Fire & Ice (11 page)

One thing was certain. She wasn't getting a taxi to Narita airport without finding out that Reno was still alive. It was that simple.

And he'd probably kill her when he found out she didn't go.

Too bad. She'd had enough of running for her life, and she wasn't running out on Reno, no matter how much he wanted to get rid of her. She was in it for the long haul.

And he was about to find out just how tenacious she could be.

Takashi O'Brien had his choice of two options. He could either go back to the tiny island off Hokkaido, find his furious wife and tell her that the one person she loved most in this world, besides him, had been murdered. Or he could find out what the hell had happened to his sister-in-law, and why Reno hadn't been able to keep her alive.

He was used to lying, used to living in a shadow world. He just wasn't used to lying to Summer anymore.

Something was up with his great-uncle, as well. Usually he could go to the old man to find out what was happening, but his instincts, which had saved his life countless times, told him to keep away. The office in London didn't know shit, except that Jilly had been killed, and until he found out who, and why, and how and made them pay, he couldn't face his wife with the truth.

In the meantime, all he could do was keep his head down, and find the man who should have been trusted to keep her safe. Reno. And then beat the hell out of him.

Jilly waited as long as she possibly could. People came and went, the baby-light voices of young Japanese women filling the tiled room and then leaving it in silence again. There was no sound of chaos from the main part of the terminal—whatever had gone down out there was over and done with. And she couldn't spend the rest of her life in a Japanese toilet.

She emerged from the stall, cautiously, but the room was finally empty. She was planning to open the main door just a crack, to see whether it looked safe, but just the moment she reached it, it slammed open as a group of chattering women pushed inside. They stopped talking when they saw her, an uneasy silence in the room.

“Sumimasen,” she murmured, slipping past them.

She'd been in the bathroom for at least a couple of hours. Unfortunately it looked as if it wasn't always rush hour in Tokyo. The main hall of the train station was almost empty, just a few random people at the vending machines.

The first place she looked was where she had last seen Reno, with Kobayashi looming down on him. The center of the hall was empty, and there was no blood on the floor. That proved nothing—the Japanese would clean everything quickly so there'd be no trace to offend the travelers. For all she knew Reno was in pieces somewhere, never to be found again....

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She couldn't help it. She flung her arms around him, holding him so tight it was a wonder he could breathe. Oddly enough he didn't complain, he just stood there, putting up with it.

She finally let go, pulling back. He looked in reasonably good shape—a cut across one cheekbone, just under the teardrops, and he'd lost his sunglasses, but he was in one, glorious, bad-boy piece.

“Never mind,” he said in a resigned voice. “I knew you weren't going to do what I told you to. Let's get out of here.”

“We're going to Osaka?” Her voice sounded husky with unshed tears, and she quickly cleared her throat.

He shook his head. “No. They'll be watching the trains now. We're not going anywhere. But you're going to have to do what I tell you or I'll tie you up and put you there.”

“Promises, promises,” she said, feeling absurdly lighthearted. It didn't matter that he was a son of a bitch who found her a royal pain in the ass. He was alive, and she was staying with him. At least for now.

He just looked at her, and then suddenly she thought better of being playful. Better not pull the lion's tail. Reno was just a little too dangerous, even to her. She needed to remember who he was and what he was capable of.

“Did you kill them?” she said.

Reno didn't answer at first. “Who do you mean?” he said finally. “Kobayashi and his buddies No. I just caused enough of a distraction to get the hell out of here. You're lucky I didn't trust you, or you'd be stuck here alone.”

“I count my blessings,” she muttered.

“You can count them later. Let's get out of here before someone else decides to come looking.” He held out his hand, and she took it. Strange, the warmth and strength of it, his long fingers wrapping around hers. He didn't seem to notice.

He stole another car, of course. This time she watched him do it, aghast at how easy he made it seem, and a few minutes later they were careening through the nighttime traffic at horrifying speeds, and all she could do was hold on, since the seat belt wasn't working.

