Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [64]
“I don’t just want the urn,” he said, shining the light over it. “I want everything else Hana Hayashi gave you.”
“I told you—the urn, a book and two kimono.”
“I’ll take them all.”
“You can’t—” Foolish protest, and he didn’t bother to answer. He could do anything he wanted.
“Do what you want,” she said finally, wearily. “I’m going to sit in the living room. The sooner we’re out of here the better.”
He said nothing, moving aside to let her leave the room. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling safe there again; with the kimono gone there’d be nothing left of Hana, replaced by the toxic presence of the man who’d started out rescuing her and ended up her kidnapper. Maybe, eventually, she’d wipe his memory out of the place. Open all the windows to let the sea air blow through, burn the sage sticks that New Agey Micah had given her. He’d loved this place, as well.
She walked into the darkened living room, dragging a heavy oak bench up to the bank of windows so that she could sit. The moon was bright and strong, providing some illumination, and she reached up and opened one of the casements, letting the cool night breeze in, rich with the tang of sea salt and cedar. She sat very still, looking out into the night, trying to shut out the noise from the bedroom. Trying to shut out the noise from her mind.
She ought to run. She had finally given Takashi O’Brien what he wanted, and he was too busy in her bedroom to pay any attention to her. Besides, she was of no value anymore. If she ran he’d probably just let her go.
So why wasn’t she running?
He said someone was going to help her sister, who was caught up in the same helpless mess that she was. Could Summer believe him? In fact, he was very good at rescuing—he’d saved her life at least three times, maybe more if you counted the fact that she’d almost electrocuted herself in that über suburban house. A safe house, he’d called it. She’d never been less safe in her life. Maybe he’d also saved her by just keeping her away from the Shirosama’s goons. If whoever had gone after Jilly was as efficient, then her sister would be safe.
But Taka might have lied. Although he hadn’t actually lied that much to her, he had let her assume things that weren’t true. That he was there to help her.
In truth, he’d told her he was no guardian angel, no rescuer. She’d just chosen not to believe him. Idiot.
When this was all over she’d bring Jilly back here, to the place she loved, and the two of them would heal. Far away from L.A. and her mother’s latest enthusiasm and the Shirosama’s goons. Far away from Little Tokyo and the Sansone Museum and the Santa Monica Mountains. Far away from anything that would remind her of Takashi O’Brien.
The trunk itself was a thing of beauty. Taka lifted it down from the top shelf of Summer’s closet very carefully. It was Chinese, which amused him. Hana Hayashi must have chosen it on purpose, knowing how much it would gall her ancestors. He opened it, and the Hayashi Urn lay there in ice blue glory.
He picked up the treasure carefully, turning it in his hands. How had he ever mistaken those copies for the real thing? This glowed with an almost unearthly light, enough to tempt him to believe in the myths surrounding it.
In the bottom of the trunk lay the book of haiku, handwritten in kanji. He wondered why Summer had kept it. Had Hana Hayashi told her to? Or had it been out of sentiment?
She’d lied about the kimono on the wall, but then, he’d expected that. It was a beautiful thing, embroidered and painted with chrysanthemums, and he stared at it a long time.
The chrysanthemums were another conundrum, one he couldn’t quite fathom. They were the flower of royalty….