Ice Blue (3 page)
"The blonde with the boobs. It was obvious you couldn't keep your eyes off her cleavage…except it was you watching me, wasn't it? I could feel someone staring at me, but every time I turned around I couldn't find anyone. It was you, right? Why?"
"Let's just say I expected something like this to go down. The Shirosama and his bunch were practically drooling over the Hayashi Urn, and you were keeping it from them. I'm guessing once his holiness was through with you they thought they could get you to open up the museum for them."
"I don't know what you're talking about. The Hayashi Urn? Do you mean my ceramic bowl?"
He shot a glance at her in the darkened interior of the car. He seemed perfectly comfortable at the immense speeds he was traveling. His hands were draped loosely on the steering wheel. Beautiful hands, with long, elegant fingers. All of them intact, which ruled out her sudden suspicion that he might be a member of the Japanese crime syndicate, the Yakuza. Most members of that organization were missing at least part of their fingers, a sign of atonement for mistakes made. Unless her rescuer never made mistakes.
"You have no idea what you have?" he asked. "Where it comes from, its history?"
"I know it's something that other people want and that I'm not about to give up. What's the Hayashi Urn?"
"A part of Japanese history that wouldn't matter to you."
"Since the bowl is mine, then it matters to me. I'd like to know why someone tried to kidnap me in order to get his hands on it."
"It doesn't make any difference—the urn won't be yours for much longer. And you needn't pretend you're surprised—you put it in the exhibit just to keep it out of reach of the Shirosama. You decided it was best to hide it in plain sight. Unfortunately, you underestimated your enemy. The Shirosama isn't quite the philanthropic spiritual leader he presents to the world. He has no problem killing for what he wants."
"Neither do you." She wasn't quite sure why she said it.
"When necessary," he said, unmoved by her accusation.
"So where are you taking me?"
His eyes were on the road. "I haven't decided yet."
There was something about the flat, emotionless tone that made her stomach knot even more intensely. "Just tell me one thing," she said. "Am I better off with you than I was with those men?"
For a moment he didn't answer, and she wondered whether he would. Finally he spoke, not even looking at her. "That's up to you."
And for the first time in that shocking, crazy night, Summer began to feel afraid.
Taka could see her hunch lower into the seat, and he couldn't blame her. He wasn't going to lie to her, not if he could help it. She'd somehow managed to get through being kidnapped and tossed in the trunk of a limo with nothing more than a few bruises. He'd thought he was going to have to deal with tears and hysterics. Instead she was shaken but calm enough, making things easier. Maybe.
She was a liability, and he'd learned long ago that you couldn't get sentimental over individual life when the stakes were so high. There was an old Zen koan—the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—and if he had to choose between mass destruction and the life of one spoiled
Except she wasn't what he would have expected. He'd skimmed the intel he'd gotten on her—daughter of a
His old friend Peter would be mocking him, telling him it was his damn Asian inscrutability that kept him so cold-blooded. The thought amused him, because Peter Madsen had been the coldest person Takashi O'Brien had ever known. Until he ran into the wrong woman, the same one who'd almost brought an end to Takashi's life.
Taka wasn't going to make that mistake again. If Summer Hawthorne had to die, he'd do it as quickly and as painlessly as he could manage, and with luck she'd never know what happened. It wasn't her fault that hidden somewhere in her memory was the location of an ancient Japanese shrine. Nor was it her fault that people would kill to discover it. And that he would kill to keep her from revealing it.
He could pull over to the side of the road, put a comforting hand on the back of her neck, and snap it. Her death would be instantaneous, and he could take her body and dump her into the white limo's trunk. The scandal attached to the Shirosama's deluded cult would be an added bonus.
Taka should never have taken her away from there in the first place—he should have just ended it then. If he hesitated much longer someone might discover the crashed vehicle with the two bodies in the front seat. As far as he could tell, Summer Hawthorne had no more value. Now that he knew where the urn was, retrieving it would be simple enough for anyone with his talents.
Keeping her alive would only make things more dangerous. She knew where the site of the temple ruins were. One valley girl who'd never traveled farther west than
It was all made more complicated by the fact that she didn't know what she knew. Hana Hayashi had left the secret with her, but so well hidden that no one might find it, Summer included.
The Committee couldn't take that risk. Better to terminate her and all possibility of finding the hidden shrine, than let the Shirosama move ahead with his lethal, dangerous visions.
Taka didn't even need to pull off the freeway to do it, or even slow his speed from the seventy-five miles per hour he was traveling. The technique was simple and he'd done it too many times already. He needed to stop thinking about it and just do it.
But then, his reflexes were still off from his accident. His fuck-up, which had landed him in the hands of a sadist. There was no need to take chances, just to prove to himself he was still at the top of his game. Taka took the next exit off the freeway, heading west, while his passenger sat quietly in her seat, asking no questions, oblivious to the fact that she was about to die.
He drove onto a less crowded street, pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face her. She had blue eyes, and she was prettier than he'd realized. She didn't wear makeup, and she had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He'd never killed anyone with freckles before.
"So what happens next?" she said, looking at him, and he wondered if she knew.
