Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [30]
“A religion that condones murder?”
“Most of them do, as long as they believe their cause is just. And they all believe that.” Takashi started to open the car door, and she put her hand on his arm to stop him. It was a strange sensation—he’d touched her any number of times as he’d snatched her out of danger, but she couldn’t remember ever reaching out to him.
His arm was hard and strong beneath his jacket, and he could pull away easily, but he stopped, looking at her in the darkened car.
“Please,” she said in a low voice. “It’s not my mother I’m worried about.”
“Your little sister is gone.”
Relief flooded Summer for a moment, then suspicion followed. “How did you know about my sister?”
“I know everything about you. Your sister is visiting friends in the country, and she won’t be coming back anytime soon. At least, not until this is settled. We’ve made sure she can’t be found easily, and she has no idea what’s going on. You don’t need to worry about her.”
Summer stared at him. “‘We made sure’?” she echoed. “Who the hell are you?”
He didn’t answer, and she no longer expected him to. The only thing she knew for sure was that he was no Japanese bureaucrat.
And he was about to break into her stepfather’s mansion, an act that would only bring unwanted attention to her baby sister. Protecting Jilly was the one thing even more important than Summer’s promise to Hana, and she wasn’t going to screw that up.
“It’s at Micah’s house,” she blurted out.
Taka didn’t seem particularly gratified by her sudden surge of honesty. “And why would it be there?”
“Because Micah was the one who made the…copy.” Her hesitation was so slight he couldn’t have noticed. The last thing he needed to know was that there was more than one forgery floating around.
“All right,” he said, starting the car once more.
“We can’t go there. Don’t you think the police will be all over the place because of Micah’s death? They’re not going to let us waltz in and search for it. And his friends will probably be there as well—” Her voice broke. Not in tears, never in tears. But simply raw pain.
“His body hasn’t been identified yet. When it is, someone will see to it that the police don’t make it public until I give the word. No one will bother us.” He pulled out into the street, heading west, toward Micah’s run-down Spanish-style villa, with unerring certainty.
It took Summer a moment to gather her wits. “What do you mean, he hasn’t been identified yet? You told me…”
“My people know. A lesson for you, Dr. Hawthorne. My people know everything.”
“And your people have the power to control the LAPD?”
His half smile was the epitome of cynicism. “A lot of people do. How could you have lived twenty-eight years and still be so innocent?”
She was past being surprised that he knew her age—he was heading directly for Micah’s house. What else did he know?
A cold sweat broke out. Did he really know everything, including the sordid details of her childhood? Was he privy to secrets buried so deeply that even she had managed to suppress them?
“I’m not innocent,” she said in a tight voice.
Thank God he didn’t look at her. “Maybe not. But you’ve lived a rarified life, safe in academia and then locked away in a museum, untouchable. And one short-term affair doesn’t make for a raft of sexual experience.”
Her sense of panic was growing worse and worse, and she knew she should change the subject, because if he knew, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. But she couldn’t stop. “Maybe I’m not