“Not a word,” whispered a voice in her ear.

The person holding the light came forward. He was a large man, so large, his shadow blotted out the wall. “We’ve been waiting for you, Miss Walker,” he said. “Where did you take them?”

She swallowed. “Who?”

“You went to the hotel to meet them. Where did you go from there?”

“I didn’t-” She gasped as the blade suddenly stung her flesh; she felt a drop of blood trickle warmly down her neck.

“Easy, Mr. Siang,” said the man. “We have all night.”

Nora began to cry. “Please. Please, I don’t know anything…”

“But, of course, you do. And you’ll tell us, won’t you?” The man pulled up a chair and sat down. She could see his teeth gleaming like ivory in the shadows. “It’s only a question of when.”

FROM BENEATH THE FLAPPING canvas, Willy caught glimpses of dawn: light filtering through the trees, dust swirling in the road, the green brilliance of rice paddies. They’d been traveling for hours now, and the sacks of rice were beginning to feel like bags of concrete against their backs. At least they’d been provided with food and drink. In an open crate they’d found a bottle of water, a loaf of French bread and four hard-boiled eggs. It seemed sufficient-at first. But as the day wore on and the heat grew suffocating, that single bottle of water became more and more precious. They rationed it, one sip every half hour; it was barely enough to keep their throats moist.

At noon the truck began to climb.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Heading west, I think. Into the mountains. Maybe the road to Dien Bien Phu.”

“Towards Laos?”

“Where your father’s plane went down.” In the shadows of the truck, Guy’s face, dirty and unshaven, was a tired mask of resolution. She wondered if she looked as grim.

He shrugged off his sweat-soaked shirt and threw it aside, oblivious to the mosquitoes buzzing around them. The scar on his bare abdomen seemed to ripple in the gloom. In silent fascination, Willy started to reach out to him, then thought better of it.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, guiding her hand to the scar. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It must have hurt terribly when you got it.”

“I don’t remember.” At her puzzled look, he added, “I mean, not on any sort of conscious level. It’s funny, though, how well I remember what happened just before the plane went down. Toby, sitting next to me, telling jokes. Something about the pilot looking like an old buddy of his from Alcoholics Anonymous. He’d heard in flight school that the best military pilots were always the drunks; a sober man wouldn’t dream of flying the sort of junk heap we were in. I remember laughing as we taxied down the runway. Then-” He shook his head. “They say I pulled him out of the wreckage. That I unbuckled him and dragged him out just before the whole thing blew. They even called me a hero.” He uncapped the water bottle, took a sip. “What a laugh.”

“Sounds like you earned the label,” she said.

“Sounds more like I was knocked in the head and didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

“The best heroes in the world are the reluctant ones. Courage isn’t fearlessness-it’s acting in the face of fear.”

“Yeah?” He laughed. “Then that makes me the best of the best.” He stiffened as the truck suddenly slowed, halted. A voice barked orders in the distance. They stared at each other in alarm.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What’re they saying?”

“Something about a roadblock…soldiers are stopping everyone. Some sort of inspection…”

“My God. What do we-”

He put a finger to his lips. “Sounds like a lot of traffic in front. Could take a while before they get to us.”

“Can we back up? Turn around?”

He scrambled to the back of the truck and glanced through a slit in the canvas. “No chance. We’re socked in tight. Trucks on both sides.”

Willy frantically surveyed the gloom, searching for empty burlap bags, a crate, anything large enough in which to hide.

The soldiers’ voices moved closer.

We have to make a run for it, thought Willy. Guy had already risen to a crouch. But a glance outside told them they were surrounded by shallow rice paddies. Without cover, their flight would be spotted immediately.

But they won’t hurt us, she thought. They wouldn’t dare. We’re Americans.

As if, in this crazy world, an eagle on one’s passport bought any sort of protection.

The soldiers were right outside-two men by the sound of the voices. The truck driver was trying to cajole his way out of the inspection, laughing, offering cigarettes. The man had to have nerves of steel; not a single note of apprehension slipped into his voice.

His attempts at bribery failed. Footsteps continued along the graveled roadside, heading for the back of the truck.

Guy instinctively shoved Willy against the rice sacks, shielding her behind him. He’d be the one they’d see first, the one they’d confront. He turned to face the inevitable.

A hand poked through, gripping the canvas flap…

And paused. In the distance, a car horn was blaring. Tires screeched, followed by the thud of metal, the angry shouts of drivers.

The hand gripping the canvas pulled away. The flap slid shut. There were a few terse words exchanged between the soldiers, then footsteps moved away, crunching up the gravel road.

It took only seconds for their driver to scramble back into the front seat and hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, throwing Guy off his feet. He toppled, landing right next to Willy on the rice sacks. As their truck roared full speed around the traffic and down the road, they sprawled together, too stunned by their narrow escape to say a word. Suddenly they were both laughing, rolling around on the sacks, giddy with relief.

Guy hauled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“What was that for?” she demanded, pulling back in surprise.

“That,” he whispered, “was pure instinct.”

“Do you always follow your instincts?”

“Whenever I can get away with it.”

“And you really think I’ll let you get away with it?”

In answer, he gripped her hair, trapping her head against the sacks, and kissed her again, longer, deeper. Pleasure leapt through her, a desire so sudden, so fierce, it left her voiceless.

“I think,” he murmured, “you want it as much as I do.”

With a gasp of outrage, she shoved him onto his back and climbed on top of him, pinning him beneath her. “Guy Barnard, you miserable jerk, I’m going to give you what you deserve.”

He laughed. “Are you now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And what, exactly, do I deserve?”

For a moment she stared at him through the dust and gloom. Then, slowly, she lowered her face to his. “This,” she said softly.

The kiss was different this time. Warmer. Hungrier. She was a full and willing partner; he knew it and he responded. She didn’t need to be warned that she was playing a dangerous game, that they were both hurtling toward the point of no return. She could already feel him swelling beneath her, could feel her own body aching to accommodate that new hardness. And the whole time she was kissing him, the whole time their bodies were pressed together, she was thinking, I’m going to regret this. As sure as I breathe, I’m going to pay for this. But it feels so right…

She pulled away, fighting to catch her breath.

“Well!” said Guy, grinning up at her. “Miss Willy Maitland, I am surprised.”

She sat up, nervously shoving her hair back into place. “I never meant to do that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Then why did you?”

“It was…” She looked him in the eye. “Pure instinct.”

He laughed. In fact, he fell backward laughing, rolling around on the sacks of rice. The truck hit a pothole, bouncing her up and down so hard, she collapsed onto the floor beside him.