From Thailand with Love

by Camilla Isley

  Winter laughs, a light and bubbly sound. “We have a drone?” she asks with a big smile.

  “Yup,” Archie confirms, smug.

  “You’ll have to show me how to handle it.”

  He grins. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

  Then my best friend and trusted companion of many past expeditions turns away from Winter and wiggles his eyebrows at me, as if saying he’d be more than happy to teach her how to handle it. I resist the urge to slap my hand over my face and groan.

  This is a disaster.

  Eager to move on, I stare at the next guy in our circle until he takes the hint.

  “Dr. Rune Boonjan,” the short man says in heavily-accented English. “Head archeologist at the Thai Fine Arts Department, local expert, and interpreter.”

  Dr. Boonjan and I met in person for the first time on the plane from Bangkok to Trat, and he impressed me with his knowledge of the Kingdom of Siam history. No worries about him; we clicked right away.

  My colleague bends in a slight bow, with his palms pressed together in a prayer-like fashion, and salutes us in Thai, “Sawatdee khrap.”

  We all bow back, mimicking his salutation except for the military guys, who remain upright.

  Rude.

  Then, the group’s focus shifts to the other Thai member of our team. About the same height as Dr. Boonjan, he’s leaner, and his brown skin looks more weathered even though he’s younger.

  “Somchai Inkong,” he introduces, in English even more accented than the professor, making it a task in concentration to understand him. “Horses and mules handler, local fixer…” With a cheeky grin, he concludes: “…and machete operator. Sawatdee khrap.”

  “Sawatdee khrap,” we repeat.

  I turn to my right to encourage Tucker to speak—he’s the only other known factor in this group besides myself and Archie. He hasn’t been with us from the start, but since our first trip together in Guatemala, he has become an invaluable member of every new expedition Archie and I plan.

  “Tucker Wallace,” he announces in his clear baritone voice. “Logistics, cooking, and first aid.”

  “We have a cook?” Winter says. “Yay, I had assumed we would eat beef jerky for a month.”

  And she even managed to make beef jerky sound like a dirty word.

  She smiles at Tucker, probably more pleased at the thought of his cooking skills than anything else, but there he goes turning into an adoring puppy like the rest of them.

  Not him, too!

  Women are Archie’s weakness, but Tucker is usually smarter than that. With brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair, he’s the shy, responsible guy in our group. The teddy bear looks don’t fool anyone for long, though; when it comes to his job, Tucker is a dictator with an iron fist.

  The next man in our circle, at least, has no puppy in him. Although I’m not sure “hungry wolf” is much better. I’ll have to keep an eye on him and his pack when they’re around Winter. Because I didn’t have enough to do already.

  “Smith,” the mercenary says, not shifting an inch from his military resting pose―feet hip-width apart, puffed out chest, hands clasped behind his back. “Head of security.”

  His two deputies—both ex-sergeants in the army—echo him, keeping the same stance and not providing any additional personal details.

  “Carter.”

  “Montgomery.”

  These military guys are so full of themselves, they’re ridiculous. But they also give off such a powerful not-joking vibe, even Miss Sass doesn’t tease them. But I can tell from the mocking twinkle in her eyes, she’s dying to. She physically has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from uttering whatever barb she’s thinking.

  Definitely distracting.

  Can’t she find a way to keep herself in check that’s less sensual? The pink cheeks and the lip-biting… those mile-long legs… I hope she doesn’t plan to cross the jungle wearing shorts.

  “All right, that was everyone,” I say, ready to wrap up the meet-cute. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to become more familiar with each other in the upcoming weeks.” Archie throws me a rakish, I-plan-to-get-oh-so-familiar-with-our-photographer look. I pause to scowl at him, then add, “Tomorrow we leave at the crack of dawn. Before you go enjoy your last day in the comforts of civilization, I’ll ask Tucker to walk us through the logistics of our first stretch on the road.”

  “Great.” Tucker takes out his rugged tablet and shows the group a map on the screen. “The first part of tomorrow’s journey will be on the Jeeps. In a straight line”—he traces the path on the map with his finger—“our target is not far from the resort, but the road to get there is more of an abandoned dirt trail winding up the mountains.” He points at the three peaks on our left. “It’ll take us most of the morning to clear a relatively short distance. Halfway up, we’ll stop at the only village inland to collect the last few provisions. From there, we’ll continue the crossing on horseback while the mules will carry most of the equipment and supplies. If everything goes according to plan, we should reach our final destination, the hidden valley beyond the peaks, before the sun sets. Once there, we’ll build our base of operations and proceed with our exploration on foot over the next days with the support of our local bushwhacking guide.”

  Tucker nods at Somchai, who returns the gesture with a grin.

  “Anyway,” Tucker continues, “we meet again in the parking lot tomorrow at five a.m., so we should all get an early night.”

  He steps back, and I take the floor again.

  “I’m sure there’s no need to point this out,” I say, staring directly at the photographer. “But we’re going to travel through a hostile environment and we should all dress appropriately, and punctuality is of the essence.”

  Again, she bites her lip, but doesn’t comment. Even if the hard stare she’s giving me promises hell.

