Somehow Jean had thought the rainy season would be the cool season but apparently Thailand didn’t have one. The ride in the older model Jeep had been hot and humid and she could hardly wait for it to be over. She glanced up at Dr. Liew in the passenger seat. He didn’t seem phased. The driver who’d picked them up from the airport was an employee of the plantation and seemed to be a local. He probably didn’t give the weather a second thought. But Jean had thought of nothing else for the last hour, ever since they’d left the terminal at Phuket Island’s airport. She glanced at the rearview mirror to see the driver looking at her, yet again.

“How long did you say to the plantation?” Jean asked.

His eyes smiled at her.

“Almost there,” he said.

She’d taken off the business jacket at the airport and now fluffed the front of her silk blouse for some air. The pearl necklace rustled over the top of the shiny cream fabric. Wearing silk in the tropics had obviously been the wrong decision but it was still business–high-end business at that.

“Are you feeling okay?” Dr. Liew said, turning to her.

Although Dr. Liew was her employer for this trip, he’d done nothing but take care of her since the journey had started. In his fifties, bald, and with a paunch like a bowling ball, he was exactly what she’d expected for a molecular biologist. Though he was of Chinese descent, he must have been born in the U.S. because his English was flawless. He looked at her over the top of his thick glasses.

“I’m fine, Dr. Liew,” she said, smiling at him. “Just a little warm.”

“Please, for the eleventh time, call me George. Are you drinking enough water?”

“Plenty,” she said. “A lot actually.”

He frowned at that as the Jeep took a sharp turn onto a graded dirt road.

“Hmm,” he said and then turned and hunched over his carry-on bag, rummaging for something. When he turned back to her, he held out a couple of tablets. “Electrolytes,” he said. “To keep everything balanced with all the water.”

He’d said this on the plane too and they had seemed to help but was there such a thing as taking too many?

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

“Take them,” Dr. Liew said abruptly.

The driver gave him a quick look and glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

Dr. Liew quickly shook his head, laughed a little, and smiled at them both.

“I’m starting to sound like I do with my daughter,” he said. “You can imagine what it must be like to have a molecular biologist for a father.”

Though his tone had surprised her, Jean had to smile at that. It was exactly the type of voice her own father would have used. In fact, he and Dr. Liew were probably the same age. She dutifully extended her hand and he placed the tablets in her palm.

“Thank you,” she said.

She took them as the Jeep started to climb upward.

Dr. Liew seemed satisfied and turned back toward the road. On either side of them, dense, green jungle flashed by.

A month ago, Jean would never have dreamed she’d be here–a tropical rain forest on Phuket Island in southern Thailand. Typically, adventure traveling wasn’t part of the job description for forensic accountants. In fact, she still couldn’t believe she was here. The job had come together so quickly she’d neglected to mention she’d never had a passport. Dr. Liew’s group had put some type of rush on it. In the end, though, it wasn’t the exciting prospect of travel that had convinced her to come. It wasn’t even the enormous fee that Dr. Liew’s group had offered. It was curiosity.

Rarely was a company so identified with its owner. Clark Peterson, son of the founder, was that owner. He was the company–what was left of it–and the company was him. The two were inseparable. On paper, his presence was everywhere, ever since he’d taken it over. The forensic audit had included his personal life as well–every detail was used to help her build an image of Clark Peterson and Peterson Rubber that few other people were capable of doing. It was a singular talent. And now, for the first time in her young career, she was going to see if that image matched the real thing. The view into Clark’s personal life was an unusual, though not unheard of, part of the audit and one of the reasons for the high fee.

As she gazed out the window, she couldn’t help but think about the money. Older and more experienced forensic auditors were available at her firm and yet Dr. Liew had selected her. Given the rigor of the travel, though, it was starting to make sense.

The dense, almost impenetrable, trees of the rain forest flew by in continuous tones of brown and green. She wondered if these might actually be rubber trees, at least some of them. High above their roof-like canopy, a slice of sky over the road revealed dark clouds that hung thick and menacing.

Maybe if it rains, it’ll be cooler.

Jean fluffed her blouse again.

