Intent to Kill Page 12

  Claire fingered her napkin. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Whatever the reason for her being summoned here, it wasn’t to enrich her travel experience.

  Samnang must have sensed a shift in her thoughts as he abruptly changed topics. “Claire, can I be forthright?”

  Something dark and deadly flitted for a moment in his eyes.

  Claire nodded and tensed. Finally. What she’d been summoned for.

  “I was concerned for you. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.” He smiled at her and somehow that gesture seemed more sinister than friendly.

  Claire pushed back in the chair, putting distance between them. “Really?”

  “I hate to bother you with this. You’re on a holiday, after all.” He swept heavy dark hair from his forehead. “But smuggling has gotten troublesome here in Reap. One of the bigger players is here now.”

  “I . . .”

  “Surprising, yes, I know. But it gets worse. Foreigners.”

  She leaned forward. She tried to keep her expression open as she sensed a dark edge beneath his geniality.

  “Another tourist was killed just a few days ago. I heard she got in the middle of a smuggling deal.”

  “Antiquities?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. Deep grooves bracketed his full lips and his full eyebrows were a black and white abstraction but his eyes drilled into hers with an almost youthful passion. “I have been investigating this ring for a while. This place is rife with smugglers, but the one that concerns me most is Simon Trent.”

  She tried to keep the shock from her face and knew she failed.

  “Do you know him?”

  “We met, briefly.” It was a lie she wasn’t sure she could carry. Whatever Simon might not be telling her, it was Samnang she couldn’t trust. Sakda, she reminded herself as he leaned forward.

  She jerked back.

  For a moment a hard look flitted across his face. Then the look was gone. “Be careful. He’s not someone you can predict, and if you get in his way, he’ll kill you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s killed before. A local. A woman he was seeing. She—” He paused and glanced around, as if afraid he would be overheard. “Discovered what he was about and went to the authorities. He found out and well, I hate to say this but he killed her.”

  Claire fought to keep her immediate reaction under control. Akara. Was it Akara they spoke of—and had she been murdered and not just a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? But Simon? Simon was not the man Samnang tried to portray. He was intensely passionate, skilled at loving—sensitive. He was no killer. She suspected he was good at what he did. She suspected it was a result of his intelligence and ability to outmaneuver his opponents. Still, she had no proof, nothing tangible that defined Simon Trent, neither the person nor the Interpol operative. She had only what he, the news media, and her heart had told her.

  “Not immediately. I’ll give Trent some credit. He waited, probably loved her in his own way. Unfortunately, she persisted. Reported one of his shipments, and when the authorities showed up, she was there. I don’t want to go into details.” His gaze met Claire’s. “Suffice it to say that he shot her point-blank, without hesitation. Single gunshot wound to the head.”

  Claire gasped. The story was true, at least the death—Akara. Only the culprit was in question.

  “Yes, it is bad. He ran. It was obvious he was guilty. He hid out in Laos, another girlfriend helped him.” The pain in his eyes seemed to flirt with truth.

  She shrank further away from him, her back huddled against her chair.

  “He has a history of using women.” He sipped his drink. “The American embassy stepped in and Trent was found innocent. The girl’s brother spoke for Trent.”

  “And you think he did that—killed her, I mean?” She said the words, not believing one of them. And wanting to end this meeting now, as the longer she sat here, the more his presence seemed to make her skin crawl. Suddenly escape was looking more enticing than capturing the story.

  He twirled the straw in his drink before benefiting her with his dark gaze. “No, in answer to your question, I do not think Trent is responsible. I know he is. There’s something the authorities don’t know. She was pregnant, but the baby wasn’t his and she had just told him.”

  “Why wasn’t he arrested?”

  “Like I said, he fled. He’s been undercover. Only recently has he returned.”

  “How do you know this?” The words were thick, her throat painfully dry. Her gut screamed that he lied.

  “Ah, Claire, there are some things that can’t be spoken of.” He fingered his drink. “Trent is extremely intelligent and that’s what makes him dangerous. His partner is no less so, with high connections in government. It has allowed the two of them to ferry their illegal goods back and forth across the border for years.”

  “What does his partner look like?”

  Was it her imagination or did he straighten up slightly. “He’s tall, at least for a Cambodian, about five feet ten. I’ve heard him described by women as handsome. I suppose that’s an old-fashioned term. I wouldn’t know one way or the other. Age, height, those things I can tell you.”

  “Age?”

  “Late thirties. I suppose you’ve seen him?”

  “No.” But her thoughts went to the airport. No, Simon wouldn’t have lied to her, not about that. There was no need. And yet, he had been evasive.

  “No,” she repeated. “I’ve never seen him.” Her temple began to throb. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go.” Her chair scraped back. “Will you be in town for a while?”

  “A week or so.” He stood, gesturing with his hand, obviously meaning to escort her out.

  She held up her hand, realizing for the first time that taking a backseat, not rocking the boat, had benefits, especially in a situation like this. “You stay, order your lunch. I’ve got some things to do.”

  “Claire, one other thing. Say hi for me to your Uncle Jack.”

