It wouldn’t take much pressure. He could even kiss her, if that’s what she wanted, and by the time he lifted his mouth she’d be gone. So easy, all of it. So logical, sensible.
He didn’t need her help in retrieving the Hayashi Urn from the museum—he was one of the Committee’s acknowledged experts at breaking and entering. When she died she’d take her secrets with her, the safest option all around. As long as she lived there was a good chance the Shirosama would get his hands on her and the secrets she didn’t know she carried. Once she was dead that danger was gone.
Taka tightened his grip on her neck, exerting just a tiny bit of pressure, and he saw the sudden doubt in her eyes. He needed to move fast, because he didn’t want that doubt to increase, to turn into terror before it went blank, and hesitation would only hurt her.
“I’m guessing you’re some kind of private security guard hired by my mother,” she continued, when he didn’t answer her questions. “She must have had second thoughts. She knows how determined her precious guru can be when he wants something, and maybe she thought I was in danger. Too bad. They just didn’t realize how easy it would be to steal the bowl from the museum.”
He loosened the pressure an infinitesimal amount. Nothing that she would notice. “What do you mean? The Sansone has state-of-the-art security.”
“Well, you’d think they’d at least try to get it,” she said. “Most of the security is focused on the more valuable pieces. It would have been a lot easier than they thought—I was counting on them going for it sooner or later.”
“Counting on them to steal the urn?” He was totally confused by this point. “Why?”
“Because it’s a fake,” she said in that maddeningly calm voice. “The real one is hidden. Sorry, but I don’t trust my mother not to sell me out. I’m really quite touched that she hired you—”
“I don’t know your mother.”
Her smile faded. “Then why were you watching me? Why did you come after me? Who are you?”
Your worst nightmare, he wanted to tell her. But the game wasn’t played yet, and he still had a job to do.
He’d have to kill her later.
3
“Where is the Hayashi Urn?”
Summer glanced over at his cool, exquisite profile in the darkened car. Now that she was beginning to calm down from the adrenaline rush of her abduction, she was starting to see things a little more clearly. And she was beginning to have the extremely unhappy suspicion that her dangerous night was far from over. Why the hell had she told him the bowl in the museum was a fake?
“Someplace safe,” she said. “I think you ought to take me home now.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, starting the car. “Unless the urn is hidden there, which means it’s probably gone by now.”
“I’m not an idiot. Someone already ransacked my place looking for it. It’s hidden where no one can find it.”
“Where?”
Right. She was up shit’s creek, from the frying pan into the fire, and she hadn’t even realized it. He was driving fast again, and she couldn’t very well unlatch the door and jump out, even if she’d seen it done in dozens of movies. She’d end up roadkill…. She was better off taking her chances with this elegant stranger. He was hardly the type to hurt her.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you happened to be hanging around the museum if my mother didn’t hire you, but I’m not about to tell you a damn thing. I’ve already said too much. Either take me home or drop me off on the next street corner, and I’ll find my own way.”
He said nothing, keeping his attention on the road in front of him. They were heading toward the freeway again, and once on it she’d be effectively trapped. Maybe she’d just end up with a few bruises if she tried the rolling-out-of-the-car trick. She slid her hand toward the seat belt clasp, but he moved so fast he scared her, clamping his hand down over hers and pulling it away.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, speeding up even more.
He was holding her hand in an unbreakable grip. She probably ought to struggle, hit him, anything to distract him from the road. She’d survived one car crash tonight; she’d probably survive another if it happened before they were going too fast. She just didn’t know which was the greater risk—careening off the road in this little car or staying with this man.
He wasn’t going to hurt her, she told herself. He wasn’t going to touch her. He’d rescued her. She just needed to hold on to that belief and she wouldn’t panic and make stupid mistakes.
“All right,” she said, relaxing the fist she’d automatically formed, and after a moment he released her hand. She could see his profile in the flickering light of the oncoming cars, and she stared, fascinated. No one that beautiful could be a killer, could he?
She shook the distracting thought from her mind. “Where are you taking me?”
“You wanted to go home, didn’t you?” He pulled onto the freeway, and Summer closed her eyes, certain she was going to die, after all. But a moment later they were speeding down the HOV lane, still in one piece, and she let out her pent-up breath. When she got home she was going to lock all her doors, strip off her clothes, climb into her tub and never come out.
She tended to drive her Volvo too fast, and if she’d been behind the wheel they would have reached her little bungalow in fifteen minutes. He made it in ten, pulling up outside the run-down cottage and leaving the car still running. She’d been desperately trying to think of ways to get rid of him once they got to her street, but it was turning into a non-issue, leaving Summer even more confused. She hadn’t told him where she lived.
“We’re here,” he said, putting the car into Neutral. “I’d see you to your door, but I expect that would only make you more nervous.”