Harken had no idea who the man was. Harken had arrived home from Bangkok just hours ago; with the exception of Rajini, Emmaline was basically alone—Harken swore to it.
Rolly would kill the man all the same. He didn’t care who he was; even if the man was Association, it was too late for them to stop him now—the TZ was already in place. That was one of the perks of having such a versatile weapon at your disposal. Let the entire Association storm the hotel. His buyers would welcome the demo.
He threw in his pants and his hat. Sexy white lingerie for Emmaline.
Harken came in with Rolly’s boots, shined up for the trip. “You’ll feel better when you see her again.”
“That makes one of us,” he said, throwing in the hammer. He hadn’t had the luxury of a hammer in prison. That was prison, always improvising.
He supposed there was a chance she’d show remorse and give herself sweetly over, but he didn’t dare hope for that; it was a recipe for unhappiness. Having to use the hammer made him sad. “Doesn’t take much to break a docile horse. It’s the wild ones where it means something,” he said, more for himself than Harken.
Rolly used to enjoy getting into her journal at night while she slept to see what she’d written. From the day he first came across her, he’d gotten a kick out of how she captured things in words, but she never once wrote about him.
It’s how he knew he never really had her.
Sometimes when they would have a good day together he would feel confident that she’d write in her journal about him. She never did.
He imagined how her eyes would look when he appeared in her room at the Imperiale Hotel Des Roses. They’d grow big as saucers with a look of surprise that would slowly die. If only she would be still and sweet for him, things would be okay.
He forced his mind off that line of thinking and checked his watch. Flight 5891 to Narita was scheduled to depart that night. He’d handle his business in Tokyo, and he’d be in Bangkok late Sunday.
Chapter Fifteen
Bangkok
Laney looked down at her suitcase, paralyzed with indecision. Paralyzed, yet shaky. Not the best combo on the menu.
The Shinsurins would have found the cell empty by now. What if they got the notion she’d helped Maxwell?
She hadn’t gone down for breakfast or lunch, but she couldn’t hide all day.
And what if she’d made a mistake? It was awful of the Shinsurins to hurt him and chain him up down there, but was it equally awful for her to let him out? He’d promised he wouldn’t go after the Shinsurins, but what if he’d been lying?
Hellbuckets.
She grabbed a handful of panties and threw them in. Going through the motions of packing, but how could she leave without a valid passport or money?
She collapsed on the bed.
What had she done?
But she’d do it again, that was the crazy thing. She’d let him out of there with glee. No, that wasn’t the precise word. She loved that Maxwell always went for a precise word.
She’d do it again with a sense of privilege.
So crazy. Maxwell had screwed her and invaded her privacy. And he carried three guns. He didn’t work for Rolly, but obviously he wasn’t a boy scout.
Still, you had to listen to your gut when you were on the run—Maxwell was right about that. Technically, he hadn’t lied to her once. And he was right about a lot, even the dragons. In a way, that meant more to her than the rest. And he had that thing with words. In fact, he really did seem like a man who would teach at the university.
He’d thought she should take off ASAP, like one of those brown birds. Well, she would take off. As soon as she got her money out of the bank. And she needed to cut and dye her hair.
Knock, knock.
She jumped nearly out of her skin.
A voice: “Laney?”
Niwat.
She froze.
Had he discovered her part in Maxwell’s escape? What if Sujet had said something? She stared at the balcony, feeling like she was in a dream. A three-story leap. Too far.
“Are you okay, Laney?”
He didn’t sound angry. And anyway, he could come in if he wanted. He had the master key. “One sec.” She shoved her suitcase under her bed. “Hold on.” She went to the door and opened it. “Hi.”
Niwat smiled. “It’s past noon. I didn’t wake you…”
“I had my headphones on.”
Niwat took a scan around her room; her iPod was not in evidence. “I just wanted to let you know, you have nothing to fear from your visitor.”
Nothing to fear? What did that mean? “Ah,” she said. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “He’s willing to play along. A businessman, just as I expected.”
She nodded, trying to look relieved. “Good. Wow.” How could he not know Maxwell was gone?
Niwat smiled. He wore a yellow turtleneck. Niwat was a turtleneck guy. An odd thing in Bangkok. “Nothing more to fear, okay?”
“Well!” she said, way too energetically. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
He hesitated. There was something more. “I’m confident this is the safest place for you,” he said, “but I understand you want to be ready for anything. So I came to tell you, I’ve expedited your passport. It will be ready in three days instead of the customary week.”
“Really?”
He looked away. “When I reflected on our conversation, I understood that you felt trapped. And then last night’s visitor frightened you, so I requested a rush. How do you like the name Gia Nordwall?”
She nodded. “It has a ring to it.”
“On Monday, Rajini will go to your bank with you and extract some funds. Soon after, the passport will be ready. There’s no place safer for you than with us, but we don’t want you to feel trapped.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Yin dee khrap,” he said. You’re welcome. He smiled. “Nearly full house tonight. Rest up.” With that he left.
She sank onto the bed. What in the hell? Why would he say she was safe if Maxwell escaped?
