Intent to Kill Page 15

  He’d been waiting for almost two hours at an outdoor café just outside her hotel when the cab pulled up and she stepped onto the curb.

  “Simon.” His name was cool on her lightly glossed lips.

  “Have a seat.” He held a chair out to her.

  “I’d rather . . .” she began.

  “I know. Be anywhere else but here—with me. I’m sorry.”

  “Simon . . .”

  “Let me explain.”

  “Again?” This time she smiled, but there was an edge that made the gesture fleeting.

  Claire turned her attention to the waiter and ordered a Coke. She turned back to Simon. “The Buddha I took on that ferry wasn’t the one I purchased, was it?”

  There was no point denying it, Claire was one of the most intelligent people he’d met. And it seemed he was doing everything possible to screw up any relationship between them. And yet, with the truth of who and what he was, he knew a relationship was a pipe dream. The assignment, his employers, Arun, even Claire herself depended on his silence. It wasn’t about trust, not anymore. Maybe it never had been. He blew out a breath and met the passion in her eyes.

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t, and I was hoping I was wrong. Where’s the real antiquity?” She eyed him.

  “Safe.”

  “You switched it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Luckily, just before you stole it.”

  “I didn’t steal anything that didn’t already belong to me.” She took a sip of her Coke. Her hands were delicate, her movements careful and deliberate, like her—thoughtful. “Okay, maybe I bought something that couldn’t belong to me, an invaluable antiquity.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed.

  Her rich brown eyes met his head-on. “Who was she, the woman you were with?”

  “Arielle? Just a friend. I’ve known her a long time. She’s staying at the guesthouse. Teaches the orphans.” He glanced out to the street and then turned his attention back to Claire. “She was worried about me. She was trying to cover my back and there was nothing I could do to stop her.”

  She pushed the Coke away from her. “Tell me about Akara.”

  “Akara’s dead. You know that. I told you.”

  “I’m sorry, Simon.” She took a breath. “But that wasn’t what I was asking.”

  “It seems like she’s been gone forever, yet sometimes it seems like it just happened.”

  “You can’t control emotion, Simon. At least not totally.”

  He was silent, stunned for a moment at her perception. He was a take-charge kind of guy, but the depth of what he needed to control, few realized that. But Claire got that and he suspected she realized what he had only begun to wrestle with, what he lost by clinging to control.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She worked for Interpol too. She was Arun’s sister.” Speaking of her, Simon felt regret and a sad nostalgia and was surprised that there was no more than that. Time had finally tempered the wound. “It was an assignment where plans changed quickly and she knew before I did that there was something wrong. By the time I realized what was going on, she was dead.”

  “Oh, Simon.”

  She reached for his hand as he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.

  “I would have married her.”

  “Because she was pregnant?”

  “No.” He frowned. “What made you think that?”

  “Not now. Go on, tell me about Akara.”

  “Akara was too career-driven to consider a baby.” He shifted and glanced at Claire. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, she would have married and I would have married her.” He stopped. He was making of mess of explaining any of it. But how did he explain the tragedy of a woman he’d once loved to the one who mattered to him now? He wove his fingers together as if that would give him inspiration. He cleared his throat. “I loved her.” Damn, he shouldn’t have come out with it so bluntly. It didn’t sound right, not now, even though it was true. But none of it had been right, including how she had died. “I’d give anything to have her alive now. To hold her. To . . . She . . .” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . it’s just that she’s gone and anything we had together, well, it’s over. I . . .”

  “It’s okay, Simon, you don’t have to go on.”

  He shook his head. She was wrong. He had to go on for both of them. She had to realize the seriousness of it all. His earlier attempts had obviously been dismal failures. “The smugglers we were tailing arrived at night to steal artifacts from a recently discovered site. Akara anticipated that and was there. Maybe if I had been there sooner. Maybe . . .”

  “I’m so sorry, Simon.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not sympathy I was asking for.” But his insides were tight and he felt shaken, exhausted almost, as if he had run a marathon. He was dancing a fine line between what could be said and all that could not. “I don’t want to see something like that happen again.”

  She stood up. “I’m sorry I made you relive it. Would you like to go somewhere more private? My room—a drink.”

  He pushed his chair back and dropped a bill on the table. “I would.”

  “I’m sorry, Simon,” she repeated minutes later as she slid the card through the scanner.

  “Don’t, Claire. That’s not why I told you the story. I don’t need sympathy. What I need is to not worry about you.”

  She turned to face him, her breath warm on his chest, and he only wanted to hold her as she turned her serious eyes to him.

  “I wish I could give you that, Simon. I really wish I could.” With that she turned around and opened the door to her room.

  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” he asked as he followed her in. “Your voice is too controlled. Too something.”

  “What do you think?” She folded her arms.

  “You’re angry because I followed you.”

  “You probably saved my butt.” Her smile was half-hearted. “No, I’m not angry.”

  “I couldn’t not follow you. The thought of you alone, here . . . I’m sorry, Claire,” he said. “I wish I could say I wouldn’t do the same thing again.”

