She heard the heavy door close behind the departing Shirosama, heard the locks engage. The woman was rustling in her bag again, and Jilly knew another needle was coming, knew there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she weren’t already drugged, the German woman was stronger than she was. Jilly hadn’t been able to stop her the first time, when she’d had all her strength.
And then the lights went out. Odd how she knew it, since she couldn’t open her eyes. But as she felt the woman lean over her, the darkness intensified, becoming a thick, black cocoon, and she waited for the pinprick in her arm, the return of night.
Instead she felt the weight of the woman as she knelt on the cot beside her, smelled her perfume as she leaned close. If the harridan was going to molest her, Jilly only hoped she was totally out before she put her hands on her. She could withstand anything, and this was no time to be squeamish, but she really wasn’t in the mood to have her first sexual experience be at the hands of a torturer…
She felt the woman’s lips against her ear. “They won’t be able to see anything now, but they can still hear. Do everything I tell you and don’t say a word.”
Yeah, right, Jilly thought. I’m going to lie here and let you mess with me, you disgusting…And then she realized the woman’s German accent had disappeared.
She managed to open her eyes, but the darkness was absolute. There was no pinprick in her skin, no unpleasant touches. Just the woman’s cool hand on hers.
“Can you sit up yet? Squeeze my fingers if you can.”
Jilly tried, but her muscles were still useless.
“Then we’ll wait,” the woman said. She had a faint British accent, and Jilly wondered if that was just as fake as the German one. Maybe she’d live long enough to find out.
The Nazi bitch was gone, and this woman, whoever she was, seemed determined to help her. And Jilly had no choice but to trust her.
Taka had told her nothing but the truth this time. He wasn’t going to kill her. He wasn’t sure when he’d finally realized that simple fact—maybe the first time he’d set eyes on her. He’d come close, too many times, but had rescued her more times than that. When he’d sensed the threat in the summer cottage, his first instinct had been to protect her, save her.
He counted on his instincts to keep him alive. He couldn’t start ignoring them now and hope to survive. Every intuition kept him protecting Summer Hawthorne, and every time he tried to talk himself into killing her his instincts would take over.
He had enough battles to fight right now without fighting one with himself.
She was going to live. She was going to grow old and fat and have children and live happily ever after, whether she liked it or not, as far away from him as possible. He had every intention of seeing to it.
Once he got her safely stowed he could concentrate on his mission: stopping the deadly doomsday cult before they could put their plans into action. Madame Lambert might give him shit, but in the end she’d trust his judgment. He just had to make certain the Shirosama was stopped, sooner rather than later. That was the only way Summer would be safe.
She wasn’t speaking to him now, but staring stone-faced out the window as he drove through the night. Anything was better than her laughter, the eerie sound of her losing control. He’d wanted to stop the car, pull her into his arms and hold her tightly until the hysteria stopped. Crazy notion, when they had to get the hell out of there as fast as they could.
The one good thing in all this was that she hated him with a fiery passion. He’d shamed her, rejected her, destroyed her family home. She even knew he’d planned to kill her. Any tender feelings she might have for him would be burned to a cinder of hatred.
And since, time after time, his crazy instincts had made him save her, he’d save her one more time. He’d save her from him. Then, if there was any mercy in this world, he’d be able to forget about her.
17
Jilly woke slowly, drifting into wakefulness in the inky darkness. She could see nothing at all, not even the shape of the woman who was either her guard, her brainwasher or her rescuer, but she knew she wasn’t alone. The drugs were wearing off quickly now. She could feel life flowing back into her body, and she tested her muscles, flexing them enough to know they worked, without letting the woman realize a thing. Even her fingers were responding—they were close beside her body, but she could make them move. Now she simply had to decide what to do next. The woman who had drugged her was smaller than she was, but incredibly strong, and if Jilly tried to overpower her she’d probably end up with another syringeful of drugs. The woman hadn’t precisely said she was going to help, but anyone who lied to the slimy Shirosama had to be more friend than enemy.
Jilly’s body jerked in surprise when she felt the woman whisper in her ear. “You’re ready,” she said, and Jilly wondered how she knew. “Do exactly what I tell you and stay calm, no matter what happens.”
Not the most reassuring warning, but Jilly sat up anyway, relieved that her head seemed entirely clear. The woman took her hand in the darkness, leading her from the bed. Jilly had a sudden wash of intense paranoia, that this was all part of the plan to brainwash her, to trick her into giving up whatever they thought she had. She had no idea where her sister was right now, and even if she did she wasn’t about to tell them. Lianne she would have given up in a heartbeat, much as she loved her feckless mother. Summer was a different matter entirely.
Jilly had no shoes, only the loose white pajamas they’d dressed her in—not good for skulking in the dark. She couldn’t see anything, hear anything, but the sudden influx of cool air told her that the woman had managed to open the door to her cell. A moment later they were out, walking silently in the thick darkness, Jilly’s hand in the stranger’s as she led the way.
