He closed the door quietly and started down the empty street, a lone, wiry figure in the deserted night. She opened her door, suddenly nervous. “Are you coming back for me?” she called out.
He turned and grinned at her, a flash of white in the darkness. “Don’t worry, Ji-chan. I’ll let you know when I decide to feed you to the sharks. Lock the door.”
She sank back in the seat, locking the door as ordered, pulling his jacket around her. He must be cold, he must be sick of her. She’d punched him. She still couldn’t believe she’d done such a thing. The last person she’d hit had been Tommy Hepburn when he’d taken her Tonka truck in first grade. She’d hit Reno, and while a part of her was horrified, part of her was glad she’d done it.
Her hand hurt. She could still feel the bone and flesh in his cold, pretty face. There was no violence in her—she was a pacifist in every sense of the word. And she wanted to hit him again.
She’d better think twice about doing it again. He wasn’t the kind of man to let someone get away with it twice.
Maybe he knew he’d deserved it. Maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he was lying and never coming back, leaving her on her own in a strange city. She could handle it. As long as he wasn’t dead, she
could just as easily abandon him as he abandon her.
And she would. If he wasn’t back in half an hour. Not that she had any way of telling time; it was after midnight, but then, her sense of time was all screwed up. Days were blending together—had she first landed yesterday or the day before? She hadn’t the faintest idea of the date. She’d gone backward in time, and the snatched hours of sleep, the constant movement on top of normal jet lag, had put her in an altered state of consciousness.
She should give him back his jacket. He must be cold. It wasn’t snowing in the city, but it was still midwinter and he was wearing nothing more than a skin-tight T-shirt.
She stayed put. Either he’d come back or he wouldn’t. At that point she was too tired to worry about it. She slid down and closed her eyes, practicing her deep breathing. Good air in, bad air out, shut out all those scary thoughts….
Someone loomed up outside her window, and she let out a small scream as he rapped at the window. He’d come back for her. Whoopee.
“Come on,” he said when she opened the door. “We’re going the rest of the way on foot.”
“What about the truck?”
“Someone will find it and return it.”
“Don’t you think you ought to wipe it?”
“Wipe it?”
“Make sure your fingerprints aren’t all over it,” she elaborated. “You don’t want the police matching you with car theft.”
“They can’t. My fingerprints have never been taken.”
“They don’t fingerprint you here when they arrest you?”
“I’ve never been arrested.”
She climbed down out of the truck, holding on in case her legs were still unsteady. She didn’t want him touching her if she could help it. Signs of weakness were disastrous. “I’m disappointed,” she said. “I thought you were the quintessential bad boy. You’re just a poseur.”
She didn’t manage to rile him. “No, I’m good at not getting caught.” He pulled a cap from his back pocket. “Put this on and keep your head down. I don’t think anyone will see you, but I believe in being careful. I need to sleep, and I don’t want to have to find another place you’ll approve of.”
She took the hat, a slightly grubby baseball-style hat with a Hello Kitty samurai in pink camo, and put it on her head. “Don’t you want your jacket? You must be cold.”
He didn’t answer, reaching out and tucking her hair beneath the cap. The touch of his hand on her head was startling—he was surprisingly gentle as he pushed the hair up under the cap. “Follow me and don’t say anything. If anyone sees us, they’ll just assume we’re a couple of doseiaisha out for a good time.”
“A couple of what?”
“Gay men. Though they’d be more likely to go to a love hotel. And they’d be more comfortable.”
“Why do they…?”
“Capsule hotels are only for men.”
“Great,” she said. “So not only do I have to stay with you, I have to become a cross-dresser, as well.”
“It’s a good thing no one will look closely—you’d never pass. You’re going to have to keep from talking, which I know is almost impossible for you. No one was around when I checked in, but you never can tell who might be up and about. Most people who spend the night here are salarymen who are too drunk to make it home, and they sleep soundly, but I’ll need to guard the toilet if you need to use it.”