11

by Kylie Brant

  Her plate was nearly emptied by the time he finished talking. Immediately afterwards, he sent a text. Then he looked at her.

  “The local police are searching for you now. You’re wanted for questioning in your roommate’s death.”

  The news rocked her, the food in her mouth turning to ashes. “She’s…Hoa’s dead?”

  “Snapped her neck in the fall. What’s the name of the woman you say you talked to right before Hoa was killed?”

  Her throat was tight. It took effort to force the words out. “I only know her first name. Quyen. But the shop is called Nahn Café.”

  His fingers flew over the keys on the phone as he sent another message. “She can corroborate your story?”

  “I…” It was hard to think. To concentrate on anything but the litany hammering through her. Hoa was dead. And Mia had led her killer right to their door. “Quyen would at least be able to provide a timeline. She was closing the shop right after she waited on me. She’d know the approximate time I pounded on the door, yelling for her to call for help.”

  “Assuming she did, the police would be talking to her already. We’ll make sure she calls them, tells them about seeing you if she hasn’t already. Best case scenario, she already has and they have a witness to establish time of death and they just want you to add what you might know.”

  He didn’t have to continue with the worst-case scenario. She could already imagine it. If they believed she could have returned to the apartment to commit murder and then hurried back to rouse Quyen…or that she’d killed her before going to the coffeehouse… Mia put down the chopsticks, unable to eat more. It would take a very gifted defense attorney to extricate her from the Vietnamese prison system.

  “Maybe I should call them. Give my side of the story.”

  “No offense.” He slipped the cell in his pocket before reaching for his plate. “But your tale about Hoa’s killer doesn’t exactly ring with plausibility. Especially once they check with American authorities, discover nothing came of the investigation surrounding your story five years ago, your credibility here will be zilch. You’re a foreigner in the country with a false ID, and a history—in the eyes of many—of providing false information to the police. You have too much to lose and nothing to gain. Don’t worry. Kacee is handling it.”

  He had a way of setting her teeth on edge. “You’ll forgive me if that, coupled with your professed skepticism about my past doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. Exactly. I’m reserving judgment for the time being.” He tugged on the coverlet to pull the boxes of food closer to him. Selected some more caramelized shrimp. “Kacee found the names of six American women under the age of forty on the Da Nang airline manifest.” He reeled off the names from memory. “Any of those ring a bell?”

  She shook her head. “I told you, I don’t know her real name.” And perhaps the woman hadn’t known hers. She hadn’t used Mia’s name when she’d called out to her in the alley before Jude and she had driven off together. “I don’t even know if she’s really blonde.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out. I sent her picture to Logan, one of my IT specialists. Poking around the Vietnamese Customs database will get us a matching name.”

  Suspicions billowed up again, smoke from a simmering fire. “And you just happen to have her picture.”

  He nodded somberly. “I do. Because when I was buying the food, she was driving up and down the streets in the restaurant district. I followed her. She got out a couple times to try to talk to people. I took some photos on my camera phone.”

  Fear skittered up her spine. The food she’d been eating seemed to clog in her throat. “She followed us?”

  “Doubtful.” He reached for another box, considered its contents before offering it mutely to her. When she shook her head he emptied it onto his plate. “But she might have considered the avenues out of the country and figured you couldn’t chance the airport. The water would be the next logical choice.”

  Mia stared at him, arrested. “I wouldn’t have tried either.”

  Cocking a brow, he chewed deliberately before asking, “You hoped to hide indefinitely?”

  “No, I’d steal a scooter if I could. A bike if I couldn’t. Leave town, keeping to the smaller villages. Head to Hanoi, change my appearance, and use another ID to get an airline ticket.”

  “Well, at least you had a plan.” Seeming finally full, he began stuffing the trash into the empty bags. “Probably wouldn’t have worked if a Vietnamese version of a BOLO had gone out country-wide.”

  There was no reason for the criticism to smart. It wasn’t like she gave a damn about his opinion. “And you have a fool-proof escape strategy?”

  “Nothing’s fool-proof.” He wadded up the cartons in the sacks and set them on the floor. If there was a trash receptacle in the room, Mia hadn’t seen it. “But I’ve got some names of fishermen. Given the right incentive, one will agree to leave tonight, head for the Philippines.”

  “Somehow that seems fraught with possible complications.”

  “Complications are unavoidable. But all things considered, I like my odds.” He fiddled with his phone for a few moments, then surprised her by stretching out on the bed, setting the cell beside him. Folding his arms beneath his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes. “The boats won’t return for hours yet. Don’t forget to close and lock the window.”

  Mia gaped at him, vaguely insulted. He was sleeping? With an armed pissed off suspicious woman in the room? “You do appear to enjoy living dangerously.”

  “If you were going to use that knife on me, you’d have done it already.” He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “And whatever doubts you might have, I’m your best chance of getting out of the country.”

  The truth in his pronouncement burned. She wasn’t without options, but traveling with Bishop might be safer than striking out on her own. She didn’t trust him yet—not even close. But his story about Raiker was just as plausible as was her fear he’d sold her out.

