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one.” He straightened to his full height and Rachel stepped back warily, unable to controlthe reaction as she assimilated the faint tinge of menace lacing his words.
    â€œI don’t understand,” she managed, although her voice was husky with renewed apprehension.
    â€œIt’s unfortunate that you were on the wat road to begin with. If farangs the likes of Harrison Bartley have heard about this place, it won’t be long before it’s overrun with tourists. I don’t want to see that happen.”
    Rachel lifted her eyes, drawn to the midnight darkness of his, even though she didn’t want to be. His face was still a mask, guarding his thoughts and feelings, but he did nothing to avoid her searching gaze. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
    â€œThe Acharya is a good man. This is a holy place, an ancient place. The spirits are quiet here. You’ve sensed that, haven’t you? You’ve spent enough time in Southeast Asia to know what I’m talking about. This place should be left to sleep in peace.”
    â€œI understand.” Her words were no more than a whisper on the night wind. “I don’t think you have to worry about Bart ever finding his way back here.”
    â€œNo.” He brushed his hand through his hair. “Not Harrison Bartley, but I think you could, Rachel McKendrick Phillips.” Again, the ghost of a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.
    â€œPossibly.” Rachel smiled, too. She didn’t want to go but she knew she must. “It’s getting late. I should go back to my room.”
    He nodded. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you. Good night.” He inclined his head in a gesture of dismissal.
    Rachel didn’t go, surprising herself as much as him. Instead, she held out her hand. “I want to thank you forwhat you tried to do for me. Micah told me that you were waiting to guide us out two years ago. I was too ill to make the rendezvous.”
    He took her hand, equally formal. “I regret that very much.”
    â€œSo do I.” She owed this stranger a great deal, Rachel realized. It was through his contacts, his risks, that word of her living with the Hlông had finally come to Micah’s ears. “Good night….” She hesitated as she slipped her hand free of the hard, warm strength of his grip. She didn’t want to call him Mr. Jackson again. She was equally reluctant to address him as Tiger. She wanted to know his given name. The urgency of the thought surprised her as much as the little rush of pleasure along her nerve endings when he answered her unspoken request.
    â€œMy name is Brett,” he said simply, “and pleasant dreams, Rachel Phillips.”
    Â 
    â€œS HE’S SOME LADY, THAT ONE .” Billy Todd materialized out of the shadows at the top of the griffin staircase twenty minutes after Rachel left the parapet. Brett didn’t answer his friend right away. He didn’t need to. Billy already knew Rachel Phillips interested him more than was good for him. Standing in the light of the gibbous moon, watching the breeze play with her hair, feeling the ghosts of the ages whispering around her, he’d found her more alluring than ever. Small, indomitable, courageous, she was just the kind of woman a man dreams of finding all his life long.
    â€œI came back to tell you I’ve made arrangements to leave the jeep at the Akha village north of Chiang Rai.The ponies will be ready by day after tomorrow. We should have word if Khen Sa will see us by the morning after that.”
    â€œI’m getting very anxious to speak with our warlord friend.” Brett’s voice was hard.
    â€œIt’s not going to be our silver-tongued arguments that’ll sway the bastard. It’s goin’ to be the gold you’ve got stashed away down there.” Billy cocked his head in the general direction of Brett’s sleeping cell. “Do you think it’s