Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty: Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty. Tess Gerritsen

just a little murder attempt.”

      “In the morning,” Ainh went on quickly, “you are free to continue your tour.”

      “Subject to what restrictions?” Guy asked.

      “No restrictions.” Ainh cleared his throat and made a feeble attempt to smile. “Contrary to your government propaganda, Mr. Barnard, we are a reasonable people. We have nothing to hide.”

      To which Guy answered flatly, “Or so it seems.”

      

      “I DON’T GET IT. First they run you through the wringer. Then they hand you the keys to the country. It doesn’t make sense.”

      Willy stared out the taxi window as the streets of Saigon glided past. Here and there, a lantern flickered in the darkness. A noodle vendor huddled on the sidewalk beside his steaming cart. In an open doorway, a beaded curtain shuddered, and in the dim room beyond, sleeping children could be seen, curled up like kittens on their mats.

      “Nothing makes sense,” she whispered. “Not this country. Or the people. Or anything that’s happened…”

      She was trembling. The horror of everything that had happened that night suddenly burst through the numbing dam of exhaustion. Even Guy’s arm, which had magically materialized around her shoulders, couldn’t keep away the unnamed terrors of the night.

      He pulled her against his chest, and only when she inhaled that comfortable smell of fatigue, felt the slow and steady beat of his heart, did her trembling finally stop. He kept whispering, “It’s all right, Willy. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She felt his kiss, gentle as rain, on her forehead.

      When the driver stopped in front of the hotel, Guy had to coax her out of the car. He led her through the nightmarish glare of the lobby. He was the pillar that supported her in the elevator. And it was his arm that guided her down the shadowed walkway and past the air-conditioning vent, now ominously silent. He didn’t even ask her if she wanted his company for the night; he simply opened the door to his room, led her inside and sat her down on his bed. Then he locked the door and slid a chair in front of it.

      In the bathroom, he soaked a washcloth with warm water. Then he came back out, sat down beside her on the bed and gently wiped her smudged face. Her cheeks were pale. He had the insane urge to kiss her, to breathe some semblance of life back into her body. He knew she wouldn’t fight him; she didn’t have the strength. But it wouldn’t be right, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of the situation, of her.

      “There,” he murmured, brushing back her hair. “All better.”

      She stirred and gazed up at him with wide, stunned eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

      “For what?”

      “For…” She paused, searching for the right words. “For being here.”

      He touched her face. “I’ll be here all night. I won’t leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

      She nodded. It hurt him to see her look so tired, so defeated. She’s getting to me, he thought. This isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t what I expected.

      He could see, from the brightness of her eyes, that she was trying not to cry. He slid his arm around her shoulders.

      “You’ll be safe, Willy,” he whispered into the softness of her hair. “You’ll be going home in the morning. Even if I have to strap you into that plane myself, you’ll be going home.”

      She shook her head. “I can’t.”

      “What do you mean, you can’t?”

      “My father…”

      “Forget him. It isn’t worth it.”

      “I made a promise…”

      “All you promised your mother was an answer. Not a body. Not some official report, stamped and certified. Just a simple answer. So give her one. Tell her he’s dead, tell her he died in the crash. It’s probably the truth.”

      “I can’t lie to her.”

      “You have to.” He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Willy, someone’s trying to kill you. They’ve flubbed it twice. But what happens the third time? The fourth?”

      She shook her head. “I’m not worth killing. I don’t know anything!”

      “Maybe it’s not what you know. It’s what you might find out.”

      Sniffling, she looked up in bewilderment. “That my father’s dead? Or alive? What difference does it make to anyone?”

      He sighed, a sound of overwhelming weariness. “I don’t know. If we could talk to Oliver, find out who he works for—”

      “He’s just a kid!”

      “Obviously not. He could be sixteen, seventeen. Old enough to be an agent.”

      “For the Vietnamese?”

      “No. If he was one of theirs, why’d he vanish? Why did the police keep hounding you about him?”

      She huddled on the bed, her confusion deepening. “He saved my life. And I don’t even know why.”

      There it was again, that raw edge of vulnerability, shimmering in her eyes. She might be Wild Bill Maitland’s brat, but she was also a woman, and Guy was having a hard time concentrating on the problem at hand. Why was someone trying to kill her?

      He was too tired to think. It was late, she was so near, and there was the bed, just waiting.

      He reached up and gently stroked her face. She seemed to sense immediately what was about to happen. Even though her whole body remained stiff, she didn’t fight him. The instant their lips met, he felt a shock leap through her, through him, as though they’d both been hit by some glorious bolt of lightning. My God, he thought in surprise. You wanted this as much as I did…

      He heard her murmur, “No,” against his mouth, but he knew she didn’t mean it, so he went on kissing her until he knew that if he didn’t stop right then and there, he’d do something he really didn’t want to do.

      Oh, yes I do, he thought with sudden abandon. I want her more than I’ve wanted any other woman.

      She put her hand against his chest and murmured another “No,” this one fainter. He would have ignored it, too, had it not been for the look in her eyes. They were wide and confused, the eyes of a woman pushed to the brink by fear and exhaustion. This wasn’t the way he wanted her. Maddening as she could be, he wanted the living, breathing, real Willy Maitland in his arms.

      He released her. They sat on the bed, not speaking for a while, just looking at each other with a shared sense of quiet astonishment.

      “Why—why did you do that?” she asked weakly.

      “You looked like you needed a kiss.”

      “Not from you.”

      “From someone, then. It’s been a while since you’ve been kissed. Hasn’t it?”

      She didn’t answer, and he knew he’d guessed the truth. Hell, what a waste, he thought, his gaze dropping briefly to that perfect little mouth. He managed a disinterested laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

      Willy stared at his grinning face and wondered, Is it so obvious? Not only hadn’t she been kissed in a long time, she hadn’t ever been kissed like that. He knew exactly how to do it; he’d probably had years of practice with other women. For some insane reason, she found herself wondering how she compared, found herself hating every woman he’d ever kissed before her, hating even more every woman he’d kiss after her.

      She flung herself down on the bed and turned her back on him. “Oh, leave me alone!” she cried. “I can’t deal