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.”
“You mean you’re just going to let me go?” she said, disbelief warring with hope.
“It looks like it, doesn’t it?”
“And you’re not going to tell me who you are, or why you were following me? Or how you knew where I lived?”
He shook his head, saying nothing.
“I guess I should count my blessings then?” she asked, reaching for her seat belt. This time he didn’t stop her, didn’t move as she opened the door and slid out. Her legs were a little wobbly, but she managed to disguise it by clinging to the door for a moment. She still didn’t recognize what kind of car it was—something low and sleek and fast, but she wasn’t enough of a real Californian to care about cars. She was going to have to come up with something to tell the police, but right then her brain wasn’t working on all cylinders.
Her mother hadn’t taught her anything worth knowing in twenty-eight years, but Hana had instilled good manners no matter what the circumstances. Clinging to the door, Summer leaned over, peering into the darkened car. “Er … thank you for saving my life,” she said lamely.
There was just the faint ghost of a smile on his rich, beautiful mouth. “It was nothing,” he said, and the depressing truth of it was, he meant it. Her life was nothing to him. Not that it should matter, she reminded herself. She preferred being invisible.
She could feel his eyes watching her as she walked up the narrow sidewalk to her front door. She was overcome by the same sense of intrusion, invasion, protection. It was a crazy combination of all three, though she wasn’t quite sure where the protective aspect came from. Maybe simply because he’d saved her before scaring her.
She closed the front door behind her, triple locking it, and then leaned against it to catch her breath. She heard the sound of his car drive away, out of her life. The last ounce of tension finally drained from her body, her knees gave out and she sank down on the floor, leaning against the doorjamb and putting her head against her knees as she shook.
She had no idea how long she sat there, curled up in a kind of mindless panic, but at least she wasn’t crying. She never cried—not since she’d been told of her Hana’s death in a hit-and-run accident. Summer had been fifteen. That made a solid thirteen years without shedding a tear, and she intended to keep it that way.
