To Honor: Vampire Assassin League #22 (2 page)

“You’ve reached VAL Headquarters, where regret and loss are the rewards of—”

“Nigel Beathan.”

Akron’s booming voice came through the earpiece. The man might be thousands of miles distant, but his voice could project such quality he might as well be sitting next to Takeshi, partaking afternoon tea. Takeshi moved the phone quickly away from his head, aware of a glimmer of sensation.
What was this? Reanimation brought pain, too?
That was amazing. And not altogether pleasant. Takeshi’s shoulders clenched as the echo of Akron’s voice rattled the tea set before him.

“Oh. Hello, Sir. I didn’t know you were listening in...although I should by now.”

“I need you to jump off the pity train, Nigel. At least for this stop.”

“The pity train?”

“It’s my phrase. For how the world just keeps moving along in one direction, but you’re stuck in another. Everywhere you look is the same shade of gray. Nothing has value anymore. Your entire existence is a wasteland as far as the eye can see. This is one stage of the grief process. There are more, unfortunately. Sound familiar?”

“Wow. Yes. That’s it, Sir. Exactly. The pity train.”

“You earned a ticket when you sacrificed your own happiness. You also earned respect, unlike parroting my every word. I knew you had it in you, too. I was honored to witness it.”

“Well. I have to tell you, Sir. Honor and respect are piss-poor companions.”

“As many a poet will attest. You want to find out who is calling us now?”

“Oh. Yeah. VAL Headquarters. Who is calling, please?”

“Takeshi Asourah. Only surviving member of the Aka-sourah Clan.”

“Weren’t you handling a hostage situation in the east somewhere?”

“
Hai
.”

“What?”

“That is the Japanese word for yes, Nigel,” Akron answered.

“Oh. Well. Fine. Of course you’d know that, Sir. Can I ask you something? How long did it take you?”

“To learn Japanese?”

“No. To get off the pity train.”

“We are not discussing me, Nigel.”

“Oh. Wow. Way to avoid the question, Sir.”

This entire exchange was mystifying. Time-consuming. Random. And far from why Takeshi had called. He took a sip of tea, placed his teacup down, and practiced at maintaining patience while Akron and Nigel continued speaking with each other.

“We’ll discuss it in a moment. Takeshi? Forgive us. Are you still there?”

“
Hai
, Akron-San.”

“Good. You took care of the hit? Kidnappers all deceased? Irvin Kayne is now rescued, in good health, and on his way back to our client, his daddy?”

“Oh.
Hai
.”

“What can we do for you?”

“I...do not know how to explain it.”

“You just said the assignment was accomplished successfully.”

“It. Uh. I. Uh. It—”

“Yes?” Akron prompted.

“I...was seen.”

“Were you wearing the Aka-sourah Clan
shinobi shozoku
?”

“The attire?
Hai.
Except I modified it to the Kabuki theatre version. It is not a shade of dark blue. It is full black.”

“No trouble there. That outfit covers everything but your eyes.”

“Yes. My eyes. That is the issue. And hers.”

“Hers?”

“Her eyes are of the greenest jade. Deep. Mystical. The root of all fascination. The center of all emotion. I do not know what happened. I was...overcome.”

“
Anata go anata no nakama o mitsukemashita?
”

“
Hai. Kanojo wa watasha ga sozo shita subetedesu.
“

“
Watakushiha o sansho shite kudasai.”

“Wow, Sir. You really do know Japanese,” Nigel inserted.

“I know all the languages, Nigel.”

“That must have taken some time.”

“I had a lot of time. And a lot of self-pity to overcome. Takeshi? Forgive our inattention. We have about ten seconds left on this connection. You will call back?”

“
Hai.
I will call again.”

Takeshi slid the cover shut on the now-useless cell phone, placed it on his tea table in a spot exactly perpendicular to his placemat before pulling another from the pack in his back pocket. He pressed his one-number code. Akron and Nigel were still talking when the connection went though.

“...derail your progress at this stage.”

“I’m wallowing in self pity, and you’re calling it progress?”

“Well. It’s above bitterness and a few steps before anger.”

“You gonna tell me what you two just said or not?”

“I’m really not certain you want to know.”

“Oh, come on, Sir. Try me.”