  “I really wish I could be angry with you.”

  She looked up at him and there was something in her face, a sadness in her eyes that made him wish he wasn’t who he was, that he could tell her everything.

  “I don’t know what you can say. You’ve told me so many lies I’m not sure what might be truth.”

  “I can’t tell you everything. Not now.”

  “Maybe never?” she asked dryly.

  “Claire.” He reached for her as if he could undo everything with the desire that breathed between them. “It’s all becoming too dangerous for a civilian like you. Look, the shop owner you bought that bust from is already dead.”

  “You’re kidding.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was a ridiculous thing to say. I suppose my mind reeled at the thought, the unreality of it all. It’s like . . .”

  “Too much?” he said softly.

  “Yes.” She looked up at him. “I’m scared for you, Simon.”

  “Don’t be,” he said thickly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Who did it?”

  “There’s been no arrest.”

  “But you have an idea? My guess is Samnang.”

  “You may be right but there’s so much you don’t know, Claire. That’s what I mean, it’s too dangerous even here.”

  “And most especially in Siem Reap. At least I’m not there.”

  “True.”

  She stepped over to the minibar and picked up two small bottles of scotch. As Simon turned to set two glasses on the counter, she set the bottles down and her arms were around him. Her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, slid the material aside, her fingers moving a seductive dance down his chest. He turned into her, met her invitation head-on.

  She slipped his shirt over his shoulders.

  He followed willingly as her hands ran down his ribs
, lower—the warmth of his body transforming to erotic silk beneath her palms.

  “I love you,” he murmured, and for a minute time stood still.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I need you safe, out of Cambodia completely,” he said thickly. “But for now . . .”

  “Yes.” She smiled up at him.

  He leaned her backward over the bed, her body bent beneath his, as no more words were said and a passionate waltz beat between them and said everything that the words could not.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  He left her later that night, slipping out as she slept.

  It was a short walk to the small shop crammed in the midst of the worn shopping district. Incense settled in the air like a thick cloud as a small, wizened man poked his head from behind a dirty curtain.

  “Simon.” Soheap hurried forward, holding out his hands. “Good to see you.” It had been a long time since they had last met. When Simon had first arrived in Cambodia, Soheap, who was Arun’s uncle, was leading an investigation on antiquity smuggling with the Phnom Penh police. Soheap had long since retired and taken up selling old and rare books out of a small storefront that served as both business and living quarters.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Niran’s dead.”

  “That’s old news.” The older man chuckled. “Someone has cut into Samnang’s turf.”

  “Niran.”

  “And others. Niran was obvious, I suspected him months ago.”

  “Really?”

  “I suspect Samnang did, too. And you, as well.” Soheap’s dark eyes were worried. “Word has it that Samnang wants revenge now, before he dies. I’ve heard at least two of his men are off the street, dead. Niran may have only been the first.” The man wiped a hand across his forehead. And when he turned his attention back to Simon, he looked troubled. “Samnang was a friend once. We went to university together. Went through police training together, although that was a short career for him. I never thought to see him turn bad.” He shrugged but his eyes seemed to gloss with pain. “I lost touch the years I was in England and he was here. Thank God for that. I never expected this.”

  “Any idea when they’re shipping?”

  “I heard the time frame has changed, less than a week. This Saturday.”

  Four days away.

  The thought of how little time they had chilled him. It was a week less than they’d anticipated.

  Outside, the street’s muffled drone seemed distant, although it was only thirty feet from where they sat.

  “I’m relying on the Phnom Penh police force. Calling in a favor.” Simon ran a hand through his hair.

  “I heard about the woman, the one you’re helping or . . .” He chuckled. “Falling for.” He shrugged. “Arun told me. So, she was solicited to take something across the border and right under Samnang’s nose. I don’t like it.”

  “You heard right. She’s tenacious—determined to get her story.”

  “I hear something in your voice, Simon.”

  “You’re alone too much.” He didn’t need Soheap knowing how he felt for Claire when he was just realizing it himself.

  “It’s not safe for you, or Arun either.”

  “Doesn’t matter. This is how it has to be. You know that. She can’t have died for nothing.”

  “When it comes down, make sure you’re out of the way. I lost a niece over this. I’m not going to lose a nephew and a friend, too.”

  “I wish I could promise to stay out of it. You’re just going to have to trust that we’ll be okay.”

  Soheap looked at him with sorrow reflected in his eyes. “I’ll keep my nose to the ground here. Meantime, both you and Arun watch yourself.”

  “And you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Simon remembered clearly the last day he had been in the Phnom Penh police headquarters, the day after Akara died. He had vowed never to come back. It was one of many vows he seemed destined to break.

  “Chief Chan.”

  The young man behind the counter nodded before disappearing.

  Minutes later he returned. “Follow me.”

  Simon was led through a maze of desks and cubicles to the back. The police officer stood aside and motioned with his arm for Simon to enter. Inside, a bank of windows faced the activity on the busy street. Papers were stacked with military precision and a full-faced, broad-shouldered man with heavy, thickly streaked gray hair rose from behind an oak desk.

