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“Just stop it!” She moved to drop the gun into his lap, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. She let go of the gun, and it fell on the floor at his side. He kicked it under his seat without slowing his speed, but kept hold of her hand. She curled it into a fist, but didn’t try to break free. Even when he brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of her wrist.
“You’re going to be rid of me in just a few more hours,” he said gently. “And then you can forget I ever existed. It would be better that way. Madame Lambert even has drugs that will help you, so that after a while it will all seem like nothing more than a bad dream.”
“And how am I going to think of the cottage you blew up?” Why wasn’t she pulling away? Why was the touch of his mouth on her skin making heat pool deep between her legs?
“As a necessary loss,” he said. He released her hand back in her own lap. “Sometimes you give up what you love to stay alive.”
“Have you ever had to do that?”
He turned his head to look at her for so long it should have been dangerous, but he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the road. “It’s coming,” he said.
And he turned away, driving into the slowly dawning day.
18
Dawn couldn’t come soon enough. He had to get her out of his life as quickly as possible. It was becoming the most important thing—more important than breathing, living. He needed to get away from her, fast. Because he didn’t want to let her go.
Taka had absolutely no idea what kind of insanity had decided to land on his head. He’d alm
ost gotten them killed back on Bainbridge, all because he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He could come up with a million excuses, all plausible, all lies. Everything boiled down to one simple thing. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to make her cry again. He wanted her, maddening though she was, and the moment he let her go it would be forever.
Had he ever given up something he loved in order to stay alive? Destroyed it? What had made her ask that question, and what had made him come up with the instant answer that he’d somehow managed to silence? It was her.
She’d shut herself off again, and as the morning light filled the car he let himself watch her. She was pale and drawn, with violet patches beneath her eyes, the scattering of golden freckles across her nose. She’d managed to braid her long hair again, but it was coming loose, tangling on her shoulders. He wanted to untie her hair and bury his face in it, breathe in the smell of it.
Hell, it probably smelled of smoke and ashes from the explosion they’d just barely managed to outrun. Her skin would smell of fear. But he wanted to drown in it anyway.
He was insane. Out of his fucking mind, and she had no idea. He’d prefer to keep it that way. He just needed a little space to put his head back together again. Once he got away from her, he’d forget all about her.
And that moment couldn’t come a second too soon for her. He could see the iron tension in her body, her averted profile, the stubborn set to her mouth. He’d never had the chance to really appreciate her mouth and what it could do. At least he could be thankful for small favors.
The plan was all set. Madame Lambert would take Summer and her sister to England, stash them with Peter and his wife, while Taka headed in the opposite direction, to Japan. To place the goddamn urn into the hands of the Japanese government, through the kindly services of his great-uncle Hiro. That would stop the Shirosama’s forward momentum, give them enough time to find the site of the temple and destroy whatever was left there. Give them time to find where the cache of weapons was, the biological and chemical plagues that the brethren’s Ministry of Science had been compiling. Time enough to save the world.
He could only hope Madame Lambert would dispense some of those drugs that were so effective in wiping out unpleasant memories to her. Summer didn’t need to know she’d ever seen him, and if, in the future, she was illogically repulsed by Asian men, she’d never guess why.
There were enough flights leaving Sea-Tac at the crack of dawn to make the traffic heavy, enough police that he slowed down to the legal speed limit. Taka could have waved one of his many aliases in front of any cop and gotten away with a disapproving look, but there was no need to complicate matters. Though he no longer worried about Summer saying anything. She wouldn’t do a thing that would keep her in his company a moment longer than necessary. She wanted her sister, she wanted to get away from him, she wanted safety and quiet, and Isobel Lambert would present just the right sort of no-nonsense presence. He imagined his boss could put on a maternal front if she wanted to; she could do just about anything.
Summer and her sister would be safe, secure and eventually happy. And he would stop thinking about her the moment he turned his back and walked away. He had become very good at walking away from things, people.
She didn’t say a word when he pulled into the underground parking garage reserved for VIPs, and she followed him out of the car. In the bright artificial light of the garage she looked washed out. She had a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone, and he raised a hand for a moment to brush it away, then dropped it. He wasn’t going to touch her again unless he had to.
“Don’t look so woebegone,” he said under his breath. “You’re about to escape me. This should be the happiest day of your life.”
She didn’t rise to the bait. It would have been easier if she sniped at him, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. She’d won—Madame Lambert hadn’t voiced any objection when he’d told her flat out during their last communiqué that he wasn’t going to kill Summer. Just another few minutes and he could walk away.
He took her arm as they walked into the lower level of the terminal, and after an initial start she didn’t try to pull away, instead letting him lead her through the almost empty corridors, up into the busier sections. She remained quiet when he took her through the security gate reserved for workers, and after one glance at his ID none of the TSA workers said a word, ignoring her and waving them through. She kept up with him, mute and seemingly miserable, and he thought he could probably let go of her arm.
But he didn’t. He wanted to touch her, sick bastard that he was. Until the last possible moment, he wanted to hold on to her.
They reached gate 11. The man Isobel Lambert had arranged for, Crosby, was waiting for them, dressed in the uniform of a maintenance worker, cap pulled low on his head, pushing a bucket and mop. Taka could just imagine what kind of firepower was in that bucket if anyone came near Summer. No one would—they’d covered their tracks too well this time, but it was reassuring that he was there.
There were just the right number of people in the terminal—enough to keep things safe, not too many that they’d interfere or cause problems. Gate 11 was deserted—the next flight out was five hours later—and Taka pushed her into one of the hard plastic seats facing the walkway. He could have stashed her in one of the VIP lounges, but that’s where the Shirosama’s buddies would be looking for her. Better to be out in the open. Madame Lambert had picked this place, and she knew as well as anyone the best possible spot for a pickup.
Taka finally let go of Summer, because he had no more reason to touch her. He glanced at his watch, needing to walk away, fast.
“Madame Lambert will be here in forty-five minutes. In the meantime Crosby’s over there with the mop, and he’ll be looking out for you. No one will bother you. If anyone tries, just scream as loud as you can.”
Summer gazed up at him, and for a moment he froze. “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re about to get everything you want. Your sister, safety—and you’ll never have to see me again. Why are you looking stricken?”
