In the early evening she taught them English, sitting together in a circle, minds linked as they spoke the words that should have seemed strange, but which came off their tongues so smoothly. Jake’s comments echoed in her mind. They did learn so very quickly, each of them learning for every other.

Jake returned after nightfall, the pickup truck laden with supplies. They did chores with Khun Mae and the two other women, fed the children, put them to bed, and unloaded the truck.

Afterwards, they washed off the sweat and heat of the day in the small pond. The water was low from the drought, but there was enough to splash around in, to submerge themselves in. They emerged from the pond naked and pleasantly cool, and lay on the grass, hidden from the house by the copse of trees, bathed in the light of the full moon.

Sam put her head on his chest and stared up the stars. It was so peaceful here. So different from the life she’d known.

I should let him touch me, Sam thought. Let him feel my mind. Let him know who I am.

The thought frightened her. At first she’d kept herself sealed off from him as a security precaution. But now… Now she trusted him. So why hold back? Because she wasn’t sure how he’d respond if he really knew her… If he knew the things she’d done. The blood on her hands.

Maybe tomorrow, she told herself.

“Who are you, Sunee?” he asked.

She snorted, amused at the synchronicity.

“What, I don’t get to know?” Jake asked, mock offended. “You think I can’t figure it out?”

His fingers found her clavicle, the long line where she’d been cut open, years ago. “You have this scar,” he said, gently. “And these here…” His hand traveled down her belly, to the circular pock marks bullets had left long ago. “And you’re stronger than I am. A lot stronger.”

She rolled to look at him, her face a mask.

“And the kids… They don’t call you Sunee. They call you Sam. Who’s Sam, Sunee?”

She came up to her knees.

Not tonight, she decided. Maybe tomorrow.

“Who do you think I am?” she asked him, a smile on her face.

He grinned. “I think you’re a spy,” he said, conspiratorially, a hint of humor in voice and mind. “You’re a secret agent.”

She smiled and put a leg over him, straddling his chest. His eyes roamed over her breasts and stomach, still wet from the pond, gleaming in the moonlight, and he made a low growl of approval deep inside. She could feel his desire for her rising in his mind.

“Who are you, really?” he asked, his hands coming to her thighs, moving up to her hips and waist, gripping her hungrily. “Who did you work for? How did you get those scars? What’s your name?”