Page 109

“Tied,” I fire back. “Get it? Thai pants, tied wrong...”

“Oh my God.” I can almost imagine Abby’s exaggerated face palm beneath the canvas. “Good to see your dad jokes havenotimproved, muscle boy.”

My grin widens. “Well, Skip, if we’re doing insults, I have to tell you that the Bangkok coffee shops put your barista skills to shame, not to mention offering service with a smile, which I know is a new concept for you.”

There’s a rustle as she turns over beneath the canvas to meet the challenge, though her face remains hidden. “If you ever manage to tell a joke that actually hits, muscle boy, I might smile at it.” The mischief in her voice gives me a delicious, familiar thrill I just want to hang on to.

“I’ll have you know that the Thai girls think my jokes slay,” I say loftily.

“That’s only because you tip them enough to laugh.” Abby giggles. She actuallygiggles.“I’m surprised you had any money left to buy a boat.”

We continue down the river, trading insults back and forth.

And despite the men chasing us, and the fact that I have no fucking idea what’s coming next, I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy.

A pale rosedawn is rising over the water as we putter out of the river, past an old fort, and onto the mangrove-lined gulf coast. There’s barely a quarter tank of fuel left according to the flickering needle on the gauge, and nothing ahead of us except mud and low trees.

I throw my phone down onto the canvas where I estimate Abby’s stomach to be.

“Ouch!” Her middle finger rises over the material. “If you were aiming for my face, you missed, dufus.”

“My mistake,” I say, grinning. “Make yourself useful and check Google Maps, see if there’s anywhere around here we might be able to refuel.”

Abby’s hand hovers over the phone. “Having a phone is a mistake,” she says quietly.

“Not this one. Came courtesy of Luke’s army mate. Completely untraceable, apparently, and it’s got a local card in it.”

“You have dodgy friends, muscle boy, you know that?” But at least the tension is out of her voice.

“You can talk,” I say, steering close to the mangroves. “You are the queen of dodgy deeds, Skip.” It’s skirting a little close to reality, but that’s how it’s always been between Abby and me. Jokes. Banter.

Always edging closer to the uncomfortable truths neither of us want to address.

It’s our weird comfort zone, and how we’ve always managed to navigate the difficult conversations we’re both too fucking afraid to address head-on.

But right now isn’t the time to start switching it up. Right now we need to get undercover, until I can work out what to do.

“If we turn up the next canal,” Abby says, “there’s a small settlement, and just past that, a remote homestay hidden in the trees. It looks like they take tourists. But if we turn up in this boat,” she adds, “we’ll stand out. Best to ditch it and go in on foot. You can buy fuel for a two-stroke engine at any roadside stall, so better to do that and come back for the boat at night.”

I stare at the canvas in surprise. “How the hell do you know it’s a two-stroke engine?”

“I’m the daughter of an Australian farmer, muscle boy. Put diesel in a two-stroke engine and my father would have my hide for breakfast. And besides.” An edge of tension creeps in beneath her light tone. “I lived in Thailand for nearly a year. I know how things work here.”

I swallow my thousand questions. “Good,” I say briskly. “Unfortunately, you can’t do the talking, since our goal here is to keep you as low-key as possible. So for now, you’re going to be my girlfriend who’s just had food poisoning, and I’m going to be your dumb tourist boyfriend buying a room for the night.”

“Well, at least you won’t have to act,” Abby retorts. “And think of something other than food poisoning, because I’m starving.”

Grinning, I steer the boat into a small inlet and tie it fast to a stand of mangroves.

Abby throws back the canvas and winces as she stands up.I glance at her, then quickly shift my eyes away from the horrific bruises on her face.

There won’t be any need to lie about her being sick,I think.The only problem will be convincing our hosts that I’m not the reason for her injuries.

“Listen,” I say abruptly as I gather our meager belongings. “We’re going to need a decent story to explain the state of your face.”

I meet her eyes directly for the first time since I covered her with the canvas in Bangkok and immediately wish I hadn’t.

Perhaps, if I’d looked a moment earlier, her blue eyes might still have been sparkling with mischief. Instead, the haunted look is back—only in the light of day, it’s a hundred times worse than the vague impression I got last night.