to make this trip herself, so she asked me to come. And Iâm hitting the same brick wall she hit twenty years ago.â
âMaybe you havenât gone to the right people.â
âWho are the right people?â
Quietly, Guy shifted toward her. âI have connections,â he said softly. âI could find out for you.â
Their hands brushed on the railing; Willy felt a delicious shock race through her whole arm. She pulled her hand away.
âWhat sort of connections?â
âFriends in the business.â
âExactly what is your business?â
âBody counts. Dog tags. Iâm with the Army ID Lab.â
âI see. Youâre in the military.â
He laughed and leaned sideways against the railing. âNo way. I bailed out after Nam. Went back to college, got a masterâs in stones and bones. Thatâs physical anthropology, emphasis on Southeast Asia. Anyway, I worked a while in a museum, then found out the army paid better. So I hired on as a civilian contractor. Iâm still sorting bones, only these have names, ranks and serial numbers.â
âAnd thatâs why youâre going to Vietnam?â
He nodded. âThere are new sets of remains to pick up in Saigon and Hanoi.â
Remains. Such a clinical word for what was once a human being.
âI know a few people,â he said. âI might be able to help you.â
âWhy?â
âYouâve made me curious.â
âIs that all it is? Curiosity?â
His next move startled her. He reached out and brushed back her short, tumbled hair. The brief contact of his fingers seemed to leave her whole neck sizzling. She froze, unable to react to this unexpectedly intimate contact.
âMaybe Iâm just a nice guy,â he whispered.
Oh, hell, heâs going to kiss me, she thought. Heâs going to kiss me and Iâm going to let him, and what happens next is anyoneâs guessâ¦.
She batted his hand away and took a panicked step back. âI donât believe in nice guys.â
âAfraid of men?â
âIâm not afraid of men. But I donât trust them, either.â
âStill,â he said with an obvious note of laughter in his voice, âyou let me into your room.â
âMaybe itâs time to let you out.â She stalked across the room and yanked open the door. âOr are you going to be difficult?â
âMe?â To her surprise, he followed her to the door. âIâm never difficult.â
âIâll bet.â
âBesides, I canât hang around tonight. Iâve got more important business.â
âReally.â
âReally.â He glanced at the lock on her door. âI see youâve got a heavy-duty dead bolt. Use it. And take my adviceâdonât go out on the town tonight.â
âDarn! That was next on my agenda.â
âOh, and in case you need meââ he turned and grinned at her from the doorway ââIâm staying at the Liberty Hotel. Call anytime.â
She started to snap, Donât hold your breath. But before she could get out the words, heâd left.
She was staring at a closed door.
CHAPTER THREE
T OBIAS W OLFF swiveled his wheelchair around from the liquor cabinet and faced his old friend. âIf I were you, Guy, Iâd stay the hell out of it.â
It had been five years since theyâd last seen each other. Toby still looked as muscular as everâat least from the waist up. Fifteen yearsâ confinement to a wheelchair had bulked out those shoulders and arms. Still, the years had taken their inevitable toll. Toby was close to fifty now, and he looked it. His bushy hair, cut Beethoven style, was almost entirely gray. His face was puffy and sweating in the tropical heat. But the dark eyes were as sharp as ever.
âTake some advice from an old Company man,â he said, handing Guy a glass of Scotch. âThereâs no