Nothing made sense.
Though a passport would make leaving easier. A couple more days. What would two days matter? Or should she flee like Maxwell said? The Shinsurins were far more dangerous than she’d imagined, but did that justify leaving with no passport and barely any money? They’d never been dangerous to her.
And what had happened with Maxwell?
Her brother Charlie would know what to do. She checked her email for the umpteenth time.
Still nothing.
Was he even getting her emails? He’d set up a secret account to email her with under a fake name, and he accessed it from a coffee shop only. They’d been so careful.
She sent him a quick message—I need your advice ASAP. I need to know you’re there! Charlie had gone through a phase of distrusting Rajini and her brothers, but lately he’d been all about her staying in the safety of the hotel. What would he say when she told him what the Shinsurins did to Maxwell?
Then she got a horrible thought: what if they’d caught Maxwell trying to escape? What if he was dead?
Her heart pounded. She didn’t dare sneak down there during the day, but she had to know. She took the elevator down to the lobby and found Sujet at his post near the door.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s new?”
“No scuttlebutt,” he said.
She smiled. She’d taught him that word. He liked funny English words, and they got him good tips from Americans and Canadians. “Have you heard anything regarding the downstairs guest?”
Sujet twisted his lips.
“What?”
“The staff is nervous,” Sujet said.
She felt the air go out of her. “How so?”
“Because he targeted you,” Sujet said, like it should be obvious. “Also, we thought they would turn him over to the police today, but he’s still down there.”
“Still down there?” Hadn’t the hairpins w
orked? “Are you sure? Did you see him?”
“No, but Pramod was asked to deliver an extra lunch for him an hour ago. And Dok was with the man all morning. It’s something serious.”
A chill came over her. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Jao and Niwat were running around angry. At Dok. Up and down several times.” He nodded at the front desk. “Don’t tell Sirikit and Kalaya. They’re uncomfortable that a man should be held for so long.”
“Right,” Laney said.
Sujet’s face darkened suddenly. He was looking over her shoulder.
She turned to see Rajini coming up behind her. “Laney!”
Rajini wore a red skirt suit, and her black hair was up in a princess do. “Have you had lunch?”
Laney smoothed her T-shirt. “No.”
“Café. Now.” Rajini hooked her arm in Laney’s. “Sorry, Sujet, I’m taking her.”
Laney threw Sujet an apologetic smile over her shoulder as Rajini pulled her to the hotel cafe.
“You get some sleep?” Rajini asked. “How are you?”
“Freaked,” Laney said as they settled in to their usual table.
“I bet.” Rajini signaled for ice teas.
Rajini wouldn’t like that she’d snuck down, but she needed to know what her brothers were up to. “There’s something you need to know,” Laney said.
“What?”
Just then, the waiter arrived and they ordered their usual—fried rice with prawns.
Rajini bent her head in once he left. “Niwat told you about the passport, right? You’ll be Gia. Guess who made that up?”
“Wait…isn’t she a dead supermodel?” Laney said.
“Yes, but it’s a cool name. Anyway, you can’t leave.” Rajini reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “I’ll die if you leave.”
“I don’t want to leave, but Rajini—this guy—”
“He’s not going to give you trouble. Got it?” Rajini raised her brows in the way she did when she would accept no argument. “Everything’s fine with him.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but detaining a man against his will? I didn’t want him to be hurt, and you’re not going to like this, but last night—”
“Laney. This isn’t America where everything is so black and white. I get how it seems to you—they’re holding this guy. What is that in the US? Kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment…”
“For starters.”
They fell silent as the waiter delivered their ice teas.
Rajini lowered her voice. “I get it, it seems wrong to you, but you can’t take your American yardstick and impose it on my brothers and people like Rolly and his men. They play by different rules. And don’t forget, my brothers are the good guys in this.” She sat back. “I can’t think of anybody better to deal with some thug of Rolly’s than my brothers. These guys—” she flung a hand in the direction of the lobby. “A show of power. It’s what they understand.”
“Meaning, some brutality is okay?”
“You want guards and fake passports, but no violence, nothing to offend your sensibilities. There’s no such thing as a Disney criminal, Laney. My brothers are here for you, just as they are for me. Trust that. Your visitor is perfectly comfortable, in case you’re wondering. You need to stop worrying.”
Laney knew when she was being handled by Rajini. She also knew that a man chained in a cell wasn’t comfortable. She looked down at her tea, re-thinking her big idea of confessing to Rajini that she’d been down there. “Fine. Here’s my bottom line,” she said. “I don’t think he’s some thug of Rolly’s, and I want him released.”
Rajini snorted. “Are you serious?”
“I think he’s not a threat to me.”
Rajini smiled. “Did you take a degree in FBI profiling when I wasn’t looking?”
“I don’t like him being held and I want him released. It’s not right. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually does work at the university.”
“The university. Seriously? Why would he have three guns? Why would he be in your computer? Why would he tell Niwat he was working for Rolly?”
Laney straightened. “He confessed he was working for Rolly?”