“Very well. I asked Takeshi if he’d found his mate. He replied in the affirmative. He then added that she was everything he’d imagined. You heard my reply of ‘
watakushiha o sansho shite kudasai’
which translates to ‘I see’.”

“Oh. Battered-fried scorpion dung. Is it too much to ask that we get a call from an assassin who doesn’t have this happen? I mean...come on. Would everyone like some salt to rub into the wounds, too?”

Akron sighed. The teacup trembled, sending little waves through Takeshi’s beverage. “Why don’t you go play that VIDWAR game, Nigel? Send Lizbeth in to work the desk. She’s probably enhanced her scoring status immeasurably during your absence.”

“I don’t want to play VIDWAR, Sir. Or any other game.”

“You don’t?”

“Gaming has lost its allure. Okay? Just about everything has. Weird, huh? I used to love gaming. I was good, too. Besides, I’m still waiting to hear how long you rode the pity train. Remember?”

“You appear to have developed a problematic stubbornness to your character.”

“Well. It beats talking about blonde bimbos with big boobs, doesn’t it? And you just managed another classic avoidance maneuver, Sir.”

“Yes, I did. Takeshi? I see you have reconnected. How can we help you?”

“She is beautiful.”

“Figures,” Nigel answered.

“Her skin is pearl smooth, her hair the color of fire. Her figure, nubile and slim. And her eyes...oh. Her eyes.”

“Sounds like you were seen for some time.”

“Oh. No, Akron-San. It was mere moments.”

“Interesting. Nigel? Pull up the passenger list for the hijacked plane. Ah. It appears we have two choices here. Your mate is either Christine Diachenko from New York, or Sharon Bell from Hong Kong. Bring up passport information, Nigel.”

“Geez. I sure hope it isn’t the Sharon chick, because there isn’t much of her that looks nubile to me. Uh. No offense meant, Takeshi.”

“None taken. Is Sharon a redhead?”

“More the silver-haired shade. The redhead is Christine. Okay. So. You found your mate. Rescued her along with the others. And somehow that has led to this call. That’s all rather puzzling, isn’t it, Sir?”

“You’re doing fine, Nigel. Continue,” Akron answered.

“Okay. Well. Takeshi, you don’t need funds. You could open your own bank. Transportation? Nope. You’ve got all sorts of options at your disposal. Whoa. Is this true? You own a hydrogen-fueled aircraft...design and engineering company?”

“An impulse purchase in the last century,” Takeshi answered.

“Way cool, man. Moving on, then. You don’t appear to need accommodations, either. According to your profile, you have castles in three countries, a mountain fortress in the Himalayas. You even own a villa in Naples. Interesting. A ninja in Italy. You must stick out there.”

“Ninjas are not invisible, Nigel. They’re hidden in plain sight. Always were. We’re exhausting our guesses on this end, Takeshi. You’re going to have to tell us. How we can help you?”

“I need help acquiring my mate.”

“What?”

Both men said it at the same time. The result was a blast of sound that hurt. Takeshi rubbed at the injured ear as he moved the cell to his other one.

“I need help acquiring her,” he repeated.

“You didn’t take her with you? You have to be kidding me.” That was Nigel.

“No. I am not kidding. I...was overcome. I saw her. Looked at her. And...I...uh. She is so beautiful. So amazing. I was not thinking straight. The emotions were...uh.”

A beep of sound went through the call, and then it went dead. That was a surprise. VAL Headquarters was meticulous about watching airtime on their phones. Takeshi did the exact same move with this cell phone as the previous one, placing it beside the first one on his tea table and fetching another. Akron was speaking when the call connected.

“...just say, the Dark Ages were extremely dark for me. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

“That long, huh?”

“I see Takeshi is back. Perhaps we could focus on him for the time being?”

“Okay. But I’m not forgetting this subject, Sir. So, hey. Takeshi? Hello again.”

“
Moshi-moshi.
”

“Sorry about the dropped call. Where were we?”

“My mate. My reaction. And my...inability to describe it.”

“Oh. No need for that, bud. I think we can both relate. Right, Sir? But I gotta ask. What did you do when you saw her?”

“I ran away.”

The resultant laughter was loud enough to pain his remaining ear. Takeshi looked at the phone in disgust before speaking again.

“It is not amusing,” Takeshi told them when their amusement quieted.

