by Anne Stuart
She yanked her jeans on over the boxers, pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over her head and shoved the last of her things into the heavy backpack. He didn’t move, still staring at the tiny screen.
Then he glanced up at her, almost as if he’d forgotten her existence.
“Trouble,” he said.
People like Reno and Taka wouldn’t use that term lightly, and Jilly froze. “Is it my sister? Has something happened?”
He was texting back, his long, slender fingers flying over the keypad, ignoring her. He glanced up at her. His eyes were a deep rich brown—for some reason, she had thought they were green. “Are you ready? Where are your shoes?”
“In the entryway, of course.” If he was surprised that she knew proper etiquette, he didn’t show it. “Are you going to answer my question? What kind of trouble?”
“Read for yourself,” he said, tossing the phone to her. He was lucky; she just managed to catch it. It wouldn’t help either of them if it shattered on the hard floor. She looked down at the text message.
“Very funny,” she said, resisting the impulse to throw the phone back at him. She placed it carefully in his outstretched hand. “I can’t read kanji.”
“I know.” He shoved the phone in the pocket of his pants, making the leather pull against his crotch for a moment.
And what the hell was she doing, noticing? It had become clear quite quickly that Reno was the enemy, and the smartest thing she could do was to get away from him as soon as possible, or she probably would find herself on a plane back to L.A., and she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw Summer. Of course, escaping from someone on their home turf was great in theory, but tricky in practice. She could try reason, though the man standing in front of her didn’t look particularly reasonable. He looked annoyed, bored and impatient.
And to think she used to lie in her bed at her family’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills and fantasize about him. Them. Together.
Her sister had warned her about Reno. And she had no doubt that she and Taka had done their best to keep her away from the punk black sheep of the family.
Big mistake on their part. Ten minutes in his presence and she was so over him. A little exposure therapy would have taken care of the problem long ago.
She took a deep, calming breath. “We’re on the same side, you know. I just want to find my sister. Just let me talk to her.”
“I don’t know where they are. Perhaps my English isn’t that good or maybe you just aren’t listening. They’re in hiding—people are out to kill them, and they’ll use you to get to them. So you’re going back to your safe life in Hollywood and leaving the professionals to take care of things.”
“Professionals? You don’t strike me as Committee material. Not if Taka and Peter are anything to go by.”
The insult went right past him. “Stop stalling. We need to get the hell out of here.”
“Not until you tell me what was on the cell phone.”
For a moment he looked as if he’d toss her over his shoulder and haul her ass out of there. She’d like to see him try. They were close to the same height—five feet ten inches, and she wasn’t built along the whipcord lines he was.
Maybe he thought better of using force. “Three Russian operatives arrived in Japan four days ago to kill Taka-san and his wife. They were forewarned and went into hiding. Five more Russians arrived at Narita airport several hours ago, and they’re going to want to catch up with the first three.”
“And?”
“And the first three are dead. Or close enough that it won’t matter. The newcomers don’t seem to know that their paycheck has dried up. As soon as they do they’ll go on to their next job and we’ll be safe. Unless they decide to take revenge for the loss of their friends. Whatever the case, we need to get the hell out of here before someone finds them.”
“Them?”
“The first three Russians,” he said impatiently. “Come on.”
He moved away from his spot against the door, opening it. He turned off the light, plunging them into darkness once more, and he took her hand in an unbreakable grip. “Just stay with me and look straight ahead,” he growled.
“Why did you turn off the lights? I thought we were safe.”
“There are some things you’re better off not seeing.”
Enough was enough, Jilly decided, incensed. Reno was old-fashioned and sexist, the polar opposite of his cousin. “I can judge that for myself,” she said, switching the light back on before he could stop her.
She saw the pool of blood first, then the body of the man.
His head was at a strange angle, and the blood was coming from his mouth and his ears and his slashed throat. Beyond him was another body, eyes wide-open and staring, lying spread-eagled in a pool of blood, dead, as well.
A moment later it was darkness again, and the room swung in dizzy circles as Reno picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
They were out in the night air moments later, leaving the carnage behind them. He moved fast into the darkness, and he made it to the inside of the small park before he set her down.
She immediately threw up. She could still smell it—the blood, the stink of death that she’d never known before. Reno moved away, leaving her alone while she emptied her stomach of its meager contents. He must’ve known she was too much of a wuss to run.
She took a breath, forestalling the dry heaves that were threatening, and shoved her hair back from her sweat-damp face as a stray shudder swept her body.
He turned and tossed her sneakers to her. “You finished?”
She raised her head from her knees to look at him. “Did you do that?”
“You’re still in one piece, aren’t you? Of course I did. And it’s your own fucking fault for turning the light on. I told you there were things you don’t need to see.”
“You killed them? Both of them?”
“Three of them. The other one was in the garden. Get over it. Taka is going to be pissed as hell that I even let you see that.”
She swallowed. “Isn’t he going to be more annoyed at finding three…bodies in his house?”
