Once a Warrior (38 page)

“You’re planning to frame me,” he accused.

“Kind of like you’re planning to frame Cain,” she agreed.

Cat couldn’t believe that she had so boldly admitted her intention. Howard looked back at her through stricken eyes. Then he lowered them guiltily and swallowed hard, visibly struggling to compose himself.

When he looked up again, the lines in his face seemed deeper, the set of his mouth even tighter than normal. She almost felt sorry for him. He was fighting two wars—one against the North Vietnamese army and one against the growing scourge of drug use by his own troops—and he was losing on both fronts.

“Cain’s a traitor, goddammit.”  The way he pushed the words through his clenched teeth told her that he was convinced of that.

“Then charge him with treason and be done with it.”  Cat slid her arms through the straps of the backpack and started up the hatch. On the second step, though, she stopped and turned back to make one final point. Her knees were shaking but her voice was calm. “My father landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day, Colonel Howard, so I grew up with a great deal of respect for what America’s military can do when it has right as well as might on its side. I would hate to go home from Vietnam believing otherwise.”  

When she went up on the rain-slick deck, the storm had abated and the wind had died down. The clouds thinned and a melon ball of moon cast a shimmering light on the water. Singsong voices and the eerie, almost Elizabethan music of a recorder rippled from one of the hundreds of huts that lined the Saigon River.      

As she crossed the dock, Cat told herself that she’d done all she could do. That it was up to Colonel Howard now to either press his phony drug charge against Cain or to drop it entirely. Forcibly curving her lips into a smile, she opened the warehouse door. But her eyes swam with emotion when she saw the young MP playing peek-a-boo with the baby.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said, extending her arms. “I’ll take him now.”

Colonel Howard swept into the warehouse shortly after her. Squaring his shoulders in a perfect brace, he shot Cain a look. A renegade to the bitter end, Cain straightened and eyed him right back.  

Howard blinked first, and shifted his attention to Cat.

Cradling the baby, she angled her head and met his gaze.

“Let him go,” he ordered the MPs as he unbuttoned his trench coat, two-fingered a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it with the Zippo he carried in his other hand.

“Sir?” the sergeant at the door said in disbelief.

“You heard me.”  Howard drew smoke in deeply and exhaled through his nose. “He’s clean.”

Cat released the breath she’d just realized she was holding as the MPs scrambled to remove the handcuffs and leg irons from Cain. She glanced at Tiny, whose gold front tooth shone like a small sun in his wide, white smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loc coming toward them and knew they were almost home free.

She relaxed too soon, however.

There was a mean gleam in Howard’s eyes when she looked back at him. “I presume you’re planning to take the baby home with you, Mrs. Brown.”

“Yes. I want to adopt him.”

“He’ll need a passport and an exit permit.”

She nodded. “I’ll make application at the American Embassy tomorrow.”

“No.”  He smiled a cold smile at her. “My secretary will meet you at the ticket counter at Tan Son Nhut at eight o’clock in the morning with all the paperwork you’ll need. That way, you can catch the first plane to Hong Kong. From there, it’s a direct flight to Hawaii.” 

Cat was so stunned by his statement that it took her breath away. So this was the price she would pay for confronting him. In order to assure that she didn’t attend the press briefing tomorrow afternoon, Howard was getting rid of her by putting her on a plane in the morning.

Tears flooded her eyes, but she sniffed them away lest he mistakenly think she regretted the stand she’d taken. She drew a ragged breath and clutched the baby even closer to her. “I’ll be there, Colonel Howard.”

“Does the baby have a name?” he asked her then.

“John.”  Cat smiled over at Cain through her tears. “John Lee Brown.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Uh, sure.”

Cat turned toward the kitchen. “If you’d rather have a beer—”

“No,” Cain said with a quick shake of his head. “Tea’s fine.” 

Everything in the living room seemed to mark time as she turned back toward the rattan sofa. It seemed ludicrous, after all they’d been through together, that they were suddenly so uneasy with each other. But there was an undeniable awkwardness between them now that the baby was asleep and they were essentially alone in the guest house.

