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  Gradually, his distinctive accent, deep and filled with compassion, broke through her barrier of pain. More sounds impinged through her ebbing sobs as the first huge shock wave lessened. Groggily Dany realized that she was leaning against a large man in green jungle fatigues. He was kneeling with her, cradling her like a child in his arms, his body a support for her. Weakness flowed through Dany, an unfamiliar sensation. It had always been Dany who had to be strong—for her widowed mother, for the Vietnamese who worked for them and for herself.

  Blinking, her lashes beaded with tears, Dany took in several halting breaths. Today, she couldn’t be strong. Today… She shut her eyes, a shudder working up through her. Instantly, she felt the marine’s arms tighten around her, as if to take away her pain. As Dany continued to surface from the shock, she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was being held when she was hurting.

  The realization, sweet and tenuous, flowed through her. For a moment out of time, she wanted to allow herself to sink completely into the marine’s embrace, to be held and protected. Now, as never before, she needed that human gift of compassion. Watching the flames continue to lick and burn around the blackened Renault, Dany rested against the man, unable to move from his arms—the protection he was giving her. His voice, deep and dark, shaken with barely veiled emotion, touched her ravaged soul and raw heart.

  For a moment Dany struggled weakly against his embrace. His arms again automatically tightened. She surrendered, pressing her cheek against the rough cotton material of his shirt and closing her eyes. The finality of her mother’s death overwhelmed her. It was something she had never envisioned happening. At fifty, Amy Lou had still seemed so young, especially after several facelifts in Bangkok to maintain her youthful appearance. And now she was dead. Gone forever. Dany could do nothing but lie in the marine’s arms, feeling gutted and numb—unable to move, much less walk.

  Gib leaned down, pressing his cheek against the woman’s silky hair. He held her gently, unconsciously running his large hand slowly up and down her arm, much as he might soothe a frightened and fractious young horse back on the ranch.

  “It’s all right, honey. Just sit here. We’ll help you all we can. I’m sorry…so sorry this happened to your mama.”

  His voice, his words, brought fresh tears to Dany’s eyes. She hid her face in the folds of his now-damp shirt, unable to bear the new pain and grief that came with them. He slowly moved, and as Dany felt his weight shift away from her, she felt bereft. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as if she were viewing single movie frames. Then his hands slid under her arms, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. When she weaved unsteadily, his arm went around her waist.

  “Lean on me,” he whispered, holding her close, “and I’ll take you home. That is your house, isn’t it?”

  Numbly, Dany nodded.

  Gib increased his hold on the woman, not at all sure she was going to be able to make it under her own power to the elegant two-story house that stood among the silk trees in the distance. He saw a number of Vietnamese farmers running toward them from behind the mansion, their voices high and excited, astonishment written on their faces. As the workers reached and surrounded Gib and Dany, Gib halted.

  Dany felt the hands of her workers on her arms and shoulders, the care in their touches, in their faces, breaking her even more. She gathered strength from somewhere deep within her and told them in a wobbly voice, “Mrs. Villard is dead. The car hit a mine. There’s nothing that can be done. Go offer your help to the Americans.”

  Gib watched the Vietnamese peasants as the woman spoke their language, her words soft and halting. He was struck by how melodic her voice was—like the song of a beautiful tropical bird. Trying to put some distance between his own shock and helping her, Gib realized for the first time just how truly attractive the woman was, although her face was pale beneath the golden tones of her skin, her emerald eyes dark with anguish and her delicate mouth pulled inward, reflecting her pain.

  He stood quietly with her in his arms as the farmers ran on to help the marines with the fire. Looking down, he saw her close her eyes and draw in a deep, shaky breath. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

  Dany opened her eyes and, looking up, saw compassion in the marine’s large, intelligent hazel eyes. “Dany…Dany Villard…”

  “Call me Gib. Come on, let’s get you inside, Mrs. Villard. You need to sit down.” Villard. The name rang a definite bell for Gib. He’d heard of the plantation, and the politics of its French owners: supposedly they were neutral. But were they actively supporting VC operations to maintain that neutrality? And who had planted the land mine? ARVN or VC? Maybe the local militia? Or some unnamed splinter group? He stared down at Dany Villard’s half-hidden face, wondering if she were a VC sympathizer. War had no neutrality as far as he was concerned, and more than once his colonel had shown his frustration and disgust over the Villard neutrality policy. At the time, Gib had merely shrugged it off, glad he had a helicopter squadron to run and therefore didn’t have to interface with this country’s complex politics the way his boss did.