“It’ll be cleaned up by the time it’s safe for them to return. My grandfather will see to it.” He came back to stand over her, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet, but she ignored it, scrambling up on her own. She still felt weak and shaky, but she wasn’t about to let him see.
“Okay,” she said. “Narita airport. The hell with jet lag.”
“Change of plans. They’re watching the airports. The message came from one of my grandfather’s men, warning me. I’m going to have to keep you out of sight for a few days until I can get you out.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll check into one of the big tourist hotels and wait until you kill the other five.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice. “I can’t imagine any place safer.”
“I said you needed to be kept out of sight. What makes you think the center of Tokyo is out of sight? They’ll be checking all the Western-style hotels, looking for you.”
“They, whoever they are, don’t even know I exist, much less that I’ve come to Japan.”
“They know,” he said, his voice as flat as his expression. “Come.” He tossed her knapsack to her, and she caught it, almost dropping the heavy weight. “You’ll need to put that on.”
She didn’t argue, shouldering it. “How far are we walking?”
“We’re not walking.” He vanished into the bushes, and for the first time she noticed the gleam of chrome through the greenery. A moment later he reappeared, pushing a huge, heavy-looking Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
Jilly looked at it with a sinking heart. It was difficult enough when the exotic, undeniably gorgeous creature of her fantasies had turned out to be an obnoxious bully. Of course he had to have a Harley, as well, completing the perfect bad-boy image. With the tattooed teardrops on his high cheekbones and spiky, waist-length, flame-colored hair and his long, leather-cla
d legs and pointy-toed cowboy boots, he was almost irresistible, despite his manners.
A Harley sealed the deal. He was all her adolescent fantasies come true.
And it was time to grow up.
3
Shit. Bloody shit. Holy motherfucker. Goddamn gaijin idiot bitch blundering into trouble. He needed to punch something or someone—he was wound up, furious, ready to explode.
She was plastered against him on the back of the motorcycle, and even through his leather jacket and her baggy sweatshirt he could feel her breasts. This was hell, seeing her for the first time in more than two years, when he’d done such a good job of forgetting about her, only to find her in men’s underwear and no bra. He was still hard, making the motorcycle even more uncomfortable.
He had only one helmet, and the laws were strict. As long as he stayed in the territory controlled by his grandfather he’d be fine—the police would recognize the flame-red hair and give him a wide berth.
He didn’t have the faintest goddamned idea where to take her. His own apartment was probably being watched and Jilly Lovitz wasn’t likely to fit in with the people he usually hung with. He could just imagine how Kyo would react to someone like Jilly. Kyo was a nasty little motherfucker who liked to torment gaijin, and Jilly would be fair game.
His job wasn’t to protect her from people like Kyo. It was to keep her alive. Maybe a few hours with a maniacal yakuza would scare her into staying in her safe home and not go racing off unannounced to a country where she wasn’t wanted.
He should take her to his grandfather’s. It was the logical thing to do—drop her off and let Ojiisan deal with her. She’d be safe in his grandfather’s fortress, with an armed guard of at least twenty men. If the Russians were foolish enough to attempt anything, his grandfather would see to their tidy disposal.
They were coming into a busier part of the city—all he needed to do was turn left and follow the street to his grandfather’s compound. It didn’t matter that he told the old man he’d take care of things. If anything Ojiisan would be pleased at his grandson’s belated obedience.
It was the smart thing to do, the safe careful choice.
Who the hell was he kidding—he’d never been safe or careful in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. The girl plastered against him felt warm, soft, and he deserved something for the aggravation she caused him.
He wasn’t going to sleep with her—he valued his head too much to risk Taka’s fury. It had been almost two years since Taka told him to keep away from his sister-in-law, but he had no doubt Taka still meant what he said.
No, he deserved something, just to taste, and he was going to take it. It would be worth a broken bone or two.
She had her head down—his body was shielding her from the wind. Her arms were tight around his waist. What would she do if he took one of those hands and put it between his legs?
Probably cause him to spin out. Right now, she was too shook up for him to even attempt anything. It would be better all around if he just put her on a plane back to California and forgot about her. Except that he hadn’t really forgotten about her for the last two years—there was no reason things were going to be any different. Especially now that she was all grown up.
He turned right, heading away from his grandfather’s compound. He needed to dump the Harley—it was too conspicuous. He needed to find a salaryman’s car, something cheap and practical and anonymous.
The very thought made him shudder. Maybe being conspicuous was the safest way to play. There’d be too many people watching for anyone to try a snatch and grab with his passenger.
Or was she his hostage? He wasn’t quite sure.
In the meantime, he needed someplace safe and anonymous to spend what little was left of the night. There were traditional inns to the north—they would be off the grid and no one using modern technology would be able to find them.
And a ryokan was a definite buzz kill, with thin futons on the floor rather than a hotel room with a big, inviting bed to tempt him. It was the smartest thing to do. Too bad he didn’t feel like being smart. He’d do it anyway.
