Travis Justice (9 page)

But he merely gave Kai a respectful half nod, half bow, as he entered. Kai wore his usual black attire, with a katana in the sheath on his back and the shorter blade, the
tanto
, in his belt. “Welcome,” Kai said in Japanese, slightly bowing in return. He swept a hand at the low couch, but Ernie folded his long form before the long, low coffee table, sitting on a cushion, as he knew Kai would sit across from him. He didn't want to tower any more over the shorter man than he already did.

Quite literally bad form. Ernie began: “Kai, I appreciate your faith in me, but I haven't been an official sensei for many years.”

Kai shrugged. “Practice first. It will come back to you. I would not be the swordsman I am today without your tutelage.” Suddenly, he leaned forward very intently. “It isn't just my men I want you to teach. It's Takeo. He's at the perfect age to start the discipline. I've tried to teach him, but . . .” He waved a frustrated hand. “He's more interested in painting. And he already knows you and likes you.”

Ernie accepted the heated cup of sake Kai offered and sipped slowly, searching for the right words. He said slowly, “But I understood that he'd be going back to his mother soon.”

Kai slammed his sake cup down so hard a bit of liquid sloshed on his wrist. “Hana told you this?”

Ernie nodded.

“Takeo will stay with me. He's my son and needs a firm hand.”

“You know they arrested us both when we broke into the transit company safe?”

Kai nodded shortly. “This is why my men were so cautious and searched you for a wire. But your loyalties to Hana will have no bearing on your role here, because you will not see her until I am satisfied with Takeo's progress and my . . . business negotiations are complete. You will be my guest. For an extended stay.”

Silvery eyes met black across the low table. Ernie didn't miss the slightly menacing gesture as Kai's hand lowered to the hilt of his
tanto
. This, he had not expected. He'd been instructed by his DEA handler to make note of every ingress and egress, the security, the number of guards, any signs of an escape tunnel, the timing of the watch shifts, and so on. But they hadn't dared put a wire on him, for which he was now grateful. How the hell was he to contact them from this fortress?

He tried a feeble protest. “But I don't have any spare clothes, no razor, no—”

Rising, Kai clapped his hands sharply. A diminutive girl of mixed Asian heritage entered the room, her eyes downcast. “She will take you to your room. I'll allow you to get settled and I'll have you escorted into the ring in an hour. You'll find proper attire in your room.”

Ernie also rose. “As you wish.” But as he followed the girl to the door under Kai's watchful gaze, Ernie couldn't avoid his own subtle warning. He turned and said slowly, “Hana won't give up on the sword, Kai. Surely you know that. What happens if she brings it to you? Will you honor your bargain with her?”

Kai shrugged. “I won't have to. Now they know she's after it, she'd have to get past the mighty Texas Rangers and one of the most respected and wealthy families in Texas to steal the sword. She'll never touch it. Takeo is mine.”

* * *

Inside Jiji's hospital room, Zach sat on an institutional vinyl chair with the katana across his knees. Slowly, he offered it to Hana across the small gap between their two chairs. “My father and his group have agreed to loan it to you for a short time. Until we secure your son's release. I don't need to remind you how important it is you keep it safe.”

“It will not leave my side, even when I sleep. I swear it.”

Their hands touched when she reached for the sword. They both flinched slightly at the electrical current that flashed from him to her and back. But when she at last held the sword in her lap, her eyes misted. “I have you to thank for this, don't I?”

Zach merely smiled. “I was watching you go through the samurai stations while you were being questioned. It's vividly apparent this sword is part of your blood. I can't imagine anyone else using it with such grace and skill. It almost . . . cleaves to you.”

“And I to it.” Hana rose and carefully unwrapped the blade. She unsheathed it, holding it out to her grandfather on her extended arms. She bowed deeply. “Jiji, as I promised, here is the Nakatomi katana Masamune made for our ancestor. With my eternal gratitude and devotion.”

Jiji struggled to sit up. Hana pushed the bed remote to raise the bed, but Zach gently caught the frail old man and lifted him until he could prop pillows behind his back.

Jiji's hands trembled as he lovingly followed with his finger the long groove running the length of the slightly curved blade. He traced the diamond pattern on the hilt, following the pattern to the guard, which still showed a bit of the original gilding. Finally, he turned it slightly, with obvious effort, to look at his own reflection in the shining steel. He whispered something in Japanese.

When Hana had to turn away, obviously moved, Zach asked, “What did he say?”

Hana said shakily, “He said, ‘You brought me the soul of my ancestors. I will forever be in your debt. The memory of it will guard me as I travel on my final journey.' ”

Zach had to swallow a lump in his throat too. He recalled reading a favorite Japanese saying:
The sword is the soul of the samurai
.