“Forgive us, Takeshi. Nigel? See what you can do to get Christine Diachenko off that flight. Looks like we might be in time. Send an anonymous message to the tower. Light up a warning beacon in the cockpit. Anything. Just get that flight diverted and off the tarmac.”

Takeshi’s heart pulsed with another hurtful sensation. “She is leaving?”

“Back to the U.S. of A. Nothing major, although any time apart might seem like it to you. Looks like they have a private jet. Medical unit included...for Sharon and a fellow named Hector. Everyone has been cleared for takeoff. Nobody had to get interrogated. Nobody talked to the press. Impressive. The senior Kayne’s wallet must be extremely deep. Oh. This is interesting. They complained a lot about duct tape if the report is accurate.”

“You didn’t leave your mate all trussed up in tape did you?” Nigel asked.

“Um. I...might have. I don’t remember. It was...uh. And she is so beautiful.”

This time, their laughter was worse than before. Takeshi waited through it, although he had jumped up and was pacing. He could swear he felt her! So close! His heart rate kicked up at the thought of how near she was. The Vampire Assassin League would help him reach her. That was what mattered.

If he had to listen to laughter at his expense, it was a small price to pay.

Those eyes...

That ninja – or whatever he’d been – had to have the most mesmeric eyes she’d ever seen. Amazingly deep. Dark. She wasn’t sure on eye color. There hadn’t been enough light to see anything clearly. Yet, for some reason, she remembered every moment of being caught up in his gaze.

The image was imprinted on her inner eyelids when she blinked, stamped into her memory, embedded into her subconscious. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t the type to moon over a guy, especially an unknown one. Even if he did have spectacular eyes.
Oh, stop it already, Christine
. She wasn’t desperate. She’d had boyfriends. She could have one now if she wasn’t so focused on career building. And that ninja had been wearing the male equivalent of a
burkha
.

There was just no reason it affected her so much. And continued to do so.

Christine leaned her head back against the padded headrest of the luxurious seat in the private plane Irvin’s father had paid for and tried to focus on something besides their rescuer’s gaze. She should be exhausted. Ready to sleep the entire flight.

They were almost free. The plane was ready for take-off, leaving this miserable experience behind. And she’d never been so thankful for the ability to move. Brush an insect away. Scratch at an itch. Handle restroom duties. She was never taking movement for granted again. She rubbed at her wrists, where they’d taped her tightest, her fingers sliding on oiled skin. The medical unit in the back had oil. That came in handy when removing duct tape. She could use a shower, too. And a change of clothes.

He’d look fairly young. Her age, maybe. Asian. She didn’t know his height. He’d been tall enough to dangle her feet off the floor. Strong enough to do it, too. He was probably dark-haired, too. The match to those incredible eyes...

Damn it, Christine
.

Sleep was elusive, her mind was clouded with fatigue, yet their rescuer’s eyes tormented her too much to sleep. She needed something to occupy her mind. Something pressing. Some decision to make, procedure to oversee. She’d already handled things at the bunker. The moment her mouth was freed by a team of soldiers who’d arrived, she’d requested water, medical assistance for at least two of them, and a moment of privacy to relieve herself outside.

She supposed she could mentally compose her report. Her boss would want that first thing. It might also mute the effect of that man’s eyes on her every thought.
Right
. Report. She’d lost a planeload of merchandise. She’d accompanied the shipment to the delivery zone, and then been set upon by gun-wielding terrorists. Seen one of Irvin Kayne’s bodyguards shot and killed. Held for approximately ten hours. Watched as a shadow/ninja guy sliced and diced the kidnappers into mincemeat just before the official rescuers arrived. Then she’d seen to basic necessities. Sharon was in a doctor’s care in the back of the cabin, medicated into unconsciousness. Hector was there, too. They wouldn’t tell her anything. She hoped he made it. She should be holding his hand or something. Just to let him know she recognized his value.

The jet’s engines changed, slowed. Christine wasn’t the only one groaning over the delay, although hers extended into a yawn.
Good.
Maybe she’d be able to sleep through this flight, after all. Through an extra-long window at her side, she watched a couple of fellows in business suits approach. They had a contingency of soldiers trailing them. The entourage looked official and just a little unnerving. Irvin thought so. He wasn’t remotely quiet about it, either.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Now what? My dad said it was all covered. Everything. What the hell do these guys want?”

