The man lay in a pool of blood on the floor, the hole in his forehead mute testimony to what had happened. She couldn't see the shooter, and she backed away, cold with fear, her stomach churning. There was a sound from the room, from someone just out of sight, and her nerve finally left her, and she ran down the hall, not caring how much noise she made, not knowing where she was going.
She felt something brush past her, the strange popping noise from behind her, and she realized with shock that someone was shooting at her, and if she didn't get out fast, she was going to be as dead as Reno had said she was. Who was trying to kill her? Maybe it was Reno himself, but she didn't dare slow down, didn't dare look behind her, afraid of who she might see.
She came to a corner and skidded around it, momentarily putting herself outside the line of fire. This hall was darker, and someone was coming toward her, and this time she knew she'd have no way of escaping. She was going to die, and Taka was going to be seriously annoyed, not to mention Summer, who would make his life miserable, and what the hell was she doing, thinking things like that when she was running for her life... ?
He came out of nowhere, and she tried to fight him, blind with fear, but he simply wrapped his arms around her, imprisoning her against his body, and pulled her into darkness.
She whimpered in fear. Then she heard Reno's voice in her ear, and it was the best sound in the world. “Be quiet, you idiot, or you'll get us both killed.”
And at that moment Jilly Lovitz knew she was in love.
It was pitch-black, wherever they were, a tight, enclosed place, and Jilly was crammed up against him, his arms imprisoning her. She could feel her heart slamming against her chest as she tried to catch her breath. His heart was racing, too, which wasn't much of a comfort.
“Where are we?” she mouthed in a trace above a whisper.
She was half expecting him to slam his hand across her mouth, but instead he answered. “Janitor's closet,” he whispered.
“I don't think he saw us go in.”
“Who?”
“Hitomi-san. Why the hell was he trying to kill you? Not that I blame him—you're enough to drive anyone to murder, but he must have had a reason.”
“He killed someone. Or somebody did. I walked in on it.”
“Holy motherfucker,” Reno said. “You have great timing. Did you see the man who did it?”
“I didn't see anything,” she said irritably. “And this is a gangster hideout, for God's sake. Don't people kill one another all the time?” No.
There was no noise from beyond the door, and now she could smell cleaning supplies. “It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic,” she whispered. “I could be having hysterics right now.”
“No, you couldn't.” Even in a whisper his flat statement was chilling. “I need to get you out of here.”
Relief flooded her. “Yes, you do.”
“Stay put.” He released her, but the space was so small she was still crammed up against him. “I don't know how long this will take me. Whatever you do, don't move, don't make a sound.”
She would have liked to protest. She would have liked to wrap her arms around him and haul him back. He was the only safety she knew, and he was abandoning her.
“Sure,” she said, her whisper the epitome of calm while her mind was screaming. “Take your time.”
She couldn't see him in the darkness. But somehow she knew he smiled. Not the smirk that he usually offered, but a real smile. “I won't abandon you, Ji-chan,” he said. And a moment later he was gone, the momentary sliver of light from the darkened corridor blinding her as he slipped out of the tiny closet.
Ji-chan? He called her Ji-chan? That was an affectionate term, and as far as she could tell he found her nothing more than terminally annoying. Why had he said that?
She was shaking, she realized belatedly. Her legs were trembling, her heart was racing, and she leaned against the door, pressing her forehead against the cool metal, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. He'd come back for her. Whether he wanted to or not. It had nothing to do with her, or any feelings he might have for her. He'd taken her on as his responsibility and he wouldn't abandon her. But why in the world had he called her Ji-chan?
It was cold in the closet. It was midwinter, and she hadn't bothered with a sweatshirt when she'd left her room.
Clearly the Japanese were not strong proponents of central heating, at least not in their gangland warehouses. The ice was seeping into her bones, making it even harder for her to stay calm. If she wasn't shaking apart from fear, she was trembling from the cold, and either way she was going to start knocking things over if she didn't pull herself together. Serves me right for growing up in Southern California, she told herself. She'd never complain about the heat again.
She lost track of time. Maybe Reno had dumped her after all. Gangland-style killings couldn't be that unusual—this was the yakuza, for God's sake. She was hardly naive when it came to organized crime.