It was marginally brighter outside—light pollution from the nearby city—and Jilly got a good look at the woman with her as they stopped in the shadow of the building. She’d lost the glasses she’d worn earlier, but her dark hair was still neatly tucked in a bun at the back of her head. She was wearing heels and somehow managing to be silent in them.
“We’re going to have to run for it,” she whispered in Jilly’s ear. “They won’t be expecting anything, but we’ll still only have about twenty seconds before they’re onto us. Do you see the yellow SUV parked under the tree?”
“Isn’t that a little—” The woman slapped a hand over her mouth to silence her. When she removed it, Jilly whispered “—obvious?”
“Trust me. I’m a professional,” the woman said, and Jilly wondered how she could sound wry when she barely made any noise. “It’s got a remote starter, but the moment I trigger it they’ll see us. Wait for my signal and then run for it.”
And get a bullet between the shoulder blades, Jilly thought dismally. Not that the Shirosama’s goons carried guns. They probably just bored people to death. Still, she didn’t have much choice but to obey. She nodded.
The woman beside her was pointing her cell phone at the SUV, and damn if the thing didn’t start. “Run!”
Jilly took off, sprinting across the field in her bare feet, feeling like a target. She could hear shouts in the distance, feel the woman close behind her. She was almost at the car when the woman behind her went down.
Jilly looked back. “Keep going!” the woman called out. “Get out of here!”
The SUV was within reach, already running, but Jilly didn’t hesitate. She could see the white-robed brethren converging at the edge of the field, she sprinted back, grabbing the woman who lay sprawled in the grass, and hoisting her up.
“Let go of me. Run!” the woman shouted.
Jilly ignored her. She put her arm around the woman’s small waist and half dragged her to the SUV, dumping her inside before she jumped into the driver’s seat. A moment later she tore out of the parking lot, heading straight for the bright lights of Los Angeles.
She heard a popping sound and the crinkle of breaking glass. So the holy ones had guns, after all…She
glanced at the woman beside her. She was pale, and the dark hair was a wig—it had fallen in her lap, exposing silver-blond hair. There was no sign of blood on her white suit, just mud and grass stains, and she was missing one high-heeled shoe.
The woman was swearing under her breath, some really impressive cursing that Jilly hoped she’d remember in the future. Astonishing that such an elegant creature could use words that would make a rapper blush.
“Are you okay?” Jilly asked.
“I think I broke my ankle,” the woman muttered, letting out another stream of invective. “Head for the freeway south and drive as fast as you can. If we get picked up for speeding it’ll keep the Shirosama’s zombies from getting to us.”
“Among other things,” Jilly said. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”
The woman leaned her head back against the seat and moaned. “I thought everyone in California could drive,” she said. The accent was definitely British, and she was younger than Jilly had first thought.
“I can drive very well,” she assured her. “I got my license last year. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep it for too long. I like to speed.”
“Well, in this case it’s a good thing,” the woman said. “Do you know how to find LAX from here?”
“Yes.”
“Then get there as fast you can. I’m getting both of us out of here.”
“Not that I’m ungrateful, but you want to tell me who you are?” Jilly asked, pulling onto the freeway at a speed that would have turned her father pale beneath his cultivated tan.
“Call me Isobel,” the woman said. “That’s all you need to know for now. Just drive.”
Jilly wasn’t in the mood to argue. Her mouth tasted like sawdust—probably the aftereffect of whatever Isobel had injected her with—and adrena-line was pumping through her body. She was probably a fool to trust the stranger, but anyone was preferable to the Shirosama, and her instincts about people had always been good. For the moment all she needed to do was concentrate on driving like a bat out of hell, and the rest would take care of itself.
Taka picked up his cell phone, answering it by stating a number. Summer hadn’t heard it ring, but something must have alerted him to the call.
Taka’s replies were monosyllables, and she had no idea whether he was responding to good news or bad until he turned to look at her.
“Your sister’s safe.”
The relief was so swift and unexpected that it made Summer light-headed. She hadn’t dared to even think about Jilly, too terrified to even consider it, and now that that terror was over she felt sick. “Where is she?”
“My boss got her out. They’ll be meeting you at the Oceana Air terminal at Sea-Tac. Madame Lambert is going to take you to a safe house outside of London until we can contain the Shirosama.”
“I’m supposed to trust you?”
“No,” he said. He picked up the phone. “Put her sister on.” A second later he handed the small silver device to her.
Summer felt a second of panic—after all, this tiny piece of metal and circuitry unlocked doors, turned off death traps and blew up houses. God knows what would happen if she pushed the wrong button. And then she heard Jilly’s voice coming faintly from the other end of the line, and she no longer gave a shit.
“Are you all right?” she demanded. “Did that son of a bitch hurt you?”
“I’m fine, Summer.” Her sister sounded as unflappable and in control as always. It amazed Summer that a not-quite-seventeen-year-old could be so calmly self-possessed, but it had always been that way. Jilly had been born an old soul. “I’ve been playing James Bond, but Isobel got me out in time, with a hail of bullets following us. It was very cool.”
And Summer felt very sick. “Where are you now?”
“Driving around L.A. Isobel sprained her ankle and can’t drive, but I’m used to the roads, and besides, it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. Did you hear we’re going to England?”
