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She glanced up once more to find Ahnle looking at her. One crystal tear squeezed out of her dark, frightened eyes and ran down her cheek, smearing mascara and cheap red blusher as it went. Rachel didn't give herself time for any more thoughts. She moved into the bar like a small, indomitable tornado, ignoring Lonnie Smalley's restraining hand.

“Get down, Ahnle,” she ordered in as strong and steady a voice as she could manage. “I've come to take you home.”

The frightened girl clung to the pole anchored from bar top to ceiling that she'd been “dancing” around. “Ahnle, come down,” Rachel said in Hlông, watching
the angry German from the corner of her eye. He was a big man, burly and blond.

“She's mine,” the sailor roared in German. Rachel didn't have to speak the language to understand what he said.

“She belongs to no man.”

Ahnle scrambled down off the bar, as though no longer having to face the big man's hungry attentions had released her from a spell.

“Rachel.” For the first time in the months they'd been together, Ahnle ignored the conventions of her people and threw herself into Rachel's arms. “Take me away, please. It is a bad place here.”

Rachel slipped off her light cotton jacket and wrapped it around Ahnle's shoulders. The girl was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. “Don't let that man touch me again.”

The sailor didn't look ready to give Ahnle up without a fight. The bar owner advanced on them, also, yelling abuse in Chinese, flourishing a very businesslike billy club. Rachel took a prudent step backward, dragging Ahnle with her.

“Nein,”
the German howled, diving for the girl just as Lonnie Smalley stepped into his path. Without breaking stride, the sailor swung his arm and knocked the smaller, lighter man against the bar. Lonnie slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

“I pay many
baht
for this one.” The owner of the bar broke into English. “She not good here. She not dance and laugh. She drive customers away. I lose money. She not go unless I get paid for trouble.” He waved the billy club in front of Rachel's face. Then it disappeared from
sight, spinning the man half around as it was ripped from his hand.

“We're not paying anything,” a low male voice said.

Rachel looked up, startled. Brett Jackson towered over her, holding the billy club, slapping it into the open palm of his other hand. Lonnie struggled to get to his feet and she looked away, kneeling to help him, trying to hide the relief that brought sudden tears to her eyes.

“I lose money,” the bar owner whined.

“You'll lose more than that if you don't shut up and let the girl go quietly.”

“The same goes for you, buddy.” Billy Todd's grin was as menacing as his words. The German sailor looked as if he intended to press his claim for Ahnle, standing, now, in the shelter of Billy's arm. His right hand moved casually toward the knife sheathed at his waist. The German backed away.

“You okay, Lon?” Brett asked, never taking his eye from the disgruntled bar owner.

“Yeah.” Lonnie dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away streaked with blood. “He blind-sided me.”

“Let's get out of here before some of the natives get restless.” Unbelievably, only those in the immediate vicinity of the altercation had paid it any heed. For the rest of the customers, it was business as usual.

“Right behind you, Colonel.”

“Coming, Mrs. Phillips?” Brett inquired with a twist of his lips that wasn't quite a smile.

Rachel nodded. She couldn't trust her voice just yet. She'd come a long way from the frightened shell of a woman she'd been when Micah and Simon brought her
home from Vietnam, but she still had trouble dealing with hostility and anger in men.

“I suggest we blow this joint.” Billy was grinning from ear to ear. “Otherwise, I might have to smash somebody's head in, just for the hell of it.”

“No.” Rachel held her ground, although she was shaking all over. “We should call the police. See if any of the other girls need help.”

“We can't do anything for them. Do you want to get us all killed?” Brett's face was as hard as his words. He grabbed her hand, manacling her wrist with a grip she couldn't break. “Move it, Rachel. You're coming with me and this time you'll do as you're told.”

“I
S SHE SLEEPING
?”

Rachel's breath caught in her throat for the space of a heartbeat. She spun around. Billy Todd was standing directly behind her in the dimly lighted hallway.