She hoped so.

• • • • •

Clark Peterson paced the front porch of the main house and glanced at his watch. They were due any minute. Thunder rumbled overhead as a light rain began to fall. Before Annan had left for the airport, he’d left the umbrellas leaning at the railing. The man didn’t miss a thing. After thirty years working for his family, Annan knew what Clark needed before Clark knew it.

But what Clark really needed now was an investor.

Clark felt a tight bunching of the muscles in his shoulders. Without thinking, he reached both hands up to a rafter under the eave of the porch and did a quick chin-up. Before he knew it, he’d done a set of ten. Though his pent-up energy could easily have handled another few sets, he dropped lightly to his feet.

Don’t want to be sweating before they even get here. There’ll be plenty of time for ‘sweating’ later.

“Boss?” he heard Tam say from the front door.

He turned to see the slim and stooped old man holding a feather duster in his hand. No matter how many times Clark had told him to stop cleaning, Tam refused to listen. As near as Clark could tell, the man treated it as a sacred task. As his father’s valet, Tam had been part of the plantation in its glory days. It was as though he couldn’t see what it had become or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to let go of what it used to be.

Clark understood how that felt.

“The rooms are ready,” Tam said, in his high reedy voice.

Clark knew the rooms were ready because Annan had checked them but he smiled at Tam nevertheless.

“Thank you, Tam. I’m sure our guests will be comfortable.”

Tam nodded solemnly.

“Will that be all?” he said, stowing the duster under his arm.

“Yes, Tam,” Clark said.

Tam bowed a little at the waist and turned to go.

“Oh, Tam?” Clark said.

The old man hadn’t yet taken a step but made as though he’d been about to. He turned around. This was their little ritual now.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing anything more this afternoon,” Clark said. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself.”

“Are you sure, Boss?”

Clark nodded.

“I’m sure Annan and Mrs. Juntasa have everything under control.”

Tam seemed to consider that but then nodded. Clark was careful not to grin. Tam would be asleep for his afternoon nap as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Okay, Boss,” he said finally. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” Clark said.

Tam nodded once more before he turned and shuffled off. As Clark watched him go, he thought of his own father. What would he say if he were alive to see the state of the plantation? Clark already knew what his father thought of investors. That was one of the reasons the company was in the state it was. Now, there was no choice.

Clark heard the Jeep before he could see it.

They were here.

Dr. George Liew represented a consortium of venture capitalists headquartered in New York. He would be validating the science material. Clark had expected that. In fact, he’d thought of little else in the last six months as he’d created and organized the data. Decades of his father’s work and years of his own had finally bred what genetic modification couldn’t create. The science data was critical in demonstrating that. What Clark hadn’t expected was the auditor. What had they called her? A forensic accountant. Although he’d sent all the financials weeks ago, George had said this was standard procedure for his investors.

The Jeep finally appeared in the circular drive. As the tires crunched in the gray gravel, the rain began to pour. The pelting sound of the drops took over seamlessly as Annan brought the car to a stop. Clark opened an umbrella and went to the passenger door.

“You must be Dr. Liew,” Clark said, as he opened the door. “Welcome to Peterson Ranch.”

The man in the passenger seat was quickly zipping up his luggage but stopped to extend his hand.

“Dr. Peterson,” he said, as they shook hands.

“Here,” Clark said. “Let me get that for you.”

Dr. Liew handed the small rolling case to him and awkwardly slid out of the seat. Side by side they went the few short steps to the porch.

“Call me Clark,” Clark said as he shook out the umbrella.

“Fine,” said George. “As long as you call me George.”

“Done,” Clark said, feeling better now that they were actually here and the process had started.

As Clark turned back to the car, Annan was already helping the accountant up the steps, both of them under an umbrella.

Heels and a business suit? thought Clark. An accountant for sure. He had to smirk a little as she set her bag down and Annan folded up the umbrella. Clark had been about to introduce himself when she stood up and he saw her face.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Dr. Clark Peterson,” George said. “I’d like to introduce Miss Jean Willis, our auditor.”

Clark blinked, not believing his eyes.

