Fire and Ice Read online

  “Here, where?” They had parked outside of a huge warehouse-type building, surrounded by a high stone wall. It looked about as welcoming as a maximum-security prison.

  “I decided it was time for you to meet my grandfather.”

  She just looked at him. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?”

  “Ojiisan is adaptable. You have to be in his line of work.”

  “He won’t mind that you lied to him?”

  “He’s not going to be pleased with me, but then, he considered me a total disgrace to have let you die in the first place. I imagine finding you still alive will take care of some of his displeasure.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m kind of hoping he’ll kick your butt,” Jilly said cheerfully.

  “If anyone could, it would be my grandfather,” he said glumly. “He won’t let anyone get to you, though. I’m putting you in his hands while I find out what the fuck is going on.”

  Suddenly she didn’t feel like needling him. “You’re leaving me?” There was no anxiety in her voice—she could be proud of that.

  “Your prayers have been answered. I dump you with Ojiisan and you never have to see me again. He’ll make arrangements for you to get home.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” He must have finally noticed something in her tone of voice, because he looked at her more closely. “Don’t tell me you aren’t as happy to get rid of me as I am to get rid of you, because I won’t believe you. I think we’ve had about as much of each other as we can stand.”

  The stupid idiot didn’t even realize that his casual words were like a blow. If she didn’t have to struggle so hard to be unaffected by them, she would have kicked him in the shins. Or burst into tears, neither of which was an option.

  “Of course,” she said, her voice cool. “I’m just wondering why you didn’t take me here before and make life a lot easier.”

  “Ojiisan has a traitor in his organization. I don’t know who, I don’t know why.”

  “And you don’t think this so-called traitor will decide to get rid of me?”

  “There’s no reason. You don’t matter—the only reason anyone was after you was to lure Taka into the open. Once you’re inside the compound, there will be dozens of men to look out for you. One traitor—even a handful of them—won’t get past the protection my grandfather can set up.”

  “You know,” she said in a conversational tone, “if you tell me I don’t matter one more time, I’m going to…to…” She struggled, trying to think of something dire enough to threaten him with. “I’m going to cry,” she said triumphantly.

  And he did look rattled at the thought. “You matter to Summer,” he said. “And I’m sure you matter to all your friends and lovers back in California. You just don’t matter to me.”

  A gun, she thought. If she had a gun she’d shoot him. As it was, all she could do was summon up her sweetest smile. “Ditto,” she said.

  “Ditto?” he echoed, his forehead wrinkling. He was wearing sunglasses again, hiding his eyes from her, hiding his expression. She considered yanking them off his face, throwing them on the ground and stomping on them.

  “Meaning, I feel the exact same way,” she said. “Take me to your grandfather so we can get this over with.”

  For once he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  The walls looked old, solid, not the sort of protection a modern building deserved. Reno pushed through one of the huge doors, past two men waiting silently, with shiny dark gray suits and unsmiling faces. “Where’s the oyabun?” he asked in Japanese. The reply was a little too fast, with a heavy accent that she couldn’t quite get, but apparently Reno understood, and he took her arm, pulling her toward the huge, anonymous building.

  She tried to yank her arm free, but his grip tightened, hard enough to leave bruises. “Don’t fight me, Jilly,” he said in a barely audible voice. “This isn’t like anyplace you’re used to. Until my grandfather takes responsibility, you’d better stay as close to me as possible.”

  “You don’t have to hold my hand,” she snapped, equally quiet.

  “Yes, I do. Get over it.”

  There were eyes watching her, both seen and unseen. Male eyes, blank and unreadable, as they passed group after group of well-dressed men with carefully arranged black hair. The yakuza army, and not a punkster among them, she thought. No wonder Reno went to such extremes.

  He stopped before a pair of black-lacquered inner doors at the end of one long hallway, and Jilly had just time enough to notice the beauty and antiquity of them, clearly taken from some much older and more historic building, when they swung open, and a massive man stood waiting, blocking the entrance with his arms crossed.

  “That’s your grandfather?” she whispered, astonished. She could see how such a huge creature could inspire panic, though Reno didn’t appear to be cowering.

  “Kobayashi-san,” he said, lowering his head slightly in greeting. Okay, not Grandpa, then. Whoever it was, he didn’t look too happy to see them.

  But Kobayashi’s own bow was lower, signifying respect. “Your grandfather is tired, young master. He wasn’t expecting you. Or the gaijin,” he added, with a pointed look in her direction. His Japanese was slow and sonorous, and she got every word of it.

  “My grandfather will welcome me,” Reno replied with the same stilted courtesy, and the huge man moved out of the way, revealing the room behind him.

  If Jilly had been in a more frivolous mood, she would have giggled. It looked like a throne room—a long approach, with a stately ruler seated at the far end, waiting for their humble approach. Except that nothing was amusing her at this point.

  Reno kept her hand in his as they moved closer, and for the first time she got a good look at the notorious oyabun, the head of the family.

  He was tiny. Old and frail, with wisps of white hair on a bald, freckled skull. Thin lips, eyes almost hidden beneath the crepey wrinkles. His suit was white, silk, exquisite. And his voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly strong.

  “What have you brought me, Grandson? Back from the dead, is she?”