  “There’s plenty of room on the bed.” A man shouldn’t look that comfortable in a room with a woman still contemplating doing him bodily harm. “You should get some sleep. Now, or later when I go out to find a boat for this evening.”

  Mia eyed the bed. It wouldn’t have passed for a double in the States, and he filled it up. His shoulders were surprisingly broad for someone so lean. And the chances that she’d crawl up there with him were only slightly less likely than the chance she’d ever close her eyes with another person in the room. Time and Dr. Halston had helped her heal. But the doctor had been a psychologist, not a magician. Some wounds were incurable.

  She went to the window and locked it, before going to the corner near it and sliding down the wall to sit cross-legged. Leaning her head against the wall, she set the knife on the floor next to her, within easy reach. She’d told Bishop she couldn’t imagine Four being released to come here alone. But if their captor were in the vicinity, why would he need the other woman? Mia couldn’t identify him. She’d never seen him without a mask. He could pass her on the street and she’d be clueless, whereas she’d recognized Four immediately, even from a distance.

  There were no easy answers to the questions bubbling inside her, so she had to put them aside, at least for the time being. It didn’t matter what Bishop thought of her. It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with being disbelieved. He could be useful. Authorities would be watching for a lone woman leaving the country, not a couple.

  Shifting to a more comfortable position, her gaze rested on Jude. Given the even rise and fall of the man’s chest, he’d fallen asleep immediately. But somehow she thought the slightest move on her part would bring him instantly alert. Little had been resolved. He’d countered her suspicions with rational explanations, and she needed to sort through the mental tangle to find coherence.

  But right now her thoughts were full of Hoa. A woman who had offered friendship and shelter. And in return Mia had brought dea
th to her door.

  * * * *

  The next time Jude returned to the room it was locked. “We’re set, Mia. Open up,” he murmured in a low voice. He could hear the sound of something being moved. The motorbike. Then the bolt slid back. But she didn’t open the door. He pushed it open, reached inside to flip on the light before entering cautiously.

  This time he found her in the center of the room. Upon seeing him, she tugged up the hem of her tee shirt to reveal a band of ivory skin while she replaced the knife.

  “Progress?”

  She sent him a questioning glance as she turned to pace the small area.

  “You put the knife away.” He relocked the door and went to the bed, tossing the sack he held on the bed and setting a six pack of Vietnamese beer on the floor beside it. “I’m touched.”

  “Don’t mistake it for a sign of trust.” Reaching one end of the room she turned to stride to the other. “I hate being confined. I’m ready to peel the paint off the wall with my fingernails.”

  He flicked a glance at the aged walls in question. “Looks like someone beat you to it.” He selected a beer, twisted the top off and raised the bottle to his lips. She’d spend hours, even days locked in her bedroom, he’d told Raiker. Of course that had been five and a half years ago. And compared to this minuscule hotel room, her bedroom suite would have been the size of a small apartment.

  “It’ll be a few more hours.” He regarded her over the top of the bottle. It wasn’t just the pacing. Tension was radiating off her in waves. “After midnight.”

  “What if the boat’s owner doesn’t show?”

  She was giving voice to his fear. The man he’d finally settled on didn’t summon a great deal of faith. But the fact that the boat owner had to appear in order to cash in on the final payment was Jude’s ace in the hole. Appealing to the baser side of human nature usually paid off. “I think he will. If not…” He paused for another drink. “Then I’ll try again tomorrow night.”

  The words failed to reassure her. Mia’s expression was grim. “The longer we’re here the better chance of being caught. Of someone seeing something on the news. Is Hoa’s death on TV?”

  “Yes.” He returned her gaze steadily. “And so is your passport photo.”

  That stopped her. She drew a deep breath. And then another. “Was there a police presence on the dock when you were down there?”

  She was too astute. “No. But there may be tonight. Unless I’ve managed to divert their attention from you.” He slipped his thumbnail under the bottle’s label to loosen it. “Kacee called back with a match on Four’s passport photo. Shelby Kronberg, from Colorado Springs. Heard of it before?”

  At her headshake he continued, “Likely because the Social Security number belongs to a five year old who’s been dead for twenty years. I arranged to have that information passed along to local police, along with the pictures I took this afternoon of the woman and the license plate of the car she was driving.” He rolled his shoulders. His muscles were tight. “We haven’t gotten much from the police records yet. Probably will have to wait until the first written reports are submitted through the department.” Hacking the Da Nang police department’s server would have been child’s play for his IT people. He knew from experience that poking around in the Customs database was much dicier.

  “A police interest will slow Four down,” murmured Mia. “Maybe send her underground.”

  “Divide her focus for sure.” Whatever the blond had been after today, it had been clear she’d meant Mia harm. For that alone she deserved any unwanted attention the police might bring to her. Jude raised the bottle for another swig. The heat index had eased somewhat toward nightfall, but the humidity near the water had still been stifling. “We have several hours before we have to go to the docks. It’d be best if you tried to sleep.”

  As an answer she approached him where he leaned against the wall and reached for a beer. Opened it. “What’s in the sack?”

  “Several sacks stuffed into one, actually. I didn’t want to draw attention by buying everything at the same place. A few odds and ends that might come in handy tonight.”

