box. If they trace me here, you’ll all be in danger. I have to leave before that happens.”
“But where will you go?” This time it was Mark who spoke, his voice calmer than Joi’s had been.
“Bangkok. I’ll take the box to the embassy. Someone there will know what to do with it.” Tori stood up, lifted the caftan and shoved the box into the pocket of her jeans.
Mark put a hand on her arm, holding her in place when she would have shoved open the apartment door. “Wait. Let’s take a few minutes. Think things through, decide if you going to Bangkok is the best idea. Then if you still want to leave, I’ll drive you to town.”
She didn’t plan to let him drive her anywhere, but she nodded anyway, turning to face the couple who’d offered her both friendship and advice in the years since they’d adopted Melody. “Thinking things through is fine, but it won’t help. We still won’t know what the box is, who wants it or why.”
“We don’t have to know any of that.” Joi paced across the room, her short, compact body almost vibrating with energy as she reached for the phone. “Now let’s pray we’ve got a good connection.”
“Who are you calling?”
“The U.S. Embassy. Maybe they can send someone to escort you to Bangkok or give you the name of someone in Mae Hong Son who can help.”
Tori nodded, surprised that she hadn’t thought of that herself. But then, she wasn’t just running scared, she was running on empty, all of her energy drained, her body pulsing with pain.
“It’s ringing. Here.” Joi handed the phone to Tori.
She pressed it to her ear, her heart thundering as a woman’s cheerful voice filled the line. “United States Embassy. How may I direct your call?”
Good question. “I…”
“Yes?”
“I’m an American citizen and I’ve run into trouble up-country. I’m hoping someone there can help me.”
“Do you need legal representation?”
“No. At least I don’t think I do.”
“If you give me your name, a number where you can be reached, and tell me what kind of trouble you’re in, I can pass the information to the right party.”
“Thank you. My name is Tori Riley. I—”
“Is that Victoria Riley?” The cheerful good humor had dropped away.
“Yes.”
“Please hold. I’m transferring your call.”
“To whom?” But she’d already been put on hold, the soft rhythm of a love song playing across the line.
“Hello? Ms. Riley?” This time it was a man, his voice smooth and soothing.
“Yes.”
“Jack McKenzie. What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then tell me what the trouble is, and I’ll see if I can figure something out.”
“I bought a box at a wat near Mae Hong Son. I don’t know what it is, but a lot of people are after it.”
“Where’s the box now?”
“I have it. I’d like to bring it to the embassy and let someone there take a look at it.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“I don’t know how long it will take me to get there. I’m going to—”
“Stay put. An escort is on the way.”
“I can’t wait.” Not with so many people searching for her. And not when discovery could mean death, both hers and the Raymonds’.
“You won’t need to. He’s there.”
As if on cue, a loud buzz announced that someone had entered the clinic. Tori’s mouth went dry with fear and she knew her eyes were as wide, her skin as pale, as Joi’s.
“Stay here. I’ll go see who it is.”
“No!” Tori and Joi spoke in unison, but Mark was already pushing the door open and stepping out of the apartment.
“Everything okay?” Jack McKenzie’s voice pulled Tori back to their conversation.
“Yes.” She hoped.
“Good. My man will escort you to my office in Chiang Mai. We’ll see what’s what, and have you home before you know it.”
Home. The word sounded too good to be true, but before she could say as much, the apartment door swung open and Mark stepped back inside, another man on his heels. Tall, pitch-black hair, and eyes the blue-green of the ocean, Noah moved into the room with the same pantherlike grace Tori had noticed when he’d freed her. His gaze scanned the room coming to rest on Tori as he slid a dark backpack from his shoulder.
“Guess we meet again, Red.”
Tori could think of nothing nice to say, so she said nothing at all, holding the phone to her ear, her fingers in a death grip around the receiver as Mark introduced Noah and Joi to one another.
“That Jack?” Noah gestured to the phone.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I speak to him?” His hand slipped around hers, sliding over tense fingers and somehow easing her grip before she realized what he was doing. Then her hand was empty and he was speaking into the phone.
“Jack? Yeah. The clinic. Maybe twenty miles outside the city. Right. I was thinking the same.” He paused, met Tori’s eyes. “You have the box?”
She considered denying it, but there was no reason now. Noah was on her side. Or was supposed to be. She still wasn’t sure she trusted him. She pulled the box from her pocket anyway, handing it to Noah before she could rethink her decision.
He met her gaze as he turned the box over, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then he turned his attention to the mother-of-pearl inlay, pulling a small magnifying glass from his pocket and using it to examine one area after another.
Tori half expected him to say there’d been a mistake, that the box was exactly what she’d thought it to be. He didn’t. Instead he paused, looked more closely at one section, and spoke into the phone. “I’ve got it. You sending the helo? We’ll be at Mae Hong Son Airport in an hour. Yeah. I agree. I’ve already got it covered. I’ll tell them.”
He hung up the phone, swept a gaze around the room. “Anyone else here?”
“Our daughter.” Joi sounded calm, but Tori sensed tension in the words. Like any good mother, she was ready to protect her child.
“You’ll need to get her. Pack a few things. We’re leaving here in ten minutes.”
“What? We can’t leave the clinic.”
This time it was Mark, the disbelief in his voice obvious.
“I wish it weren’t necessary, but it is.”
“Maybe you should explain.”
“This box was carried across the border from Myanmar and delivered with a truckload of tourist trade items. It’s different than most trade items, though. It’s inscribed, and it wasn’t meant for sale.”
“I didn’t see an inscription.” Tori leaned closer, caught the scent of Noah’s shampoo and backed away.
“You wouldn’t have. Not unless you knew where and how to look. Each letter of the inscription is the size of a red blood cell. Thirty lines of text can fit in an area the width of a strand of hair. Even with a magnifying glass it’s difficult to see that there’s any writing there.”
“I’ve