“Stay in Saigon,” he said.

“You must really want me out of the way.”

“I want you safe.”

“Why?”

“Because I- You-” He stopped. They were staring at each other, both of them breathing so hard neither of them could speak. Without another word he hauled her into his arms.

It was just a kiss, but it hit her with such hurricane force that her legs seemed to wobble away into oblivion. He was all rough edges-stubbled jaw and callused hands and frayed shirt. Automatically, she reached up and her arms closed behind his neck, pulling him hard against her mouth. He needed no encouragement. As his body pressed into hers, those dream images reignited in her head: the swaying deck of a ship, the night sky, Guy’s face hovering above hers. If she let it, it would happen here, now. Already he was nudging her toward the bed, and she knew that if they fell across that mattress, he’d take her and she’d let him, and that was that. Never mind what made sense, what was good for her. She wanted him.

Even if it’s the worst mistake I’ll ever make in my life?

The thump of her legs against the side of the bed jarred her back to reality. She twisted away, pushed him to arm’s length.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen!” she said.

“I think it was.”

“We got our wires crossed and-”

“No,” he said softly. “I’d say our wires connected just fine.”

She crossed to the door and yanked it open. “I think you should get out.”

“I’m not going.”

“You’re not staying.”

But his stance, feet planted like tree roots, told her he most certainly was staying. “Have you forgotten? Someone wants you dead.”

“But you’re the one who’s threatening me.”

“It was just a kiss. Has it been that long, Willy? Does it shake you up that much, just being kissed?”

Yes it does! she wanted to scream. It shakes me up because I’ve never been kissed that way before!

“I’m staying tonight,” he said quietly. “You need me. And, I admit it, I need you. You’re my link to Bill Maitland. I won’t touch you, if that’s what you want. But I won’t leave, either.”

She had to concede defeat. Nothing she could do or say would make him budge. She let the door swing shut. Then she went to the bed and sat down. “God, I’m tired,” she said. “Too tired to fight you. I’m even too tired to be afraid.”

“And that’s when things get dangerous. When all the adrenaline’s used up. When you’re too exhausted to think straight.”

“I give up.” She collapsed onto the bed, feeling as if every bone in her body had suddenly dissolved. “I don’t care what happens anymore. I just want to go to sleep.”

He didn’t have to say anything; they both knew the debate was over and she’d lost. The truth was, she was glad he was there. It felt so good to close her eyes, to have someone watching over her. She realized how muddled her thinking had become, that she now considered a man like Guy Barnard safe.

But safe was what she felt.

Standing by the bed, Guy watched her fall asleep. She looked so fragile, stretched out on the bedcovers like a paper doll.

She hadn’t felt like paper in his arms. She’d been real flesh and blood, warm and soft, all the woman he could ever want. He wasn’t sure just what he felt toward her. Some of it was good old-fashioned lust. But there was something more, a primitive male instinct that made him want to carry her off to a place where no one could hurt her.

He turned and looked out the window. The two police agents were still loitering near the stairwell; he could see their cigarettes glowing in the darkness. He only hoped they did their job tonight, because he had already crossed his threshold of exhaustion.

He sat down in a chair and tried to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, his whole body crying out for rest, he gave up and went to the bed. Willy didn’t stir. What the hell, he thought, She’ll never notice. He stretched out beside her. The shifting mattress seemed to rouse her; she moaned and turned toward him, curling up like a kitten against his chest. The sweet scent of her hair made him feel like a drunken man. Dangerous, dangerous.

He’d been better off in the chair.

But he couldn’t pull away now. So he lay there holding her, thinking about what came next.

They now had a name, a tentative contact, up north: Nora Walker, the British Red Cross nurse. Lassiter had said she worked in the local hospital. Guy only hoped she’d talk to them, that she wouldn’t think this was just another Company trick and clam up. Having Willy along might make all the difference. After all, Bill Maitland’s daughter had a right to be asking questions. Nora Walker just might decide to provide the answers.

Willy sighed and nestled closer to his chest. That brought a smile to his face. You crazy dame, he thought, and kissed the top of her head. You crazy, crazy dame. He buried his face in her hair.

So it was decided. For better or worse, he was stuck with her.

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT walked up the aisle of the twin-engine Ilyushin and waved halfheartedly at the flies swarming around her head. Puffs of cold mist rose from the air-conditioning vents and swirled in the cabin; the woman seemed to be floating in clouds. Through the fog, Willy could barely read the emergency sign posted over the exit: Escape Rope. Now there was a safety feature to write home about. She had visions of the plane soaring through blue sky, trailing passengers on a ten thousand-foot rope.

A bundle of taffy landed in her lap, courtesy of the jaded attendant. “You will fasten your seat belt,” came the no-nonsense request.

“I’m already buckled in,” said Willy. Then she realized the woman was speaking to Guy. Willy nudged him. “Guy, your seat belt.”

“What? Oh, yeah.” He buckled the belt and managed a tight smile.

That’s when she noticed he was clenching the armrest. She touched his hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s an old problem. Nothing, really…” He stared out the window and swallowed hard.

She couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing. “Guy Barnard, don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying?”

The plane lurched forward and began bumping along the tarmac. A stream of Vietnamese crackled over the speaker system, followed by Russian and then very fractured English.

“Look,” he protested, “some guys have a thing about heights or closed spaces or snakes. I happen to have a phobia about planes. Ever since the war.”

“Did something happen on your tour?”

“End of my tour.” He stared at the ceiling and laughed. “There’s the irony. I make it through Nam alive. Then I board that big beautiful freedom bird. That’s how I met Toby Wolff. He was sitting right next to me. We were both high, cracking jokes as we taxied up the runway. Going home.” He shook his head. “We were two of the lucky ones. Sitting in the last row of seats. The tail broke off on impact…”

She took his hand. “You don’t have to talk about it, Guy.”

He looked at her in obvious admiration. “You’re not in the least bit nervous, are you?”

“No. I’ve been in planes all my life. I’ve always felt at home.”

“Must be something you inherited from your old man. Pilot’s genes.”

“Not just genes. Statistics.”

The Ilyushin’s engines screamed to life. The cabin shuddered as they made their take-off roll down the runway. The ground suddenly fell away, and the plane wobbled into the sky.

“I happen to know flying is a perfectly safe way to travel,” she added.

“Safe?” Guy yelled over the engines’ roar. “Obviously, you’ve never flown Air Vietnam!”

IN HANOI, THEY WERE MET by a Vietnamese escort known only as Miss Hu, beautiful, unsmiling and cadre to the core. Her greeting was all business, her handshake strictly government issue. Unlike Mr. Ainh, who’d been a fountain of good-humored chatter, Miss Hu obviously believed in silence. And the Revolution. Only once on the drive into the city did the woman offer a voluntary remark. Directing their attention to the twisted remains of a bridge, she said, “You see the damage? American bombs.” That was it for small talk. Willy stared at the woman’s rigid shoulders and realized that, for some people on both sides, the war would never be over.