“Dr. Peterson,” Jean said. She was holding out her hand. Clark stared down at it and then at her face. It was like looking into the past. She was the spitting image of–

Annan cleared his throat.

Clark quickly took her hand and shook it. Jean Willis smiled at him but it wasn’t her that he saw.

“A pleasure,” he said, still shaking her hand. “Please, call me Clark.”

“Good luck,” George said. “She has yet to call me by–”

“Clark,” Jean said quietly.

• • • • •

George flopped down into the high-back wicker chair in the corner of the room. He used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from the top of his head and grinned.

That could not have gone better.

Clark Peterson's mouth had nearly hung open. The man looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

Clearly Jean Willis was young and beautiful–a statuesque brunette with dazzling, green eyes–but the resemblance was truly striking. George reached into his front pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The partners would be expecting him to check in. As he pulled it out, the small plastic bag of pills came with it. He grinned at it. This had been his own idea: an improvisation on the plan and a bit of insurance. The last thing he needed was some auditor looking over his shoulder.

“Electrolytes,” he chuckled.

They were already having a visible effect. If her mood swings became too extreme, though, the drug’s intended effect would be lost. It also wouldn’t help matters if she died. Although that was a necessary risk. He thought of how warm she’d felt in the Jeep and scowled. That would bear some watching. Fever was a known side-effect and in this weather–he wiped his head again–that was the last thing anyone needed.

• • • • •

No air conditioning, thought Jean.

Of course not. Why would you have air conditioning in the tropics?

She tugged the long brass chain of the ceiling fan over the bed and watched it silently begin to revolve. As it picked up speed, she took off her blouse and tossed it on the bed. She stood as close to the fan as she could, enjoying the gentle downwash of wind from the giant leaf-shaped blades. Outside the rain had turned to a downpour, clearly audible on the roof, since the bedrooms were on the second floor. As they’d climbed the sweeping central staircase, she’d felt as though they were stepping back in time. Though it was a rubber plantation in the tropical rainforest, it would have looked at home in a bayou of the deep American south. It was life on a grand scale, though the home and the grounds were showing their age. They’d passed public rooms where giant sheets covered the furniture and most of the bedroom doors had been closed.

Of course what really set it apart from a southern mansion was the open interior courtyard. The rectangular second story had a wide landing that completely ringed and overlooked it. The few trees there soared above the roof, maybe one hundred feet tall. Open to the weather, the courtyard also meant that each door on the second floor was visible to every other.

And yet, the plantation, the home, everything was just as she had pictured it–except for the heat. Jean stepped out of her heels, took off her slacks and tossed them next to the blouse. As the breeze’s cooling effect started to work, she looked around the room. The queen-sized four-poster bed dominated it, carved from a light-colored wood that matched the dresser, small desk, and chair. The fabrics were all floral prints and quietly delicate–a feminine room.

“So, not decorated by Clark,” she said quietly.

Like the house, he’d been everything that she had expected. After poring through the documentation, Jean felt as though she knew him. Meeting him, if only briefly, had confirmed what she’d come to believe. “Boss” his people called him and that’s exactly what he was–on paper as well as at his ranch. He’d steered the company through every research and financial hurdle that his father had left to him. Everything in the paperwork said the company was poised for greatness.

The photos, however, didn’t do him justice. Darkly handsome was obvious, even in a business suit, but the light khaki shirt and trousers had revealed a thickly muscular body–a body she wouldn’t mind seeing in its entirety.

She blinked and quickly put a hand to her mouth.

Good grief. Where had that come from?

Her hands went to her face as she felt her cheeks flush hot. Clark Peterson was their host, the head of his own company, and the subject of her audit. She wasn’t here to appreciate his looks.

As her hands went to her chest, she realized her heart was pounding and racing out of control.

What was going on? It wasn’t like she’d never seen amazing men. They seemed to flock to her and she’d even been with one but…

Think about something else. Anything else.

