Ice Blue (23 page)

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 adrenaline 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.

«
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D
awn 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 almost 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.

He could only hope Madame Lambert would dispense some of those drugs that were so effective in wiping out unpleasant memories to her. Summer didn't need to know she'd ever seen him, and if, in the future, she was illogically repulsed by Asian men, she'd never guess why.

There were enough flights leaving Sea-Tac at the crack of dawn to make the traffic heavy, enough police that he slowed down to the legal speed limit. Taka could have waved one of his many aliases in front of any cop and gotten away with a disapproving look, but there was no need to complicate matters. Though he no longer worried about Summer saying anything. She wouldn't do aching that would keep her in his company a moment longer than necessary. She wanted her sister, she wanted to get away from him, she wanted safety and quiet, and Isobel Lambert would present just the right sort of no-nonsense presence. He imagined his boss could put on a maternal front if she wanted to; she could do just about anything.

Summer and her sister would be safe, secure and eventually happy. And he would stop thinking about her the moment he turned his back and walked away. He had become very good at walking away from things, people.

She didn't say a word when he pulled into the underground parking garage reserved for VIPs, and she followed him out of the car. In the bright artificial light of the garage she looked washed out. She had a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone, and he raised a hand for a moment to brush it away, then dropped it. He wasn't going to touch her again unless he had to.

"Don't look so woebegone," he said under his breath. "You're about to escape me. This should be the happiest day of your life."

She didn't rise to the bait. It would have been easier if she sniped at him, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. She'd won—Madame Lambert hadn't voiced any objection when he'd told her flat out during their last communiqué that he wasn't going to kill Summer. Just another few minutes and he could walk away.