The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (40 page)

Finally, some luck.

• • • • •

Jean realized Clark was staring at her.

“Where’s George?” he bellowed.

“I…I don’t know,” she said, gaping at Clark. “How would I know?”

“
Where is he?
” he screamed.

His face was red with anger and his eyes suddenly looked bloodshot.

“Clark, please!” Jean yelled. “I don’t know! I was–”

“You were
what?
Keeping me busy?”

She backed up a step and blinked. One hand flew to her chest and the other gripped the edge of the raised bed in back of her.

“
What?
” she whispered.

“Oh you were good,” Clark sneered.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. She heard Annan run up but she couldn’t take her eyes off Clark's face.

“You and George,” he hissed between his clenched teeth.

“He’s my employer,” she said. “But I–”

“Your
employer
. How did you interview? With a photo? Or did you
audition
?”

What? she thought.
What was that supposed to mean? What is he talking about?

Suddenly, though, she remembered the agency photos. All the candidates had been required to update their employee web pages, including
three
pictures for their profiles. Candidates without them would not be considered.

“There were photos–”

“Of course there were!” Clark said, whirling away from her. “
Of course there were.
How could I have fallen for it?”

“Clark, please,” she implored. “I don’t understand.”

What does the photo have to do with anything? What is going on?

“Annan,” he said, turning to face him. “Lock the front gate.”

Annan looked between her and Clark.

“Don’t just stand there! Move!”

Annan immediately began backpedaling and then turned and ran.

Suddenly, Clark had her by the arms.

“Where did George go?” he ground out through clenched teeth. His face was inches from hers. He shook her, making her head snap.
 

“I don’t
know
,” she cried out, trying to back away.

“Tell me where he went!” he yelled, shoving her into the raised bed behind her.

“Clark,
please
, you’re hurting me.”

“Where is he taking the buds?” he yelled, shaking her again.

“Buds?” she shook her head. “I don’t know about–”

His fingers dug into the backs of her arms as he bent her backwards, looming over her.

“Was it fun pretending to be her?” he snarled.

She cried out at the pain behind her hips.

“Did you
enjoy
it?” he sneered.

“Please!” she wailed.

“You could be sisters,” he spat at her. “Twins!”

“
Twins with who?
” she finally screamed. “In god’s name,
who?
”

“Linda!” he screamed into her face.

As though he’d woken from a nightmare, he blinked at her, breathing hard, and let her go. He took a couple of steps back.

Slowly, she straightened up and tried to catch her breath. Her legs threatened to go out from under her. She propped herself against the raised bed.

Linda? The wife who’d died a year ago?

The image of Annan’s smiling eyes in the rear view mirror flashed into her mind. Mrs. Juntasa’s stunned reaction at dinner. The looks of the workers in the processing building. She shook her head.

“No,” she whispered.

“Oh yes,” he hissed. “You two were good.”

Is
that
why she’d really been hired? Because of her photo? Her resemblance to someone that Clark had once loved? So that he would–what? Fall in love with her? Tears suddenly stung her eyes. George had used her to keep Clark busy. George had come here to steal something–she glanced at the tree with the oval scar–and he’d succeeded. She blinked, no longer seeing Clark. It hardly seemed possible and yet there was the proof.

The whole trip was a lie. George, the auditing, the investors–everything a lie. Even her.

Oh god.

The realization struck her like a blow. She nearly lost her footing but caught herself on the seed bed.

“I didn’t know,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t know.”

Clark quickly turned on his heel and strode away.

“Clark?” she said. The tears in her eyes made him blurry. “Clark, please! You have to believe me. I didn’t know!”

“Save it for the police,” he said over his shoulder, not even turning.

He opened the door and slammed it closed after him. She heard it lock.

• • • • •

It shouldn’t be too hard to sneak up on Mrs. Juntasa, George thought. She moved
so
slowly. As he crouched low and approached from the front of her Jeep, he felt the warmth of the engine. The jingling of the keys made his ears prick up but he couldn’t see them through the open driver’s door.