Nobody answered, although the flight attendant must have been expecting this. He opened the cabin door and gestured the group in, one-at-a-time, until the front portal area and center aisle was filled with men. And then he pointed at her. The two suits approached her seat. Christine’s heart fell with a sickening thud.

“Christine Diachenko. You are Miss Diachenko?”

Suit Number One spoke. Suit Two just nodded. Christine took a swallow before answering. No reason to add a tremor to her voice. She knew what fear felt like. She didn’t need to hear how it sounded.

“Y-yes.”

“Come with us, please.” Their mouthpiece, Suit Number One, spoke again.

“There is a problem?” she continued.

“Oh no. No. Nothing of import. We have been sent by your company. You have other travel arrangements.”

Christine eyed him for a long moment. It was possible. She hadn’t checked in as scheduled. She was responsible for a multi-million dollar cargo. “What about Hector?” she asked.

“Our instructions are only for you. Christine Diachenko. Here. Read, please.”

Suit Number One held out a tri-folded sheet of paper. It was a print-out of an email. To her. From the company CEO. Using the four-digit access code. Looked legitimate. Christine scanned the contents and refolded it.

“Oh, come on, lady. Do what they say, already. You’re holding up the program. Okay?”

Irvin had a whiny voice. It grated on the ear. That was probably another reason his daddy let him traipse about the globe. She considered her options for a moment while the suits and their attendants displayed patience. That was an Eastern cultural thing. Patience. Courtesy. She spoke fluent Thai. She’d checked in with the American Embassy in Bangkok. She knew basic self-defense. Nothing like the ninja had displayed, but enough to defend herself unless the odds got too one-sided.

The other option was to be forcibly removed from the plane. She eyed the soldiers between her and the door, before finally nodding. She unstrapped her seatbelt and stood. The two suits moved back for her, taking two guards with them. That was slightly discomfiting. She was going to be surrounded.

The cabin ceiling in this jet was about five and a half feet. Christine fit easily. Everyone else was slumping or had their head cocked. Nobody said anything as they exited the plane, their steps echoing down the ladder about her. It wasn’t quite noon. The air outside was muggy. Sweat-inducing. Hard to breathe. Being dwarfed in the midst of a group of men made it claustrophobic, too.

She was escorted to a large, decaying, nondescript hangar. It was a long walk, while she heard the Kayne plane leave without her. Abandoning her. Christine tried not to exhibit how that felt, and straightened her shoulders. Lifted her chin. The hangar doors were rusty. Steel grated on steel as two of the guards pulled the doors apart. Light from a missing roof streamed onto a jaw-dropping sight. Her heart started thumping. It was hard to hear over it. Somebody whistled. Suit Number One shushed him.

The jet just sitting there was indescribable. The entire thing was smoke-shaded, changing colors with every step. There was a tribal design on the tail, worked in a green color. It was larger than the one Irvin Kayne’s father had procured. A flight of eight steps led to an open door. The interior was in complete blackness.

Holy crap
.

If there was such a thing as a stealth private jet, she was looking at one.

“This is my...ride?” she asked. Awe stained the last word. Both suits heard it. Their partial smiles evidenced it.

“Yes.” Suit Number One answered.

“Really?”

“You will need an assist with boarding?”

“You’re...not coming?”

That question, and the tone she spoke with were the height of stupidity. A moment before she’d been imagining them as bad guys...and now she worried over losing them?
Oh, Christine, what are you doing?

“No.”

Suit Number One answered again. Nothing in his tone indicated he’d heard her momentarily lapse of character. He bowed. They all followed suit. Christine returned the gesture. And then she climbed the steps.

The moment she entered the plane, the steps started retracting, sliding with a whisper of sound into a bay somewhere beneath her feet. The door followed, clamping shut behind her with a hiss of air. The impression of fingernails ran up her spine. Her breath caught. Her heart hammered. Her blood was icy. Her palms damp. Her teeth even chattered. This was much more than she’d bargained for.

And it was frickin’ terrifying.

