Free Return to Tomorrow by Marisa Carroll Page A

“You don’t pretend. You adapt, you survive, you do what’s necessary to stay alive.”
    She shivered, despite the heat of early evening, assailed by sharp-edged bits and pieces of memories of the past. He spoke as if he knew firsthand what forces had shaped her, made her what she was. “Once I did all those things,” she said so quietly he had to lean toward her tohear the words. “Now I do what I want to do. Because I want to do it.”
    â€œI know that, too.” He lifted his hand, touched her hair very lightly. His palm grazed her cheek, a fleeting caress, over in a heartbeat, yet Rachel felt as if he’d reached out, surrounded her with his arms, held her captive with the mere strength of his will. The smell of his pipe tobacco was evocative, masculine. It tickled her nose, momentarily overpowering the smell of dust and chickens and wood smoke that pervaded the camp. She closed her eyes, willing her thoughts free of the sensual pull of the man before her.
    â€œHow long will you be here, Rachel?”
    The question surprised her. Her eyes flew open. “I have a little over a year left of my commitment to Father Dolph.” He didn’t move closer, didn’t touch her again, but still Rachel felt bound by his nearness.
    â€œDo you have plans to come south?”
    â€œNo.” The denial was bald; she softened it. “I mean, I haven’t made plans. I don’t have leave until June.”
    â€œThe rainy season—not the best time to see the city, or the country, for that matter.”
    â€œI’m not a tourist,” she reminded him, glad to hear her voice didn’t tremble.
    â€œI know that.” He straightened to his full height, giving her space, a moment to order her thoughts. “I want you to come to Bangkok.”
    He’d thrown her off balance again. “I…I don’t know.”
    â€œI want to spend some time with you,” he said, moving back, moving away, setting her completely free, shethought with relief, until he spoke again. A single word that sent her rushing off into the gathering dusk without even saying goodbye. “Alone.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    B RETT STOOD BY THE WINDOW in the main room of his home, a large Thai-style house, airy and open, with soaring rooflines. The house stood in a neighborhood that had once been a small village outside the city and still maintained aspects of its old identity. Bangkok was a city of contradictions; its commercial district had traffic tie-ups and noise pollution as bad as any modern city in the world, yet an age-old atmosphere of serenity infused the serious business of making money. Sanuk, the all-pervasive sense of fun and lightness that was an outgrowth of Buddhism, enabled the Thai people to conduct their lives and their businesses with both ambition and serenity.
    Along the distant skyline, the gold-crusted chedi soared toward heaven, shoulder to shoulder with concrete and steel office towers, temples to other, less benevolent beings than the Buddha. Yet, even the occupants of those strongholds of capitalism would not think of neglecting to raise a spirit house outside their doors, a dollhouse-size temple for the devotion of the faithful.
    There were other contrasts, too. Great wealth and even greater poverty in the same neighborhood, magnificent museums and art collections only blocks away from bars where nude dancers, some barely into their teens, gyrated to everything from Elvis to The Who. Some of the girlswere there of their own free will. Yet most were driven to Patpong Road and its environs by need and necessity, and still others, a few, were there because in this part of the world some men still trafficked in human flesh. Brett turned away from the window with a disgusted snort.
    â€œPreach on, Brother Jackson.” The corner of his mouth turned upward in a bitter smile. The rain was causing him to turn philosophical, it seemed. Sometimes that happened about