Chapter 6 #2
“Because I’ve got the smartest, most determined woman I’ve ever met on my side. And she’s also pretty easy on the eyes, which makes this whole saving-the-world thing a lot more enjoyable than usual.”
Despite everything, she almost smiled. “You’re flirting with me while we’re trying to save the world?”
“Feels right. And if we’re about to walk into mortal danger, I figured I should mention that I find your dedication to justice incredibly attractive.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I prefer charming, but I’ll take ridiculous.” He grinned, then his expression grew serious. “We’ve got this, Chloe. Together, remember?”
He held up his fist. She laughed and bumped it. “What are we—bros now?”
He opened up his driver’s door. “Oh, sweetheart, far, far from it.”
The sun was climbing higher as they pulled out of Elena’s driveway, the morning already growing warm.
The road stretched ahead. Chloe found herself sinking into silence, the flash drive in her bag a stone.
“Chloe.” Skeet’s voice was gentler now. “Talk to me.”
She stared out at the landscape. “I have no words. I just . . . this kind of evil has me undone.”
He nodded and put his hand on hers. “We need to stop and get a hotel.”
She blinked. “What? No, we need to drive to the resort—”
“It’s a nineteen-hour drive from Mae Sot to Phuket, where the resort is. We can’t make it in time. We’ll get back to Bangkok and catch a flight from there.”
She nodded, sighed.
“Grab a nap.”
She glanced at him, steady at the wheel, and his words simmered through her: Far from it.
He met her gaze, frowned. “What’s going on, Chloe?” She closed her eyes even as he reached over and touched her hand, squeezed. “I got this.”
Maybe, but as she drifted off to sleep, all she could think was . . . what was she getting them into?
I got this.
The words echoed in Skeet’s head as he stood at the hotel check-in counter.
Chloe had slept most of the way to Bangkok and didn’t say much when she woke. Maybe he’d gone too far, but something about the way she’d looked at him, an almost desperate expression on her face—he couldn’t help himself.
He did have this.
But he might need a little sleep first. He’d hit the wall two hours ago, and his body longed for a mattress somewhere.
“Two rooms, please.” He slid his card across the marble counter. He’d stopped at a small hotel near the city center. The lobby hummed with quiet sophistication—soft lighting, nearby water features, understated luxury that made him aware of his dusty travel clothes.
“Adjacent or—”
“Adjacent is fine.”
The young woman behind the counter processed his Visa card. She kept glancing at Chloe, who stood by a window, staring out at the pool area as if she was seeing something else entirely.
“Something on your mind?”
She glanced at him, her pretty eyes troubled. “I’m doing it again.”
He frowned. “Doing what?”
She shook her head.
Okay, maybe she’d hit the wall too. “Let’s get some shut-eye, then food. Then we’ll talk.”
She nodded and followed him to the elevator. It arrived with a soft chime. They rode up in silence.
“Two-hour nap,” he said as they reached their floor. “Then meet me in the restaurant downstairs for dinner. We’ll figure out our next move.”
“Okay.”
She sounded tired. Or maybe on autopilot that kept her moving forward while her mind processed whatever was eating at her.
He watched as she disappeared into her room. Heard the deadbolt slide home. Stood in the hallway longer than necessary.
Something was wrong. Not just the obvious—Volkov, the weapons, the timeline. Something deeper.
In his room, he stripped off clothes that smelled like road dust and sweat and found his bearings again under the spray of the hot shower.
He walked to the big bed in a towel and fell into it. His eyes closed on I’m doing it again.
An hour and a half later, his phone woke him up, and he clawed through the blanket of sleep, took another shower, used one of the hotel razors to shave, and ran his hand over his smooth jaw, thankful to look civilized again.
He found his convention clothing and dressed in the dark slacks, the blue button-down shirt. The outfit would probably help him blend in at the resort tomorrow if they managed to get there.
The restaurant occupied the hotel’s top floor. Expansive windows overlooked the river, the city lights a kaleidoscope on the dark surface. Fancy place—white tablecloths, waiters in vests.
He’d maybe never been anywhere this nice in Thailand.
A hostess led him to a table by the window. The menu was mostly in Thai, with prices that made him grateful Jones, Inc., covered M&E expenses.
The waiter appeared beside his table. Young guy, maybe mid-twenties. Polished.
“Sir? Would you care for a cocktail while you wait?”