He was coming down from the adrenaline rush. He didn’t want to think about what he’d had to do back at Taka’s house. It was a waste of time brooding about it. They were professionals, and he’d had no choice. Right now he was dead tired, and she must be just as jet-lagged as he was. They needed someplace safe so he could get a few hours’ sleep. And figure out what his next move was.
Jilly was beyond cold, beyond feeling as she clung to the only thing safe in a crazy world. She put her head against his black leather jacket, closing her eyes, breathing in the smell of the night.
She had no sense of time or space—it felt as if she were riding a dragon, clinging to the only thing solid and safe. A man who had just killed three people and didn’t seem to notice.
Summer had never given her more than a brief outline of what happened when she first met Takashi O’Brien. People had died. People had shot at her while she escaped with Isobel Lambert.
But she’d never actually seen death. Never had to wrap her arms around someone who’d just dealt it.
She turned her face to breathe in the smell of leather. It was oddly comforting. She didn’t know how long she been riding on the back of the motorcycle—it could have been one hour or five. Her body ached, her arms and her thighs were numb and she wanted him to stop this mad, hurtling pace and rest. She wanted to ride forever on the back of the dragon.
When he finally stopped, she almost fell—he caught her easily enough, with cool impersonal hands.
The street was dark, the building in front of them darker still. A row of small flags draped the entrance to the house, but she was in no shape to figure what they meant.
“Come on,” he said, impatient, as she stared up at the building.
“Where are we?” She didn’t recognize her own voice—it sounded as if she’d been screaming and she’d hardly said a word. She must be in shock, she thought.
“A ryokan.” He clearly wasn’t about to explain further. And part of her was willing just to follow him, mindlessly.
She pulled herself together. “Why? Why here?”
“The people looking for us would track us down if we went to one of the big Western-style hotels. We can spend the rest of the night here, sleep and figure out what the fuck we’re going to do.”
“We?” she echoed.
“If they don’t know I took care of the men in Taka’s house, it won’t take them long to find out. I don’t think they’re going to bother with revenge—mercenaries are too practical to kill for anything other than profit, and their paycheck has dried up. Once they realize there’s nothing to be gained, they’ll leave Japan and we’ll be safe.” He tried to take her arm, but she yanked free.
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain what the hell is going on. Who are these Russians? Why would they want to kill Taka? And who’s paying them?” Her voice was stronger now, and she looked into his eyes, meeting his cool, assessing gaze head-on.
“I’m not going to stand out in the open and explain anything. Come with me willingly or I’ll knock you out and carry you in.”
“You and what army?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Army?” he echoed.
His English was so good she’d forgotten he might not know idioms. “I mean, I dare you,” she said, fierce.
Big mistake. In the crazy hours she’d forgotten how he’d manhandled her out of Taka’s house.
“If you say so,” he said. She didn’t see it coming, didn’t see a move. Just a sudden and enveloping darkness, and she fell into it, willingly.
Everything hurt. Jilly’s back, shoulders, butt, knees. She didn’t want to open her eyes—the last time she’d opened her eyes, death and violence had followed. Maybe if she could ignore the pain, she could go back to sleep, in spite of the mercilessly bright light battering against her eyelids.
“Stop faking it. I know you’re awake.”
She knew that voice, knew the conflict it aroused inside her. The beautiful bad boy on the motorcycle. The psychotic bully who’d knocked her unconscious.
She opened her eyes. They were in a traditional Japanese room, shoji screens encasing them on two sides, thin mattresses on the floor. Reno was sitting on one wearing a light cotton robe decorated with blue crests. He’d taken a shower and his long hair hung loose around his shoulders, darker when it was wet, a deep, respectable auburn rather than the bright flame.
She wasn’t sure what was making her madder—the fact that he had knocked her out, or that he’d had a shower when she would’ve killed for one. She sat up, realizing she’d been sleeping, if you could call it that, on one of the identical thin futons. No wonder her entire body felt stiff and ancient. A bed of nails wouldn’t have been much worse.
And she looked down, not at the futon but at the neat pile of her clothes, next to the mattress. She was wearing a thin cotton robe, a yukata, a perfect match to the one Reno was wearing, and it probably looked just as ridiculous on a gaijin as it looked wonderful on him.
“Don’t get excited,” he said. “The owner undressed you for me and put the yukata on. I told her you were drunk and passed out.”
Jilly didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. “I don’t drink.”
“I don’t think she cared. You’ve got your choice. You can go to the women’s baths or you can sit there and watch me dress.”
“Where is the bath?”
The faint curve of his mouth was more a smirk than a smile. “Go out into the hallway and turn left. The women’s bath is at the end of the hall. Don’t make the mistake of turning right—you’d end up in the men’s bath, and I don’t think your foreign eyes could handle the shock of seeing a Japanese man naked.”
She kept her mouth shut. If she denied it, he’d probably drop the robe just to prove his point and she really didn’t want to see Reno naked.
She’d been trying not to look at him, but she could feel the color flood her face anyway. Ridiculous—she wasn’t used to blushing, wasn’t used to being coy. You couldn’t grow up in Southern California, much less around a mother like Lianne, without learning to be unaffected by any kind of nudity.