“Yeah. He told Niwat. They’re nearly at a deal.”
Laney stirred her tea thinking of the man down there. Things got simple when you were on the run. And things like truth and connection got important fast.
Somebody was lying. Who?
“It was the first thing Niwat did—check the university story.” Rajini squeezed a lemon into her tea. “Leave it.”
“You know for a fact he checked it. The university story. And you’re absolutely sure he doesn’t work there.”
“I’m absolutely sure that he doesn’t work there,” Rajini said. “I saw proof. Do you need to see proof? Is that what you need?”
No good would come of saying yes to that question. “I want him released.”
“It’s not your call. The man entered a guest’s room under false pretenses and was stealing something. It’s out of your hands.”
“The whole reason they kept him was on my behalf.”
Rajini gave her a look. “Let this be, Laney. It’s out of our hands. The man is fine. They’ll make a deal, and that’s that.”
Laney dumped sugar into her tea, heart racing. Rajini was a master at stonewalling disgruntled guests. Laney didn’t appreciate being on the other end of that.
At all.
She was thankful when their food arrived. She ate quickly and left, telling Rajini she needed to practice a new song.
Back up in her room, she sat on her bed, all jumpy and paranoid. It was getting to be like the old days, not sure who she could trust. Eyes everywhere.
Just then, she spied Maxwell’s business card on the floor. She picked it up and uncrumpled it. Peter Maxwell, Ph.D. A local number was on the bottom.
What would happen if she called it? Who would answer?
She grabbed her phone and punched it in. It rang a good ten times followed by a series of clicks—the phone transferring to another phone. A woman’s voice: “Bangkok International University.”
She asked for Peter Maxwell.
Hold please. Again the ringing. The operator came back. “He’s not there.” She told her to try back. No, she didn’t know when Maxwell would be in. His hours and class schedule were on the website.
The website. Hello. How had she not thought to Google him?
She went to her laptop and put in Peter Maxwell and linguistics. The number of entries surprised her. He’d even written two books.
Well, she could go around with business cards saying she was Lady Gaga; that wouldn’t make her Lady Gaga.
Then she found an image from the back of one of Maxwell’s book covers.
It was a low-res, black-and-white photo, but it looked a whole lot like the guy down in the dungeon. He had different glasses, but the same blond hair. The same face shape—a sort of masculine diamond; a movie star face shape. Pleasing. Perfect.
You couldn’t tell for certain if the Maxwell in the photo had gray-blue eyes, but the glint was right—that mix of arrogant humor and lively curiosity. Even in a basement cell in Bangkok, he’d had that glint. But she couldn’t be sure from just the picture. Could the man in the basement have chosen this identity because they were lookalikes?
Rajini had told her flat out that he wasn’t a teacher at the university. That she knew it for a fact. That there was proof. Maxwell said that he did teach there.
Who was lying?
The answer to that question seemed massively important. It would tell her everything about who to trust.
The Bangkok International University wasn’t far. According to the website, Maxwell was teaching in a weekend program. His Saturday class began at three. Less than an hour.
She’d get the truth. She was done being handled. Doner than done.
Bangkok International University was located in Dusit, the government area of Bangkok, which was
lusher and less cramped than the business and tourist-oriented areas. The central school building was a large, mostly glass structure with colorful art showing through from the inside, like candy in a case.
School was in session, with students from all over bustling around. She asked directions and finally made it to a shiny, modern lecture hall where adjunct professor Peter Maxwell was to be guest lecturing. She raced up the steps, hoping to catch the real Maxwell in action. She arrived at the doors just in time to face a wall of students—mostly women—coming out.
“Is Professor Maxwell in there?” she asked one woman.
“No. We have a TA this week.”
“Is he sick?”
The woman shrugged. “They said he won’t be in.”
Mildly helpful. She thanked her and went up to a pair of women. “Did Professor Maxwell say anything about where he’s gone? I really need to find him.”
“Hah,” one of them said. “Get in line.” She had a French accent.
“Others are looking for him?” Laney asked.
“Who doesn’t want to run into the good professor?” the French woman said.
Laney stuffed down the flare of possessiveness. She pointed at the book in the French woman’s hand. “May I?”
The French woman handed it over.
Laney pointed at the back picture. “Does Professor Maxwell have different glasses from these?” Laney asked.
“Yeah. Less frame. Less big and clunky.”
“Goldish? Thin gold on the sides but mostly glass?”
“Yeah,” the first said.
Like the ones worn by the man in the cell. She was getting a bad feeling about all this.
“What color are his eyes?”
“Have you met him or not?” the American said. “‘Cause if you’d met him, you’d know.”
“Blue-ish silver,” the French woman told her. “Quite piercing.”
“Is his hair longer now than in this picture?”
“A tiny bit longer,” the American said. “Tucked behind his ears. Why?”
Goosebumps climbed the back of her neck. “I just need to figure out if I’ve met him,” she said. “Does he wear a white T-shirt under his button shirt sometimes?”
Off the Edge (The Associates) Page 13