Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [89]
O’Brien had too many friends, however—the shadow organization he worked for, the Yakuza, the Japanese government. Alone, none was any match for the Shirosama’s vision and the devotion of his followers. Combined, they could prove to be a problem.
Takashi had taken her to Japan, not a good sign, but they were in Tokyo, so for now things were safe. Two more days to the Lunar New Year and all would reveal itself as it was meant to be.
And Takashi O’Brien and his American whore would no longer pose a threat.
Takashi sat and watched as the exquisite stranger opposite him tucked into her oyakudon with a deftness that was both unexpected and unnerving. He’d steered her toward a little street corner restaurant, planning on giving her a simplistic explanation of the vending machine, but Summer had gone straight for the chicken and egg dish and the miso soup. It should have come as no surprise—with Hana Hayashi as her nanny, miso soup would be as common as chicken soup, and oyakudon was the Japanese equivalent of comfort food. Still, it made him uneasy, particularly when she thanked the cook with just the right intonation of “arigato gozaimasu.” The cook had beamed at her, and Taka had glowered at him.
Her color was better. For a moment there on the street he’d been afraid she was going to pass out, not a good way to avoid unwanted attention. They had two days until the Lunar New Year, and the Shirosama’s noose was drawing tighter. Taka didn’t have time to spend scooping her up off the sidewalk or explaining to helpful policemen what was wrong with his American wife.
He shouldn’t have brought her to Japan—he knew that now. He could have found someplace safe to stash her if he’d just tried a little harder. He was making mistakes right and left, a dangerous thing for someone in his position. At any other time he never would have trusted the man he thought was Crosby—all his instincts would have been alerted.
But Summer Hawthorne had managed to block his radar, and he’d abandoned her without the necessary precautions. And she’d almost died because of it.
He’d been so damn crazy with fear that he hadn’t stopped to consider other choices; he’d just dragged her onto the plane with him, figuring he’d find somewhere to stash her once he got home.
Wrong. His uncle’s place was out, his own apartment was far too dangerous to go near, and there were members of the Fellowship working at all the major hotels.
Takashi had known the moment she’d bolted out of her seat on the plane in the middle of the night that his reasons for bringing her had nothing to do with necessity and more to do with choice. He had known that when he got up and followed her into the first class lavatory, shutting the door behind them.
He knew when he fucked her into compliance—telling himself it was to calm her, screw her into oblivion—that it was his own oblivion he craved.
He had two choices—a ryokan or Reno’s place. Reno’s was probably the best choice, though the hostility was coming off his little cousin in waves. It wasn’t Taka’s place to tell Summer why Reno hated Americans—she could just assume it was casual racism. A ryokan was probably a bad idea; the traditional inns were one of the last remnants of the old Japan that the Shirosama was so eager to bring back and he’d likely have moles strategically placed.
Taka was going to have to wait a little longer for his bath. In the meantime Reno’s place would have to do. And he was going to have to ignore the fact that it was the height of Tokyo luxury—two very tiny rooms crammed with things, including Reno’s beloved Harley.
“You ready?”
Summer was chasing the last grain of rice with her chopsticks, and doing it with surprising deftness. She probably knew how to pour sake and arrange ikebana, he thought sourly.
The food had made her