Fire & Ice (21 page)

Not that he was having a problem. Hell, no. He'd known from the very beginning that she was trouble, and he'd done his best to keep her at arm's length. So his resolve had faltered a couple of times, and he'd managed to enjoy himself a little too much. So what? It was over, ancient history.

But if someone was actually watching her, trailing her, then he needed to make certain she wasn't in any danger. Reason stood that there was no one left alive who should want to hurt her.

But he was going to have to make sure.

He couldn't sleep on the flight across the Pacific, as nervous as a cat. The other members of first class weren't particularly happy to be sharing that ratified air with a flame-headed, tattooed punk, but they were too polite to object, and he stretched out in the little pod that they called a first-class bed, trying to tell himself this was a wasted trip. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in two weeks, not since the compound had blown and Ojiisan had died, and an airplane wasn't going to remedy that. All he had to do was make certain she was safe and head straight back. She would never even know he was there.

Ojiisan owned a great deal of real estate in Southern California—his grandfather always believed in diversifying—and Reno could have chosen his lodging among hotels, condos and even several empty houses in the more expensive sections of the city. Instead, he went for an airport hotel and a rented sedan. In Los Angeles he didn't have the unspoken protection of the police, and he needed the ability the blend in.

The black suit he traveled in was unimpressive—one would have to look closely to see it was a thousand-dollar silk one. He headed into the bathroom of the suite, staring at his reflection for a long moment.

“Only for you, Ji-chan,” he muttered. Picking up the pair of scissors, he cut through the waist-length braid, dropping it onto the marble bathroom floor.

By the time he was ready to leave, Reno had disappeared. Hiromasa Shinoda was in his place, the ubiquitous dark glasses shielding the tattoos. He'd considered getting makeup to cover them, but at the last minute gave up. As long as he kept the shades in place no one would see them, and wearing sunglasses day and night wasn't that odd for Southern California.

He tied what was left of his newly dyed black hair in a small tail at the back of his neck. She'd look at him and never recognize him, he thought grimly. He could find out what the fuck was going on and she'd never know.

He was just about to leave his suite when his cell phone vibrated, and he picked it up, staring at the screen. Then he began to swear.

Everything hurt. Jilly didn't want to open her eyes— the light overhead was too bright and whatever she was lying on was too narrow. She knew where she was without looking—the sounds and smells of a hospital were unmistakable. She wondered idly if she was going to die. The thought wasn't particularly distressing, as long as it didn't hurt too much. She 'd dodged a bullet, literally, so many times in the past month that maybe her time had run out. She ought to be able to summon up some kind of emotion, but right at that moment all she wanted to do was breathe. And not hurt.

“Oh, my sweet baby!”

Shit. Lianne was there. Jilly opened one eye, very carefully, to look at her mother.

Lianne was exquisite, of course, dressed in a designer evening gown and her diamonds. “Hi, Ma,” she said, her voice a croak. “You didn't have to dress up just for me.”

Lianne did her version of bursting into tears. It never involved actual eye-leakage, which would smear her makeup, but Jilly could tell by her expression that she was relatively disturbed.

“I'm fine,” Jilly said, not quite convinced of it.

“You never call me 'Ma' anymore!” Lianne sobbed.

“Don't worry about it. I think they've got me on drugs.”

“Of course they do. You were in a car accident!”

“I remember that much,” she said dryly. “Who hit me?”

“It was a hit-and-run. It was just lucky there were people around to call the police and the ambulance. Your car almost flipped over onto the freeway.”

Jilly tried to sit up, but her head started whirling, and she sank back again. “Hit-and-run?” she echoed. Not happy, definitely not happy. An accidental fall in front of oncoming traffic could be explained, a hit-and-run accident within a half an hour of the fall was just a little too coincidental.

Except who would want to hurt her in L.A.? All the bad people were dead, weren't they?

“I want to go home,” she said after a moment.

And I'll take you home, sweetie. Tomorrow. They want to watch you overnight, make sure you're all right. And I have a charity thing that I can't miss, so it works out better this way anyway.”

Of course you do, Jilly thought, feeling put upon. “What exactly is wrong with me/

But Lianne had already risen, ready to be off. “You'll have to ask the doctor about that. Apart from a sprained ankle, I think you're just badly shook up, but they want to be sure before discharging you.”

“Great,” she grumbled. “I survive a car crash and my injuries aren't even interesting. Are you sure? I can't even open one eye.”

