Babes in ThailandTricia DiSandro
Pauline strolled into her master bath and started filling her small NSA-approved travel containers with shampoo and conditioner when a floorboard creaked behind her. She spun around, knocking the bottles over on the sink counter and spilling their gluey contents.
“You’re jumpy,” Charles remarked.
Pauline put a hand to her chest.
“How did you get in here?” she asked. “You don’t live here anymore.”
“I paid for this house,” he said, sauntering over to the bed. He lifted the open luggage, inspected it, then flopped it back on the bed. “Goin’ somewhere?”
Pauline’s shaky fingers twisted the caps onto the gooey bottles.
“My cab’s been called,” she said. “You need to leave.”
“Where you going?” he demanded.
Her breath caught. Pauline turned away from him, p
