Free Never Say Die by Tess Gerritsen Page B

her mind almost as easily as if her eyes were transparent. She gazed down at the treasures he'd brought from Bangkok. She swallowed, her mouth still tingling with the taste of champagne. At last she said, "The gun. What do you want it for?"
    "A job."
    "Vietnamese?"
    "American. A woman."
    A spark flickered in Chantal’s eyes. Curiosity. Maybe jealousy. Her chin came up. "Your lover?"
    He shook his head.
    "Then why do you want her dead?"
    He shrugged. "Business. My client has offered generous compensation. I will split it with you.''
    "The way you did before?" she shot back.
    He shook his head apologetically. "Chantal, Chantal." He sighed. "You know I had no choice. It was the last flight out of Saigon." He touched her face; it had lost its former silkiness. That French blood again: it didn't hold up well under years of harsh sunlight. "This time, I promise. You'll be paid."
    She sat there looking at him, looking at the champagne. "What if it takes me time to find a gun?"
    "Then I'll improvise. And I will need an assistant. Someone I can trust, someone discreet." He paused. "Your cousin, is he still in need of money?"
    Their gazes met. He gave her a slow, significant smile. Then he filled her glass with champagne.
    "Open the caviar," she said.
     
    "I need your help," said Willy.
    Guy, dazed and still half-asleep, stood in his doorway, blinking at the morning sunlight. He was uncombed, unshaven and wearing only a towel—a skimpy one at that. She tried to stay focused on his face, but her gaze kept dropping to his chest, to that mat of curly brown hair, to the scar knotting the upper abdomen.
    He shook his head in disbelief. "You couldn't have told me this last night? You had to wait till the crack of dawn?"
    "Guy, it's eight o'clock."
    He yawned. "No kidding."
    "Maybe you should try going to bed at a decent hour."
    "Who says I didn't?" He leaned carelessly in the doorway and grinned. "Maybe sleep didn't happen to be on my agenda."
    Dear God. Did he have a woman in his room? Automatically, Willy glanced past him into the darkened room. The bed was rumpled but unoccupied.
    "Gotcha," he said, and laughed.
    "I can see you're not going to be any help at all." She turned and walked away.
    "Willy! Hey, come on." He caught her by the arm and pulled her around. "Did you mean it? About wanting my help?"
    "Forget it. It was a lapse in judgment."
    "Last night, hell had to freeze over before you'd come to me for help. But here you are. What made you change your mind?"
    She didn't answer right off. She was too busy trying not to notice that his towel was slipping. To her relief, he snatched it together just in time and fastened it more securely around his hips.
    At last she shook her head and sighed. "You were right. It's all going exactly as you said it would. No official will talk to me. No one'll answer my calls. They hear I'm coming and they all dive under their desks!''
    "You could try a little patience. Wait another week."
    "Next week's no good, either."
    "Why?"
    "Haven't you heard? It's Ho Chi Minh's birthday."
    Guy looked heavenward. "How could I forget?"
    "So what should I do?"
    For a moment, he stood there thoughtfully rubbing his unshaven chin. Then he nodded. "Let's talk about it."
    Back in his room, she sat uneasily on the edge of the bed while he dressed in the bathroom. The man was a restless sleeper, judging by the rumpled sheets. The blanket had been kicked off the bed entirely, the pillows punched into formless lumps by the headboard. Her gaze settled on the nightstand, where a stack of files lay. The top one was labeled Operation Friar Tuck. Declassified. Curious, she flipped open the cover.
    "It's the way things work in this country," she heard him say through the bathroom door. "If you want to get from point A to point B, you don't go in a straight line. You walk two steps to the left, two to the right, turn and walk backward."
    "So what should I do now?"
    "The two-step. Sideways." He came out, dressed and freshly