“It will be fine once the swelling goes down. They're going to move you to a private room in a little while. You just get a good night's rest and I'll have the chauffeur pick you up in the morning.”

Jilly closed her eyes again. Whatever they were giving her was knocking the hell out of her. She was just as happy to sleep. “Goodbye, Lianne,” she said, dismissing her.

Even with her eyes closed she could feel her mother's hesitation. “Baby, if you want me to...”

Jilly opened her eyes again, ignoring how much her head hurt. “Yes?”

Lianne bit her artificially enhanced lip. “If you want me to, I can come back with Jenkins in the morning. If you want my company. I can change my plans.”

“No need, Lianne,” Jilly said, closing her eyes. And a moment later her mother was gone.

She really must be pumped full of drugs, Jilly thought, as tears seeped out from behind her closed eves. She had no more illusions about Lianne, and hadn't had any since she was twelve years old, maybe even younger. She'd just been feeling so vulnerable recently, and the drugs were breaking down any of her lingering defenses. She hadn't needed a mother in a long time. She needed to remember that.

It was a good thing Summer wasn't around. Jilly had had a hard-enough time convincing her sister that nothing had happened with Reno. Summer had come racing back to California as soon as she heard what had happened. And she knew Jilly far too well. Right now there was nothing she wanted to do more than bawl her head off, and Summer , already skeptical, would jump to conclusions. And really, she wasn't crying about Reno. She was just crying.

She tried to shift on the narrow bed, then realized she had things attached to her. IVs and blood-pressure monitors and even something attached to her finger. Whatever they were giving her was doing a decent job of killing the pain—maybe just a little bit more would knock her out completely. If only she could find a button to push.

A little oblivion, just for the night. Tomorrow she'd deal with her aches and pains, accept the fact that her mother had the emotional attention span of a gnat, and she'd make plans. She wasn't sure what those plans were going to be, but they'd include being far away from here. Far away from anything at all familiar.

Tomorrow she was going to figure out where to run. One thing was certain—she wouldn't come back until she damned well wanted to.

It would serve Reno right if she just disappeared. Not that she knew where he was. Her misery had nothing to do with him, and no one would be likely to tell him she was gone. She'd managed to convince her sister nothing had happened, and Taka would politely ignore anything he'd happened to observe.

No, she would run as far and as fast as she could, and she wouldn't come home until she'd made peace with everything.

It should only take a decade or two.

In the meantime she was going to sleep. If someone would just come in and give her more...

* * *

Reno had been perfectly willing to mug a doctor in order to steal his coat and name tag, but in the end it had been much simpler. The locker room was easily marked, no one was inside, and no one bothered with locks. It was a shame—he was in the mood to hit someone—but he accepted the fact that life was going to give him a break. The coat he found was a little small but it still fit, and it belonged to Dr. Yamada. Perfect. He grabbed a stethoscope and went out to prowl the midnight floors of the hospital.

No one gave him a second glance. He'd grabbed a pair of weak reading glasses—the bottoms of the frames were just enough to distract from his tattoos. They gave him a headache, but that was the least of his problems. Studious Dr. Yamada could move through the floors without anyone giving him a second glance.

It took him almost an hour to find her. She was in a private room at the end of one of the darkened corridors, and he managed to bluff his way past anyone who questioned his presence. The night staff was just as happy to leave him alone, and no one noticed when he slipped inside her room, closing the door silently behind him.

He was half afraid he'd be too late. Whoever had tried to kill her could have gotten there ahead of him, finished the job. But he looked at her and breathed a sigh of relief.

She looked like hell. She had stitches on her cheekbone, bruises on her pale skin and one eye was swollen shut. She was lying in the hospital bed and she looked very small for such a force of nature.

He grabbed the chair and propped it under the door handle; no one would be coming in without giving him plenty of warning. He took his gun from his belt and set it on the table, looking down at her.

Her one good eye fluttered open, staring up at him. She was drugged up the ass, looking at him with muzzy wonder. “Who are you?”

He'd forgotten his changed appearance. “Your doctor,” he said, wishing he'd grabbed an operating mask at the same time.

And then she smiled, a dazed, dreamy smile. “You're Reno,” she murmured happily. “I knew you'd come.”

She didn't know anything; he could tell from her movements and slurred speech that she was too drugged to realize what was going on. Tomorrow morning she'd think it was just a morphine dream, or whatever it was they were giving her. In the meantime, he was going to give in to temptation, do something he'd never be able to do in real life.