“Where are we going?” she managed to ask as he rounded one comer on what seemed like two wheels.

“I'm taking you to a friend's apartment where you can shower, change your clothes and sleep in a decent bed while I go talk to my grandfather again. He needs to know that Kobayashi is in on it. Maybe this time he won't treat me like an idiot. Though, knowing my grandfather, I'm not going to hold out hope.”

“And what's your friend going to think?”

“He won't be there. It's the safest place I can think of—the only person who knows of its existence is Taka.” He sped up, narrowly missing a small delivery truck, and took another sharp right. She closed her eyes and prayed, not opening them till he slammed to an abrupt stop.

She staggered out of the car, sank to her knees on the sidewalk and flung her arms out, crying, “Land!”

Reno was not amused, coming up behind her and hauling her up. “I know how to drive.”

“You and Dale Earnhardt.”

“Who's Dale Earnhardt?”

“Race-car driver. Died in a car crash,” she said. She looked up at the plain, blocklike building. There was a row of narrow balconies along one side, and futons were hanging over many of them.

“I'm going to try to find out where the hell Taka is. Things are in too big a mess right now—I don't know who can be trusted. As soon as I do, I'll dump you.”

“Lovely,” she muttered. And I'll appreciate being dumped. Are we going to stand here trading insults?”

“No. You go first. Just in case someone's figured out about this place. Who the hell knows—maybe there are more Russians on the way.”

“You sure you want me to be on the front line of fire? I thought you were supposed to protect me?”

“I'm beginning to think it's more trouble than it's worth.”

She pushed open the door, faced with a long flight of narrow stairs running along the outside of the building. “Three flights up,” Reno said. “No elevator.”

She wisely kept her thoughts to herself, trudging up the stairs. He was right behind her, and if he'd been interested, he could be watching her ass, but he wasn't interested.

She was only slightly out of breath when they reached the third floor. At this point he pushed past her, his body brushing hers, and she felt her pulse quicken, the blood rushing to places it had no business rushing. At least she could manage her poker face.

He unlocked the anonymous white door at the end of the corridor, kicking off his cowboy boots with more ease than she would have thought, and stepped inside, holding the door open for her.

Her sneakers were a little trickier, but she got them off and put them on the small platform before stepping inside. The apartment smelled musty, closed up, as if no one had been there for months, and Reno quickly strode across the small space, pushing open the door to the narrow balcony, letting in the cold winter air while Jilly looked around her.

Somewhere she'd gotten the impression that Tokyo apartments were small and crammed with possessions. This particular one was certainly small, but it had a Zen-like simplicity. There was a futon couch on one wall, a computer on the other. Bookshelves neatly organized, every space used, what looked like diplomas framed and hung on the walls. One was in French, from the Sorbonne, given to Hiromasa Shinoda, summa cum laude, from the school of engineering.

“Your friend is an engineer?” she said. “I thought you'd only know biker gangs and gangsters.”

“And secret agents,” he added. “Masa was a childhood friend and a wonk. We live very different lives, but we still share certain things.”

“Where is he? Isn't he going to mind that we're taking over his apartment?”

“He's out of the country. Besides, I had a key, didn't I? He knows I come here.”

“But why? Don't you have your own apartment?”

“I do. Obviously the people who are working against my grandfather would know exactly where it is. This is where I go when I want to disappear.” He headed toward the small kitchen alcove, looking through the packaged foods. “We've got dried octopus here if you're hungry.”

“Tentacles,” Jilly said glumly. “I don't eat tentacles.” She wasn't going into the tiny kitchen with him—it would put her too close and she was feeling too skittish. “I'm sure I can find something.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“You said you were going out to talk to your grandfather again. If you survive, you could bring some food back with you.”