  They walked along the brick expanse without talking. Although part of Dany still couldn’t believe her mother was dead, deep down she knew it was true. She felt a huge emptiness inside her, a chilling numbness spreading in the wake of her shock. What was wrong with her? Automatically, she pressed her hand against her stomach.

  “Are you feeling sick?” Gib remembered too many times when he’d gotten sick after combat.

  “No, just…numb…. I feel so numb, as if I’m dead inside.”

  He guided her up the series of wooden steps and through the screen door that housed a huge, wide veranda. A wizened old woman, dressed in a black overblouse, opened the heavily carved door. Gib nodded to her, hoping she spoke some English. He knew only rudimentary Vietnamese.

  “Where’s the living room? Mrs. Villard needs to sit down,” he said slowly. The marine in him felt on guard, edgy, wondering if the gray-haired woman could be a VC spy. Nothing in Vietnam was neutral. Ever.

  The maid tilted her head, her eyes widening enormously as she took in Gib. Instantly she stepped aside, her shock obviously replaced with genuine concern for Dany.

  The maid motioned for Gib to follow her. Still Gib didn’t release Dany as they entered the massive foyer with its floor of highly polished golden teak. “Let me get you to a chair,” he told her.

  “In here,” the old woman ordered and pointed to a room to the left of the foyer. “I call doctor,” she said in broken English and disappeared.

  A good idea, Gib thought. Dany was going to need medication. The shock had been too great for her to bear. He led Dany into what he assumed was a drawing room, painted white with gilt edging along the baseboards. Photographs hung on every wall. He helped her over to a French provincial sofa of light blue silk framed in mahogany. As he gently released her onto the couch, Gib realized she had begun to tremble in earnest.

  Looking around, his hand still on her shoulder, he asked, “You got some liquor around this place?”

  “Yes.” Dany motioned to a mahogany sideboard that sat next to a window. “It’s in there.”

  Investigating, Gib found a stock of just about every kind of liquor he’d ever seen. Drawing out a bottle of peach brandy, he located a snifter and poured a hefty amount into it. He brought it to Dany and, kneeling in front of her, placed it in her hands.

  “Take a sip,” he urged. “It’ll help steady your nerves.”

  Dany stared down at the golden liquid, the sweet odor of peaches wafting toward her nose. She clasped the snifter tightly, afraid that it might tumble out of her grip.

  Gib reached out and settled his hand on Dany’s slumped shoulder. How large his hand looked in relation to hers, he thought disjointedly. She was slender, like the tall, thin bamboo that grew in huge groves. Her bones seemed especially small and fine in comparison to his bulk. “Go on, take a drink of it. I promise, it’ll do you some good.”
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  Numbly, Dany did as he coaxed and lifted the snifter to her lips. The brandy hit the back of her throat, and she gasped. Closing her eyes, she gulped the rest of it down. The pit of her stomach felt on fire, bringing renewed tears to her eyes.

  Retrieving the glass from Dany’s hand, Gib sat down next to her on the couch. The maid came into the room and hovered protectively next to Dany, her hands worriedly kneading Dany’s shoulders, her voice soft and shaken as they conversed in Vietnamese. Gib’s nerves felt jangled from the mine explosion. Again he wondered if the two women in front of him were enemy or friend.

  “Ma Ling, go help our people,” Dany said softly to her mamasan. “There are marines out there. Try to get them to leave as soon as possible.”

  Ma Ling nodded grimly. “You will be all right?”

  “Y-yes. Please, just get rid of the marines. If Binh Duc—”

  Patting Dany’s shoulder, Ma Ling muttered, “I will take care of it. The doctor will be here soon, and he will take care of you.”

