Fire & Ice (3 page)

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-clad 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.

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 modem 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 ryokcm” 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.

It was just this one particular man, and it had less to do with reality and more to do with the stupid crush that had once taken up far too much of her time.

At least she'd accomplished one thing she'd set out to do. She'd gotten over any lingering fantasy about Reno. For that matter, the past twenty-four hours had been so nerve-racking that the embarrassingly wretched, fumbling, one-night stand she'd been running from had faded into nothingness.

Really, the crush on Reno had been her sister's fault, no matter how well meaning she'd been. If Summer hadn't kept them an ocean apart, she would've gotten over it quickly. It was the exotic mystery of him—familiarity, if it didn't breed contempt, at least bred a comforting degree of imperviousness.

But she still didn't want to see him naked.

She scooped up her clothes, heading for the sliding screen, just as he began to untie the belt of the yukata. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, sliding the door closed behind her.

But his soft laugh carried anyway.

The narrow hall was deserted, as was the women's bathing room, and the large communal bath held nothing but steaming water. Just as well—she wasn't in the mood for an audience.

Stripping off the yukata, she sat down on a low stool and began to wash herself. She'd been around her sister long enough to know the proper bath etiquette. Clean yourself before you got in the bath, and never bring soap with you.

The hot bath was glorious, enveloping her aching body in a liquid embrace. She wasn't sure what the rules were about ducking her head under, but she couldn't resist, feeling her short-cropped hair flow around her in the hot, hot water.

Maybe she'd just stay there until her skin got all wrinkled and pruney, and Reno gave up on his self-appointed mission to look out for her. He wouldn't come after her in the women's bath; she'd be temporarily safe from interruption, at least for a short, blessedly peaceful time.

Except now a quiet young Japanese woman entered, dressed in the same yukata.

“Ohayo,” Jilly said, wishing her good morning.

The woman looked startled, and whether it was from a gaijin speaking Japanese or the fact that a stranger spoke to her, Jilly couldn't be sure. She murmured an answering “oha” before she turned her back and began to wash her delicate body.

Making Jilly feel like a hulking giant. She was probably twice the size of the small, slender woman, and she had no more than a stubborn ten pounds too much by American standards. No wonder Reno was looking at her with nothing warmer than annoyance. She must look like a porker compared to what he was used to.

One thing was certain—she wasn't climbing out of the bath and exposing her body to the woman's curious eyes.

Unfortunately once in the water, the woman seemed to have no interest in leaving. She closed her eyes, leaned her perfect head back and let the water lap around her.

Jilly started to move toward the edge of the bath, and the woman's eyes opened, looking at her curiously. Jilly stayed put.

Not that Jilly could blame her. She'd probably never seen a woman who was almost six feet tall. But her curiosity was going to have to remain unsatisfied, because Jilly wasn't going anywhere with an audience. She'd spent most of her life around her exhibitionist mother, who had the best body money could buy, and in reaction she was almost obsessively modest. She didn't even want her mother's dog to see her naked.

She could hear voices out in the corridor, and a moment later the door slid open and a harried-looking woman began chiding her in yen” fast Japanese.

Jilly only knew every fourth word, but she had no trouble understanding. She was supposed to get out of the bath—her brother was waiting for her.

At that point, an elderly gentleman poked his head in the door, clearly drawn by the noise, and Jilly sank down lower in the bath, willing them all to go away.

The woman, presumably the innkeeper, had to pause to take a breath. The other woman in the bath had sat up, curious and totally unconcerned with the audience.

A moment later the old gentleman was politely but firmly moved from the doorway, and Reno strode in, causing both Japanese women to shriek in protest. Apparently observing from the hall was kosher, but actually entering the inner sanctum was not.

“Go away,” Jilly snapped.

“Get out of the bath.” He crossed the small room, ignoring the restraining hands of the innkeeper, ignoring the young woman who slumped lower in the bath, towering over Jilly with an expression on his face that looked ancient. The look of a samurai about to behead his enemy.

She tried to move out of his way, but she underestimated him. He reached down into the water, caught her arms and hauled her out, stark naked and dripping wet.

The shrieks increased, joined by Jilly's, but Reno's sharp words silenced them all.

She tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he held tight, grabbing her discarded yukata and wrapping it around her like a blanket before he hustled her out of the room, past the dignified gentleman who was looking at her with unabashed enthusiasm.

Reno was muttering under his breath. He shoved her back in the room, accompanied by a terse “get dressed” and somehow managed to close the sliding paper screen door with the equivalent of a slam.

She yanked her clothes on quickly, knowing he was just as likely to come back in and watch her. A moment later she slid the door open again, expecting to meet his glowering face.

The hall was empty when she poked her head out, and she was wondering whether he'd decided to abandon her after all when she heard the voices. Men's voices, speaking lousy Japanese. With a Russian accent.

And then Reno was there, her shoes in his hand, and she had enough sense to simply go with him, down the hall, away from the voices, as silent as he was.

The day was winter bright, the sun brilliant overhead as he herded her away from the inn. The motorcycle was nowhere in sight, a small gray sedan sitting in its place.

He started to hustle her into the driver's seat, but at that point, enough was enough.

“I'm not driving—”

He swore again, shoving her in. “We drive on the left,” he said. “Left side of the road, driver's side on the right.” He slammed the door shut behind her and moved around to climb into the driver's seat.

“Oh, like the English.”

“The English drive like us,” he snapped, his voice deep and arrogant.

He looked ridiculous—an exotic bird of paradise in a commuter car. “Fasten your seat belt,” he said, not bothering to do his up.

“Where is the motorcycle?”

“I ditched it. Someone will find it sooner or later and return it to the rental company.”

“Not in the U.S.”

“We're not in the U.S., in case you haven't noticed. People don't steal lost property, they return it.”

“How did you get this car?”

“I stole it.”

Riding on the back of a motorcycle had been better—even if it was bright daylight, she still would have been able to bury her head against his back and not see a thing. Sitting in the front seat of the cramped little car, she had to watch everything—the horrific traffic, Reno's darting, bobbing driving style, more like a boxer's than a driver's, and to top everything off she was on the wrong side, feeling as if she were responsible for the car.

She tried closing her eyes, but that only made it worse. There was an annoying jingle sound behind her, like Santa's reindeer gone berserk, and her eyes flashed open again.

“What the hell is that noise?” she demanded.