After all, she'd watched The Sopranos. Maybe she'd overreacted.
But then, why had someone, presumably the mysterious Hitomi-san, chased her, shot at her? And why bother? She hadn't seen the shooter—it wasn't as if she could identify anyone.
There wasn't enough room to sit—when she tried to push back from the door the wall was right behind her. Reno was just lucky the two of them had managed to squeeze in there when he'd yanked her into the tiny space. And it had only worked with her body absolutely plastered up against him, every inch of her pressed against his hard, hard body.
At least that thought was making her hot. All she had to do was keep remembering embarrassing moments and she'd keep from freezing to death. Fortunately or unfortunately she had a dozen of them, the worst being in the capsule with his cool, impersonal hands making her come her brains out.
No, maybe remembering wasn't a good idea. Because not only was it making her skin warm, she was getting turned on, and that was one place she definitely didn't want to go. Reno was out of her league, and it was a good thing. She had a hard-enough time dealing with the average American male. A wild card like Reno was more than she could handle.
Of course he'd take that moment to open the closet door, just as her face was flushed and her body tingling. Fortunately he was too intent on getting out of there to notice.
“Don't say anything, don't move unless I tell you to,” he said in a low voice. “If you do, you'll get us both killed.”
She wasn't about to come up with an argument. While the hallway was marginally lighter than the pitch-black closet, it was still almost impenetrable, and the only safety was the man in front of her, leading the way.
They passed one man on their trip through the maze of underground tunnels, and Reno moved so fast he was simply a blur in the darkness, and the man collapsed, unconscious, as Reno took her hand, pulling her deeper into the bowels of the building.
At first she didn't realize when they emerged into the evening air—the cold that penetrated the old cement building was the same inside as out, and night had fallen. To her amazement they were outside the high walls of the cement-block compound that housed Ojiisan's headquarters, on a dark and deserted side street. “Now's the time to run, Jilly/' Reno said, and took off, dragging her along behind him.
It was a good thing she had long legs—if she'd been short, she never would have kept up with him, and chances were he'd either abandon her and drag her limp body in the dirt if she fell. She was in decent shape—she ran three times a week and didn't smoke, but she wasn't used to a flat-out sprint, and her chest was burning, her heart banging against her rib cage. Reno, goddamn him, seemed barely touched by the fast pace. He was probably running fast so she couldn't argue with him.
It didn't matter—there was no way she was going to fall behind or complain. If he could do it, then so could she. And the faster she ran, the more the scene retreated, the dead man, all the dead men that she'd seen in the past few days.
And then, just as suddenly, he stopped, catching her as she hurtled forward, pushing back against a building and holding her there while she struggled to catch her breath.
He wasn't even winded. “We'll get a taxi from here,” he said. “As soon as you stop sounding like an eighty-year-old man.”
“Go.. .to.. .hell,” she gasped, struggling for breath. They were on a side street, but the street-lights were on, and neon beckoned from around the corner. He just stood there, waiting while she brought her breathing under control. She shoved her sweat-damp hair away from her face with a shaking hand—at this rate she was going to get pneumonia and she didn't care. She just wanted this all to end.
A moment later he took her hand, pulled her arm through his in a perfect parody of young lovers, and walked her into the neon, into the crowded streets of Tokyo.
It wasn't until he'd gotten her ensconced in the backseat of a taxi that she noticed he'd covered his distinctive hair with a black kerchief emblazoned with kanji, and he'd tucked his bright red braid beneath the leather jacket. Except for his height, he could be any Tokyo hipster in shades, but there was no disguising Jilly. There weren't that many almost six feet tall gaijin women around, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.
She waited until Reno gave instructions, so detailed she couldn't follow, and then she spoke.
“What next?” Her voice was hoarse from running.
He didn't bother to look at her—he was busy watching out the back, probably looking for signs of pursuit. “Train station,” he said. “We're taking the train to Osaka and I'm putting you on a plane at Kansai Airport.” He glanced at her then, just briefly. “You'll be safe enough.”
“Why don't you just let me go on my own? You don't need to take the train—we're probably better off separated.”