He put his hand on the back of her neck, under the single thick braid that was starting to come undone from her active night. He could feel the nerves jumping through her skin, feel her pulses racing, though he didn't know whether it was in fear of him or remembered panic. There was something there, in her eyes, that he didn't understand, couldn't afford to think about. Her skin was soft and warm, and his large hand could span her neck quite easily.
"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked, sounding as if that would be a fate worse than death. "Because I know you saved my life and probably figure that, as a knight in shining armor, you're owed something. But I'd really rather you didn't. I'd like you to tell me why you were watching me, why you were following those men and what you intend to do about it."
"I wasn't planning on kissing you."
"That's a relief," she said, despite the faint stain of color beneath the freckles. "So who are you, and what do you want from me?"
It wouldn't take much pressure. He could even kiss her, if that's what she wanted, and by the time he lifted his mouth she'd be gone. So easy, all of it. So logical, sensible.
He didn't need her help in retrieving the Hayashi Urn from the museum—he was one of the Committee's acknowledged experts at breaking and entering. When she died she'd take her secrets with her, the safest option all around. As long as she lived there was a good chance the Shirosama would get his hands on her and the secrets she didn't know she carried. Once she was dead that danger was gone.
Taka tightened his grip on her neck, exerting just a tiny bit of pressure, and he saw the sudden doubt in her eyes. He needed to move fast, because he didn't want that doubt to increase, to turn into terror before it went blank, and hesitation would only hurt her.
"I'm guessing you're some kind of private security guard hired by my mother," she continued, when he didn't answer her questions. "She must have had second thoughts. She knows how determined her precious guru can be when he wants something, and maybe she thought I was in danger. Too bad. They just didn't realize how easy it would be to steal the bowl from the museum."
He loosened the pressure an infinitesimal amount. Nothing that she would notice. "What do you mean? The Sansone has state-of-the-art security."
"Well, you'd think they'd at least try to get it," she said. "Most of the security is focused on the more valuable pieces. It would have been a lot easier than they thought—I was counting on them going for it sooner or later."
"Counting on them to steal the urn?" He was totally confused by this point. "Why?"
"Because it's a fake," she said in that maddeningly calm voice. "The real one is hidden. Sorry, but I don't trust my mother not to sell me out. I'm really quite touched that she hired you—"
"I don't know your mother."
Her smile faded. "Then why were you watching me? Why did you come after me? Who are you?"
Your worst nightmare
, he wanted to tell her. But the game wasn't played yet, and he still had a job to do.
He'd have to kill her later.
"W
here is the Hayashi Urn?"
Summer glanced over at his cool, exquisite profile in the darkened car. Now that she was beginning to calm down from the adrenaline rush of her abduction, she was starting to see things a little more clearly. And she was beginning to have the extremely unhappy suspicion that her dangerous night was far from over. Why the hell had she told him the bowl in the museum was a fake?
"Someplace safe," she said. "I think you ought to take me home now."
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said, starting the car. "Unless the urn is hidden there, which means it's probably gone by now."
"I'm not an idiot. Someone already ransacked my place looking for it. It's hidden where no one can find it."
"Where?"
Right. She was up shit's creek, from the frying pan into the fire, and she hadn't even realized it. He was driving fast again, and she couldn't very well unlatch the door and jump out, even if she'd seen it done in dozens of movies. She'd end up roadkill… She was better off taking her chances with this elegant stranger. He was hardly the type to hurt her.
"Look, I don't know who you are or why you happened to be hanging around the museum if my mother didn't hire you, but I'm not about to tell you a damn thing. I've already said too much. Either take me home or drop me off on the
He said nothing, keeping his attention on the road in front of him. They were heading toward the freeway again, and once on it she'd be effectively trapped. Maybe she'd just end up with a few bruises if she tried the rolling-out-of-the-car trick. She slid her hand toward the seat belt clasp, but he moved so fast he scared her, clamping his hand down over hers and pulling it away.
"Don't even think about it," he said, speeding up even more.
He was holding her hand in an unbreakable grip. She probably ought to struggle, hit him, anything to distract him from the road. She'd survived one car crash tonight; she'd probably survive another if it happened before they were going too fast. She just didn't know which was the greater risk—careening off the road in this little car or staying with this man.
He wasn't going to hurt her, she told herself. He wasn't going to touch her. He'd rescued her. She just needed to hold on to that belief and she wouldn't panic and make stupid mistakes.
"All right," she said, relaxing the fist she'd automatically formed, and after a moment he released her hand. She could see his profile in the flickering light of the oncoming cars, and she stared, fascinated. No one that beautiful could be a killer, could he?
She shook the distracting thought from her mind. "Where are you taking me?"
"You wanted to go home, didn't you?" He pulled onto the freeway, and Summer closed her eyes, certain she was going to die, after all. But a moment later they were speeding down the HOV lane, still in one piece, and she let out her pent-up breath. When she got home she was going to lock all her doors, strip off her clothes, climb into her tub and never come out.
She tended to drive her Volvo too fast, and if she'd been behind the wheel they would have reached her little bungalow in fifteen minutes. He made it in ten, pulling up outside the run-down cottage and leaving the car still running. She'd been desperately trying to think of ways to get rid of him once they got to her street, but it was turning into a non-issue, leaving Summer even more confused. She hadn't told him where she lived.