Jiji did something very strange, then. Turning the blade with obvious effort, he touched his forefinger quite deliberately on the razor-sharp edge and pressed hard enough to draw blood.

Zach moved forward to stop him, but Hana caught his arm and shook her head. “Let him do this,” she mouthed.

Zach froze. As he watched, Jiji ran his bloody finger down the entire length of the blade, leaving a trail of red. Then, with a contented sigh, he subsided against his pillows. Hana snatched a Kleenex from the bedside and wrapped it around Jiji's small cut.

Zach was still mystified and Jiji must have sensed his confusion. The old man whispered, “Now my blood marks it too. It is the only thing of value I can give in honor of my ancestors.”

Now Zach understood.

“Young man,” Jiji said even more softly.

Zach moved close.

“I know our sword has much value. But it belongs with my heirs. Hana. Takeo. Find a way to keep it with her, in honor of your own ancestors. It may save your life one day. . . .” Jiji's voice grew softer and softer.

His eyes fluttered, and he went inert against the pillows as if his last store of energy had been exhausted. The sword slipped down on the covers, leaving a little trail of red, but he still held the hilt as if he couldn't bear to let it go. In a moment, his breathing evened. Exhausted, he slept. The blade sagged down to his lap, almost falling to the floor. Hana picked it up and used a paper towel, dampened in Jiji's sink, to wipe the blade until it gleamed again. Still holding it in one hand, she leaned over and kissed his brow.

“He's exhausted.”

“What do the doctors say?”

Hana shook her head. “They can only treat his pain. The cancer has spread.”

Slowly, very reluctantly, she wrapped the sword again and offered it to him. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” Her eyes widened when he refused to take the sword.

“I got my father and his partners to agree to let you keep it until . . . until . . .” He took a deep breath. “For Takeo. If Kai wants it so badly, it should give you some leverage. We'll recover it during the raid.”

Hana was so shocked that she was, for once, speechless.

Then she did something that left him equally speechless.

She kissed him.

A
s kisses went, it didn't quite cause an earthquake, but it shook both of them in a far more fundamental way: their preconceptions. Hana had only intended to give him a quick buss of gratitude, but the touch of his lips—warm, surprisingly soft—tempted her to linger. Curious at first, she only slid her lips gently from side to side, but since he was utterly still, she had free reign.

That knowledge made her exploration all the more pleasurable. What was this tough, arrogant heir to a dynastic Texas family, the same man who was responsible for arresting her, doing trusting her with something so precious? Why had he come, really, with a deadly sword as a peace offering?

In the taste of his lips, she found no answers, only more delicious questions.

What would all that smooth skin lightly dusted with hair feel like against hers?

Would he be as athletic and powerful in bed as he was in hand-to-hand combat?

Would he be that ultimate paradox every woman pined for? Strong enough for true gentleness, with nothing to prove but pleasure given and returned?

She had to know . . . she opened her mouth to him in invitation.

The next thing she knew, she felt him closing the half-open door. He lockstepped her to the wall beside it, as he'd lockstepped her once before an eon ago in his father's study when he planned to call the police. But this time, his posture wasn't angry.

Still, his intent was more dangerous to her than a mere arrest: He meant to pleasure her into surrender. Tilting her head back with a gentle tug on her hair, he wrapped his other arm about her slim form and settled against her so she could feel every inch of him. So different, yet so complementary. She'd almost forgotten. How long now had it been? Three years; no, almost four . . .

And then recollections were beyond her, for he'd tired of her light, teasing, side-to-side kiss using only her lips. He slanted his head sideways to fuse his mouth with hers. Warm, no longer gentle, demanding she give in to the sexual tension that had been brewing between them since the moment they'd met. His touch matched the deepening contact of his mouth, exploring, stroking the curve of her waist down to her hips. As if he needed to know her in every sense too. His hand lightly skimmed the underside of her breast.

When she gasped, he caught it with a soft little laugh. He nudged her lips wider, pressing deeper still, and then she felt the sting of his teeth pulling at her lower lip. But he didn't thrust his tongue inside. He knew what she wanted, but he only moved his lips in a gentle suckle, his clean breath mingling with hers, at the same time caressing her side. Fire licked his path, as if she were the tinder; he, the flint. Her breathing quickened. No, this wasn't enough. She wrapped her arms around his waist, trying to get closer still. She felt his ultimate male response, hard at her abdomen, but he wasn't so crass as to grind into her. He left the next moves up to her.

When she squirmed slightly, he moved back immediately, and on some level she wouldn't understand until later, she knew he'd read her fear of confinement. That he would never use his superior strength to hurt her, as Kai had.

The last of her fear faded away, leaving only the moment.

She drew her mouth away long enough to manage a garbled, “Let me . . .”