  She crossed to the bed and went through the bags. Her brows rose when she saw some of his purchases, but she said nothing.

  “You can talk to Raiker now. There’s plenty of time. It’s ten hours earlier in Wyoming, nine in DC. Not sure where he’ll be.” Setting the carton on the floor, he took out his cell.

  “No.”

  His fingers paused in the act of tapping in a number. “No what? No, there’s not plenty of time, or no, you’re not going to talk to Raiker?”

  Still restless, she went to the window, cracked the shade. Something furtive skittered in the alley outside, but at least it was a four-legged animal rather than two. “I won’t talk to Raiker until I’m back in the States. And then I’ll do it in person.”

  His voice was impassive. “You’re not exactly in a position to start making demands.”

  Mia gave a brittle laugh. “Is that what I’m doing? And here I thought I was playing it safe.” Turning from the window she looked his way, their gazes clashing. And had the random thought that eyes the color of his were wasted on a man. “You claim to want something from me. Before you receive it you’ll get me safely out of the country. Our level of distrust is reciprocal. Call it hedging my bets.”

  His mouth flattened to a thin line. That he wasn’t used to being faced with mutiny was obvious. But she’d been dealt few cards, and she’d bluff the hand she held for all she was worth. If he had sold her information to Four, he could summon the woman at any time. But she was beginning to believe he was at least telling the truth about Adam Raiker. Which gave her a tiny bit of leverage. She’d wield it ruthlessly.

  “Five years haven’t made you easier to deal with.”

  “I’ve been told I’m not particularly malleable.”

  An artic gust of memory blew across her mind. You make things hard on yourself when they could be so very easy, Eleven. You exist only to please me. Your every thought, your every breath should be devoted to that end. And I will Break. You. Down. Until you are everything I want. Until you are perfect inside, as well as out.

  Chilled, she brought the bottle to her lips. Drank. Dr. Halston had once mentioned that there was research being done on using amnesiac drugs to ease the fear response to traumatic memories. But it wasn’t the response she’d want to erase, but the memories themselves. They lived inside her, jagged slivers of recall that could rise at will, hurtling her back to a time she doubted she’d ever scour from her mind.

  “You don’t trust me, but I’m supposed to trust that you’ll make the call if I get you out of the country?” The sound of disgust he made was unmistakable. He drained the bottle he held and bent to replace it in the carton.

  “I’ll reimburse you for any expenses you incur,” she said stiffly. The condensation collected on the bottle must have transferred to her palms. Nothing else could explain how they’d gone inexplicably damp.

  He gave a slow nod. “Don’t worry, you’ll be billed. But know this— if I discover that you’ve lied to me about your roommate’s death, I’ll personally wrap you up like a Christmas gift and hand deliver you to the Da Nang police department’s doorstep.”

  Curiously, something inside her eased at his show of scruples. Was he too scrupulous to have led Four to her? Mia wasn’t quite ready to believe it yet. But if she could get on that boat he’d hired, a major problem would be solved in a matter of hours.

  She saluted him with her bottle. “Sounds like we understand each other perfectly.”

  * * * *

  The night was balmy, but they each wore one of the dark sweatshirts Jude had bought anyway. Hooded, they looked like a duo bent on committing a B&E. Their intent was no less illegal.

  Given the area of town, the occasional bar was still open as they walked to the wharf. More than once a police cruiser rolled slowly, one stopping to break up a scuffle outside a tavern.

&
nbsp; Jude was glued to Mia’s side. At the appearance of the first cruiser he’d thrown an arm around her shoulders, hauled her uncomfortably close in a half walk half stumble pace. She knew the pose would make them look like a couple making their drunken way home after too long at a nightclub. But his proximity had all her muscles tensing. She avoided physical contact whenever possible. Especially with males.

  With effort she withstood the unease scampering through her. Being pressed against Jude Bishop was not her biggest problem right now. Not by a long shot.

  As they drew closer to the wharves the noise dimmed. The infrequent activity quieted. Mia turned her head to scan the street behind them. If anyone was interested in their movement they were hidden in shadows. The knowledge wasn’t exactly calming. Her heart was tripping a rapid rhythm in her chest. The darkness veiled them, but also provided anyone watching them with the same anonymity.

  “We’ll be early on purpose.” Jude breathed the words. “I wanted to beat the fisherman here to be sure he doesn’t arrange for any surprises.”

  Her steps faltered at the words. Of all the myriad dangers they could possibly be confronted with, she hadn’t even considered the boat owner. For once she was—if not exactly grateful—certainly not unhappy Bishop was accompanying her.

  If it had been daylight they would have been able to see Cau Thuan Phuoc, the tall suspension bridge that spanned the water where the mouth of the Han River emptied into Da Nang Bay. But the docks they approached were working wharves, lined with fishing vessels that would set out for the South China Sea before dawn. Only an occasional light dotted the rows and rows of piers, making Mia grateful for the heavy half moon that lit their way.

  The lines of wooden docks were a maze with a common passway that connected them a hundred yards out. The individual docks radiated from it like fingers, each lined on both sides with boats.