  Before I dismiss the meeting, I deliver one last warning. “And finally, just a reminder that the nature of this expedition is confidential. If someone asks, our cover story is that we’re in Thailand to study the ecology of the region. Flora, fauna, rock formations… that kind of stuff. So, please, no loose talk about a lost city of gold. See you all at five tomorrow,” I conclude.

  After my dismissal, the group breaks. The military guys leave, marching more than walking away single file. The two locals speak among themselves in thick Thai and then walk off in the opposite direction. And Archie and Tucker join me to go over the last details of tomorrow’s journey.

  I hope Miss Sass will get lost to her bungalow without any further demonstration of her saucy attitude.

  “Excuse me?”

  No such luck. I’ve just turned to talk to Archie when she materializes behind my back, demanding attention.

  “Yes?” I say, turning to her. Archie stands on my left, Tucker on my right.

  I tower a good few inches over her, but the photographer doesn’t appear one bit intimidated as she asks, “Do you have a problem with me?”

  Busted.

  “Is it because I have tits?”

  As she says the words, three sets of eyes lower to her chest.

  When I raise my gaze again to meet hers, she’s giving me a hand-on-the-hip, have-you-had-enough-of-a-good-look, sarcastic pout.

  Well, she can’t speak that word in front of three men and expect any other reaction. It was practically a directive to look.

  “Because I can assure you I am a professional.” Flaring up with self-righteous indignation, Miss Sass continues her tirade, “Not my first drill, you know?”

  “Sure,” I say, dutifully chastised. “Sorry if I appeared disrespectful.”

  “You didn’t choose me for this job, did you?”

  No point in lying. “No.”

  “Didn’t want a woman on board?”

  “Nothing personal.”

  “No, of course. Well, no need to worry. I can pull my weight and take care of myself. No
damsels in distress here.”

  Then she stops for a second, looking undecided if she should go on with whatever she’s dying to say next.

  She goes for it. “Like, for instance, I can read and comprehend the million warning signs around me.”

  What the hell is she talking about?

  With an evil little smirk playing on her lips, she asks, “How’s that broken phone treating you?”

  I blink at her.

  How can she possibly know?

  The grin widens, and she answers the question I haven’t asked.

  “Our bungalows are adjoining,” she explains. “Next time, I’d suggest doing as the signs say and locking your doors.” Then, with a wink, she adds, “Nice negotiating skills, by the way. I’m sure they’ll come in handy in the jungle.”

  My face flames red hot, and I can only hope I’m not blushing like a schoolgirl. Also, I don’t have to look at them to know that both Archie and Tucker are tremendously enjoying me being told off. Usually, I’m the one doing the scolding.

  Winter nods at them, saying, “Gentlemen,” and then walks away, leaving us to admire her miles-long legs as she saunters down the road.

  As soon as she rounds the corner, Archie low-whistles. “Imagine how that feistiness translates in bed!”

  And damn me, because my friend’s words conjure all kind of wrong fantasies.

  “Dude?” Tucker asks. “What was she talking about with keeping the doors locked?”

  And, as if my humiliation wasn’t complete enough, now I have to explain to my friends about my earlier disagreement with the local fauna…

  Two

  Winter

  The second I get back to my bungalow, I call Lana.

  “You’re never going to believe this,” I say the instant my best friend picks up.

  “What?” Lana asks, with a hint of playful curiosity in her voice.

  “Guess who the esteemed expedition leader who incidentally hates women is?”

  “Who?”

  “Naked Dummy,” I say, collapsing on the bed.

  “I take it the introductions didn’t go well?” she asks, now definitely amused. Easy for her to laugh; she doesn’t have to spend the next month trekking through the Thai jungle with Satan. “And how come he hates women?”

  I sigh. “Maybe ‘hate’ is a strong word.” I rest my back against the headboard and tuck my knees close to my chest. “It was more the attitude sailors used to have about women onboard ships.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That we’re bad luck or something. What an insufferable, dumb snob.”

  “If he’s leading such an important expedition, he can’t be that stupid. Didn’t you say you’re after a legendary lost city?”

  My heart does a little guilty flip. Satan’s words ringing in my ears: “…the nature of this expedition is confidential… no loose talk about a lost city of gold.”

  The dude’s so paranoid he even made everyone sign NDAs about it. Agreements I might have broken by telling Lana about the real reason we’re in Thailand. But I honestly don’t see what the big deal is with all this secrecy, and she’s my best friend, so she doesn’t count.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about that,” I say, deflecting Lana’s question. And trust me he can be that dumb.”

  “Mm,” Lana says nothing, but still sounds as if she’s enjoying herself.

  “You don’t seem sympathetic.”

  “No, sorry. It’s just that I haven’t heard you so worked up about someone, well… ever.”

  “I know! He’s the most annoying, arrogant bastard―”

  “Does he have a name?” Lana interrupts my rant.

  “Logan.”

  “Kind of a sexy name to go with a sexy ass.”

  “Oh, pwhff, please. I take back everything nice I ever said about his anatomy. He doesn’t deserve it. And from now on we’re referring to him as Satan.”