“You're imagining me,” he said softly, kicking off his shoes. “I'm just a dream. You won't even remember me in the morning.”

For once she didn't argue. Maybe that had been the trick—-he should have just kept her drugged and docile while they'd been on the run in Japan. And then he saw the tears begin to slide down her bruised face.

“How badly are you hurt?” He should have checked her chart on the way in, but he'd wanted to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

“Nothing interesting,” she said, sounding faintly disgruntled. “Just a sprained ankle and some bruises. It's my heart.”

“Your heart?” he echoed, panicked. “Do you have internal injuries...?”

“It's broken,” she said, soft, plaintive, the tears still sliding down her face.

He muttered a curse. It was just the drugs talking, but he could feel his own heart twist inside. She lay in the middle of the wide hospital bed, but she was looking very small, and he simply climbed up beside her, pulling her into his arms with exquisite care, not wanting to hurt her any more.

She let out a small sound, and for a moment he thought it was a cry of pain, but then she moved closer, putting her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her crying. “I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled.

“I know.” He held her gently—she suddenly felt fragile, and he'd almost been too late. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if she'd gone over that bridge. He didn't want to think what would have happened to him. He'd lost Ojiisan, the most important person in his selfish, miserable life. If he'd lost her...

He wasn't going to think about the fact that she wasn't even his to begin with. All he wanted to do was hold her while she cried, hold her while she slept, watch over her for as long as he could.

And then, once she was home and safe, he was going to kill the man who'd done this to her.

He remembered what he'd told her. If he ever felt in danger of falling in love, he'd lie down till the feeling passed. He hadn't been fast enough. She'd gotten to him, the way no other woman had been able to, ruining his life, ruining his sex drive, ruining everything. All he wanted was her, and right now all he wanted was to hold her, take care of her.

He was totally fucked up. But the good thing was, he could get over it. So he was temporarily insane. He had enough strength of will to fight it, to walk away from someone who didn't fit into his plans for his life.

And he would. Once he was sure she was safe.

For now he'd hold her. Stroke her hair, put his lips against her forehead. And not think about anything at all.

“
I want some of those
drugs you gave me last night,” Jilly said brightly. She was dressed in the clothes Jenkins had brought her, ensconced in a wheelchair on her way out of the hospital, and the studious young resident was fiddling with her discharge papers.

“Drugs?” the woman said. “Are you in pain/

“Not particularly. But I had the best dream of my life.” The effect was lingering even now—she could still feel Reno's arms around her, smell the almond soap that he liked, feel the beat of his heart. She felt happy for the first time in weeks, and if it was caused by drugs, she wanted more of them.

“Sorry, we're not responsible for dreams. If you need a prescription for pain, I can give it to you.”

“Never mind,” Jilly said, defeated. “The next one would probably be a nightmare.

So I can leave now, Dr
....
” For some reason she wanted to call the young woman Dr. Yamada, but considering that she was a Nordic blonde, that name seemed unlikely. Jilly checked her name tag. “Dr. Swensen,” she said.

“Just as long as you promise to take it easy for the next few days. You've had a nasty shake-up, and you're lucky you didn't have a head injury.”

Jilly wasn't as convinced of that; the hallucination last night had been so real, felt so real. But she wasn't about to say anything—she wanted to get the hell out of there, back to the safety of her family's gated Hollywood mansion. If fate was kind enough to send her the same dream, or maybe even a more sexually active one, then she'd be happy. Otherwise she'd just sleep.

She glanced up once as Jenkins helped her into the backseat of the limo. Her body still hurt—for having no real injuries she was feeling like shit, and she could only see out of one eye. She'd taken a fleeting look at herself in a mirror after the nurse helped her dress, and shuddered. It was a good thing it had only been a dream—she looked like a witch who'd met the wrong end of a broomstick.

The day was dark, ominously so. “Is it going to rain, Jenkins?” They hadn't had rain in weeks, maybe months, according to the KTLA weather report.

“It's the fires, miss. They're looking bad this year. That's smoke overhead. A good rain might help, but there's none expected.”

Jilly tried to summon up a shred of anxiety. “We're not anywhere near the fires, are we?”

“We'll get word if we need to evacuate, miss.”

