Ice Blue (27 page)

Here, in their own country, it would be even worse. She had no choice but to play out this hand. It didn't help that she could still feel Taka's soft lips against hers.

"I should warn you about my cousin," he said just before they headed out into the winter afternoon.

"Is he anything like you?"

"Reno is like no one else on this earth. He doesn't care much for Americans."

"That hardly makes him unique. We're not terribly popular, and for good reason."

"His are a bit more…personal. Just don't let him get to you, and I'll make him behave."

Not the words to instill confidence, she thought, stepping through the automatic doors and taking her first breath of fresh air in God knows how long. She could smell the sea. She stood for a moment, breathing it in, when Taka spoke.

"There he is."

She turned, and the first thing she saw was the white limo—just like the ones used by the Shirosama and his crew. Summer froze, ready to make a run for it, when she caught sight of the figure leaning against the side of the car.

Not one of the Shirosama's brethren. He was dressed entirely in black leather, sunglasses covering most of his face, and he had red hair. Bright crimson, a shade not found in nature, and as he pushed away from the car she could see the hair hanging down past his waist.

He pushed his sunglasses up in a gesture of supreme arrogance, taking in Summer from head to toe, and she could see the tattoos around his eyes. Teardrops, but they were red. Like tears of blood.

He obviously wasn't impressed with what he saw. He dropped the sunglasses, turned to Taka and embraced him, still looking at Summer as if she were an unpleasant annoyance.

"How's Uncle?" Taka asked in English.

Reno shrugged, answering him in Japanese, and leaned over to pick up the golf case. Taka stopped him. "I'll keep this with me. You can give my wife a hand with her suitcase."

Reno's mouth curved in a smirk, and he muttered something no doubt highly unflattering. Taka compounded it by laughing, and Summer started thinking she might prefer the Shirosama, after all. Then Taka turned to her.

"Su-chan, this is my disreputable cousin Reno, grandson of my great-uncle Hiro. Reno has no manners, but I'm sure he welcomes you to the family."

She assumed Reno didn't speak English, but he made a universally derisive sound. He picked up her suitcase and strolled around to the back of the limo. The trunk popped open, seemingly of its own accord, and Summer glanced around for the übermobile phone that seemed to serve as a remote control for the world. It was nowhere in sight, and then she realized someone was sitting in driver's seat of the limo, barely visible behind the smoked windows. A chauffeur who stayed in the car and didn't help with luggage was peculiar indeed, and visions of the Shirosama began intruding once more. She glanced at Taka. If he was going to turn her over to His Sliminess he would have done so in the U.S. He wouldn't have brought her all this way to do it.

Besides, there was no way the brethren would include an exotic creature like the disapproving Reno.

The interior of the limo was huge, and Summer climbed in, trying to deal with the short dress and the high heels as she scrambled to the far corner. She didn't even see the man sitting across from her until Taka, following her inside, greeted him, knuckles together, bowing low as he sat on the leather bench seat beside her.

"Uncle," he murmured.

"Welcome home, Great-nephew," the man said. Dressed with the same impeccable care as Taka, he was very old, with wrinkles creasing his face, and almost bald. His perfectly manicured hands were missing two fingers.

Yakuza. A Japanese godfather, for all his benevolent smile. He gave Reno a fondly disapproving look when he climbed in and closed the limo door, and Summer took a surreptitious look at his fingers. Black fingernail polish, but all his digits intact. Which, according to Taka, just meant he hadn't screwed up yet.

She would have thought his appearance alone would be worth a thumb at least—he was a far cry from the Yakuza dress code, if Taka and his great-uncle were any indication. But that was not her concern.

"And you must be Dr. Hawthorne," the old man said pleasantly. "Welcome to our country. I hope my nephew hasn't been giving you too much trouble."

Summer cast a nervous glance at Taka. Trouble was the least of it. "He's been very kind," she said, automatically polite.

She felt Taka start beside her. "I've kept her alive, Uncle. Apart from that, kindness hasn't been foremost on my mind."

Reno leaned back against the side bench of the limo, and even behind the sunglasses, she could imagine the contempt in his eyes. He said something to his grandfather, clearly disparaging, but the old man replied in English. "It's rude to speak Japanese in front of a visitor, Grandson. We will speak English."

Apparently the old man even managed to cow Reno. He said nothing, crossing his arms across his chest in silent disdain.

"Taka-san, we have a problem," the old man said. "I hesitate to discuss business in front of your friend, but I'm afraid I cannot take you back to my house. People are watching."

She could feel the sudden tension in Taka's body. He was sitting closer to her than he needed to—the interior of the limo was huge, with his uncle at the far end, Reno lounging on the side, and the entire back seat for the two of them. But he was next to her, not actually touching, yet close enough so that she could feel his body heat, feel his reactions. Feel a certain irrational comfort from him, her one ally.

"Our contact in the Japanese government has informed me that they've decided not to have anything to do with the entire Hayashi affair. Things are too volatile with the new religions, and there's been a lot of criticism about recent crackdowns. They've decided that the threat is exaggerated, and that the followers of the Shirosama are just harmless fanatics."

"And how many people will have to die on the Tokyo subways this time for them to change their minds, Uncle?"

The old man shook his head. "They and I both know that no one will die. You and the people you work for will see to it, and our government need never get involved. For that matter, the Japanese people will never know how close they came to a major disaster."

"Not just the Japanese people this time, Uncle. The Shirosama is planning attacks on all the major transportations systems in world."

"Then your friends will have to stop him, won't they? I know they can—I am one of the few people who know how close we came to disaster last year with Van Dorn. You were able to foil his plans, so you can the Shirosama's, as well."