  Reno bowed, so low his thick braid of hair brushed the ground, and he yanked her down with him. “We need your help, Ojiisan.”

  “I could have told you that,” the old man said. “What took you so long to come to that conclusion?” He spoke English, slow, deliberate, and Reno switched to that language, as well.

  “She should be safe at this point. The second group of Russians met with an accident, and it seems unlikely that anyone else will come after her. But just to be certain I thought she would be safest under your protection while I made a few inquiries.”

  “My people can make the inquiries. Don’t tell me you think your sources are more informed than mine.”

  Reno had risen by now, and he met his grandfather’s sharp gaze with an innocent expression that fooled no one. “The Committee can get information….”

  “The Committee is a group of overgrown children playing games,” the old man said. “I know what’s going on in my own country.”

  “Did you know that you have a traitor in your midst?”

  The room was empty—even the huge Kobayashi had disappeared, and at Reno’s simple words the old man froze. “I should have you killed for saying that,” he said, and Jilly held her breath.

  And then Reno laughed. “Ojiisan, you’re terrifying the gaijin. She doesn’t know that you couldn’t even spank me when I was growing up.”

  “It would have been better if I had,” the old man said. He turned his impenetrable gaze on Jilly, and she felt herself caught by those dark eyes. “Has my grandson taken good care of you? Has he been polite? I may not beat him, but his cousin, Takashi, will have no hesitation.”

  “He saved my life,” she said. “Twice. I can’t say much for his manners, though.”

  The oyabun gave a short bark of laughter. “I suppose that’s more important. Would you excuse us while we talk? Kobayashi will take care of you.
Has my grandson fed you?”

  “Not recently,” Reno said. “She’s been complaining all morning. She wants a shower and a chance to change her clothes.”

  “We can see to that,” the man said before Jilly could protest. A moment later Kobayashi appeared, surprisingly graceful and silent for such a large man. “Take Lovitz-san to the red room and bring her anything she needs. And make certain no one interrupts my talk with my nephew.” He had switched back to Japanese, presumably for Kobayashi’s sake.

  The big man bowed low, and Jilly had no choice but to follow him. Their discussion had nothing to do with her, and Reno had already dismissed her from his mind. He was dumping her here, and she was just as glad to get rid of him. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after the dark, tumbled moments of the night before, and now she wouldn’t have to. She was safe inside this fortress—no one would dare contravene that scary little old man. If he truly had a traitor in his midst, then Jilly could only feel sorry for him. Ojiisan was no match for a dozen bad guys, and he had Reno to back him up.

  As for her, she could just forget about Reno. He was done with her, and if she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Too bad Taka couldn’t beat the crap out of him for no reason. Maybe he’d do it as a personal favor.

  The food was divine. Miso soup, an egg dish mercifully free of tentacles and green tea. By the time she’d devoured everything, she was feeling almost human. Kobayashi had brought her backpack, and he’d shown her the bathroom connected to the room, his English brief but adequate. There was no mistaking his orders. She was to stay put until someone came and got her.

  Which was fine as far as she was concerned. It would mean she was less likely to see the red-haired, tattooed skunk….

  The shower felt so good she almost cried. There was a soaking tub, as well, but she decided to avoid that, remembering far too vividly what had happened the last time she’d lingered in a tub. Not that Reno gave a damn—he wasn’t going to come striding in here and pull her out. She’d been dismissed. Asshole.

  She pulled on her clean clothes, wishing for some reason that she’d brought a dress with her. Ojiisan was formal enough that she had the irrational urge to be on her best behavior, silly as it was. He’d have to take her as she was. He’d gotten used to Summer, and Summer was as free from vanity as Jilly was.

  The bed in the room was Western-style, and she stretched out on it, bored. There was nothing to read in the room that wasn’t in kanji, no TV, no radio. Just her and her thoughts, and at the moment they weren’t the best company. She slept for a little while, just out of sheer boredom, and when she awoke the room was in dusk-laden shadows, and she was tired of being dutiful. She needed to find Kobayashi, anyone, and find out when she was going to go home.

  She half expected the door to be locked, but it opened easily enough, and the hall was deserted. She considered calling out, then decided she didn’t want to disturb any of the brutal-looking gangsters under Ojiisan’s iron rule. Particularly if, as Reno said, they weren’t as obedient as they were supposed to be.

  She couldn’t remember where Ojiisan’s throne room, as she thought of it, was, but she was bound to run into it sooner or later. She was wearing her sneakers, when she knew she shouldn’t, but somehow wandering around this place in her socks made her feel just a little too vulnerable. Which was silly—she was under the protection of Ojiisan now. No one would dare touch her.

  She heard the murmur of voices, and like a fool she went in that direction, looking for someone, anyone, who could answer her questions.

  She saw the flash of light first, followed by a strange, popping noise. And then a thud, followed by a short, sharp word.

  She knew what that noise, that flash, was, and she should have run. Instead she was frozen, telling herself she was imagining things, telling herself no one had just been shot. It was impossible—these things didn’t happen.

  But in her new, crazy, mixed-up life on the run they happened far too often. She moved quietly, cursing even the soft squeak of her sneakers, as she crept up to the open door, telling herself it would be nothing, knowing it would be nothing.

  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.

  9

  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?

&
nbsp; 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.