  Trying to smile and unable to, Dany felt her eyes tear up with love for her maid. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ma Ling raised her head and glared at Gib, then straightened and left the room.

  Leaning forward, Dany rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her hair fell forward, offering a semblance of privacy from the American marine. Odd to be so near an American, she thought. Her father had been French and proud of it. And, although American-born, Dany’s mother had learned to accept her husband’s cultivated disdain for all things American, so Dany had grown up believing the American blood she carried in her veins was of lesser value. But when the Americans had landed on the pristine white beaches of Da Nang a few weeks ago, Dany had found herself curious about them. It was easy to dislike them and their intrusive presence, upsetting the fragile peace among the various political factions. Still, she had wondered at odd moments what Americans were really like, since she had never had the chance to see for herself—until now.

  There was something disturbing and uncomfortable about this marine’s presence, Dany thought, but wasn’t sure why. He’d certainly helped her in a great moment of need.

  The fire in her stomach gradually ceased, and miraculously, Dany felt her shaking nerves become more stable. Slowly she turned her head to meet the American’s gaze. For the first time, she really looked at him. His face was square and generous, as was his mouth and broad brow. His dark brown eyebrows were straight across his hazel eyes, which held the look of a hunter, a predator, in their depths. She reminded herself that he had said to call him Gib. His eyes were hard, she thought, the aura around him coiled and tension-filled.

  All her defenses had been shattered, and Dany couldn’t have erected her normal French aloofness toward the American if she’d tried. Gib’s face was harsh looking, carved out of life’s experiences—not what was usually considered handsome. When his mouth flexed into a hesitant, coaxing smile as he held out the brandy snifter to her once again, a sudden warmth cascaded through Dany taking away the coldness of reality. The amiable quality caught her off guard. He was supposed to be a soldier, incapable of compassion. The discovery made her feel even more confused.

  “Better take one more sip and you’ll really steady out,” Gib urged softly, holding the snifter in her direction. He tried to disconnect emotionally from her, but the look in her eyes shattered his normally insurmountable defenses. Never, in the last two years, had he felt this damned vulnerable. What the hell was going on?

  Dany nodded and accepted the glass. She took another hefty gulp without a word. Again, the fieriness of the brandy caught her by surprise. The snifter was once again lifted out of her hands by Gib, as if he were afraid she’d drop it because of her blatant reaction to the liquor.

  Color was coming back to Dany’s high-boned cheeks, a rosiness tinting her golden skin, making her look hauntingly like a child and not the adult Gib was sure she was. He guessed her age to be around twenty-one; she was so young and fresh looking. And he wasn’t at all sure that she wasn’t Eurasian. There was a slight tilt to her glorious verdant eyes. Guilt nagged at Gib, and he felt like a trespasser of sorts, because Dany’s eyes reflected every nuance, making it easy to read how she felt. Somehow he couldn’t control his unraveling feelings and erect the usual fortress around his tightly held emotions. He needed to escape.

  “Thank you…” Dany said softly.

  Gib shrugged. “I wish I could do more for you, and I know I can’t. When you lose someone you love, it’s a terrible thing. You feel helpless.”

  “Yes.”

  Gib offered her the snifter, but this time she shook her head. He took a drink instead, finishing off the amber-colored brandy. Part of him wanted to stay and protect Dany against what he knew would come on the heels of such a tragic and unexpected loss. But a stronger part sternly reminded him it was time to leave. Setting the snifter on the mahogany coffee table in front of them, he managed a slight, uncomfortable smile.

  “Look, there will be a military investigation on this. Your mama’s car must have hit a VC land mine just before she got to Highway 14. A marine investigator from Da Nang will have to come out and ask you a lot of questions.” He scowled. “I’ll do what I can to see that they respect you in the coming days of funeral preparations. After that…well, I wish I could do more, Mrs. Villard.”