“I'd appreciated it if you would quit sneaking up on me like that.” She smiled up at him but her heart raced in startled reaction.

“Sorry,” he said, and grinned. “Force of habit.” He glanced through the open bedroom door. Ahnle was lying on a low platform bed of some highly polished wood that Rachel couldn't identify. There was a troubled, haunted look on her face that hadn't smoothed away even in sleep. Billy walked forward, as silently as ever, and looked down at her. “Can she be left alone?” A frown carved deep lines in his high forehead.

“I think so.” Rachel took one last, considering look at the sleeping girl and started down the hall ahead of Billy Todd.

“I'll leave the door open. If she wakes and calls out for me, it will be easier to hear her.”

“Was she raped?” His hand on her arm stopped her. Billy's question was blunt, as hard-edged as his voice, but Rachel sensed the leashed anger and concern beneath the surface calm.

“As far as I can tell, no, thank God. I guess even the
clientele of the Teak Doll balks at carrying off a young girl kicking and screaming and scared out of her wits.” Rachel folded her arms beneath her breasts, hugging herself against the sudden chill of memory that struck deep into her heart. They both knew it was only a matter of time until someone would have bid for Ahnle's services. “I think the bar owner got a whole lot more opposition from her than he bargained for.” She shook her head, laughing a little to lighten her own darkness.

“She's a spunky kid. She's got you to thank for that.”

“Me?” Rachel was surprised by the statement.

Billy nodded. “No Hlông maiden would have dared defy her male relatives that way, no matter what she was expected to do.”

“I know,” Rachel agreed, “but very few of the Hlông I knew would ask that of their daughters or sisters.” Even the ones who had brought disgrace on the family ancestors as Ahnle had done.

“Well, she's free of them now. And believe it or not, there are a lot worse places in Bangkok than the Teak Doll.” Billy crossed the main room of the lovely, traditional-style Thai house that Brett had brought them to.

His home,
she realized suddenly, now that she could take the time to consider her surroundings.

“I could use a drink. How about you?” Billy went directly to a bar tucked against the far wall. Dressed in light blue cotton shirt and dark slacks, he looked less dangerous, more civilized than usual.

“Sounds good.” She sat down on an overstuffed couch covered in Thai cotton in a pattern of earth tones and
dark green. It was comfortable, casual and decidedly masculine.

“Whiskey and soda all right? The whiskey's Canadian. I've been in Thailand for over fifteen years and I still can't get used to their rice whiskey. Too sweet. Tastes like rum.”

“I'd like a beer,” Rachel said wistfully. “A cold beer.”

“One cold beer coming right up.” He brought her a bottle of Thai beer and a glass, seating himself on a chair opposite the couch.

Rachel took a sip and let her eyes wander around the teak-paneled room. “This is Brett's house, isn't it?”

“Yeah. He doesn't spend too much time here, though.”

“You…travel…a lot, I suppose,” Rachel said, searching for a tactful way to phrase her thoughts. She looked down at her mint-green linen skirt. The skirt and sleeveless white blouse were all the clothes she had, except for what she'd been wearing earlier in the day. She tried futilely to smooth the wrinkles with the palm of her hand.

“We're on the road most of the time.” He took a swallow of his whiskey as he glanced around the quiet room. “I like this place. Feels like home, ya know? Maybe someday I'll have a place like it.” He leaned forward, holding his glass between his hands, his elbows resting on widespread knees.

“Don't you want to go home, back to the States?”

“I've been gone too long to go back. Bangkok is my home now.” He was silent, lost in his own thoughts.

“Where in the city do you live?” She watched the bubbles in her beer race to the top of the glass.

“I got a houseboat on one of the
klongs
off the river. Used to be a nice little place—now the tourists have found it and it's damn near as crowded and noisy as the floating market.” He shook his head. “Progress. It's a damn shame sometimes.”

A clock in a nearby room chimed midnight with the soft tinkle of tiny temple bells.

