“Dream on.” She rose, clutching the yukata around her in a vain attempt at dignity. “I’m going to take another shower.”
“You’re going to get waterlogged at this rate, Ji-chan.”
“Why are you calling me ‘Ji-chan’? I know enough Japanese to know that’s a term of affection.”
His cool laugh wasn’t reassuring. “Your name has too many fucking L’s in it. Trust me, it’s nothing personal. And you won’t be able to wash it away.”
“What?”
“Me.”
If she had something to throw she would have. But in the spare, Zen-like apartment there was nothing to toss at him. “I like my coffee with cream and sugar,” she announced, heading for the bathroom. She was expecting him to come out with another smutty comment, but for once he was blissfully silent.
She considered not using the almond soap—he was right, she’d washed enough in the past twenty-four hours, but at the last minute she steeled herself and used it. She refused to think of Reno using it, rubbing it on his body, over his chest, between his…
“What’s wrong?” Reno’s voice came from just outside the bathroom door.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just banged my elbow.” Shit, shit, shit. She was going stark, staring mad. She turned on the cold water full blast to cool herself off, letting out another shriek, and forced herself to stand under it, no matter how cold the apartment was, just letting the icy pellets of water sting her skin into submission. When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she climbed out, wrapping a towel around her. She reached for the yukata, then stopped as she heard the sound of voices in the room beyond. Two men, one of them Reno.
She put the seat down on the toilet and sat down, waiting. Parading in front of Reno was bad enough—she didn’t want any more of an audience.
She waited until she heard the outer door shut, and then silence. With any luck Reno would be gone, too, and she could have her coffee in peace. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, but Reno was back at the computer. And there was a gun on the table beside him.
“Was someone here?”
He didn’t bother to turn around. “A friend of mine. I figured a gun would be a good idea.”
“You didn’t have one?” She looked at the cold, black, deadly piece of metal and shivered. All she could see was the man on the floor of the compound, the bullet between his eyes, the blood….
“I prefer not to use them if I can help it. The
re are other ways to face danger, quieter ways. Don’t worry about it, Ji-chan. I promise not to shoot you unless you really annoy me.”
She just looked at him. “People are dead. You’ve killed people. How can you joke about it?”
“Who says I’m joking?” he said in a cool voice. “When it comes down to a choice between me and them, I don’t have any problem doing what needs to be done. And if I have to shoot someone to keep you alive, I’ll do it, and I won’t waste time making a fuss about it. Don’t worry—you’re not going to have to touch it. And Kyo brought you some clothes, as well as bringing me the gun. You aren’t going to like them.”
She looked away from the gun, simply because she had to. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Finding clothes in Japan for someone your size isn’t easy. If I could find jeans that were long enough, they’d never fit around your hips.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hips.”
“By Japanese standards you’re a walking sex bomb. This was the best he could do.”
She looked over by the door to the mound of black-and-white fabric, and a sudden feeling of horror swept over her. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not dressing me up like one of those baby dolls.”
“Gothic Lolita,” he corrected.
“You couldn’t find a simple T-shirt and some baggy pants?” She kept the plaintive note out of her voice.
“The T-shirts in your size are for tourists and they’re very thin cotton. And while you’re almost as flat-chested as most Japanese women, the bras would still never fit you and your breasts would cause far too much attention.”
She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “Would you stop comparing me to Japanese women? I’ve spent my life towering over most people my age—I don’t need to be reminded what an oversize freak I am.”
He turned away from the screen for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. Reno was back. “Get over it.”
“You know, sometimes I think your mastery of American idioms is a little too good,” she said, scooping up the mounds of lace and fabric and heading for the bathroom.