Intent to Kill Page 19

  “Claire—”

  She cut him off. “Samnang mentioned how fond Ella was of the schoolchildren, of the orphans. And that’s what this building was once used for, wasn’t it?” She looked over her shoulder. “I mean, if not Ella, who else? She has a penchant for killing women. I’m not saying Arielle’s dead . . .” She stopped as her voice quivered. “I’m just . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Claire . . . We checked here.”

  “I know. And like me you think something has changed.” She held a finger to her lips as she pushed a window open and crawled through the low-slung window with ease. If he hadn’t checked the perimeter for signs of activity and drawn empties, known that Ella and Richard were both out of the vicinity, he would have lunged and pulled her back, out of danger. But the alternative was going first and having her follow—neither were good options.

  Inside, the first few rooms lining the hallway were unlocked and empty. They turned a corner and found another room, and on the floor in front of it was a strand of iron gray hair that glittered in the dim light.

  Claire rattled the door handle. “It’s locked,” she said as she looked back at Simon.

  “Get back,” he demanded before hitting the door full force. His shoulder jarred against the wood and the frame cracked but the door held. “Damn, what’s it made of?” He rubbed his shoulder before ramming the door again. This time the door gave.

  The flashlight splashed faint light into the distant corners of the room. A dark patch sprawled across the floor and gleamed ominously in the faint light. Bile lodged in his throat.

  Buckets, paper towels and cleaning supplies were stacked on shelves and in the corner was Arielle. Her long hair hung over her face and her body was limp.

  “Oh, my God.” Claire raced over. She saw what looked like a phone on the floor next to Arielle, and without thinking she picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.

  Simon followed, only reaching her as Claire’s hand dropped from the corpse’s hair, hair that was now hard and stiff with blood. Arielle’s head fell forward and it was then that Claire screamed.

  He reached for her, pulled her into his arms. He held her there for what seemed forever, her heart beating against his, her pain—his.

  “There’s nothing we can do for her,” he whispered while one hand stroked her back and the other settled on the edge of his gun.

  He scanned the area as he held her. There was nothing to say that this was anything more than he already knew it was—a woman killed by Ella. Only this time it was a woman he knew. A woman he’d called friend who had obviously gotten too involved despite his warnings. And even though there was no proof to his assumption, his teeth ground into each other as he thought of what he’d do to Ella if she were here. He hoped for her sake that he never saw the bitch again. In the meantime, he had to get Claire out of here. The danger might have passed but this, this was the makings of an emotional train wreck—for both of them.

  “We have to leave her for now.” His voice was strained as he pushed her gently away, his hands remaining on her shoulders. This was so damn difficult. “You’re okay?”

  She nodded grimly and took a hitching breath. “I will be.”

  Claire slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it, grateful for a connection to another human being—grateful for her.

  When they finally emerged into the night air, there was no relief, only a horrible feeling of dread that this was only the beginning.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “I hate leaving her there. Even though I didn’t know her, she deserves better than that.” Claire’s voice trembled as he dropped her off that night.

  “There’s nothing you can do. She’s been dead for hours already.”

  “Alone,” Claire murmured.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” he said softly. It wasn’t enough, he wanted to say more, do more. And what he had said seemed absolutely ludicrous under the circumstances. Neither of them would sleep, that was obvious. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. His hands brushed her shoulders and his lips lightly skimmed hers. He wanted so much more and he could have none of it. He couldn’t afford the distraction and she didn’t deserve to be hurt. If nothing else, tonight had convinced him of that. They lived in two different worlds. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The morning would come soon and the tragedy would be just as fresh. The images of Arielle wouldn’t leave him. He knew that it wouldn’t be any different for her. He hated that she had been there; he knew from experience that those images never left.

  She shivered.

  “I wish you could spend the night with me. I want to hold you all night.”

  “I know,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you too. But Vanna is waiting for news.”

  “Too many people are depending on us. Stay inside tonight.”

  “And you.”

  “Stay safe,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He wanted to stay with her. But she wasn’t alone, Vanna was there. And the danger was outside this hotel, and as long as they stayed here, they’d be fine.

  “Are you going to report Arielle’s death tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to alert her murderer, is that it?”

  He gave her a brief nod. “I’ll talk to Chan,” he said.

  She looked at him oddly, almost as if there was something she wanted to say. He’d noticed that reaction before when he’d mentioned the police. “Claire, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t report this to Chan. You can’t trust him.”

  “No, Claire, don’t question this. This is my job and reporting this to Chan is what’s going to happen.” He looked at her thoughtfully. There was fear in her eyes, eyes that glistened with unshed tears. “What is it?” He ran a thumb across her cheek, wiping one tear before it fell.

  “What about Siem Reap, they’re the local police.”

  “Complicates matters. No.” He shook his head. “Chan can deal with another police force if he feels it’s necessary. That’s not something I’m going to do.” He looked at her, saw the frown creasing her forehead, and had the sense that she wanted very much to tell him something. “Claire, what is it?”

