Tess Gerritsen - Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty - Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty

Footsteps clipped across the marble floor. Guy turned and saw Kistner’s secretary, an unsmiling Thai with a beardless face.

“Mr. Barnard?” said the secretary. “Our apologies for the delay. But an urgent matter has come up.”

“Will he see me now?”

The secretary shifted uneasily. “I am afraid—”

“I’ve been waiting since three.”

“Yes, I understand. But there is a problem. It seems General Kistner cannot meet with you as planned.”

“May I remind you that I didn’t request this meeting. General Kistner did.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ve taken time out of my busy schedule—” he took the liberty of exaggeration “—to drive all the way out here, and—”

“I understand, but—”

“At least tell me why he insisted on this appointment.”

“You will have to ask him.”

Guy, who up till now had kept his irritation in check, drew himself up straight. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, he stood a full head taller than the secretary. “Is this how the general normally conducts business?”

The secretary merely shrugged. “I am sorry, Mr. Barnard. The change was entirely unexpected…” His gaze shifted momentarily and focused on something beyond the French windows.

Guy followed the man’s gaze. Through the glass, he saw what the man was looking at: the woman with the honeycolored hair.

The secretary shuffled his feet, a signal that he had other duties to attend to. “I assure you, Mr. Barnard,” he said, “if you call in a few days, we will arrange another appointment.”

Guy snatched up his briefcase and headed for the door. “In a few days,” he said, “I’ll be in Saigon.”

A whole afternoon wasted, he thought in disgust as he walked down the front steps. He swore again as he reached the empty driveway. His car was parked a good hundred yards away, in the shade of a poinciana tree. The driver was nowhere to be seen. Knowing Puapong, the man was probably off flirting with the gardener’s daughter.

Resignedly Guy trudged toward the car. The sun was like a broiler, and waves of heat radiated from the gravel road. Halfway to the car, he happened to glance at the garden, and he spotted the honey-haired woman, sitting on a stone bench. She looked dejected. No wonder; it was a long drive back to town, and Lord only knew when her ride would turn up.

What the hell, he thought, starting toward her. He could use some company.

She seemed to be deep in thought; she didn’t look up until he was standing right beside her.

“Hi there,” he said.

She squinted up at him. “Hello.” Her greeting was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly.

“Did I hear you needed a lift back to town?”

“I have one, thank you.”

“It could be a long wait. And I’m heading there anyway.” She didn’t respond, so he added, “It’s really no trouble.”

She gave him a speculative look. She had silver-gray eyes, direct, unflinching; they seemed to stare right through him. No shrinking violet, this one. Glancing back at the house, she said, “Kistner’s driver was going to take me…”

“I’m here. He isn’t.”

Again she gave him that look, a silent third degree. She must have decided he was okay, because she finally rose to her feet. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

Together they walked the graveled road to his car. As they approached, Guy noticed a back door was wide open and a pair of dirty brown feet poked out. His driver was sprawled across the seat like a corpse.

The woman halted, staring at the lifeless form. “Oh, my God. He’s not—”

A blissful snore rumbled from the car.

“He’s not,” said Guy. “Hey. Puapong!” He banged on the car roof.

The man’s answering rumble could have drowned out thunder.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty!” Guy banged the car again. “You gonna wake up, or do I have to kiss you first?”

“What? What?” groaned a voice. Puapong stirred and opened one bloodshot eye. “Hey, boss. You back so soon?”

“Have a nice nap?” Guy asked pleasantly.

“Not bad.”

Guy graciously gestured for Puapong to vacate the back seat. “Look, I hate to be a pest, but do you mind? I’ve offered this lady a ride.”

Puapong crawled out, stumbled around sleepily to the driver’s seat and sank behind the wheel. He shook his head a few times, then fished around on the floor for the car keys.

The woman was looking more and more dubious. “Are you sure he can drive?” she muttered under her breath.

“This man,” said Guy, “has the reflexes of a cat. When he’s sober.”

“ Is he sober?”

“Puapong! Are you sober?”

With injured pride, the driver asked, “Don’t I look sober?”

“There’s your answer,” said Guy.

The woman sighed. “That makes me feel so much better.” She glanced back longingly at the house. The Thai servant had appeared on the steps and was waving goodbye.

Guy motioned for the woman to climb in. “It’s a long drive back to town.”

She was silent as they drove down the winding mountain road. Though they both sat in the back seat, two feet apart at the most, she seemed a million miles away. She kept her gaze focused on the scenery.

“You were in with the general quite a while,” he noted.

She nodded. “I had a lot of questions.”

“You a reporter?”

“What?” She looked at him. “Oh, no. It was just…some old family business.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but she turned back to the window.

“Must’ve been some pretty important family business,” he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Right after you left, he canceled all his appointments. Mine included.”

“You didn’t get in to see him?”

“Never got past the secretary. And Kistner’s the one who asked to see me. ”

She frowned for a moment, obviously puzzled. Then she shrugged. “I’m sure I had nothing to do with it.”

And I’m just as sure you did, he thought in sudden irritation. Lord, why was the woman making him so antsy? She was sitting perfectly still, but he got the distinct feeling a hurricane was churning in that pretty head. He’d decided that she was pretty after all, in a no-nonsense sort of way. She was smart not to use any makeup; it would only cheapen that girl-next-door face. He’d never before had any interest in the girl-next-door type. Maybe the girl down the street or across the tracks. But this one was different. She had eyes the color of smoke, a square jaw and a little boxer’s nose, lightly dusted with freckles. She also had a mouth that, given the right situation, could be quite kissable.

Automatically he asked, “So how long will you be in Bangkok?”

“I’ve been here two days already. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Damn, he thought.

“For Saigon.”

His chin snapped up in surprise. “Saigon?”

“Or Ho Chi Minh City. Whatever they call it these days.”

“Now that’s a coincidence,” he said softly.

“What is?”

“In two days, I’m leaving for Saigon.”

“Are you?” She glanced at the briefcase, stenciled with U.S. Army ID Lab, lying on the seat. “Government affairs?”

He nodded. “What about you?”

She looked straight ahead. “Family business.”

“Right,” he said, wondering what the hell business her family was in. “You ever been to Saigon?”

“Once. But I was only ten years old.”

“Dad in the service?”

“Sort of.” Her gaze stayed fixed on some faraway point ahead. “I don’t remember too much of the city. Lot of dust and heat and cars. One big traffic jam. And the beautiful women…”