Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney #2)(39)

And that was when Jeff changed his mind.

Stealing the statue’s not enough.

This bastard deserves a taste of his own medicine.

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Thomas Bowers to engineer his next meeting with Miss Tiffany Joy.

He’d observed that the general always went to breakfast before his “secretary,” and alone. Once he’d gone, Miss Joy would slip back into her own cabin, making sure it looked as if both berths had been slept in; there she showered and dressed, then joined her boss after a suitable interval. It was the easiest thing in the world to bump into her as she emerged into the corridor.

“Miss Joy. You look lovely this morning, as ever. How are the bruises?”

“Mr. Bowers!”

Tiffany blushed despite herself. She wished she didn’t enjoy these encounters with the antiques dealer, or whatever he was, quite as much as she did. But Thomas Bowers was so young, and handsome, and Alan, bless him, was so old. Quite the antiquity himself, come to think of it!


“Is something funny? You know you’re frighteningly pretty when you smile.”

“And you’re a terrible flirt.”

“I’m crushed. Here was I thinking I was rather a good one.”

Tiffany laughed. “I mean it. Alan . . . General McPhee . . . he wasn’t too pleased last night. He said you bumped into me on purpose.”

“He was quite right.” Jeff moved closer. The train corridor was so narrow, his nose and Tiffany’s were almost touching. “Not that I see what business it is of his. Isn’t there a Mrs. McPhee somewhere? Keeping the home fires burning and all that.”

“Well . . . yes,” Tiffany admitted. “I’m just not sure she keeps the general’s fires burning, though. Not anymore.”

“What about your fires, Miss Joy?” Jeff’s hands slid around her waist, then down over her deliciously pert bottom.

“Oh, Mr. Bowers!”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas. I want to but I . . . we can’t. He’s my boss.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play . . .”

The boring Swedish couple emerged from their cabin. Reluctantly Jeff released the general’s secretary—“under” secretary—and let them pass.

“Your boss was boasting last night about having something priceless in his cabin,” he said nonchalantly, once they were alone again. “He wasn’t only talking about you, was he?”

“No. But I can’t talk about it,” Tiffany said primly.

“Why not?” Lunging forward, Jeff kissed her suddenly and passionately on the mouth.

“Thomas!”

“He obviously wanted me to know. Come on, I won’t tell. What’s he got stashed in there? The world’s biggest bottle of Viagra?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“A toupee spun from threads of pure platinum?”

“Stop it!” Tiffany giggled. “If you must know, it’s some sort of statue. Between you and me, it’s quite hideous. It was a gift from a grateful Iraqi gentleman, after the liberation. Apparently it’s very old and very rare.”

“Just like Alan’s erection,” Jeff couldn’t resist saying. “Look. It’s the boat tour of the River Kwai this afternoon.”

“I know.” Tiffany sighed. “The general’s an expert on World War Two history. I’ve been hearing all about it since Singapore. He really is an incredibly learned and eminent—”

“Get out of it. Say you’re not feeling well.”

“But he knows I’m—”

“Fake something. Come on, Miss Joy. Live a little! I’ll make sure your boss and I are on different boats. Then I’ll duck out early and come and take a look at the general’s priceless treasure.”

“I assume you’re referring to the statue, Mr. Bowers?” Tiffany threw back her hair coquettishly.

“I’ll show you what I’m referring to this afternoon, Miss Joy. Enjoy your breakfast.”

IT WAS A HUNDRED degrees and a hundred percent humidity at the River Kwai. Dressed in khaki slacks and a linen shirt, and carrying a small rucksack, General Alan McPhee was sweating like a pig.

“You must be used to these sort of conditions, General. What’s your secret?”

General McPhee scowled. He disliked Thomas Bowers. The man was too handsome by half, too smooth, too full of himself. Bowers looked immaculate as ever today in a white shirt and shorts, and if he was feeling the heat he didn’t show it. Bastard.

“No secret, Mr. Bowers. Just perseverance.”

“Very admirable. I notice your secretary isn’t with us. Military history not her thing?”

“Miss Joy isn’t feeling very well. I believe she’s resting in her cabin.”

The E&O passengers were divided into two groups and herded toward separate rafts. The Asians were directed toward the vessel with a Japanese-speaking guide, and the Europeans to one with an Australian ex-serviceman providing the commentary.

Jeff made his way toward the Japanese raft. He was immediately accosted by the train’s chief steward, a look of panic on his face.

“No, no, Mr. Bowers. For a tour in English, you must join the other line.”

“Thanks, Helmut. But I prefer this one.”