Perched on the edge of the sofa and praying that she could pour the fragrant tea without spilling, Cat reached for the porcelain pot that was sitting on a lacquered tray in front of her. At the same time she found herself grasping at conversational straws. “It was really nice of Loc to let us stay here tonight.”  

“Like he said, you’ll be safer here than in the hotel, what with the sporadic fighting that’s still going on in downtown Saigon.”  Cain sat on the opposite end of the sofa with his knees spread wide and his large hand dwarfing the delicate cup she’d passed him. “Plus, it’s closer to the airport.”

“Yes.”  She was revisited by a bittersweet pang at the reminder of the long trip she still faced, but she carefully hid it behind a polite smile. “There is that.” 

Another silence fell between them, this one slightly more tense than the last, as they drank the steaming tea that had been steeping in the pot.

Loc had hustled them out of the warehouse before Colonel Howard could change his mind again about arresting Cain. Then, with Cat and John Lee in the Tempest and Cain following on his motorcycle, Loc had driven north and west of the city, not stopping until they’d reached the cream-colored colonial house where he lived with his wife and their four children. A loud
BOOM
in the distance, followed by the distinct
pop, pop, pop
of small-arms fire had confirmed his prediction of another night of fighting in the streets of Saigon when Cat had gotten out of the car. 

Seeing how upset she was, Loc had ushered them into the house to meet his family—a first for Cain—and his wife, Ngo, had shyly invited them to share their evening meal. Cat had never been in a Vietnamese home and was fascinated to learn that it was decorated with traditionally dark, deeply carved furniture. Two altars held brass incense burners and offerings of fruit and flowers to their ancestors, to the spirits of great men of the past, and to Buddha.

After dinner, their host had led them out to the guest house where Cat and the baby would spend the night. Cain had unloaded the luggage that Kim had kept for her from the trunk of the Tempest while Loc went back to the main house to get her watch. He’d returned with it and with the tea tray Ngo had prepared for them, as well as the news that they needed to leave for the airport no later than seven o’clock in the morning. Then he’d bid them goodnight and had discreetly withdrawn so that they could say goodbye in private.  

But saying goodbye was proving more difficult than either of them had anticipated.

They’d started out easily enough. Cain had offered to bathe John Lee while Cat repacked her carry-on bag with the bottles and diapers and clean saques she would need for him during their long trip home. Love, enormous waves of it, had rushed through her when he’d come out of the bathroom with the baby diapered and dressed, and she’d wanted to cry when he’d placed the sweet-smelling bundle in her arms. Determined not to fall apart at this late date, she’d thanked him and turned away a little too quickly.

Her cool voice had baffled him, especially after he’d seen the warmth in her eyes. Time to shake her hand, wish her luck and hit the road, he’d told himself. And yet he’d stayed, feeling terribly intrusive but reluctant to just up and leave her so abruptly.

But he was beginning to think that staying had been a big mistake.  

After John Lee was fed and medicated and fast asleep in the crib that Ngo had considerately placed in the spare bedroom, Cat had gone into her room to change out of the black pajamas Cain had given her. She’d come out looking like the All-American girl again, with her hair falling neatly to her shoulders and her simple green shift hemmed just above the knees, and he’d gone back to feeling like the rebellious mongrel of his boyhood. Still, even as he’d wondered how he was going to get out of here gracefully, without any recriminations on either side, he’d delayed his departure once again by stubbing out his half-smoked cigarillo and accepting that cup of tea he really didn’t want.

Now there they were, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa and trying to ignore the electricity that had been building between them almost from the beginning, while the gaps in their conversation grew increasingly longer and their time together grew ever shorter.   

“That meal Ngo fixed for us was delicious,” Cat said, having decided that the silence was more unbearable than stilted conversation.

He nodded affably. “She’s a great cook.”

The thudding of artillery fire had her glancing anxiously toward the front door. “What was that fish sauce called again?”

“
Nvoc mam
.”  Then, seeing how distraught she was, he hastened to assure her, “Those are our guns, by the way.”

“Oh, good.”  Somewhat relieved, she looked back at him. “It was really pungent.”

His confused gaze riveted on her face. “What?”

“The fish sauce.”

“That’s because it’s made from peppers.”

She raised a brow then and gave him that familiar smirk. “You finally got your shrimp.”