  “Excuse me?” She sat back down abruptly, perching on the edge of her chair. “How do you know my uncle?”

  Samnang smiled slowly. “Let’s just say I have my sources. There isn’t much I don’t know about you, Claire.” He drew her name out in a way that made her unease pool and thicken. “We worked together once, your uncle and I.”

  “Where?”

  He raised his hand and glanced at his watch. “Time is getting short. It’s a story for another time.”

  Her heart pounded. He knew of her, he’d investigated her. He knew her Uncle Jack.

  “How I knew your uncle is really not a very interesting story, at least to me, but I will tell it. One day. Now, please, be off. I’d hate to get in the way of things you have to do.” The last was etched in a hint of sarcasm.

  Claire left as her stomach churned. Her instincts were screaming at her and her reporter’s curiosity was in overdrive, overriding her fear, overriding everything.

  • • •

  “Vanna, I need your help,” Claire said, her phone sweaty in her palm. Despite the fact that they were friends from school, Claire was nervous about this call. Nervous, if she was truthful, not about her friend, who she missed, but about the story that was taking her into places she’d never imagined.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised, Claire,” Vanna said after listening to Claire’s abbreviated explanation. “But I’m a little worried. If you’re right, this could be going south fast. The theory about the Khmer Rouge being mostly old men and dying out is wrong. The seventies were long ago but some were little more than children when they were recruited. And even the ones that were older, well, there’s many that aren’t in their dotage yet.”

  “I agree. That’s why I’m phoning. That and to set up a time to see you.”

  “And, about time.”

  Claire’s laugh was brief. “Look, can you access any records on some of the higher-ranked Khmer Rouge of that time? Especially those who might have been assigned to camps in
the Siem Reap area.”

  The Khmer Rouge had kept records on many of their victims, and while Claire wasn’t sure if that held for all the officials, the records were stored in S21, a former school in Phnom Penh which, during that era, had been used for torture of suspected dissidents.

  “I have a lot of leeway working with the university. Still, no guarantees, hon, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Look, depending on how it goes here I should be in Phnom Penh by the end of the week.” Claire chatted a few more minutes before disconnecting.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Samnang took the last flight into Reap yesterday.” Arun’s voice seemed loud in the early morning.

  “Shit!” Simon juggled the phone and thought of Claire, and all he wanted was to be with her.

  “Simon, are you listening?”

  He dragged his attention back to the conversation.

  “You’d better get a lockdown on her.” Arun’s voice was calm.

  He took a breath. “Look, don’t you think it’s about time you told me where you put the souvenir?”

  “No, Simon. If they corner you on this . . .”

  “I don’t know where it is.” Simon chuckled with no humor. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. “As if that would matter.”

  “We gotta hope it will. It’s our only card until I get some loose ends tied up here.”

  “You have the authorities on alert?”

  “Yeah. Not the local police yet but Interpol. Like I said, they’re going to leave most of it up to us. Until there’s real evidence and a reason to move in they’re still thinking we’ve got a few weeks.” He sighed. “We’re getting nothing different.”

  “Damn it, Arun. We’re running out of time.”

  “I’m on my way. Talk to you soon.” The connection broke off.

  • • •

  She was in that dreamy nowhere between waking and sleep. She’d been dreaming about him, about Simon. And the knock on her door was only a continuation of that dream.

  “Claire,” Simon murmured as she opened the door. He pulled her into his arms. For a moment she didn’t respond. Then her arms reached around his neck and pulled him close.

  “This isn’t a dream,” she whispered as her body reacted instinctively.

  He nuzzled her neck as his foot kicked the door shut.

  He bent to kiss her, gathered her tighter and strode toward the bed.

  When he set her down, his gaze brushed clear and hot against hers.

  She couldn’t believe he was here, that this wasn’t a dream. All she wanted to do was crawl deeper into his arms.

  She drew her hand along his jaw, loving the grizzled feel against her palm. Her hands slid into his thick hair. Soft and silken, the sensual feel of it and the scent of lemon, uniquely him.

  “Claire,” he murmured.

  She could have sunk into the kiss that followed for the rest of the morning. But they both wanted so much more and soon he pulled her camisole over her head and flung it across the room. His lips devoured her as she removed his shirt, and then he released the tie to her silk shorts and slipped them over her thighs and dropped them to the floor. He pulled off his khakis and they faced each other naked and wanting.

  He smiled, that slow seductive smile that was so familiar. His hands slid to her shoulders and she shivered. His lips feathered over hers as his hands began an exquisite journey.

  The scent of incense filtered from somewhere else in the building and curled around them as they fell to the bed.

  “This isn’t forever,” she whispered against his lips. Even now she couldn’t lose track of her ambition, who she was—herself.

  His hand cupped her face and his other hand covered her breast.

  “I only wish.” His teeth nipped playfully at her lips.

  His lips claimed hers once again and she opened to him gladly, even as she pulled him over on top of her.

  It was long past daybreak. They’d slept and awoke and made love again. The knock on the door was distant and did not break the convulsions that rocked them both. Only the gasp brought them to reality. The back of the maid was all they saw as she fled the room.