“Could you recommend a wine? Something good, but—” He gestured at the menu. Didn’t want to admit he had no idea what half the bottles cost.
“Something to go with dinner?”
“Yeah. Something that, uh . . . maybe a nice red? For my lady friend and me.”
The waiter bowed his head. “I’ll bring you something appropriate.”
Skeet settled back to wait. The restaurant was maybe half full. Business travelers. A few couples who looked as if they were celebrating something. An older man dining alone while reading through what appeared to be business files.
Normal people. Living normal lives.
Then Chloe walked in.
Oh . . . my . . .
She wore a simple black dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and understated. Her blonde hair was styled in a way that showed the graceful line of her neck. No jewelry except small earrings that caught the light when she moved.
She looked like she belonged in places like this. She also looked exhausted.
“You were supposed to sleep.”
She frowned at him, then sat down. “You look nice too.”
Right. He should have gotten up, should have helped her with her chair, should have—“Sorry. You look . . . um . . . wow.”
This got a smile. “That’s better. And for the record, I can’t sleep during the day.”
“A sleep mask helps.”
She picked up the napkin to put it on her lap. “I called my editor. He expected an article a few days ago. I put him off for a few more.”
“How’d that go?”
“About as well as you’d expect. He thinks I’m losing objectivity.” She glanced around the restaurant. “This is nice. Very . . . adult.”
“Figured we could use some civilized surroundings while we plan how to infiltrate a bioweapons meeting.”
Small smile. “Surreal, right? Yesterday we were journalists following a story. Tonight we’re trying to prevent mass murder.”
“Yeah, maybe let’s not say that out loud, in public.”
The waiter appeared with a bottle of wine. Went through the ritual of presenting the label and pouring a small taste. Skeet nodded as if he knew what he was doing.
“To preventing . . . um . . . you know,” Chloe said, raising her glass.
“To not getting ourselves killed,” he said softly.
The wine filled his palate with flavors he couldn’t identify but that hung on and felt decadent. As if he’d left the guy in fatigues and a tactical vest back in the jungle.
“So.” She set down her glass. “What’s your brilliant plan for getting us into that resort?”
“You first.” He met her eyes. “What did you mean when you said you were ‘doing it again’?”
Her hands stilled on the stem of her wineglass. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she sighed. Some of the professional armor she wore cracked just enough to show the person underneath, the one he’d met at the night market.
If he was honest, the girl he’d wanted to kiss.
“I’m getting myself in over my head. And now you too.”
Oh. He didn’t know what to do with that, because, well, yes.
But his I got this thrummed inside him.
The waiter returned to take their order. Skeet stared at the menu. Half the dishes were in Thai with English translations that didn’t help much. “What is ‘coconut-lemongrass chicken ballotine with galangal velouté, kaffir lime oil, and compressed cucumber’?”
Chloe laughed. “You know what?” she said, looking over her menu. “Let me handle this.” She switched to Thai with the waiter, gesturing between them and pointing at various items on the menu.
“What did you just order for us?” he asked when the waiter left.
“Trust me. I got us the tom yum goong to start—shrimp soup, but not too spicy. Then green-papaya salad, and for the main course, massaman curry with beef and pineapple. It’s mild, rich, and delicious.”
“You speak Thai?”
“I’m about as fluent as a three-year-old, but I can get by. You pick things up.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t order anything weird. No fish eyes or chicken feet.”
“My hero,” he said. Then he leaned over to her. “And for the record, you’re not getting me in over my head. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
She went quiet for a long moment. Her fingers traced the base of her wineglass while she stared out at the lights scattered across the valley below.
“I was thirteen. My little sister, Hannah, had been missing for four years, and my parents were . . . broken. My mom spent most days in bed, my dad threw himself into work, and Selah and Jake and I were trying to hold everything together.” Pause.
A sip of wine. “I decided I was going to find Hannah myself.”
“At thirteen years old?”
“Thirteen and convinced I was smarter than the police, the FBI, everyone who’d been looking for her. I researched missing children cases, followed leads online, convinced my friend’s older brother to drive me to interview a man who claimed he had information about Hannah.”
The waiter brought their appetizers—a bowl of tom yum goong that sent aromatic steam curling between them, fragrant with lemongrass and lime leaves. The green-papaya salad arrived alongside it, bright and fresh, with julienned vegetables and crushed peanuts.
“Try the soup first,” Chloe said, ladling some into his bowl. “It’s perfect comfort food after the day we’ve had.”