“Nice,” he said. “If they kill me you can make do with octopus. In the meantime the bathroom's behind you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I suppose he has one of those space-age toilets that do everything but cook dinner.”

“It doesn't work from across the room, Ji-chan. You have to go in and sit.”

She glared at him. And when I come out, you'll be gone. What if you don't come back?”

“I'll come back.”

“What if they kill you?”

“I'm hard to kill. Go and use the toilet, Ji-chan. You're making me uncomfortable standing there with your knees together.”

“You really are crass, aren't you?”

“And you're a puritanical American. People need to use toilets, even if you want to pretend they don't.”

She was so tempted to stomp over to the sofa and sit, waiting for him to leave just to prove a point, but her body wasn't giving her that option.

“You know I hate you, right?” she said, turning her back on him.

“I hope so. That's what I've been trying to do for the past three days.”

She ignored him, sliding the door shut behind her. Just once she wished she had a door to slam, loud. There'd been no time for her to even catch her breath since she'd arrived in Japan, no time to even think about whether she loved it here or hated it, but one thing was definite—she missed slamming doors.

Not that she made a habit of it in her normal life, but recently things had been far from normal. And she'd never been around someone as deliberately infuriating as Reno.

But why? Why was he trying to infuriate her? It made no sense.

The uber-toilet, however, made perfect sense, and for the time being she had more urgent matters to contend with. Maybe later she'd find out why he was trying to make her angry. And why she was jumping for the bait so readily.

Jilly was pissed off
, just the way he needed her to be. As long as she was angry she wouldn't be frightened, and as long as she wasn't frightened he could handle things.

He should have known she wouldn't scare easily. Wouldn't run, as he'd told her to. For a supposed genius she was damned stupid when it came to her own safety. And when it came to him.

He'd seen her looking at him. And he'd known she wasn't going to just walk away. Any more than he would, even if he'd had the chance. But he also wasn't going to get any closer.

So pissing her off was the answer.

Except that she still looked at him. He must be some sort of adolescent rebellion on her part. And then, danger tended to heighten some people's emotions, sexuality. Maybe that was why he couldn't keep his hands off her.

It didn't matter. He'd scared her enough that she'd stay put while he went in search of food and clothing for her. And answers. Those answers were the most important on his mind right now.

Not thinking about taking off her clothes. Not seeing if she tasted as good as she felt.. .or if he could make her come again, this time with him inside her.

Holy motherfucker, he was doing it again. He needed to get out of there, fast. Before he decided that he didn't need to get out of there at all.

It was her second
shower of the day, and no less wonderful. She stayed there until the water turned cold, then staved longer, stepping out when it finally became icy. Hiromasa Shinoda's spotless apartment came equipped with new toothbrushes still in their packages and what Jilly devoutly hoped was toothpaste and not minty hemorrhoid cream. She even stole Hiromasa's comb to run through her wet hair, and his enveloping blue-and-white yukata to wrap around her body before emerging out into the studio apartment.

Reno was gone, as she'd expected him to be. There was food on the tiny counter in the kitchen, all unidentifiable, but something looked vaguely chiplike and crunchy, so she tore open the bag and ate it, accompanied by a bottle of what was euphemistically called Pocari Sweat. She was past the point of being picky—once she finished with them, she started hunting through the cupboards, coming up with tiny cans of coffee with names like

Fire and Boss, strange-colored candies with gummy textures. It didn't matter. She was so hungry she would have eaten the furniture.

Taking a bag of purple candy with her, she headed over to the computer, drawn like a magnet. She couldn't read most of the diplomas on the wall, but the one from the Sorbonne was in Latin. Hiromasa Shinoda was a student with highest honors—Reno was probably the equivalent of a Japanese slacker. It made for an unlikely friendship. The paintings on the wall were Hiroshige wood-block prints of Mount Fuji—not a movie poster or video game in sight. There was a small photo in one of the bookcases—she went closer, finally getting a look at the mysterious Hiromasa.