  “Nothing.” She took his hand in both of hers, squeezed and then let go. “I can’t change your mind?”

  “Don’t worry, Claire. You’ve done everything you could. More than you should have. More than . . .”

  “You wanted.” She laughed, a dry sound and without humor. “There’s nothing more for me to do . . . you’re right.”

  “You’re still shaking.”

  “This has all been a shock.”

  “Stay inside tonight and leave the rest to me and Arun.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “Keep safe.” He dropped his hand. “In the meantime promise me to accept these.” He pulled out airline tickets. “You’ve done everything you could. Arun and I will be getting out shortly too. I promise.”

  She took the tickets. “Singapore,” she said softly. The look she gave him was heart-wrenching. “The evening flight, tomorrow. You knew I’d follow you?”

  He nodded. “I suspected. I’d really like to see both you and Vanna on that flight. You can’t chance staying here, not . . .” He swallowed back the pain that even the words caused him. “Not when Samnang wants you dead. As far as the story, you’ve gotten everything you could. And I’ll update you on anything more you might need.” He squeezed her hands. “Promise. Arun and I will meet you in Singapore when this is over.”

  Even in the darkness he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes.

  “If that’s the way you want it, Simon,” she replied. The kiss she gave him was liquid, hot and brief. Before he had time to catch his breath she was gone.

  “You’ve lost her, Trent,” he said to himself, and he felt the depth of the loss. “But she’ll be safe.” He wanted to trust her, but more than that he wanted her safe. In the meantime, he prayed she would go to Singapore and from th
ere, home. And that prayer would take her right out of his life.

  But it was the only choice he had.

  Chapter Forty

  Simon had left hours ago. And for those hours, Claire had debated what to do. Arielle’s death had brought it all too close to home. She had to do something despite the fact that she knew that it was all better left to the experts, to Simon and Arun. But how could she explain that the Phnom Penh police were corrupt in any way that would inspire belief? Would Simon believe what Soheap had told her without going to Chan? She suspected, as Soheap had said, that he wouldn’t. And if he wouldn’t believe that, what were the odds he’d believe what Tevvy had told Vanna?

  She knew what she was about to do was crazy, but to keep Simon safe, to help him—she’d do anything. And if she had another piece of information, something that would make her case legitimate—that Simon would believe—that would do it. Then she could tell him. Samnang was the key to it all and any evidence lay with him. She clenched her hands by her sides. This was outrageous and yet she was sure that something, some glimmer of truth would be in Samnang’s room.

  He was out every evening; she was counting on that now. She’d lifted the master card key from the front desk when it had been left unmanned for a few minutes, and now she watched from the other end of the hallway as he left his hotel room.

  A door banged farther down the hall and she heard footsteps, heavy and slow. She peered out from behind a corner.

  “Damn,” she muttered and it seemed like her heart stopped. Samnang’s voice was as clear and identifiable as that of the woman who was with him: Ella.

  Claire stood perfectly still. The footsteps carried on down the hallway and then the elevator dinged and soon there was silence. She stilled her breathing, pressing tight to the wall. What was going on and why was Ella here?

  Everything was silent and in no time she was in front of his room. She inserted the card key, waited for the green light and pushed the door slowly open a crack. Nothing. She took a deep breath and pushed the door all the way open. The room was silent. The bed was made and a suitcase lay neatly on the luggage rack with clothes folded precisely inside. It was as if Samnang was prepared to leave at any moment.

  Claire slipped deeper into the room. She barely dared to breathe and goose bumps pebbled her arms in the cool room. She looked around as if expecting him to rise from the shadows. It was safe. He wasn’t here, and besides, she’d met him. Samnang was capable of a lot of things, but she suspected killing her himself was beneath him. He’d have someone else do that. Those thoughts touched on her as she looked around the room, surprised at how small it was. She’d expected a suite, not this box-size economy room typical of any tourist. On the bureau a photograph showing the smiling face of a young woman caught her eye, a girl of maybe seventeen or eighteen. There was something familiar in the smile. She reminded her oddly of Samnang but in an easier, gentler way. She flipped the frame around and a smaller picture fell out, dropping to the floor. She picked it up and turned it around to see the smiling face of the same young woman, this time a few years younger. She almost dropped the picture as she read the words: “To Daddy, with love, Sioban.” And beneath those words there was the stamp of St. Columba’s College, Dublin.

  “Daddy?” Who would have thought that he had a daughter, but the similarity was striking.

  A man’s shirt lay across the chair and the scent of a man’s cologne with strong overtones of a spice she couldn’t identify hung in the air.

  The door clicked behind her and she whirled around.

  “Claire, what a surprise. I wasn’t anticipating this.”

  “Samnang.” It took all her will not to stutter.

  “You’ve come to continue the conversation we didn’t finish.”

  “Yes, of course.” She jumped on the excuse, hoping he had not noticed that she’d called him Samnang, not Sakda. “I’m sorry, your door was ajar. The maid . . .” The lame excuse trailed off.

  He smiled, slow, easy, and dangerous. “I am many things, madam, but I am not naive. You have come to snoop.”

