She wouldn’t have thought it would be so easy. She pointed the gun and pulled the trigger, and the kickback knocked her hand up, the sound deafening in the tiny apartment. She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified.
She heard the thud of a body falling, but then nothing but someone’s labored breathing. Her own?
She knew someone was moving toward her, and she didn’t care who it was. She must be in shock, she thought dazedly. Any of those men could have gotten up and come after her, and it wouldn’t matter. If Reno was dead, then nothing mattered.
Someone squatted down in front of her, and she felt a hand touch her face. She flinched, but the hand was gentle, brushing the hair out of her face, and she recognized his touch, the scent of almond soap on his skin, and she knew she should open her eyes, just to make certain he was still alive, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t move.
And then he leaned over and kissed her, the soft, light brushing of his lips against her closed eyelids. He took the gun from her limp hand. “We need to get out of here,” he said, his voice oddly gentle. “Someone will have heard the gunshot. We need to leave before the police get here.”
She opened her eyes. He was all she could see; he was blocking her view of the trashed apartment.
“You need to come with me.” He was still being oddly gentle with her, and she wondered why. “Give me your hand.”
She put her hand in his, the hand that had pulled the trigger, that still tingled from the feel of the gun, and let him draw her to her feet. “Don’t look,” he said.
But she did. The man she shot lay facedown on the floor in a pool of blood. Half of his head was blown away.
She started to gag, but Reno caught her, holding her. “Take deep breaths,” he whispered. “Don’t think about it, don’t look. Just look straight ahead and come with me.”
She had no choice. She stumbled forward, and then realized she was still wearing only fishnet stockings on her feet. She started to turn back to look for the platform shoes, but he wouldn’t let her, pulling her away from the horrifying scene. He put her into the hallway, and she leaned back against the wall, trying to breathe, while he disappeared into the apartment for a moment. Then he was back, with her sneakers and his boots. And the gun, the gun that she’d used, was tucked in the waist of his dark pants, almost hidden by his black jacket.
She stood patiently while he put the sneakers on her feet, and then she followed him, down the three flights of stairs, out into the bright winter daylight of a Tokyo morning.
Reno wasn’t used to feeling powerless. He didn’t believe in coddling himself or others; he did what he needed to do without hesitation, and expected others to do the same.
But he hadn’t expected Jilly Lovitz to blow someone’s head off to save his life. And he wasn’t sure how to make it better.
She was in shock, which he supposed was a good thing. She hadn’t said a word since she’d fired the gun, and she’d done everything he’d told her to do, an obedient robot, silent and lost. Things would have been easier if she’d been this way from the start—he wouldn’t have had to explain, to fight her, to fight himself. If she’d been like this he would have taken care of her, put her someplace safe and forgotten all about her. This ghost woman made him think of the grave, not a bed.
He needed her to wake up, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. And maybe it was better this way, letting her retreat into a safe place of shock and denial. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking killing was easy. It never was, no matter how well trained you were, no matter how many times you had to do it. For Jilly it would be devastating.
The people of Tokyo were too polite to stare as he led her through the subway system, still holding her hand. When they emerged at Harajuku she didn’t even look up at the brightly dressed cosplayers parading around in the chilly air. She was lost.
And he was taking her to the only place he could think of that would be quiet and soothing. The Meiji Shrine was a huge park in the middle of the Harajuku district, but a world and a century removed from the shopping and dress-up. He drew her through the huge cypress torii entrance, down the winding path. There was no one else in the gardens that early in the day—the place was deserted, away from prying eyes, away from men with guns. Even the notorious Yamaguchi-gumi, the worst gurentai gang in history, wouldn’t defile a sacred place with gunfire. They would be safe in the gardens, at least until they chose to leave.
She looked cold in the tight-fitting corset and the short, frilly skirt, but he couldn’t give her his coat. There was blood on his shirt, and he needed to keep it hidden from her until she managed to pull herself out of this wounded daze.
He pulled her arm through his, still holding her hand, and he knew they looked like two cosplaying lovers who’d wandered in from the street. But no one would mind—the Meiji Shrine was a calming, welcoming place for whoever chose to come there. He drew her closer to him, trying to share some of his body heat, and she let him, not putting up any kind of fight. She was even colder than she should be, and she felt light, almost weightless.
“I’ll find you some food,” he said, trying to sound casual. “They’ve got a cafeteria here. More miso soup will do the trick.”
She said nothing. Her face was expressionless, eerily so, as she let him guide her along the pebbled path. Why the fuck did he ever think he wanted her to be docile? She was annoying as hell when she was talking back to him, but anything was better than this passive, lifeless doll.
He circled the shrine itself—there were people there, and he’d failed to bring anything to cover his telltale hair. He was an idiot to keep it. The first thing he was going to do when they got someplace safe was cut it off and dye it black.
He was like a walking neon sign—in the past his notoriety and that of his grandfather’s had kept him safe. Now it was drawing the enemy closer to him like a beacon of light.
He bought her a can of coffee from one of the vending machines, and he made her sit while she drank it. She swallowed miso soup and picked at the bento box from the cafeteria—another sign of hope. As long as she could eat, she’d be all right. He’d never known anyone so intent on food, which would have been annoying if it didn’t turn him on.
Right now, on this rare occasion, sex was the last thing on his mind. He had to keep her safe and hidden until she snapped out of this, and wandering down the hidden pathways of the park could only take so long. Besides, she looked as if she was freezing in her skimpy, undeniably erotic get-up.
Okay, he wasn’t going to think about sex. He’d keep his eyes straight ahead, remember she was in shock, and forget about the glimpse of black lace garter he could see if he stepped back. Besides, she needed him beside her, not lusting after her.
It was late afternoon by the time they left the massive gardens and she still hadn’t said a word. Businesses were spilling out onto the brightly lit streets, and in Harajuku it was easy enough to blend in, even with a giant female gaijin. He managed to cram her onto one of the trains, shielding her with his body from curious looks or the roaming hands of salarymen. He switched them over to the Marounouchi Line, which circled around the center of the city, put her into a seat and guarded her. They could ride for hours while he figured out what the hell he was going to do with her.
She was in shock, and he knew people could die from shock. But the last thing he was going to do was take her to a hospital; there’d be too many questions, not enough answers. And if they decided to keep her there, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
But he had to do something. The blank-faced, eerie silence was making him crazy. He wasn’t stupid enough to feel guilty that he hadn’t been able to protect her—he’d done his best, and if she hadn’t capped the man, they’d both be dead. She’d get over it. As soon as he found her a safe place to crash.