"You give me too much credit, Uncle. I had nothing to do with stopping him."

"There is no shame in being tricked by an evil man, Nephew. I am only happy you survived."

What the hell was going on? Evil men, employers, saving the world? Beside her, Taka said nothing.

"Have you not explained to your friend? She seems confused."

"I've told her what she needs to know."

"I would suspect, Nephew, that she needs to know more. Particularly when I see how you look at her."

Taka gave another sudden start, but didn't turn. What did his uncle see when he looked at her? Murderous tendencies? Vast annoyance? Or something else?

"And she looks at you the same way," the old man added, and it was Summer's turn to jump. Definitely vast annoyance, then. And something else.

"You'll need to take the urn to the site itself," he continued, as if he hadn't veered into private territory. "The government refuses to accept responsibility for it, and our people can't get involved."

"I don't know where the site of the temple is, Uncle."

The old man's lizardlike eyes moved to Summer. "She will tell you."

Summer frowned. "Me? I don't know where the site is, either. Trust me, if I did I would have told him long ago."

"Nevertheless, you will be the one to tell him. I feel this."

Taka turned to gaze at her, enigmatic as always. "My honored uncle has been known to see things that others don't. If he says it will be that way, it will."

"But I don't know where it is!" she cried in frustration. "Why won't you believe me? What are you going to do—try to torture it out of me?"

"There's no need," Taka said. "You will tell me, as you did before."

She could feel the heat rush through her body. If his uncle did indeed "see" things, then he'd know exactly what Taka was referring to. How could anyone not? She turned her face away, staring at the Tokyo suburbs as they sped by.

"She isn't lying to you, Taka-san," the old man said gently.

"I know that," Taka said.

Small comfort
, Summer thought bitterly.

"I'll drop you both by your apartment. Reno will take the golf case and repack the treasures, and you can make arrangements to pick them up."

Summer expected Taka to protest, but he merely nodded. Everyone fell silent, and it wasn't until the car stopped that the old man spoke once more.

"I hope we meet again, Dr. Hawthorne, next time under more auspicious circumstances. I am certain we will."

Instinctively, Summer bowed her head, ignoring Reno's laugh. His grandfather's sharp reprimand stopped him, and she could just imagine the glare from behind those mirrored sunglasses.

Taka slid out of the car, holding a hand for her, and a moment later they were standing on a busy Tokyo sidewalk as the car slid away.

"They took the suitcases," she said after a moment.

"We don't need them." He was still distracted.

"Do you trust your cousin with the…golf clubs?"

This caught his attention. He looked at her, his dark eyes intense. "I trust him with my life."

"Then why did you warn me about him?" she countered.

"I don't trust him with yours."

For a moment she froze, as people moved all around her, everyone politely ignoring the stranger in a strange land. "Does it matter?"

Taka said nothing. It was very cold, as if there was snow in the air. Summer had never thought of Japan as a cold place, but in mid-January it was freezing, and they hadn't included a coat as part of her disguise.

She looked up into Taka's deep, dark eyes, and for a moment she felt oddly light-headed. She could drown in his eyes, she thought. Just fall into them, slide up against his body and…

His hands caught her arms, steadying her. "Come on," he said.

"We're going to your apartment?" Good. She was feeling almost drunk. If she got him alone she was going to wrap herself around him until she got warm, was going to—

"No. It's not safe. I'm taking you to get something to eat."

"Eat?" she echoed, trying to banish her odd, inappropriately erotic thoughts.

"I don't remember when I last fed you. You'll feel better when you get something to eat, and then we need to find somewhere safe to spend the night."

"I feel fine," she said dreamily. So she was hungry. Maybe so hungry she couldn't stand properly. And he was just so damn beautiful, and right now, for a short while, she was beautiful, too, and she could float against him, feel his arm around her waist, his breath on her cheek, as he steered her down the street. Right now she was going to do anything she wanted, since she had an excuse.

And then she'd behave herself, because despite what his nameless uncle had said, there was nothing in the way Taka looked at her that meant anything at all.

The old man had been far too right about her. She looked at Taka and felt rage, frustration, fear and a weird kind of gratitude. And something else, something overpowering, which she flatly refused to put a name to. Lust, maybe. Insanity. It didn't matter. She'd eat, she'd feel better and they'd move on.

In the meantime she could feel his heart beat through the exquisite suit as he led her down the street. She let go of all the tension of the last few days, and curved her lips in a smile.

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H
is holiness the blessed Shirosama was in a state of rare excitation. Other people might call it rage, but such karmic emotions were long gone from his cleansed soul. He felt no lust when he trained the young renunciants who joined the Fellowship, he felt no vengeance when those who were out to harm him were sent to their next stage. He felt no anger when his plans were contravened, or when a stranger infiltrated the very heart of his religion in the western world and snatched an important convert from under the eyes of his most diligent followers. That those directly responsible for that monumental blunder had moved on to the joy of their karmic destiny gave him no satisfaction. Harm was done, and the Lunar New Year, his ancestor's preordained time of ascension, was fast approaching. If he couldn't find the Hayashi Urn he would simply have to figure something else out.

Brother Sammo had been too precipitate in smashing the fake when they'd broken into the museum, but then, that particular disciple hadn't yet risen above his emotions, which had been running high after he'd eliminated the two guards. The forgery had been good enough to fool the Shirosama himself at the museum reception, it could fool everyone else. After all, he had kept the bones and ashes of his ancestor safe—was the original urn all that important? Could he not ascend just as well with a reasonable facsimile?