  “How’s the face that goes with the ass?” Lana asks. “I couldn’t see over the phone; is he ugly?”

  “He’s a type,” I say neutrally.

  “What type?”

  “Thick brown hair, hazel-green eyes, full lips, slight chin cleft, a few freckles…”

  “Sounds like everyone’s type.”

  I scoff. “If you enjoy watching a constant scowl. And, anyway, it doesn’t matter if he’s not repellent, physically, he’s still evil inside. Most beautiful things in nature are. Like, you wouldn’t kiss a cobra or eat a moonflower.”

  “So kissing Satan would never cross your mind?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? Of course it wouldn’t.”

  “I have been paying attention, that’s why I’m asking. You’re the one who brought up kissing, not me.”

  “You don’t get it…!”

  “What? That your boss―so to speak―is tall, handsome… presumably smart―”

  “And arrogant, and full of himself, definitely evil, and I hate his guts.”

  “Whoa, he really crossed you, considering you only spent, what, an hour with him?”

  “You should’ve seen him.” I use my mocking voice again: “We should all dress appropriately for the jungle, as if he expected me to show up in a skirt and heels.”

  “Guess Logan is not used to having a bombshell as a member of his team.”

  “Satan,” I correct her. “And bombshell, me? That’s Summer. I’m the tomboy.”

  “You’re identical twins, who share 99.99 percent of your DNA.”

  “Still, we couldn’t be more different. Speaking of evil twins… Sorry for monopolizing the conversation, but I needed to vent.”

  “No worries.”

  “So, Summer.” I go back to the topic Lana meant to discuss earlier. “Tell me everything. Did you speak with her in person?”

  “Yeah, she called, asked if I wanted to grab a coffee and talk.”

  “You’re a much bigger person; if I’d caught her screwing my boyfriend I’d never talk to her again, even if she’s my sister.”

  “You still sound angrier than I am,” Lana notes.

  “I told you, you’re the better person. Plus, you have the Sexiest Man Alive to distract you as a consequence of what Summer pulled. I don’t.”

  Lana chuckles. “Ah, you have a point. Without Christian in my life, I wouldn’t be so Zen about everything. But, you’re right, Summer’s actions resulted in me being the happiest I’ve ever been, while she… Your sister isn’t in good shape, to be honest.”

  Some deep, ancestral bond makes my insides twinge with worry. Summer might be the evil twin, but she’s my evil twin.

  “How bad?” I ask.

  “Nothing obvious on the outside, but it’s like she’s had her spirit broken. She was a ghost of her former self. Promise you’ll go see her when you come back. If I can forgive her, you should, too.”

  “You forgave her?”

  “As much as I know how. Our friendship won’t ever be the same as before, but I saw no point in holding a grudge forever…”

  “Doesn’t the fact that she’s in a relationship with your ex bother you?”

  “She and John broke up.”

  “What?” I say, straightening up. This is huge. “How? When?”

  “After he sold the story to the press, his sorry version of it. She cut him loose after reading the feature.”

  “But that was a month ago!”

  “You haven’t talked to her in that long?”

  “No,” I admit, guilt gnawing at my sides. Summer and I have never had a fight that lasted months. “It’s been easier not to call her since I’ve been away.”

  The new job starts tomorrow, but I’ve spent the past four weeks in Bangkok on another assignment.

  “Anyway,” Lana continues. “Summer told me she was completely blindsided by the magazine piece. John didn’t tell her before going to the press, and she felt like he’d sold her dignity for ten thousand dollars. He didn’t c
onsider for a second what the article would do to her, to her reputation… She also said she hated the way he spoke about me—revolting, to quote her.”

  “Well…” I relax my back against the pillows again. “’Cause he is a disgusting piece of shit.”

  “I guess.”

  “My sister threw away a twenty-five-year friendship for a three-month affair. I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “She had broken up with Robert only a few months before. Maybe the separation hit her harder than we thought.”

  “How can you make justifications for her?”

  Lana lets a few seconds pass before answering. “I thought seeing her at rock bottom would give me satisfaction, but it really didn’t. Honestly, I’m gutted for her, but I can’t be there to help her, I don’t have it in me, not yet. I just wish you were here. How much longer are you gone for?”

  Again, guilt kicks around in my guts. “A few weeks at least, possibly more. Why do you think she reached out to you today? Why wait a month after she broke up with Johnathan?”

  “She read the Vanity Fair feature about Christian and me being back together. She thought I’d be more willing to hear her out since I was so happy.”

  “Which I guess you were.”

  “Yup. Speaking of…” Lana pauses. “Christian just got back in.”

  “I’ll let you go, then.”

  “Will you be reachable in the next days?”

  “Afraid not, we’re moving inland tomorrow, no service there.”

  “Please call Summer today, then, before you go off the grid.”

  “You’re really an angel.”

  “Am not. And you’d do the same if it were me. Remember when I kissed Peter Gomez in the locker room and Summer didn’t talk to me for a week? You were there to advocate for me.”

  “That was the eleventh grade.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Promise you’ll call your sister.”

  “Okay, I promise. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  We hang up, and I remain motionless on the bed looking at my phone for the longest time.