  Simon rolled off Claire.

  She looked at him and his lips quirked. She began to laugh. “Can you believe it?”

  “Like a bad soap opera,” he replied. He played with her nipple. “Imagine what she’s telling the front desk right now.” He laughed and leaned down to take the stiffening flesh between his lips.

  Claire whimpered and rose to meet him. His teeth nipped. He cupped her buttocks, kneading the soft flesh, pressing her against his hardness. The arousal was back in one overheated flash. And it was her hand that guided him and initiated the final blaze until together they erupted again on what felt like the brink of heaven. Claire only knew that this time, when she fell over that precipice, when the delicious shivers were over, she felt peace for the first time in a long time.

  He traced a finger along her collarbone. “You feel like home.”

  For a moment she couldn’t take a breath. It was too much. Home was a safe place to fall, a place of trust and love and . . .

  She swung her legs over the bed and got up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving. I’ve got a lot to do today.” She couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t deal with emotion, with what this all might lead to—commitment. She wasn’t ready. She might never be ready.

  “You’re not ready. I shouldn’t have pressed you.” He shook his head. “Sex is one thing, a relationship another.”

  Not ready. Unbelievable, now he was reading her mind.

  But her entire body tingled and all she wanted to do was turn back into his arms.

  “Who was he?” Simon sat on the edge of the bed, his emerald gaze holding her, demanding an answer.

  She started.

  “It’s a man, isn’t it?”

  “No one, Simon. This isn’t about my love history. It’s about us and trust or the lack thereof.”

  “I remember you saying something about an engagement. That’s serious. What happened?” He easily dodged the issue of trust. He took her hand. “I’m sorry. I lose my head when you’re near. I only want to hold you, to . . .” His voice trailed off.

  She shook her head. “I know. I feel the same. Maybe it’s this place or maybe . . .” She looked up at him. “It’s something less tangible.”

  “Maybe.” He ran a finger along her upper arm and she turned into his touch. “So tell me, Claire. What’s bothering you? Like I said, I sense it involves a man.”

  “Garth was . . .” Claire stopped. How could she explain Garth? “He was my mother’s idea.” She smiled weakly. “That sounds bad.”

  “A bit,” Simon drawled. “Your mother sounds rather overbearing.”

  “She was. She’s gone now.” She looked away. “Both my parents are.”

  “I’m sorry.” His finger slipped lightly along the back of her hand, stroking—in an odd way giving her courage. “And Garth?”

  “Almost four years ago now. At the time, well, I broke it off a little late.”

  “You left him at the altar, so to speak.”

  “Not so to speak, literally.”

  “You’re kidding?” He threw his head back and laughed.

  “It wasn’t funny—not that day, anyway.” She turned away.

  “You didn’t want to hurt him, did you? That’s why you waited. You never want to rock anyone’s boat, make anyone feel bad.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “A bigger mistake if you’d gone through with it.”

  “You’re right, I know it.” She leaned back on her hands. “So that’s my breakup story. What’s yours?” The words were flip but she hadn’t had a serious relationship since.

  His face was distant. “Simon,” she prodded.

  “Nothing.” His attention returned to her, and pain etched his eyes and then was gone. “C’mon. Get dressed.”

  Minutes later
she was on his bike as they zipped through the chaos of Siem Reap’s traffic. And when they finally stopped they were at the Tonle Sap lake.

  He held out his hand and for the moment she took it and allowed herself to be led to the banks of the massive lake.

  “It covers most of the country during the rainy season. An incredible sight then.”

  “It’s amazing even now,” she breathed as she watched a man pole a bamboo raft and saw the ferry streaming water behind it as it headed to Phnom Penh.

  “As a child I lived on one of those for a short time.” He pointed to a group of small junks. “My parents were rather nomadic. Still are.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Zimbabwe. Teaching primary school in a bush camp.” He grimaced.

  “You come by your wanderlust naturally,” she murmured. “So, what brought you to Cambodia? You were here for a few years prior and then . . .”

  “You’ve checked me out?” He arched a beautifully sculpted dark eyebrow.

  “Ten years is a long time to stay in a strange country.”

  “I don’t agree. This country is my heart. What more do you need to make a place yours?”

  “I suppose nothing.” Sadness settled deep in her. She’d always lived in the United States but despite that she’d always felt displaced. “I never had that. My parents moved around a lot. But in the end every place looked the same.”

  “And none of it was home, I’m guessing.”

  “It wasn’t. I suppose my parents were so busy fighting the cold war of their marriage that neither of them realized they weren’t making a home for me.” She shrugged. “They both loved me so I can’t complain about that. I just feel bad for them.”

  “Don’t.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “You couldn’t change any of it. You can only change it for yourself, which I suspect you did.”

  “I did.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I have a condo in Minot that I shared with my friend Vanna through college and now it’s completely mine. I love it, Minot, I mean, my friends, maybe not the job so much but I’m working to change that.”

  “And you will,” he said. “If determination and talent count for anything.”