Chapter 4
FOUR
She’d never tasted anything so amazing in her life.
Chloe lifted another mouthful of soup to her lips, and she couldn’t quite suppress the soft groan of pure satisfaction that escaped her throat.
Rich coconut milk, fragrant with galangal and lemongrass, tender pieces of chicken that practically melted on her tongue . . . “This is incredible. What is it?”
“Tom kha gai,” May said. Pretty, with dark hair, Chai’s wife was beautiful in the way that spoke of inner strength—practical ponytail, simple white blouse, and jeans that somehow looked elegant on her petite frame.
She spoke perfect English, but then again, she had been born and raised in Cincinnati.
“My grandmother’s recipe. The secret is roasting the galangal first.”
Seemed like the secret was returning to Thailand and settling into a life here, taking over her family’s ancestral home when her grandparents passed.
The traditional Thai house was all carved teakwood and graceful rooflines.
Apron verandas embraced the structure on two levels with intricate wooden railings.
Late-afternoon light filtered through banana leaves and flowering bougainvillea.
The sweet scent of jasmine mixed with lemongrass and the earthy richness of recent rain, while somewhere in the canopy above, a hornbill called its haunting song.
Chloe had never considered settling down, creating a real home, but if she did, she might want it to look like this.
From the well-tended garden to the wooden deck in back.
A trail of toy trucks was lined up on a stone path.
And inside, rich teak floors gleamed under pools of lamplight while carved panels and handwoven mudmee silk art hung on the walls.
The kitchen occupied one corner, modern appliances tucked among traditional rosewood cabinets.
Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, stirring air that carried the lingering aromas of coconut and Thai spices.
Hard to believe she’d been tromping through the jungle for the last twenty-four hours.
“Papa! Papa!” Six-year-old Bee had claimed his father’s lap the moment they’d settled around the low wooden coffee table, chattering about his day at school.
Chai had sort of given her the heebies until that moment, when he transformed into a man who clearly adored his son.
Strange how death felt so distant when you were surrounded by this much life—the sound of a child’s laughter, the warmth of a family home, the simple pleasure of delicious food.
Maybe that was how people survived loss. By letting ordinary joys push back against the darkness, one small moment at a time.
“You both look exhausted,” May had said when they’d arrived, her warm brown eyes taking in their mud-stained clothes.
“Long day,” Skeet had said, which was possibly the understatement of the century.
The morning’s trek from their jungle shelter to the Thai border had been a blur of muddy trails, insect bites, and terror as they constantly watched for patrols. Then they’d crossed the border, and the long drive through mountain switchbacks had made Chloe’s stomach lurch with every turn.
Eight hours of travel. From horror to . . . Well, this simply felt like a different world.
“How bad was it?” May asked quietly as they sat at the table, her voice pitched low enough that Bee wouldn’t catch the undercurrent of concern.
Chai’s expression darkened. “Bad enough. The village . . .” He shook his head. “The national military doesn’t distinguish between civilians and combatants.”
Skeet set down his spoon. He had cleaned his face and hands but still wore his tactical clothing.
“Chloe was investigating a pattern of illness affecting children near the border. She got a lead on someone named Radi? who’d been in the area, treating patients. Have you ever heard of him?”
May’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Dr. Radi? . . . The name sounds familiar. I have a shift later today. I could ask around.”
“That would be incredibly helpful,” Chloe said.
“Of course. I’ll look through the records, maybe ask the other staff. If this Dr. Radi? has been working in the area, someone will remember him.”
Chloe finished her soup, glanced at Skeet.
He’d been quiet today. Gone was his sass, probably washed away by exhaustion.
He wore lines on his face, red in his eyes.
The man probably hadn’t slept all night—she’d woken this morning to him preparing MRE eggs over a fire.
So, yeah, she should probably let him get on with his life.
She reached for a napkin, wiped her mouth, then, “I should go. I have notes to organize, calls to make.”
Skeet glanced at her. “Chloe—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” She stood, gathering her small pack. “Be careful, don’t take risks, wait for more information. But people are dying while we wait.”
“People are also dying when journalists rush into situations without proper backup.”
