Ice Blue (22 page)

"How many men did you kill today?" Her voice was a dull monotone.

"Three in the house. The two outside were killed by the security system on the car—it was set to electrocute anyone who touched it."

"Isn't that a little drastic for an antitheft device?"

He glanced at her, clearly surprised by her even tone of voice. He knew she was feeling nothing, absolutely nothing, a blessed numbness. One moment she was ready to climax from the simple rub of his clothed body against hers, and in the next there was fire and smoke and death…and numbness.

"Maybe," he said, concentrating on the road.

"Did you get the urn and the other things, or were they lost when you blew up my house?"

"I have them."

"That's good," she said. "I'd hate to go through all this for nothing. So why did you bother bringing me along? Why did you save me again? You could have just left me in the house and I would have been blown to hell along with the others. It would be a lot neater."

He frowned. "I didn't want to hurt you."

She began to laugh then. For some reason she couldn't control it—the absurdity of his reply was so wonderful that she had no choice. She could laugh or she could cry, and she never cried.

"Stop it!" he said sharply.

She couldn't. Didn't he understand the cosmic absurdity of it? That no matter what she did, death followed her like a hungry vulture, and any respite was a lie, just a short delay on this inevitable journey of pain and darkness. Really, all you could do was laugh at such ridiculous—

The pain was blinding, stealing her breath, stopping her heart, shocking her into silence. He took his hand away, placing it back on the wheel, and she stared at him, knowing that all color had leached out of her face.

"That's better," he said evenly. "Things are bad enough—I don't need you losing it, as well."

It took her a moment to breathe, to speak. '"Losing it'?" she echoed. "I've lost everything. My job, my car, my best friend, my legacy from Hana—even the house that I loved. And I'm probably going to lose my sister and my life. I think a little hysteria is in order."

"I can hurt you a lot more than I just did," he said. "I don't want to, but I will. I need to concentrate, and I can't have you flipping out on me."

"I want you to either kill me or let me go. And don't even try to convince me you weren't planning on killing me. I can be blind and stupid for only so long."

"No," he said.

"No, what?" she snapped.

"No, I won't try to convince you of that. Those were my orders. And no, I won't let you go. Or kill you." There was an odd, almost resigned tone in his voice. Strange, when he showed so little emotion.

She felt cold inside. "Then what are you going to do with me?"

"Damned if I know," he said. And reached forward and turned on the radio, drowning out any more questions.

Jilly slept. Dressed in her white pajamas, she floated above the narrow cot, into the starry sky overhead. The walls melted away, the floors and the furniture, and she was free, floating.

She knew she shouldn't feel so peaceful. It was all thanks to the needle from the gorgeous neo-Nazi doctor. She'd tried to fight her, but the woman had been much too strong, much too determined. She'd said something to her in her thick German accent, but Jilly had already been floating, and she was only dimly aware of the reassuring stroking of the woman's hand on hers.

If she was going to be trapped, she'd be happy enough not to wake up, not until she stood some chance of escape. The woman sat and watched her, making notes in a leather-clad notebook, and every now and then some of the undead would wander in, ask questions and wander out again. Jilly was beginning to emerge from her safe cloud. The doctor was busy with her notes. She hadn't realized her patient was beginning to come out of her drugged state, and Jilly wasn't about to give her that advantage. The only thing that could possibly help her was the element of surprise. If the woman knew she was waking up she'd just come at her with another needle.

It took all her concentration not to react when the door to her cell opened. She willed her muscles to relax, her eyelids to keep from fluttering. Particularly when she recognized the soft voice of his holiness, the Shirosama.

"She still sleeps?"

Jilly remained motionless, listening to what was happening. The good doctor had risen, setting her notebook down, and Jilly thought there was tension in the room. Though it was probably only her own.

"She still sleeps," the woman said in her accented English. "You need to trust me, your holiness. This particular girl is very hard to break, and I'm an expert at what I do. By the time I release her from her sedation she'll be totally free of her past perceptions. She will be open and willing to embrace your guidance, and she will tell you everything you want to know. But the process takes time."

"I'm not sure how much time we have," the Shirosama said in the low, mellow voice that her mother likened to the voice of God and Jilly found creepy. "We haven't been able to rescue her sister from the hands of the Yakuza, and countless members of the Fellowship have given their lives in the attempt. Blessings upon them."

Unmoving, Jilly let his words sink in. Japanese gangsters had her sister, the revolting Shirosama had her, some B-movie Nazi femme fatale was drugging her into submission and even if Jilly was conscious she was being watched too closely to get the hell out of there.

"Blessings upon them," the woman echoed. "I will speed the process as much as I can. One thing that would help would be total darkness, to increase her isolation."

There was a long silence. "Would that not be difficult for you?"

"Not at all. I'm used to working in the dark. But it must be absolute. No lights from security cameras or coming from under the door. Give me twelve hours of complete darkness and she'll be ready for your ministry."

More silence. Jilly wanted to cry out, protest. She didn't want to be trapped in the dark with this crazy woman, she'd rather take her chances with her mother's guru. But she was still too drugged to say a word, trapped in a wall of silence.

"As you wish," he said after a moment. "I have heard great praise for your methods. I put my trust, and this poor lost child, in your hands."

"You do me honor."

Jilly wanted to throw up. She couldn't move, couldn't open her eyes—it would serve the woman right if she choked to death on her own vomit. She'd try to do it quietly, just to spite the bitch.

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.

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J
illy 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."