Come on, old woman, close the door.

As he watched the ground under the door, she put one foot down and then the other, as she slid out of the seat. She landed with a little plop of her sandals. When she stood, she was no taller than the Jeep.

Close the door.

He could see her clearly through the plastic window. Her hair was completely white and her neck was pencil thin. He stared at it. That was going to be the quietest. He couldn’t risk her screaming. Though he wished he’d had the foresight to grab a heavy tool from the workbench, it was too late for that. Her craggy fingers appeared at the edge of the door as she stepped out of its way. Finally, she pushed it closed with a solid thud. Then, she turned toward the rear of the vehicle.

George leapt at her. In only two long steps, he had his arm around her neck. As he dragged her light frame backward and down, he pushed her head forward with his free hand. Her enormous purse fell to the floor as her hands went to the arm around her neck. He tightened it as he dragged her to the front of the Jeep. Though she struggled for the first several seconds, in under a minute, she was unconscious. He dumped her just in front of the bumper. Though the sleeper hold was a quick and quiet way to subdue someone, it wouldn’t last long. He needed to get moving.

Suddenly, there was shouting from the plaza. George crouched near the front bumper and peered around the driver’s side. Annan ran by, followed by Clark. No doubt they knew they’d been robbed. George dashed to the old woman’s purse and upended it. The keys hit the ground with a jangle and he snatched them up. Though he’d just been about to yank the door open, the sound of running feet stopped him.
 

Someone was coming.

Quickly, he reached into his pocket and brought out the grafting knife. He opened it and saw the white smears of latex that streaked it. He’d never used a weapon of any sort but–he touched the case of specimens in his back pocket–he’d never had a thirty million dollar payday.

Again he crouched down low, got on hands and knees, and looked underneath the vehicle. He glanced at Mrs. Juntasa’s still form. Unless someone were standing there, right in front of the Jeep, they’d never see her. The running grew louder and he looked back toward the garage entrance. Sandal clad feet scampered into the garage, between the far Jeep and the motorcycle. That had to be Annan. He was in a hurry. George heard the keys, then a door opening, and Annan’s feet disappeared. The engine roared to life as Annan gunned it, jammed the gearshift into reverse, and the vehicle flew backward. Gravel spewed from the back tires as he turned and slammed it into first gear. He drove off toward the front of the building, picking up speed quickly.

“Shit,” muttered George.

They were getting ahead of him. Why else take the Jeep to that end of the ranch? That was the direction he needed to go. He had taken too long.

“Dammit!” he said, hitting the door with the palm of his hand. “Dammit! Dammit!”
 

Still on his knees, he leaned his forehead against the metal. How was he going to get to the airport? He looked up. He needed a diversion. There were so few people on the plantation, they couldn’t cover everything.
 

Just then, Mrs. Juntasa coughed. Though he checked to the right first, George wasted no time. He stood and went to the front of the Jeep. Mrs. Juntasa was already sitting up. Without hesitation, he planted the heel of his shoe in her forehead. She hadn’t even had time to look up as her head snapped backward and she hit the ground hard.

That would keep her for awhile.

He ran to the back of the Jeep. Each of them was equipped with an extra gas can strapped to the back. He checked left and right. There was no one. The red can sat on a metal platform extending from the bumper. He quickly released the canvas strap over the top and picked up the can. It felt full.

• • • • •

Clark charged into George’s room, muscles pumped and ready. Though he’d hoped to find George, that wasn’t going to be the case. George was nowhere to be seen–but his suitcase was.

“Left in a hurry,” Clark muttered.

Could the cuttings still be here?