Billy stood up. “It's time I headed over to Lonnie's hooch.”

“Is Brett with him?” She studied the bubbles in her glass more closely than ever. She tried hard to keep her voice noncommittal.

“Yes, he is.” Billy drained the remainder of his whiskey in one long swallow.

“I see.”

He bent over and very carefully set the glass on the bamboo table between them. “Don't judge what you don't understand, Mrs. Phillips.” There was no mistaking the warning in his words.

“Rachel, please. I'm not judging, Billy.” She couldn't keep the tightness out of her voice; her throat just seemed to close up when she tried to say the words.

“The hell you aren't.”

“You're both breaking the law, helping to supply his habit.” There was no beating around the bush. She knew as well as he did that Brett had accompanied Lonnie on a search for heroin to satisfy his body's craving for the drug.

“We're doin' our best to keep him safe and off the streets. They don't give drug addicts a slap on the wrist
and send them on their way round here, you know. If the Thai police pick him up he's looking at hard time.”

“That's not the point. You're helping him to kill himself.” She watched his face carefully. Surely, he understood how precious life was. He must have seen it cut short too often, as she had. His eyes were bleak, his expression carefully guarded. He ran his fingers through the short, wiry curls of his night-black hair. “Can't you get him into some kind of rehabilitation?”

“Maybe you should be askin' Brett these questions.”

“I…I can't.”

“Then I'll tell ya, so you don't go blamin' him for what Lonnie's like.” His Georgia accent grew more pronounced. “Brett's got him in rehab programs, good ones, expensive ones. Three of 'em in the last five years alone. It don't work. He's been hooked too long. For him, it's the only thing that can keep back the past. It ain't gonna be the heroin that kills Lonnie Smalley. It's the war. Even if it takes thirty years to do it, it'll still be the war. Lonnie was too young and too scared and he got hurt too bad to ever get over it. And if you don't understand, then you ain't the woman I thought you were.”

“I understand.” She thought of Micah and the nightmares in his past…and her own. Rachel stood up so suddenly her cotton skirt swirled around her knees. “Lonnie's your friend. In Thailand, if you believe as the Thais do, that makes his health and happiness your responsibility.”

“Ain't no one knows that more than Brett. Till the day he dies, he'll believe he's responsible for what happened to Lonnie, 'cause he was his commanding officer. The
boy was too young and too green for the kind of missions we were on, but he was the only medic we had. Lonnie did his best to keep the guys alive but most of the time it wasn't enough. He just couldn't take it. Brett's taken care of him ever since. Only there ain't no one to take care of the colonel, except me. We don't need no more complications in our lives.”

“I don't intend to be one.” There was no mistaking his meaning. Rachel raised her chin and looked straight into his dark, angry eyes, but he was staring off in the direction of the bedroom where Ahnle slept, not looking at her.

“You already are. Both of you.” He turned and stalked out of the room. At the doorway he stopped, twisted his head to look back at her. “Look, I'm sorry I said that. What's between you and Tiger is none of my damned business.”

“There isn't anything between us,” Rachel said, just a bit too forcefully.

“Yeah, then y'all forgit I said anythin'.” He didn't sound convinced.

“Billy,” Rachel held out her hand. “I do understand about Lonnie. I just wish things could be different, that's all.”

“They aren't,” Billy said, and left the room.

 

I
T WAS ALMOST
2:00 a.m. The night had cooled down but it was still warm as a midsummer evening back home. Brett couldn't sleep. He gave up pacing around the living room and stepped through the French doors into the garden. Billy was staying with Lonnie the rest of the night, making sure he didn't wander off and get himself
mugged or go out looking for another hit to help prolong that first rush of pleasure and ward off the crash that was sure to follow. When he thought about it too much, he hated himself for not being able to halt his friend's slide into oblivion. He'd tried so hard and so long to keep them all safe and it hadn't been enough.