He leaned back from the waist to give her room, still leaving her lower body tangled with his. His right leg was thrust forward, his booted foot planted between hers to leave her slightly off balance on the ugly green hospital linoleum.

Strange. She was his prisoner, trapped between his hard form and the wall, but she didn't feel threatened.

His voice was more of a purr, and it sent shivers down her spine. “What do you want, Hana? Tell me.”

Hana looked over at her sleeping grandfather. The opposite bed was still empty because the other occupant was in physical therapy. She looked back up at the handsome face looming above her. For a long moment of pure promise in a place where people died, their gazes locked. The depth of feeling they'd shared by kiss and touch was affirmed in that exchange of glances.

Straightening to her full height, her shining ebony gaze plumbing his, Hana said simply, “This is what I want.”

She caught that beautiful face between her hands and pulled his head down to her level. Tilting her head sideways until his shoulder and throat were bathed in the silky warmth of her long hair, she kissed him. No hesitation, no shyness. Full bore.

She was no longer a girl grown up too soon.

He'd tempted her to become a woman who knew what she wanted.

She dipped her tongue between his lips, urging them wider. This time it was she who swallowed his little exhalation as he helplessly opened to her need. She explored his perfect teeth, running the tip of her tongue along the rim, then tasting the vulnerable skin lining his mouth, circling around in a touch so dainty she wondered if he felt it. God, he tasted good....

He felt it. With a groan, he caught her so tightly into his embrace that she had to go on the tips of her toes. Pulling her away from the wall, he bent her back over his arms until her hair almost brushed the floor. Then he consumed her. No other word fit his insatiable hunger. Now that she'd finally invited him in, he took full liberty. He thrust into her mouth in the little duel that presaged a greater intimacy, male and female no longer opposing, but moving together in one joyful leap and retreat, leap and retreat.

The little muscle of his tongue did to her mouth what the larger muscle below promised, erect and pulsing against her abdomen. And as she reveled in the most moving, intimate kiss of her life, she used all she had, all she longed to be, in response. She kissed him back deeply; tongue, lips, teeth. For the first time in years, she felt that warm feminine moisture lubricating his way. His throbbing called to her own, and if he'd pressed her down on the vacant hospital bed, she would have opened to him, craving to be sundered, to revel in her femininity as he filled her to brimming.

A slight cough.

They didn't hear it at first because Zach was indeed half walking, half carrying her, to the bed. Then a firm, “Excuse me, it's time to bathe Mr. Nakatomi.”

With a shuddering sigh, Zach raised his drugging mouth. It still took a couple of seconds for Hana's senses to clear. Then Zach pushed her away. She stumbled, her knees literally weak in a way totally foreign to her, and he had to catch her shoulders to support her.

At the disapproving look of the portly, middle-aged nurse, Hana blushed. She looked between Zach and the nurse, her teeth biting her lip. She winced, only then realizing her lips were sore and a bit puffy.

“Uh, sorry.” Grabbing up the sword, she managed, “I'll keep it safe,” and fled, not once looking at Zach.

But he watched her leave, his eyes midnight blue with promise.

* * *

A few hours later, in Kai's cavernous basement-cave beneath the house, Ernie climbed out of the practice ring. From the time he'd investigated his spartan quarters to this moment, he'd been watched. While he'd carefully observed the rooms lining the huge cavern as he made his way into the ring, he'd seen nothing resembling a communications room or computers that would allow him to contact Ms. Doyle and tell her he was being held. Kai had watched him for a bit, then left when he was summoned by his men.

Still, the Rangers would know soon enough when he didn't keep his prearranged intel meeting tomorrow. For now, he concentrated on impressing his captors with his karate skills. First alone, then with a punching bag, he went smoothly from the various
tsuki-waza
punching moves to the
geri
or kicking, moves, and so on. While he hadn't trained anyone in years, he still regularly practiced in his own small ring, so honing skills perfected since his twenties was not difficult. The various stations were second nature to him.

When he kicked the bag with the side of his foot in the
yoko geri
move, his long form making an L shape, the thump echoed throughout the cavern. The heavy bag went almost perpendicular. Panting slightly, he looked out at the two men sitting quietly, watching him.

Watching him with AK-47s held at the ready.

One of them gave him a head nod in salutation. Ernie put his hands together and bowed deeply in return. Then he tightened his obi a bit as he climbed out of the ring, using a towel to wipe away his sweat. He approached the man who seemed to be head guard. “Kai said I could see Takeo when I was finished.”

The man jerked his head back toward the circular staircase. “Back into the house. You are to have dinner with him.”

Ernie climbed back up the stairs, well aware that he was tailed with a machine gun, not quite pointed at his back but at the ready at the slightest provocation. Ernie scowled, hating his helplessness, but he couldn't even protest.