She noticed the vase of fresh flowers on the desk and quickly strolled over to it. It was a mix of two small flowers, one vibrantly yellow and the other yellow and white. She concentrated on each in turn, purposely moving her gaze, as her heart finally began to slow. The delicate blooms provided a beautiful splash of brightness and their fragrance was sweet. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and the room began to spin. She opened her eyes and gripped the back of the desk chair but the sensation quickly passed.

Suddenly, the temperature was unbearable.

In only a few steps, she was back under the ceiling fan, feeling the cooling downwash. Up above, the rain was still coming down.

It gave her an idea.

“Maybe a shower before dinner,” she said. “A cold one.”

• • • • •

Clark stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door closed behind him. In seconds he was across it and opening the bottom drawer of the roll top desk. He yanked out the bottle of single malt scotch and the crystal tumbler and glared down at them.

His knuckles turned white as he willed them to shatter in his hands.

“I thought I was past this,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Past her. He inhaled slowly through his nose. Past Linda.

Of course, the problem was that he didn’t want to be past her. He wanted her to be alive, to be here.

The bottle in his hand came back into focus.

With a force that rattled the top of the desk, he planted the bottle and the tumbler firmly down on the blotter. A drink wasn’t going to help, especially not now. The consortium’s science representative was across the courtyard. Tomorrow he’d begin the task of vetting the data.

I’ve worked too hard for this. Everything depends on it.

But Jean’s resemblance to Linda was remarkable. Even with her hair up and the business suit, the sight of her had sent a stab of pain into his chest that hadn’t dulled over time. It’d been over a year and still–

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes!” Clark yelled.

“Just me, Boss,” came Annan’s voice.

Clark exhaled and turned to the door.

“Yes, Annan. Come in.”

Like Tam, Annan had been at the plantation since his youth. Only in his early fifties, though, his hair was still jet black and his wiry frame ramrod straight. A good deal stronger than he looked, Annan had slowly taken on more and more of aged Tam’s physical duties–like driving the Jeep and toting luggage. One thing he and Tam shared, though, was the sunny disposition.

But the smiling eyes quickly landed on the scotch and his eyebrows furrowed. Clark took the bottle and the tumbler, dumped them unceremoniously back into the big drawer, and shoved it shut with his foot.

“What is it, Annan?” Clark said.

“Mrs. Juntasa says dinner is at seven,” he said, in his high nasally twang.

Clark had spoken to Mrs. Juntasa before the guests had arrived and, now that he thought about it, he knew that Annan must have heard him tell them seven. He took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. As he crossed his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the edge of the desk.

“You saw her,” Clark said.

“Yeah, Boss,” Annan said quietly.

Of course he’d seen the resemblance. You couldn’t miss it.

Clark only nodded.

What was there to say?

“You’ll be helping Mrs. Juntasa serve?” Clark asked.

“Yes, Boss,” Annan chirped, bobbing his head.

“Seven,” Clark confirmed.

“Yes, Boss,” Annan said again as he backed through the door and softly closed it.

Clark continued to stare at the intricately carved wood for a few moments and then he heard voices. He cocked his head a little and listened. Then he heard the sound of running feet. Quietly, he went to the door and slowly opened it just a crack.

Across the near corner of the courtyard, Jean stood in her doorway as though she were waiting for someone. She was backlit. The light easily passed through her silk blouse, outlined her slim torso, and also hinted at the fullness of her figure.

Suddenly, Annan came running down the hall, a stack of towels in his arms.

Clark grimaced–the first oversight.

Though he couldn’t make out Annan’s words as he handed her the towels, he could clearly hear Jean since she faced his direction.

“Really, Annan,” she implored. “Please don’t think a thing about it. I’m sure these would have been set out tonight.” Annan made some reply. “Of course,” Jean said and put a hand on his upper arm. “I know,” she said in a soothing tone that went with her brief touch. Annan said something and bobbed his head. “No, thank you,” she replied. “I’m sure I have everything I need. Thank you so much. The room is lovely.”

Annan made a brief reply as he backed up and Jean nodded and shut the door. As Annan hurried away, Clark silently closed his door. Though Jean hadn’t seemed upset, Clark would have a quick word with Annan. They couldn’t afford mistakes–any of them.