He met the teasing light in her eyes with a crooked smile. “Yeah, I finally got my shrimp.”

Having exhausted her supply of small talk, Cat looked around the living room of the guest house, which was a miniature replica of Loc and Ngo’s house. She’d already told Cain about her tête-à-tête with Colonel Howard in the main cabin. And had listened in mute astonishment when he’d confessed that he had a cache of captured AK-47s in the hold—weapons, he was quick to add, that he would give to those American soldiers in the field whose regulation M-16s often failed to function for lack of oil. 

She studied the tea in her cup, as if reading the leaves at the bottom. “How’s your lip?”  

“Much better, thanks to that salve Ngo gave me to put on it after I washed up.”

“That’s good.”  Giving him a vapid smile, she reached for the pot. “More tea?”

“No, thanks.”  The jets roaring over the house almost drowned out his answer. “I’ve still got some.” 

Cat nodded and retracted her hand. The teapot was in keeping with their surroundings. When she had admired its exquisite painting, Loc had explained that the various symbols were actually a map for happiness. The bearded sage was for longevity, he’d pointed out. A lady bearing a peach was for prosperity. The child meant many descendants. A dish with a duck was for good food, and a deer for good luck

But the happiest sign of all, he’d pointed out, was the red bat. While she already knew that red was considered a lucky color, she didn’t understand that business about the bat. It’s because the bat sleeps with his head down and his feet high, he’d said. He’s truly relaxed and has no worries at all. Eat red bat meat, he’d encouraged her in all seriousness, and see what it will do for you!      

As the silence dragged out, Cain drained his teacup and set it aside. “Well, it’s getting late, and you’ve got an early flight tomorrow . . .”

“Don’t go,” Cat said with sudden urgency. Her heart was hammering so hard that she wondered it didn’t beat its way out of her chest. Yet she held his gaze unwaveringly. “Please. Stay.”

He eased back against the cushions and studied her face in the lamplight. She looked so beautiful, so delicate, so fragile. She was all of those things, yet she was also the toughest, most determined woman he’d ever met. And when she got on that plane tomorrow morning, she would be taking a piece of his heart with her.

“If I stay,” he warned her in a raspy voice, “I’m going to make love with you.”

She sensed the disciplined strength and resolute will of the man who had already changed her life forever. He was a hero who saw beyond the blood to ultimate justice. He was also the outlaw who’d stolen her heart. And she couldn’t let him leave without first creating memories of love that would have to last her a lifetime.

“Then stay,” she said simply, and her smile promised him paradise in the midst of this helllacious war.      

Her heartbeat thickened when he moved closer to her. She met him halfway, tilting her face up as his mouth came down hard on hers. The passion that exploded between them was instantaneous. Knowing this one night was all they would ever have, neither of them held anything back.   

Cain’s strong hands delved into her sunburst hair while Cat’s arms slid under his and around his back. She kneaded the rippling muscles beneath his shirt, remembering only too well how tan and sleek they’d looked beneath the tropical sun. He released her mouth from the inflaming kiss and dipped his head lower to nuzzle her neck. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled ever so slightly of Dove soap. For the rest of his life, be it measured in hours or days or years, he would associate that scent with her.

“Touch me,” she whispered, shuddering with longing as his searching lips found the sensitive spot at the crook of her neck.

“Where?” he asked, his breath warm and moist against her ear.

“Here.”  She boldly took his hands in hers and placed them over her breasts. Then she closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensations his stroking fingers and soothing palms elicited.  

“Let’s go to bed, Cat.”  He could feel his pulse racing against time and an eternity without her as he rose and pulled her to her feet.

“Yes.”  She felt like a volcano, ready to erupt, and she wanted nothing more than to be joined with him when the tremors came.

In the moonlit shadows of the bedroom, which was dominated by a four-poster lacquer bed, he slowed things down as if he wanted to savor every last second allotted to them. He tilted her head back, his hand firm on her neck, and she found herself waiting, almost breathless, for his next kiss. The lazily rotating blades of the ceiling fan stirred the heady fragrance of plumeria that wafted in through the open window from the garden beyond. A cricket chirping in the night for its mate seemed to echo her own heartbeat.