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Summer had always been more like a mother to her, even though she was only twelve years older. Lianne tended to see her older daughter as a liability, disputing her own claims of youth, and her younger daughter as a fashion accessory. Ralph didn’t pay much attention at all, except to give Jilly money.
Which was fine; they trusted her implicitly and gave her no trouble. She had her life carefully arranged. She was one of those freakishly smart kids, starting her second year of college at age sixteen, and she had every intention of moving into her own apartment in the next few months. Her only problem was getting her graduate student lab partner to seduce her, but she was working on that.
In the meantime she’d been pulled out of classes and sent south on the flimsiest of excuses. The Petersens were friends of her father’s, though she couldn’t remember ever meeting them before, and they were the least likely of people to show up to whisk her out of harm’s way, particularly when that harm was a nebulous threat from some deranged stalker she’d never even heard of.
They hadn’t given her much of a chance to protest, and they watched her like hawks once they got to the remote cabin out in the desert. She’d had to wait two days until they’d finally relaxed enough to think she believed them.
It had been tricky getting past the locked doors and the dogs without causing too much noise, hence she hadn’t been able to rifle through Mildred’s purse for some much-needed cash. Jilly’s main goal was to get the hell out of there, back to L.A.
She figured as soon as she could get to a pay phone she could call her parents to find out what was happening. Even better, she could call Summer, who’d jump in her Volvo and come and get her, no questions asked. The Petersens only had cell phones, which they kept with them at all times, giving her no chance to call out. When she’d asked, they’d simply said “too dangerous” and offered her more chocolate.
It hadn’t taken her long to realize the candy was drugged. The Petersens knew she had a weakness for Rollos, and she’d spent the first two days in a daze, waking long enough to eat more chocolate before her paranoia kicked in. Jilly had made a lot of sacrifices in her life, but spitting out the chocolate when they weren’t looking had to be the hardest. When she got back, away from them, she was going to eat Rollos until she was sick, and then eat more.
But right now she was on a stretch of deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, freezing cold, hungry and pissed off. She refused to let herself be frightened; she didn’t frighten easily, and if, when she finally got a ride out of this nowhere place, her driver had other ideas, she knew how to handle that. Summer had had self-defense training, though she’d never said why. It had something to do with Summer’s childhood, Jilly expected, and her big sister would tell her when the time was right. In the meantime Jilly had learned from Summer—learned to disable a two hundred and fifty pound man in a matter of seconds.
There were headlights in the distance, coming down the straight, empty highway, and Jilly felt a wave of relief. Rescue was at hand, even if she ended up fighting for it. As the car drove closer her relief grew, and she dropped her thumb and waited until the white limo pulled up beside her, the driver lowered his window and his shaved head poked out. “His holiness has come for you, little one.”
Jilly despised being called “little one,” particularly since she was almost five-eleven, and she found the pasty white Shirosama revolting. But as she’d already decided, beggars could not be choosers.
“Thank God,” she said. And she climbed into the back of the limo.
9
The interior of the old car was very dark as Taka crawled inside it. Summer tried to scoot away from him, but even in a huge touring car there was only so much room, and he caught her easily, pulling her under him, trapping her beneath his body.
She didn’t fight him. Even in the shadows he could see her eyes, a clear blue, staring up at him, and he could see the fear she was trying to hide. The longer he drew this out the harder it would be for her, and he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her jaw, her throat, stroking, knowing he was going to have to exert
pressure.
She was so soft beneath him. He liked hard bodies, slight women, thin and muscled. She was like nothing he’d ever looked at twice, and she was so deliciously soft.
He wanted to kiss her mouth, just to see if it was as soft as the rest of her. He could kiss her, and she wouldn’t even know she was dying as he did it.
She knew what was coming, she had to, and she closed her eyes, shutting him out, lost, resigned, and he moved closer, resting his forehead against hers, breathing slowly. His fingers were cradling her neck, his thumbs stroking her throat. He thought about the scars on her wrists, the darkness in her eyes. Maybe he was giving her what she really wanted, maybe not. He only knew he had no choice. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but that was absurd, when he’d never been sorry before.
She was utterly still beneath him, though he could feel the panicked fluttering of her heart, which would soon be stilled.
He’d touched her lips with his, a benediction and a farewell, his thumbs beginning to press, when the mobile in his pocket began to vibrate.
He pulled away from her quickly, as if her skin burned him, and climbed out of the car, flipping open the mobile phone that was like no ordinary communicator.
He had his back to her, and he half expected her to make a run for it. He didn’t want to have to chase her down—it would only make things harder—but he needed to concentrate on the message. And maybe, just maybe he could let her go….
But then someone else would get her, hurt her a great deal more than he ever would, just to find the hidden shrine. She might not even know where it was located, and she would die in excruciating pain. Or she would tell them, the pain would be the same, even more people would die and all hell could break loose. Now wasn’t the time for mercy—look where it had gotten him the last time.
Once he retrieved the message, he severed the connection, then turned back to the car. Summer was sitting in the open doorway, but in the shadows he couldn’t read her face. Just as well. He didn’t have time to consider what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
“Time to go,” he said.
She stood up, bracing herself on the side of the car for a moment, then took a step forward. She was shaken, but still strong. At least she wouldn’t hold him up.
He went to pick up the urn, and she moved out of his way, so he wouldn’t brush against her. He grabbed the bowl and brought it out into the marginally better light.
He yanked off his jacket and wrapped it carefully round the bowl. Summer had made no effort to run, but stood waiting for him. He led her out of the garage, shutting the door behind them and listening to the locks reengage. Then he took her hand.
It was cold, she was cold, and she wouldn’t look at him. It didn’t matter, as long as she didn’t resist. But of course she wouldn’t. He was death and he suspected she’d been seeking him on and off for most of her life.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said. And she let him lead her back to the car in silence.