  Dany didn’t even have the strength to explain she wasn’t married. If the marines got involved in an investigation, Binh Duc would be furious and even more distrustful of her neutrality. But who was to say he hadn’t placed the mine in the driveway himself? Dany knew full well the VC leader was capable of such savage deeds. Had he done it because her mother was seeing the marine general? Clutching her fist against her stomach, Dany felt queasy.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Gib asked, alarmed at the pain again mounting in her features.

  “N-no, thank you.”

  Gib nodded, not satisfied. “Look, I’ll take over out there and make sure your mama’s body is found. I’ll contact the local authorities. If there’s a priest—”

  Dany shook her head. “I’ll call them.” Her lips were dry and her mouth felt gummy. “If—if you can just find her—”

  “I will,” Gib promised grimly. “Are you sure you’re up to making such calls? Can I notify your husband? Your family?”

  With a sigh, Dany whispered, “I’m the only one left. I’m not married.”

  “Oh. Well, where are your nearest relatives?” Gib asked.

  “My mother was adopted, and she never knew who her real parents were in America. My father—” Dany’s voice cracked as she dove on. “All my father’s relatives are in France. I’ll contact them shortly.”

  Rubbing his hands against his fatigue-covered thighs, Gib nodded. The desire to escape her overwhelmingly vulnerable presence sheared through him again. He didn’t want to be exposed to her tragedy. More to the point, if he was honest with himself, to her reaction to it.

  Scowling, he said, “Sounds like all the bases are covered for now. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Of course.”

  Getting to his feet, Gib tasted his own panic. Every second spent with Dany was unhinging his crucial, carefully constructed emotional defenses against the horrors of war.

  Dany looked up at Gib. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until just now. He looked like a giant—but also like the man who had given her precious moments of protection when she’d never needed them more. “Thanks…for everything. I’ll never forget it,” she said and meant it.

  Gib forced a tight, one-cornered smile. “I’d do it for anyone. Goodbye.” He turned and made himself walk in a controlled manner out of the room. Settling the utility cap back on his head, Gib ran lightly down the wooden stairs. As his feet touched hard earth, he felt some of the panic ease in his chest, and he took a deep, shaky breath. What kind of power did Dany Villard wield over him? With a shake of his head, Gib decided it was just one more cra
zy response to a wartime situation. Now he could get back to his “safe” rut of running the helicopter squadron.

  CHAPTER TWO

  What the hell did Colonel Parsons want of him? Gib swung up the wooden steps leading to the dark green canvas tent that served as headquarters for the Marine Air Group based at Marble Mountain. The morning air was a combination of scents: aircraft fuel, oil and the salty tang of the ocean nearby. Taking off his utility cap as he entered the large tent that housed the office “pogues”—the clerks and paper shufflers who kept the squadron going—Gib walked toward a dark green metal desk at the rear of the tent.

  Colonel Parsons was a lean, narrow-faced marine in his early fifties. Wearing starched green utilities, he sat at his desk, busily reading flight reports. Gib approached and came to attention.

  “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Parson looked up. His scowl dissolved. “Gib. Glad you could make it. At ease. Have a seat.” He motioned to the dark green metal chair in front of his desk.

  Gib sat tensely. Normally, Parsons wasn’t this amiable. His CO must want something from him. “I’m just about ready to take a flight of supplies to Firebase Judy,” Gib said.

  “I know, I know.” Parsons leaned back in his chair. “Give the flight to Captain Mallory. I’ve got something that demands immediate attention, and I want you to take charge of it.”

  “Oh?” Gib frowned.

  “Yes. You know that report you wrote up on the Villard woman being killed two days ago?”

  An uneasy feeling snaked through Gib. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m appointing you investigation officer on the case. It happened on South Vietnamese land, and we’re officially charged with the investigation.”

  Gib’s mouth dropped opened. “What?”

  Parsons stared at him bluntly. “You were there. You saw it happen. There’s no reason not to be the IO on this, Gib.”

  “But, sir, I’ve got a squadron to run.” Gib’s heart started a funny hammering in his chest. He’d have to see Dany Villard again—a number of times, he was sure, before he could close the case. Again that weird panic ate at him. Her vulnerability unstrung him, got inside him, and he couldn’t afford that. Not now.