“I wouldn’t call Ojiisan a gangster,” he said, starting down the steep hill, one hand clasped on her hand. “And I’m not sure I’d call myself lucky. I think he’s got a traitor in his organization. Your Russians have had inside information—there’s no way they’d know about the summerhouse unless someone told them.”
She skidded, and his hand tightened on her arm. She was going to have bruises, she thought. Unless her flesh was too frozen to show them. “You said he owned the place. Maybe they just made an educated guess. And they’re not my Russians. They’re after you now, too.”
“I don’t believe in educated guesses.” He tugged at her. “Hurry up. We need to get out of here before the snow gets deeper.”
“I’m t-t-trying,” she said, unable to control her shivers.
He halted. “Idiot gaijin,” he muttered under his breath, stripping off his leather jacket. “You could have told me you were cold.”
She didn’t want to accept it, but he wasn’t giving her any choice. She felt the warmth wrap around her, his body warmth, as he shoved her arms inside and pulled it tight. He was skinny, she had boobs, but at least he managed to zip it up, cursing the whole time. And even if she felt the accidental brush of his hand across her breast, he didn’t notice.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, her teeth still chattering as the warmth sank into her bones. He was only wearing a dark T-shirt, and somehow, in these dire circumstances, she managed to notice that for a skinny punk he certainly filled out the T-shirt well. She also saw the dragon tattoo snaking down his arm. How fitting.
“I’ll survive,” he said, starting the steep descent once more, dragging her after him.
The hike down seemed endless, but at least she’d stopped shivering. Her sneakers kept slipping in the thin layer of snow, but Reno, in his smooth-soled cowboy boots, seemed to be having no trouble at all. His bright red hair was a beacon in the moonlit night—probably keeping him warm, she thought grumpily. When they finally came out onto the deserted mountain road, the small, narrow delivery van was waiting.
“Thank God,” she breathed, heading for the passenger door.
Only to have him catch her, hauling her back. “Right-hand drive,” he reminded her, opening the door.
Now that they’d finally reached their destination, her muscles decided not to work. She tried to climb up into the van, but her legs refused to obey her, and her hands were too numb to haul herself in.
He picked her up effortlessly, which was a shock, and put her in the seat, closing the door before coming around the other side. He reached beneath the dashboard and the engine roared to life, the headlights spearing through the darkness down the long, narrow road ahead.
“Aren’t you afraid the Russians are going to find us?” She fumbled with the seat belt, finally managing to fasten it.
“No.”
“Why?”
He shot her a look. “You don’t want to know.”
“You killed them? How many people have you killed?” she demanded, shocked.
“Their car went off the road. I don’t know whether they’re dead, and I don’t care. At least they’re not a problem right now. And as for how many people I’ve killed, you don’t want to know that, either.”
She should feel sick. Horrified, stunned. But the horrible truth was, she felt fine. He killed. He killed to protect her. And some ancient, atavistic streak inside her wanted to preen and purr. She was one sick puppy.
To cover the silence she leaned forward, fiddling with the knobs. “Is there any way to turn up the heat?”
“Probably not. Stop bitching. I gave you my jacket.”
“I didn’t ask you to. And I’m not bitching. I’m just not used to winters.”
“I forgot—you’re a California girl.” He made it sound one step removed from the village idiot.
She started to unzip the jacket. “Take your goddamn coat…”
His arm slammed out, stopping her. “Leave it on,” he said. “I don’t need it, and you do.”
As a matter of fact, she wished he would put it back on. She could see him too well in the reflection of the dashboard lights, and his muscled arms were…disturbing.
Get over him, Jilly, she told herself sternly. He thinks you’re a pain in the ass.
“Okay, I give up,” she said. “Take me to the airport and I’ll get the first plane out. I won’t fight you.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good if you did fight me. You’re getting out as soon as it’s safe. Until I find out what’s going on we’re on our own, and I’m not going to let you walk into a trap.”