  “Trent.”

  “Chan.” Simon shook the man’s hand.

  “I heard you were back. I didn’t believe it at first.”

  “It was inevitable.”

  “Yes, yes.” Chan sank back into his chair like it had been an effort to stand in the first place. “I suppose it was.” He glanced out the window. “Samnang’s in Reap.”

  “You knew.” Simon’s eyes narrowed.

  “The investigation was never closed. I knew you didn’t do it. We all knew it.” He pushed his fingers into a steeple. “If it hadn’t been for that reporter, those accusations would never have arisen. Once they did, well, it was too late. Besides, you never hung around. If you had, maybe then the rumor would have died.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Simon said, knowing that the rumor had been planted by Interpol. “I couldn’t come back but I didn’t go far.”

  “No, you didn’t, did you? Middle of nowhere, Laos. Quite ingenious. What did you do? I can’t imagine spending a week in a place like that, never mind a year.”

  Simon’s smile died. “Not much.” He remembered that time. The villagers had mostly left him alone. He had been a respected visitor but still an outsider. His hut had been comfortable, an average hut by village standards, and as comfortable as a nine-by-nine hut without running water and modern conveniences could be. It was the time alone, the silence and the isolation from civilization that had allowed him to heal.

  “Samnang has returned and that’s what’s brought you back.”

  “Not quite, Interpol called me in.”

  A smile flitted across Chan’s face. “So, I suppose you need more of our help.”

  “Samnang’s dangerous, he’s killed and he’ll kill again. We’ve got the opportunity to trap him. He’s shipping in less than a week. Almost a week sooner than we anticipated, Saturday.” He brushed back his hair, reluctant to mention the complication of the other players.

  “I’ve heard.”

  “You knew?”

  “No, not when. We’ve been investigating the death of those tourists and most particularly yesterday’s.”

  “Yesterday’s?”

  “Yeah.” Chan’s expression was oddly unsympathetic. “But between the American embassy hounding me with regard to the one and the relatives demanding the bodies of the others, not to mention some unwanted media . . .” Chan brushed his finger along the desk, trailing nonexistent dust. “Let’s say there hasn’t been much headway.”

  “And Saturday?”

  “Four days.” Chan nodded. “I’ll have forces in Siem Reap, then. I’ve read your report. I had thought about getting men in a day or two sooner, but too soon and someone will become suspicious.” Chan laced and unlaced his fingers. “I want you and your partner out, Trent. Things will be intense and completely out of your jurisdiction.”

  “I want Samnang caught. Without me and Arun, no offense, but I don’t know if that will happen. We’ve been following his every move.”

  “He’s sick, Trent. He’ll probably die soon anyway.”

  “I want justice.”

  “We don’t always get what we want.”

  “We don’t, do we?” Simon said easily. “You know you need me.”

  “I know I don’t have any choice,” Chan replied.

  “Then we agree on something,” Simon replied as the office door clicked shut behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Claire pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. She read the instructions and then looked around at the tight, run-
down labyrinth of shops and graying buildings that made up the core of the older commercial section of Phnom Penh. On the paper was the name of a man her Uncle Jack had given her before she had left, before she knew what and who he was. She hoped that this man knew more of Jack’s history. Maybe he could shed some light on Samnang. That had been her goal when she’d set out, but now things had changed. The address Jack had given her didn’t seem to exist. There was nothing here but empty shop fronts and dilapidated housing. She turned at every sound, disturbed at the neglect reflected in the piles of litter and the unpainted and falling-down buildings. She was beginning to suspect that this had been a mistake.

  “Claire!”

  Startled, Claire spun around to see Ella waving to her from across the street.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when Ella reached her. She didn’t try to keep the edge from her voice. This wasn’t a tourist destination. This was off the beaten path. What had brought Ella here? Claire tried to still the suspicion that Ella had followed her. But her uneasiness was only heightened by memories of Simon’s warnings and the fact that she was alone without the hustle of busy streets and the security of crowds. Here, only the occasional local passed, looking curiously at the two of them.

  “How did you find me?”

  “You really shouldn’t be in this area alone. You could be robbed.” There was something strange in Ella’s voice.

  “Robbed?”

  “Or worse, killed.”

  Claire took a step back as the feeling of a hand on her back, the sense of horror as she hung over the ledge and saw imminent death, flooded back to her. Her breath hitched and her throat went dry.

  Ella moved closer.

  Claire slipped her hand into her bag, wishing she had something heavy she could use to defend herself and instead fumbled discreetly through the alternatives, a small brush, a compact, and then her fingers brushed a pen. A poor weapon but she could go for the eyes if necessary. She . . . she was being ridiculous. The pen slipped through her fingers. Running was a better option.

  “I wanted to catch you. I found this.” She held up Claire’s thumb drive. It was obvious that it was hers. She had bought it for its uniqueness.