Killing Rain

to relax and open up. She had seen it many times before. Hell, John had just used it on her.
    She had the hotel car take her to the airport and was able to get a Thai Air flight that left less than an hour later. She called Gil when she arrived at Bangkok airport. He asked her if she could get to the Oriental Hotel and meet him on the restaurant veranda, overlooking the river. She told him she would be there within an hour.
    The midday traffic wasn’t too awful, and the ride took less than forty minutes. The moment she saw the hotel, she understood why Gil had chosen it. A classic colonial structure, it sprawled across a city block and would have entrances and exits all over. Guests could leave via cab, tuk-tuk, or some sort of river taxi adjacent to the hotel entrance. And the security, though subtle, was everywhere, in the form of surveillance cameras and guards with earpieces. All of which would make it hard to establish a choke point for an ambush, hard to carry out the ambush without being captured on videotape, and hard to follow someone out of the hotel without staying unacceptably close. Gil wasn’t just suspicious; he was downright worried that she had gone over to the other side.
    For a moment, she felt the familiar indignant anger rising. Then she realized:
    He’s not entirely off the mark.
    She walked through the lobby and out onto the veranda. Gil was leaning on the balcony as though in appreciation of the tourist-perfect river scene beyond. But he checked his back within a moment of her arrival and saw her. He straightened and nodded. As she approached, she saw him look behind her, then to his flanks. He was wearing an untucked, short-sleeved, button-down shirt, like most of the other tourists here. The difference being that, in Gil’s case, the casual local attire would make it easier for him to conceal the pistol Delilah knew he carried. Gil was right-handed, and, with the shirt out, he probably had the gun on his right hip, which she judged to be the appropriate compromise here between concealment and access. Not that her take on all this was particularly relevant at the moment—this was Gil, after all, and, even if he was an asshole, they were on the same side—but such assessments had become second nature to her, and went on in the background regardless of whom she was meeting.
    “Nice place,” she said, ignoring his obvious suspicions.
    He nodded and said nothing. He was coiled tight, she could feel it. She would have to find a way to calm him down.
    “What do you want to do?” she asked. “Stay here? Go somewhere else?”
    He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “We can stay here.”
    “Good. I’m hungry.”
    They ate at the Verandah Restaurant overlooking the river. It was a beautiful scene, and she was able to take in all of it because Gil took the seat that put his back to the water. Having her back to the door wasn’t her favorite way to sit, but many of her targets had some security consciousness and she was used to the disadvantage. Call it an occupational hazard.
    They ordered khao phad goong —they were in Bangkok, after all, and might as well take advantage of the local cuisine—and talked. She explained how things had gone with Rain since she had first met him at the airport in Bangkok. She let Gil ask the questions. At first, he indulged himself with some periodic innuendo. She had anticipated this, and planned to ignore it, but after a few annoying jabs she found herself saying, “Look, can we just be professional about this?” That seemed to sober him, and she realized that her reaction, more genuine than the gambit she had originally planned, had been the better choice. From then on, he kept the bullshit in check, and she answered his questions as forthrightly as he would expect. She wanted this to feel more like a debriefing than a briefing. That would be more comfortable for him. It would make him feel in charge.
    He glanced around frequently. To an outsider, it would have looked like he was enjoying his exotic surroundings, trying to take it all in. Or perhaps that he was waiting for someone, looking up from time to time to see if the other party had arrived. But she knew where it was coming from. And she didn’t like that it wasn’t going away. She decided to call him on it.
    “Am I making you nervous?” she asked, during one of his perimeter checks, with a friendly, slightly amused smile.
    He looked at her. “No.”
    Her smile broadened, but