This was so stupid. She’d endlessly taunted the ‘too-stupid-to-live’ females in horror movies. Producers, writers, and directors seemed to delight in making women exhibit supreme gullibility, a complete lack of awareness, and a blind faith in their ability to handle whatever bizarre, death-filled circumstance they encountered. Heck. Usually, the females walked into it, a mop or similar weapon held high in hand. She’d scoffed at that particular trope. And what happened? Here she was, having done the exact same thing.

She’d been mistaken. The interior wasn’t completely dark. There was some kind of lighting along the ceiling, putting a diffused impression of almost-dawn into the cabin. The glow radiated downward, creating pools of light. That’s when it hit her that the jet hadn’t had any windows...or if it did, they were hidden. Clamped shut. Inaccessible.

Great, Christine. Just great.

Christine called on every reserve of bravery she claimed just to turn and face whatever the cabin held. Nothing looked too menacing. There were four high-backed captain chairs grouped about a small table. They were really large chairs. Fashioned of black leather. The farthest one swiveled. That’s when her knees joined the physical response fray, turning into mush rather than necessary joints. Christine locked them in order to remain standing. A shadowy figure rose from the chair, dressed in so much black he was difficult to make out against the walls. But she knew instantly who it was. Everything on her knew.

It was the ninja.

Christine kept her eyes on his as he stepped forward, passing the table without checking for it. Light revealed black slacks. Black shirt. Black leather jacket. It was a match to his hair. She couldn’t tell length. It was pulled back into a queue. His brows and lashes were the same shade, as was the hint of whiskers along a full upper lip. Nothing about his eyes had changed. Not one iota. He was quite a bit taller than she’d guessed. Her neck arched as he stopped. Her jaw dropped. Every response she’d been experiencing got worse, while the most intense warming sensation bloomed into existence within her chest cavity. It was exactly like when he’d stopped in the bunker. Only much more distinct.

Holy crap.

The physical symptoms were impossible to deny. The view made them worse. He was definitely Asian. Exotic-looking. Well past gorgeous. Way beyond handsome. She didn’t have a description. This guy probably needed full head gear if he wanted to go out in public. Anything else would start a riot as masses trailed him. She’d never seen anyone so stunning. Masculine. Intense. He was also exuding something indefinable. Something resembling the thrill she got from watching a fright flick...the one that came at the exact moment when fear gripped limbs and froze blood. It hinted at barely-leashed strength. Deadly power. Lethal skill.

“
Kon’nichiwa.
”

Bass tones filled the area as he bowed. Her eyes went wider. She gasped. Christine watched his jacket stretch at the shoulders to accommodate the move. She was enthralled. Overcome. Almost faint. Her voice didn’t hide one inch of it, either, as she stumbled over her greeting.

“Hel...lo.”

Oh. Double crap.
Her knees reacted again, too, but for an entirely different reason. They took her thighs along for the ride, too. She sketched a bow on shaky legs, dipping a fraction of space lower and for a slightly longer duration. She was guessing on protocol since this scenario had never been addressed in her lessons, but he looked to be native Japanese. Male. And he was probably older.

Okay. She might be off on his age. Maybe. He could be younger than her. He didn’t have one line marring his features. Not that she wanted to study him, but he was entirely too stunning to look away from.

Her bow must have been correct. He smiled as she finished, but then his smile faded and his glance skittered away. A dark flush touched his cheeks as she watched. That reaction was interesting...and highly intriguing. He acted like nobody ever stared at him. That was patently ridiculous. He had to be used to it. She wasn’t a connoisseur of male beauty, but this was one gorgeous specimen. If she was a modeling scout, he’d be top on her list. She wasn’t hiding the awe, either. He caught the look on her face when he glanced back. And that just made his flush darker. Only this time he didn’t move his gaze away.

And neither did she.

She had it pegged now. His eyes weren’t a color. They were black – luminous, deep, and completely mesmeric.

A swell of sound surrounded her, resembling a muted chorus of voices stuck on one note. The thump of a drum got added in. It could be her heartbeat, but she’d never heard it so vivid. Hard. Full. The tempo increased as she locked gazes with him, unblinking. Rapt. The sound got amplified by an echo of something...was that her breathing? A vibration added to the mix next as engines started. And then he spoke, the bass tones of his voice overriding just about everything.

“You are well?”

“Yes.”

“The...duct tape was not an issue for you?”

“No.”

“I should have removed it. My apologies.”