That wasn't the most comforting response he could have come up with, but she wasn't going to worry about it. The chance of the wildfires making it all the way to the Hollywood Hills was unlikely. There was a hot breeze blowing, bringing smoke on the air. It was late for the Santa Ana winds, but the dragon breath had an angry feel to it.

By the time she managed to limp into the house she was ready to collapse, and the sight of her mother waiting for her in the hallway didn't help matters. Until she took a closer look. Lianne was wearing her traveling Armani, and her matched luggage was waiting in the hall.

“You're leaving?” Jilly said, trying to keep the hopeful note out of her voice. The last thing she wanted was Lianne in her nurturing-mother role. Lianne would have thrown herself into it with a vengeance, and it could be really annoying when she did. Right now Jilly just needed peace and quiet, not Lianne hovering.

“Darling, I forgot that I promised I'd meet your father in Prague. I can always cancel my flight if you want—I hate to leave you here all alone.”

Jilly wondered exactly what her mother might do if she asked her to stay. It was almost worth it, just to watch Lianne try to wriggle out of it. “Ill be fine. And I won't be alone—Consuela and Jenkins will be here.”

“Well, actually, I hadn't expected you were going to be here. After all, the semester started last week, and I've never known you to skip school in your entire life. I told them they could have the week off. Consuela's already left, and Jenkins and his wife have a vacation planned. The gardening staff will be here, but God only knows if any of them speak English.”

Jilly was so used to her mother's casual racism that she didn't rise to the bait. “I'm perfectly capable of being on my own here.” She limped into the living room, sinking down on the couch carefully. The room was dark from the smoke-filled sky outside, and she turned on one of the lights. “As long as I have Diet Coke and a television I'll be fine.”

“Of course you will. And we have the best security system in the city. Not that there'll be any problem—there never is. Even so, I put in a call to the temp agency and they're sending a couple of people out after the weekend.”

“I'll be fine. I don't want strangers wandering around here.”

“You need to do this for me, sweetie. I won't have a moment's peace in Prague if I'm worrying about you being home alone.”

Jilly resisted the impulse to growl. “Whatever makes you happy, Lianne,” she said.

Her mother smiled brightly. “I had Con-suela make up some meals for you, and you can have any kind of food in the world delivered. By Monday you'll have company.”

“All I intend to do is watch TV and sleep.”

Her mother beamed at her. “Oh, and there's one more thing. Just a tiny little favor.”

Jilly had infinite patience with her self-absorbed mother, but it was wearing very thin indeed. “Of course,” she said, stifling a sigh.

“I was supposed to do an interview with a young man from the Times. He wants to hear about the Lovitz Foundation. I thought he might be a nice distraction for you—he's supposed to come by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don't think so...”

“He's young and Asian, sweetie. I thought you might enjoy it. I can always do the interview by phone but you can imagine what a pain that would be with the time difference. You know as much about the foundation as I do, and it might help get you over whoever it was in Tokyo that's made you so mopey .”

“He can wait until you get back. I don't need any young Asian men in my life, thank you very much. And nothing happened in Tokyo—I'm just tired.”

Lianne managed an ineffectively long-suffering sigh. “It would really set my mind at ease if you...”

“I'm not meeting with your reporter, Lianne,” Jilly said in a dangerous voice. “Go to Prague and leave me alone.”

Her mother actually pouted, something she did quite effectively with her collagen-enhanced lips. Her mother was the epitome of a trophy wife, married to a man who was twenty-five years older than she was, surgically enhanced to look half her age, with all her energy and attention centered on Ralph Lovitz. She genuinely loved her fourth husband enough to stay with him for the last twenty years, which still amazed Jilly. She had no illusions that either of her parents was particularly faithful, but at least they were discreet, and their affection for each other was undoubtedly real.

“I don't know why you have to be so difficult,” Lianne said with just the trace of a whine. “I'm just asking for a little peace of mind.”

Jilly had spent most of her adult life protecting Lianne. “You'll have to find it on your own, Lianne,” she said wearily, closing her eyes.

She knew her mother stood there for a while, trying to outlast Jilly, but she was no match for her daughter's stubbornness. Jilly waited until she heard the main door shut, until she heard the distant sound of the limousine starting down the long driveway. And then she opened her eyes, grabbed the remote control and turned on Animal Planet.

Mindless sex and violence, just what she needed, she thought, stretching out on the over-stuffed sofa to watch the lizards dance. To hell with her mother, to hell with Reno, to hell with everything.

As long as it was her and the lizards, things would be just fine.