He stopped in the shadows to light his pipe, to shut out the past and the nagging sense of defeat that always came with thoughts of the war. Smoke curled upward in the heavy night air, the aroma of tobacco overpowering the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle.

“Brett? Is that you?” Rachel's voice came from the deeper shadows surrounding the grotto near the spirit house. He didn't answer her for a long moment because he couldn't read the underlying emotion in her voice and he wasn't ready to confront her censure. A woman with Rachel's strong ideals wouldn't condone his behavior in supplying drugs to Lonnie. He didn't blame her. He could barely condone it himself.
Except that you did what you had to do to keep a friend alive.
He hesitated, then stepped forward into the small pool of shifting light, near the fountain, cast by a stone lantern that Nog lighted every clear night.

“You ought to be asleep,” he said, watching her shadow dance across the moon-spangled water. “It's been a rough day.”

He saw her shake her head, starlight catching in the silvery highlights of her hair. “I can't sleep. Maybe I'm too tired.”

“Nog's wife has a great home remedy for that. Would you like me to have her brew you a cup?”

“No,” she said firmly. “They've been so kind and
helpful already. I wouldn't think of waking them at this late hour.”

He glanced at his watch. “You're right, it's later, even, than I thought. I lost track of the time.”

“Brett.” She spoke his name again. “Is Lonnie all right?”

“Yes.”
He's safe and off the streets. That's as all right as he'll ever be.
He braced himself for what she would say next. She surprised him by changing the subject.

“I'm glad.” There was a little pause. “I want to thank you for what you did for me this afternoon.”

He didn't answer, pretending to be busy relighting his pipe. He didn't want to start an argument by reminding her that she'd disobeyed his orders, putting herself, as well as Ahnle and Lonnie, in danger.

“I know I was wrong going off on my own that way.” She moved out of the shadows toward him as she spoke. “And I was wrong allowing Lonnie to go with me. But sometimes I can't stop myself from rushing ahead. I can't sit back and wait while others take the risk.”

“Is that why you volunteered to go to Camp Twelve during the cholera outbreak?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Billy checked in at the camp one day last summer. Doctor Reynard told him where you had gone.”

“I didn't go running into danger,” she said, tilting her head back to bring her gaze level with his. Although she held his look with steady regard, there was a shadow of hesitation, of withholding, in her blue-gray eyes. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light? “I took every precaution, for myself and Ahnle.” There was no hesitation in her voice. It was possible he had imagined the other.
“There was an epidemic in a village near the hospital where I was stationed in Nam years ago. Most of the young volunteers at Camp Six had never come across the disease, thank God. I wasn't being quixotic. I made the practical choice.”

He shook his head. “It was a brave and foolish thing to do just to get out of keeping a date with me.”

She looked startled, then smiled delightfully, the darkness receding from her eyes. “You're teasing me. You know I went because they needed me.”

“You were running away from me,” Brett insisted. “Admit it, I scared you with that remark about being alone together that day we met at the camp gate.” His worry and guilt over Lonnie's addiction began to recede. The ever-present anxiety over his scheme to relieve Khen Sa of his opium also faded. For the time being, he was only a man, alone with a fascinating and desirable woman in the timeless peace and beauty of a Chinese garden beneath a tropical moon.

“I don't know if I would have come to Bangkok in June,” she answered with the honesty he found so intriguing, if discomfiting. She wasn't looking directly at him now, but staring at the top button of his shirt. He wondered what her lips would feel like brushing across his chest. She raised her eyes slowly, as if sensing his thoughts. She tilted her head sideways and the coquettish smile faded from her lips. She was suddenly totally serious. “I didn't relocate myself into the midst of a possible cholera epidemic merely to avoid being alone with you. I'm not suicidal, only confused.”

Brett caught her hands in his as she seemed about to
move past him and retreat once again into the shadows. “What confuses you, Rachel?”

“You do,” she whispered. Her expression held a question and just a hint of passion buried so deeply within her, he wondered if she was aware of it yet herself.