall as that fence. It must be ten feet high.”
“Eight.” His eyes dared her as he cupped his hands together and waited.
She took a deep breath, nodded her head. “All right, let’s do it.”
Hawke smiled again, a crooked grin that hooked Miranda’s heart and tugged hard. She looked away, not wanting him to see the heat staining her cheeks; not wanting to contemplate the reasons why heat was staining her cheeks.
If Hawke noticed her discomfort, he didn’t comment. Instead, he grabbed her foot, supporting the arch in his hands. “Make sure you go over the jacket. The glass shards will tear your hands to pieces if you don’t.”
Miranda nodded, though torn hands were the least of her worries. If she wasn’t careful, she’d go over on her head and break her neck. She just prayed she’d manage to land on her feet.
Hawke straightened, boosting Miranda in a quick, effortless movement that had her sailing upward at an alarming rate. She grabbed the top of the fence, spiky glass digging into her skin despite the thick leather of the jacket. A quick pivot, a swing of her leg and she was over, dangling by her hands, her feet scratching against stucco as she tried to convince herself to drop.
A thump and bang warned her that Hawke was on his way over, but still she couldn’t release her grip.
“Are you planning to hang there all day?” Hawke’s gruff voice whispered down at her. She looked up, saw him perched on the fence, balancing on the balls of his feet and looking completely at ease.
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