“You'll stand out wherever you are in
Japan, and it won't take them long to find you,” Reno said in a flat voice. “You saw something you weren't supposed to see, and they don't want you to have a chance to tell anyone.”
She wanted to argue with his reasoning, but she couldn't. Instead she tried another tack. “Who are 'they? And tell them what? What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
“If I knew, I'd probably tell you,” he said, not the most comforting words she could have heard. “The Russians who were after you were simply trying to lure Taka out of hiding, but someone was telling them where we were going. If I'd realized how complicated things were, I would have stashed you somewhere while I warned my grandfather, but there aren't that many safe places out of reach of my grandfather's men. I should have known you'd get in trouble wherever I took you.”
“It's not my fault someone was murdered,” she shot back.
“It was your fault you were wandering around places you shouldn't have been. Why didn't you just stay in your room?”
“And then what? You would have gone off and your grandfather would have sent me back home and we all would have lived happily ever after? Except for the dead man.”
He sighed. “Just do what I tell you from now on. Something is going on with my grandfather's family, and Hitomi-san is part of it. I tried to warn Ojiisan, but he simply told me not to worry, that he had it all under control. Right now there's nothing I can do to help him. I have to take care of you.”
He sounded as disgruntled as she felt. “No, you don't,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”
His derisive laugh was annoying enough that she was tempted to kick him, but she'd seen enough violence in the past two days to last her, her entire life, no matter how obnoxious he was. “You're as pathetic as a kitten,” he said. “If your family had any sense they wouldn't let you out without a keeper.”
The taxi was pulling up to a large, Victorian-looking building, and Reno spoke to him so rapidly Jilly could only get a few words. He shoved a fistful of yen into the driver's requisite white-gloved hand and dragged Jilly out the door.
It must be rush hour, she thought dazedly as he politely pushed his way through waves of people...though almost every hour seemed to be rush hour in Tokyo. “Keep your head down,” he muttered, “and try to slump. We're trying to blend in here.”
“Fat chance,” she said, slumping anyway. Her streaky blond hair shouldn't be that much of a giveaway—it seemed like half the younger population had dyed their hair varying shades of blond and orange. Her height and her walk were two things she couldn't change. She kept her face down, slumped her shoulders and scuttled along behind Reno as best she could. She'd never been able to disappear in a crowd, and in a homogeneous society like Japan she was doomed from the start.
Not that Reno was doing that great a job, either, she thought critically, ducking behind him as he used a ticketing machine. Sunglasses after dark tended to draw attention, as well as his height. But even worse was the way he carried himself. Like a lord of the universe, a prince of fucking darkness. People moved out of his way automatically, and the hidden hair and tattoos were little help. If someone was looking for them, they'd be too damned easy to find. “Oh, shit.”
Reno whirled around, the tickets in one hand. “What?”
“I think they found us.'
Kobayashi was hard to miss, the crowds parting around him like the Red Sea, and the two men with him, though tiny compared to Kobayashi, looked extremely lethal.
Reno froze. “Listen to me, Jilly, and do absolutely everything I tell you. No deviations, no thinking for yourself. When I give you the word, I want you to run to the left, as fast as you can. Push people over if you need to, just get the fuck out of here. Then get a taxi and have it take you to Narita.”
“I don't have enough money
....
”
He shoved a wad of yen in her hand. “Get the first plane out, anywhere. Trust me. “I don't...”
“Now!” he said, and shoved her, so hard she almost fell, as Kobayashi loomed over them, reaching out a meaty arm to grab her.
She spun out of his way, knocking people aside, sprinting through the terminal. She could hear the noise behind her, the shouts, but she didn't stop, she just kept running as the crowd swallowed her up.
There was no mistaking the sign for the ladies' toilet, and she didn't even hesitate, running inside as she shoved the wad of yen into her jeans. The room was almost empty—two of the eight stalls were in use, and she ducked inside one, locking it, trying to catch her breath. And then she turned, to look at the ceramic hole in the floor with utter despair. There was no way she could use that while she was wearing jeans. She was just going to have to wait.
Wait to pee. Wait to catch her breath. Wait to see whether they were going to find her in the ladies' room, whether
Reno was now a pulverized spot on the floor of the terminal, whether she was going die in the next few minutes.