“Yes, I—” The phone was plucked out of her hand.
“Let me speak to Madame Lambert.” Summer could just imagine Jilly’s reaction to Taka’s cool demand, and if she’d had even an ounce of energy she would have placed a bet with herself on how long it would take Jilly to comply. But right now she was too shaken with relief to think much of anything else. Jilly was safe, and they were going to get her the hell out of the country and the reach of that crazy man.
No, they were going to get both of them out of the country. She was never going to have to see Takashi O’Brien again, a fact that should almost begin to make up for the loss of her home. She wasn’t even going to consider the other losses.
To her surprise, Jilly appeared to have handed over the telephone and a moment later Taka ended the call. No, maybe it shouldn’t surprise her. Jilly would have resisted bullying, but Taka’s calm control was very…seductive.
“What about my passport? If your boss is taking us to England, what’s she going to do about passports? Jilly’s father has hers in his safe.”
“Phony passports are child’s play,” he said. “And Madame Lambert tends to travel with diplomatic immunity. No one is going to look too closely at her companions, particularly if they’re pretty, young and innocent.”
“Yeah, that takes care of Jilly, but what about me?” Summer couldn’t believe she’d actually said such a thing out loud. Begging for compliments, reassurances, none of which she needed, thank you very much.
He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh often, and the sound was soft, momentarily beguiling. Until she remembered she hated him.
“That’s right, you’re ugly, old and jaded,” he murmured. “How could I forget?”
“If I had a gun I would kill you,” she said bitterly.
A moment later he reached under the car seat, pulling out a small, nasty-looking handgun, and put it in her lap. “It works very simply. You need to cock it first, then just point and shoot. If I were you I’d wait until we get off the highway. If you shoot me at these speeds you’ll probably end up dying as well, and I thought you were past adolescent suicide attempts. Unless you have some romantic notion of a murder-suicide.”
She picked up the gun. It was small, cold in her hand. “If you’re trying to talk me out of it you’re doing a piss-poor job.”
“I can pull off on the shoulder if you’d like. That way you could just shove me out and drive on. It’d make a bit of a mess…”
“Just stop it!” She moved to drop the gun into his lap, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. She let go of the gun, and it fell on the floor at his side. He kicked it under his seat without slowing his speed, but kept hold of her hand. She curled it into a fist, but didn’t try to break free. Even when he brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of her wrist.
“You’re going to be rid of me in just a few more hours,” he said gently. “And then you can forget I ever existed. It would be better that way. Madame Lambert even has drugs that will help you, so that after a while it will all seem like nothing more than a bad dream.”
“And how am I going to think of the cottage you blew up?” Why wasn’t she pulling away? Why was the touch of his mouth on her skin making heat pool deep between her legs?
“As a necessary loss,” he said. He released her hand back in her own lap. “Sometimes you give up what you love to stay alive.”
“Have you ever had to do that?”
He turned his head to look at her for so long it should have been dangerous, but he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the road. “It’s coming,” he said.
And he turned away, driving into the slowly dawning day.
18
Dawn couldn’t come soon enough. He had to get her out of his life as quickly as possible. It was becoming the most important thing—more important than breathing, living. He needed to get away from her, fast. Because he didn’t want to let her go.
Taka had absolutely no idea what kind of insanity had decided to land on his head. He’d alm
ost gotten them killed back on Bainbridge, all because he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He could come up with a million excuses, all plausible, all lies. Everything boiled down to one simple thing. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to make her cry again. He wanted her, maddening though she was, and the moment he let her go it would be forever.
Had he ever given up something he loved in order to stay alive? Destroyed it? What had made her ask that question, and what had made him come up with the instant answer that he’d somehow managed to silence? It was her.
She’d shut herself off again, and as the morning light filled the car he let himself watch her. She was pale and drawn, with violet patches beneath her eyes, the scattering of golden freckles across her nose. She’d managed to braid her long hair again, but it was coming loose, tangling on her shoulders. He wanted to untie her hair and bury his face in it, breathe in the smell of it.
Hell, it probably smelled of smoke and ashes from the explosion they’d just barely managed to outrun. Her skin would smell of fear. But he wanted to drown in it anyway.
He was insane. Out of his fucking mind, and she had no idea. He’d prefer to keep it that way. He just needed a little space to put his head back together again. Once he got away from her, he’d forget all about her.
And that moment couldn’t come a second too soon for her. He could see the iron tension in her body, her averted profile, the stubborn set to her mouth. He’d never had the chance to really appreciate her mouth and what it could do. At least he could be thankful for small favors.
The plan was all set. Madame Lambert would take Summer and her sister to England, stash them with Peter and his wife, while Taka headed in the opposite direction, to Japan. To place the goddamn urn into the hands of the Japanese government, through the kindly services of his great-uncle Hiro. That would stop the Shirosama’s forward momentum, give them enough time to find the site of the temple and destroy whatever was left there. Give them time to find where the cache of weapons was, the biological and chemical plagues that the brethren’s Ministry of Science had been compiling. Time enough to save the world.