Suck it up, stay subservient.
Right now, Takeo was the priority.

Ernie was allowed to shower and change, and then he was escorted into a dining room with oak floors, ogee molding, and a sleek inlaid Japanese table centered on a gorgeous silk Oriental rug. Two places were set, smaller dishes and chopsticks at the head of the table. Takeo was to sit in the place of authority. Ernie wondered if the boy would even know what that meant. Or care. He hoped not, but if Kai had the raising of him, he'd soon enough have the same sense of privilege and superiority as his father.

Takeo came into the room, wearing thonged clogs, white socks, loose trousers, and a shirt tucked into an intricately tied cloth belt. He seemed a bit awkward in the clogs, but when he saw Ernie he ran forward easily enough.

His round little face lit up. “Uncle Ernie!”

A catch in his throat, Ernie bent to Takeo's level and hugged the stocky little figure. “How you doing, bud? Your mom misses you.”

“When is she coming? My papa says I'll be seeing her soon.”

Ernie helped get Takeo situated on a couple of cushions before taking his own seat, set at Takeo's right. He knew the same two guards were both watching and listening, so he had to be very careful what he said. “So do you take your other lessons, Takeo, reading and writing?”

Takeo nodded, manipulating his chopsticks expertly to bring bits of rice and steak to his mouth. His mouth full, he said, “My papa trains me. I rise, have breakfast, exercise, study, practice my kanji characters, have lunch, go into the ring with my papa, bathe, read, and after supper I learn about my samurai ancestors. Sometimes Papa reads to me before I sleep.”

Inwardly cursing Kai's strict regimen, Ernie said gently, “When do you get to have fun?”

Takeo tilted his head as if he'd not thought lately of the concept. “I don't have any friends here, but sometimes my papa lets me play with the dogs.” He finished his food, wiping his mouth politely. For the first time, he looked sad. “But I miss Mama.”

“She misses you too, bud. Tons.” Ernie hesitated, wondering if he could get in a whispered comment that his mother would be coming for him, but he felt their hovering company and repressed the urge. He was glad of that because in the next moment Kai entered with his usual leashed power and silence.

Ernie wondered when Kai would start training Takeo in the darkest ninja arts. That would probably be next.

Kai looked between them, his face unreadable as he asked, “Takeo, are you happy to see your new teacher?”

Takeo looked curiously at his “uncle.” “I've seen Mama practice with Uncle Ernie. She told me it was too soon for me to take such lessons. She wanted me to concentrate on my painting and reading and writing.”

Kai waved a dismissive hand. “You are a much bigger boy than she thought. I was in the ring at three.”

Yeah, and look how that turned out
, Ernie wanted to butt in, but held his tongue.

Kai bestowed a rare smile on his son. His severity relaxed, making his face very handsome, almost as if, before he perfected the art of killing, he'd been a charming young man of fitting temperament for Hana. “You have worked hard, Takeo. Your uncle Ernie will train you, as he trained me, and you will be a fitting leader of men to take my place when I am gone.”

Takeo frowned. “Are you going somewhere,
Otosan
?”

Kai shook his head, his smile fading. “Don't be obtuse. Do as you are told and tomorrow, I may let you have an hour with your Legos.”

Takeo beamed. When his father gave him a perfunctory hug, he clung to Kai's neck. Kai patted his back awkwardly, but Ernie saw the look on his face.

How was it possible to be so tough on a child you obviously loved as Kai loved Takeo? Ernie knew the answer: when you're the rebellious only son of a Yakuza boss. In Kai's twisted logic, he wasn't warping his son. He was teaching him to be strong.

Resolving to do all he could to keep the boy away from his father, Ernie wiped his mouth to hide his disgust as Kai lifted his head to smile his pride at his old teacher.

* * *

The next afternoon, when Ernie didn't make his meeting with Abigail, she waited a full hour in the dusty stacks of the Perry-Casteñeda Library at the University of Texas. He'd suggested the meeting place because he knew it was a locale neither Kai nor his men ever frequented.

For the umpteenth time, she checked both texts and e-mails on her encrypted smart phone, looking for a message from him. Of course, he could have skipped. They hadn't dared to put an ankle tracker on him since he was becoming a confidential informant. But on some level she didn't want to acknowledge, she knew Ernie wouldn't desert Hana and Takeo. His love for both had shined through too brightly in the interrogation to be a lie.

She waited a few more moments, then—her long face drawn with concern—she rose and sought out the elevator. Tonight had been planned to duplicate Hana's transport to Kai's compound, right down to a similar van and blindfold. But if Ernie was missing, the mission had changed. Locate the compound, yes, but should they also raid it? Or delay?