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“Yes.”
“Then get there as fast you can. I’m getting both of us out of here.”
“Not that I’m ungrateful, but you want to tell me who you are?” Jilly asked, pulling onto the freeway at a speed that would have turned her father pale beneath his cultivated tan.
“Call me Isobel,” the woman said. “That’s all you need to know for now. Just drive.”
Jilly wasn’t in the mood to argue. Her mouth tasted like sawdust—probably the aftereffect of whatever Isobel had injected her with—and adrena-line was pumping through her body. She was probably a fool to trust the stranger, but anyone was preferable to the Shirosama, and her instincts about people had always been good. For the moment all she needed to do was concentrate on driving like a bat out of hell, and the rest would take care of itself.
Taka picked up his cell phone, answering it by stating a number. Summer hadn’t heard it ring, but something must have alerted him to the call.
Taka’s replies were monosyllables, and she had no idea whether he was responding to good news or bad until he turned to look at her.
“Your sister’s safe.”
The relief was so swift and unexpected that it made Summer light-headed. She hadn’t dared to even think about Jilly, too terrified to even consider it, and now that that terror was over she felt sick. “Where is she?”
“My boss got her out. They’ll be meeting you at the Oceana Air terminal at Sea-Tac. Madame Lambert is going to take you to a safe house outside of London until we can contain the Shirosama.”
“I’m supposed to trust you?”
“No,” he said. He picked up the phone. “Put her sister on.” A second later he handed the small silver device to her.
Summer felt a second of panic—after all, this tiny piece of metal and circuitry unlocked doors, turned off death traps and blew up houses. God knows what would happen if she pushed the wrong button. And then she heard Jilly’s voice coming faintly from the other end of the line, and she no longer gave a shit.
“Are you all right?” she demanded. “Did that son of a bitch hurt you?”
“I’m fine, Summer.” Her sister sounded as unflappable and in control as always. It amazed Summer that a not-quite-seventeen-year-old could be so calmly self-possessed, but it had always been that way. Jilly had been born an old soul. “I’ve been playing James Bond, but Isobel got me out in time, with a hail of bullets following us. It was very cool.”
And Summer felt very sick. “Where are you now?”
“Driving around L.A. Isobel sprained her ankle and can’t drive, but I’m used to the roads, and besides, it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. Did you hear we’re going to England?”
“Yes, I—” The phone was plucked out of her hand.
“Let me speak to Madame Lambert.” Summer could just imagine Jilly’s reaction to Taka’s cool demand, and if she’d had even an ounce of energy she would have placed a bet with herself on how long it would take Jilly to comply. But right now she was too shaken with relief to think much of anything else. Jilly was safe, and they were going to get her the hell out of the country and the reach of that crazy man.
No, they were going to get both of them out of the country. She was never going to have to see Takashi O’Brien again, a fact that should almost begin to make up for the loss of her home. She wasn’t even going to consider the other losses.
To her surprise, Jilly appeared to have handed over the telephone and a moment later Taka ended the call. No, maybe it shouldn’t surprise her. Jilly would have resisted bullying, but Taka’s calm control was very…seductive.
“What about my passport? If your boss is taking us to England, what’s she going to do about passports? Jilly’s father has hers in his safe.”
“Phony passports are child’s play,” he said. “And Madame Lambert tends to travel with diplomatic immunity. No one is going to look too closely at her companions, particularly if they’re pretty, young and innocent.”
“Yeah, that takes care of Jilly, but what about me?” Summer couldn’t believe she’d actually said such a thing out loud. Begging for compliments, reassurances, none of which she needed, thank you very much.
He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh often, and the sound was soft, momentarily beguiling. Until she remembered she hated him.
“That’s right, you’re ugly, old and jaded,” he murmured. “How could I forget?”
“If I had a gun I would kill you,” she said bitterly.
A moment later he reached under the car seat, pulling out a small, nasty-looking handgun, and put it in her lap. “It works very simply. You need to cock it first, then just point and shoot. If I were you I’d wait until we get off the highway. If you shoot me at these speeds you’ll probably end up dying as well, and I thought you were past adolescent suicide attempts. Unless you have some romantic notion of a murder-suicide.”
She picked up the gun. It was small, cold in her hand. “If you’re trying to talk me out of it you’re doing a piss-poor job.”
“I can pull off on the shoulder if you’d like. That way you could just shove me out and drive on. It’d make a bit of a mess…”
