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relationship.”
    “Great to know,” she said sarcastically. And what makes you think they won't come after me at home? Though I don't suppose that would be your problem—as long as you hand me off it's no longer your business. And I still don't understand why you're the one who came after me in the first place when you clearly have a problem with me. Why didn't you just refuse?”
    “I wasn't ordered. I insisted. You don't understand Japanese traditions—whether I like it or not you now belong to our family, and family is protected.”
    “Well, look at it this way. You send me back and it'll be up to someone else to keep the bad guys away.”
    “Once they know there's no money, there'll be no incentive to come after you,” he snapped.
    “And when will that be? They seem to be slow learners.”
    He just looked at her. And then began swearing under his breath. At least she assumed it was swearing—she recognized the English obscenities and a few of the French, but her knowledge of Japanese curses was so far woefully small. Being around Reno, that was bound to improve.
    “Sorry to be such a nuisance,” she said, trying to sound abject and failing. She still hadn't gotten past him hauling her naked out of the bath. “But I don't think Osaka and sending me home without protection is a wise idea.”
    He only grunted, driving faster. He had an unfortunate tendency to make sudden, precipitous turns, and it almost seemed as if they were driving in circles. They probably were, just to make sure no one was following them. No matter what the reason, it was making her dizzy.
    She closed her eyes, sliding down as well as she could in the small seat. “Wake me when we get there,” she said. And proceeded to ignore him and everything else.

4
    Wake me when we get there , Reno thought, gunning the motor. Get where? I don't have a fucking clue where we're going. She was Tight — Osaka and an airplane home were out of the question.
    He glanced over at the girl beside him. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to remember what her long, pale body looked like, dripping wet, even if the image was burned into his eyeballs. He wasn't going to think about the way she smelled, of sandalwood soap and water. He most definitely wasn't going to think about the way she felt, her sleek wet skin, the softness beneath the enveloping yukata. He wasn't going to think about anything but getting rid of her as fast as he could.
    She was right, of course. The Russians might not have been aware of her existence before, but now that they knew, there was a good chance they wouldn't simply forget about her once he got her out of Japan. They didn't seem to be easily discouraged, which didn't make sense. Any soldier-for-hire worth his salt wasn't going to fight for principle or revenge. They killed for money, and with Thoma-son's death the money had dried up. But they seemed to be ignoring that simple fact. So who else could be paying them? Feeding them information?
    For some reason Jilly was still prime bait, and the last thing he was going to do was appoint himself her private bodyguard.
    He was going to need help, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And it was going to have to come from his grandfather—Peter and the Committee just didn't have the resources right now.
    His grandfather's compound in one of the industrial areas of Tokyo was an armed fortress—no one could get to her there. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and began texting, one eye on the road, one hand on the steering wheel. It was a good thing Jilly had decided to close her eyes, otherwise she'd probably be screaming at him.
    God only knew what he saw in her. She was too big—almost as tall as he was, and while her body was the kind that filled his wet dreams she wasn't his type. He despised American women. He had a grudging affection for his cousin Taka's American wife, but in general he didn't like them. At least, not anywhere but in bed.
    And he wasn't