  His gaze roved over her. “I see that Lim, or shall I say Jack . . . I believe that is the name that he prefers. I see that he chooses his relatives well. You are astute to suspect me. Silly, however, to be here.”

  Words choked in Claire’s throat.

  “I like you, Claire, but despite that, I won’t let you leave this room alive.” He smiled softly. His finger stroked the edge of the bedspread and his eyes never left her. “It was bad judgment to come here tonight. I’m disappointed in you, Claire. You did so well up until this point.”

  Claire’s throat was dry, her limbs shaky. She needed a plan. She needed to get out.

  Silence hung, dark and brooding between them.

  “Sometimes we die for our mistakes, Claire.”

  Claire shivered and thought of the window just behind her. This had been a colossal error. She was an amateur at sleuthing, and despite what she’d told Simon, the damn story was going to get her killed.

  “There is no escape except through this door.” He motioned behind him. “And I appear to be blocking that. The windows are locked and barred. I ordered that before I arrived.” His smile was sleek. “There are many who would try to get me as I sleep.

  “Claire, Claire, so sweet, so innocent and so terribly curious.” He cupped his chin between his forefinger and thumb and his voice took on a dreamy tone but his eyes never left Claire. “Those were good years. Your uncle thinks he can forget what he has done.” He sighed softly. “It took me years but I found the name of everyone close to him.”

  He took a step toward Claire. She took a step back.

  “He loves you, Claire, and that’s why you must die.” His voice was soft, thoughtful. “I thought to give you more time. A little more rope and more distraction for Trent, but you have pushed the envelope, as you have a tendency to do.”

  Distraction. The word rang over and over in Claire’s mind. “Who is she?” She walked on trembling legs to the dresser, expecting at any moment that he would stop her.

  “My daughter.”

  “What would she say about this?” It was an outrageous statement considering her current situation. Her heart beat desperately and seemed to resonate through her body but she kept her attention focused on Samnang and any opportunity there might be for a chance of escape.

  “We will not speak of her. She is well taken care of and free of the taint of everything that is associated with me. I promised that to her mother when she died and even before. I promised that at her birth.” His voice was raspy. “It was difficult but I have kept my word and will right up to the end.”

  “Which is near.” It was a risky statement but she suspected that pushing him was her only chance of getting out of here alive.

  “No more near than yours.” He chuckled lightly. “Already I have sent word to Lim that your death is imminent.”

  “When?”

  The gun he pulled from a holster strapped over his thick shoulder winked black and cold under the artificial light.

  Claire backed up against the wall. There was no escape. She did the only thing she could think of—she ducked, rolled, and screamed long and loud and desperately.

  Chapter Forty-one

  “Claire!” Simon shouted as the scream tore through him, chilling him with its terror and desperation.

  “Sir?” a young maid asked with frightened eyes.

  “Stay where you are.” Thank God he’d been here. He’d meant only to keep an eye on Samnang and had waited around by Samnang’s hotel in time to see Ella and Samnang leave, and then Samnang’s return. It had been odd but not threatening until now.

  Now he took the stairs two at a time. Claire’s screams took him to Samnang’s door and rage took him through it. He shouldered the door open and sailed into the room, slamming into Samnang and crashing to the floor, taking Samnang with him.

  “Trent,” Samnang’s voice was cool and calm. “I’d suggest you get off
me.”

  “Fuck you,” Simon snarled even as he reached for Samnang’s handgun, which lay a few feet out of Samnang’s reach. He rolled and sat up, his gaze searching for Claire and finding her with her back pressed to the wall and a hole blown out of the drywall not more than a foot from her head.

  “Claire.” He shuddered as he said her name, his heart pounding at how close he’d come to losing her.

  “Simon.” She pushed away from the wall.

  “Stay there,” he ordered her even as he poked Samnang with his foot. “Get up.”

  “I’d suggest you leave if you want to live,” Samnang replied. He was sprawled spread-eagle on his stomach. “I’m lying on a grenade and I’ll pull the pin if I don’t see both of you out of here by the count of three.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Claire breathed. “Simon.”

  “One . . . two . . .”

  Simon held out his hand and she was there in one breath that rushed out in a blend of relief and panic. Together they fled the room.

  “Get out! Follow us,” Trent ordered the frightened maid they passed in the hall and hurled the same instructions at another in the nearby stairwell.

  Outside the hotel, she stopped, her breath coming in gasps. “He was serious. He would have pulled the pin? Killed himself?”

  “Probably not. And if he did, I doubt if it’s a grenade of any size. The damage wouldn’t extend much past the room.” Simon shook his head thinking of Samnang’s earlier words and the pain he was in, but pride trumped pain every time in Samnang’s world. He’d live to see this through.

  “You mean he didn’t have a grenade?”

  The explosion that followed rocked the small hotel and the windows shuddered, some blowing out into the street. Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God, he did it. He set off the grenade. Samnang’s dead.”

  “No.” He pressed her tight to his side. “Samnang’s very much alive.”