Clark couldn’t help but feel a small hope. He immediately upended the suitcase on the bed. The contents spilled into a pile and he threw the suitcase to the floor. Clothes, a pair of shoes, socks, underwear–nothing useful. He quickly went back to the suitcase and opened each zipper on the luggage. In the outermost pocket, he found a plane ticket for the return flight, still two days from now.
So, he apparently didn’t think he’d be caught.
Clark crumpled the paper in his fist. Though he stared at the pile of belongings, he no longer saw them.

It had all been a pretense. There were no investors that would save the company. There was no future for Peterson Rubber. If something seemed to good to be true, then it probably was.
 

He thought of Jean.

He’d actually fallen for her–hard. He shook his head and grimaced. Even now he could see her face, remember the feel of her lips. She’d been perfect–so much like Linda and yet not. In fact, the more he’d been with Jean, the more different they seemed. For the first time since Linda's death, he’d managed to stop thinking about her. Instead, he’d thought of Jean and also the investor audit. He shook his head again.

“All a lie,” he muttered.

He must have been desperate to have been fooled so badly. As he blinked, the pile on the bed came into focus. It was time to finish his search and head out to help Annan.

He stalked to the bathroom. On the sink there was the usual travel assortment: a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a razor. On the counter next to it, there was a black toiletry travel kit, partially open. Clark grabbed it and emptied it on the tile. Several items tumbled out and he quickly ran his hand through them, spreading them out. Aspirin, shaver blades, a hotel soap, kleenex, antacids, and…a bright orange prescription bottle. He picked it up. George Liew, methylenedioxymethamphetamine.
 

“Forgot your prescription, George,” Clark quietly sneered.

He scowled down at it. Wait a minute–a methamphetamine? He read the label out loud.

“Methylene Dioxy Methamphetamine.”

MDMA?

“Ecstasy?” he whispered, frowning.

George was taking
ecstasy
? What in the world for? This kind of thing was popular in Bangkok at rave parties. Though Clark had never been, he had a hard time picturing George Liew at a rave party with a wild crowd of twenty-somethings.

Clark twisted off the cap and shook a couple of tablets into his hand.
George and a methamphetamine. Why does a thief need his mood altered? Like a shot of liquid courage maybe?
Except MDMA wasn’t named ecstasy for nothing. Ecstasy is what it promoted.

Why would George want ecstasy?

Wait. He stared hard at the pill in his hand.
 

On the plantation tour today, he’d seen a pill like this. Clark held it up between his index finger and thumb. George had handed one of these to Jean. He’d called it an
electrolyte
.
 

Jean sniffed and wiped her eyes yet again. She sat with her back against the wall, several feet from the door, with her knees drawn up to her chest. She’d been crying on and off since Clark had left her there.

The fury on his face!

She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

She’d been used, from the very start. The fact that she’d been plucked from a sea of more experienced auditors finally made sense. Kind Dr. George Liew? He was a thief. There were no investors. The only reason to come to Peterson Ranch was to steal rubber plants and she’d been nothing more than a distraction for Clark.

Except that she’d actually fallen in love with him–almost before she’d met him. Like a true forensic auditor, she’d gotten to know him. But in person, he had been
so
much more.
 

And she’d felt him return that love.

Hadn’t she?

Or had he been seeing Linda, his dead wife?

God, what a mess.
She shook her head.

There was sound from the door. It was opening!

She scrambled to her feet.

Clark had come to his senses–believed what she said.

“Clark!” she said, as the door opened.

But it wasn’t Clark.

“
You
,” she said, stopping.

George Liew was holding a metal can and he closed the door behind him.

“Well,” he said. “
This
is a surprise.”

“What are
you
doing here?”

He smiled, a strangely wicked curl to the lips, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“I take it Clark didn’t believe you,” he said.

“Thanks to you,” she spat.

George’s face was impassive–no longer the smiling, jolly scientist.

“You have a decision to make,” he said, as he unscrewed the large cap from the top of the can. “You can come with me, help me escape, and I’ll double your fee.”

“
Help
you?”

He ignored her and started to pour the contents of the can over the nearest raised bed, dousing everything in reach.