She stared at him, her mouth opening.
He met her gaze, his green eyes hard on hers.
Oh.
And the words I didn’t ask you to rescue me played on her lips.
Then Chai and May exchanged glances—and no, she wasn’t going to go to war with the man at their kitchen table. Besides, she was tired. So was he. She’d give him that much.
Instead, “Thank you for the meal,” Chloe said to May. “For the hospitality. For offering to help.”
“Of course. Skeet’s friends are our friends.”
Chloe headed toward the door. She needed a GrabTaxi home, then she’d review Dr. Tobias’s recording. Research Dr. Radi? online. Contact other medical professionals who might have information.
Footsteps followed her as she headed out the door and down the steps.
“Where are you going?” she asked without turning around.
“With you.”
“I don’t need—”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get the okay from Ham.”
The words stopped her at the bottom of the steps. She turned to face Skeet, a burn forming in her chest. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He’d grabbed his pack, wore an unmovable expression.
Fantastic.
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“Tell that to Jake when I have to explain why I let his sister get herself killed.”
She blew out a breath. “Listen. I get it. But really, I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But you’re not going to have to.”
Something in his tone—not condescending or controlling, just quietly certain—took the wind out of her argumentative sails.
And yes, she was exhausted, but for a second . . . well, his words settled in, loosed a knot inside. You’re not going to have to.
“Fine,” she said. “But you follow my lead. This is my investigation.”
“Understood.” One side of his mouth quirked up.
Somehow, she didn’t quite believe him.
Chloe’s guesthouse apartment might be small, but she loved the floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the space with natural light.
But the real jewel was outside. The turquoise pool stretched along the ground level, and banana plants and flowering trees created a tropical oasis that felt worlds away from the chaos of the city beyond the villa’s walls.
“Nice place,” Skeet said.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.” Chloe dropped her pack by the door, suddenly aware of how small the space felt with his presence filling it. “There’s a pullout couch if you need to sleep, and the bathroom’s through there.”
She gestured vaguely toward the back of the apartment, already backing toward her bedroom. “I’m going to shower off the smell of the jungle. Make yourself comfortable.”
She left him there, grabbed a towel and her robe, and fled to the bathroom.
The hot water felt like absolution, washing away mud and sweat and the scent of smoke that clung to her hair. She stood under the spray longer than necessary, letting the heat work out knots in her shoulders while her mind finally had space to process everything that had happened.
Dr. Tobias was dead. The village was destroyed. People were dying from some mysterious illness, and the only lead they had was a doctor who might not even want to be found.
But she wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
The realization should have felt like weakness. Instead, the thought seemed to power through her, add heat to her bones.
Weird.
She emerged from the bathroom in clean jeans and a soft blue T-shirt, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail, to find Skeet sprawled on the couch in what looked like the first genuinely relaxed position she’d seen him in.
His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of exhausted sleep.
He had removed his boots, leaving him in jeans and a gray T-shirt that showed off the lean muscle of someone who stayed in fighting shape.
Even unconscious, he looked dangerous. And annoyingly attractive.
Chloe grabbed her phone and slipped out onto the balcony, where the evening air carried the scent of night-blooming millingtonia and the distant sounds of city traffic. The pool below glowed under the lamplights surrounding it, its surface occasionally disturbed by a gecko drinking at the edge.
Her sister answered on the second ring.
“Chloe! Thank goodness. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m fine,” Chloe said automatically, then paused. “Actually, that might not be entirely true. But I’m safe. For now.”
“What do you mean for now? Where are you?”
“Back in my apartment. With—” She glanced through the sliding door at Skeet’s sleeping form. “With Skeet Blackwood.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Then a soft laugh.
“It’s not funny, Selah. Skeet just showed up in the middle of a jungle in Myanmar—”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, well, he’s . . . well, he’s a little—”
“Funny? And hot?”
“Bossy.”
More laughter.
“Apparently he’s not letting me out of his sight. Which is both annoying and . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
“And?”
“And I don’t hate it as much as I should.”
Another laugh, warmer this time. “Oh, Chloe. You like him.”
“I barely know him.”