Ice Blue (Ice 3)

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.

21

His 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?

It would work, as it was meant to happen, except for two annoying people: Takashi O’Brien and his aunt’s surrogate daughter, who had the urn.

If he could get his hands on her, the girl could lead the Shirosama to the ruins of the ancient temple, the site of his ascension. As soon as he found out where it was, his followers were poised to transport his stockpile of biological and chemical weapons to the ruins, the perfect place to unleash them on the world and bring about the destruction that would generate new life.

O’Brien had too many friends, however—the shadow organization he worked for, the Yakuza, the Japanese government. Alone, none was any match for the Shirosama’s vision and the devotion of his followers. Combined, they could prove to be a problem.

Takashi had taken her to Japan, not a good sign, but they were in Tokyo, so for now things were safe. Two more days to the Lunar New Year and all would reveal itself as it was meant to be.

And Takashi O’Brien and his American whore would no longer pose a threat.

Takashi sat and watched as the exquisite stranger opposite him tucked into her oyakudon with a deftness that was both unexpected and unnerving. He’d steered her toward a little street corner restaurant, planning on giving her a simplistic explanation of the vending machine, but Summer had gone straight for the chicken and egg dish and the miso soup. It should have come as no surprise—with Hana Hayashi as her nanny, miso soup would be as common as chicken soup, and oyakudon was the Japanese equivalent of comfort food. Still, it made him uneasy, particularly when she thanked the cook with just the right intonation of “arigato gozaimasu.” The cook had beamed at her, and Taka had glowered at him.

Her color was better. For a moment there on the street he’d been afraid she was going to pass out, not a good way to avoid unwanted attention. They had two days until the Lunar New Year, and the Shirosama’s noose was drawing tighter. Taka didn’t have time to spend scooping her up off the sidewalk or explaining to helpful policemen what was wrong with his American wife.

He shouldn’t have brought her to Japan—he knew that now. He could have found someplace safe to stash her if he’d just tried a little harder. He was making mistakes right and left, a dangerous thing for someone in his position. At any other time he never would have trusted the man he thought was Crosby—all his instincts would have been alerted.

But Summer Hawthorne had managed to block his radar, and he’d abandoned her without the necessary precautions. And she’d almost died because of it.

He’d been so damn crazy with fear that he hadn’t stopped to consider other choices; he’d just dragged her onto the plane with him, figuring he’d find somewhere to stash her once he got home.

Wrong. His uncle’s place was out, his own apartment was far too dangerous to go near, and there were members of the Fellowship working at all the major hotels.

Takashi had known the moment she’d bolted out of her seat on the plane in the middle of the night that his reasons for bringing her had nothing to do with necessity and more to do with choice. He had known that when he got up and followed her into the first class lavatory, shutting the door behind them.