Shadow Reaper

by Christine Feehan

  "She was three, Gee," Francesca pointed out. "What do shadow riders do?" she asked softly. "They carry out justice. It's ingrained in them. It can't be personal, right? You call in other riders to cover anything personal. If Mariko is a rider, then someone called her in. Someone investigated, and someone called her in. The fact that she didn't carry out her assignment in the prescribed way means she isn't convinced that you're guilty and she's conducting her own investigation. What other reason is there for her waiting to try to kill you? She didn't have to come out into the open. She could have slid into the shadows like you all do and it would be over. You wouldn't have seen it coming."

  Except Ricco was always vigilant. He made certain of that. Made certain there were unseen alarms that would be tripped by anyone moving around his house at night or during the day whether they slid out of a shadow or not. For several years he'd been convinced someone, a shadow rider, had slipped into his home on numerous occasions. He'd invented a screen to hook under the doors of his family to prevent riders from sliding into their bedrooms unseen. The weird feeling that an intruder had visited had ceased when he began using the screens.

  "Francesca is right," Emmanuelle said. "Why take a position unless she needs to know more?"

  "Say that's all true," Taviano said. "Who sent her? Someone had to have contracted with her people in Japan, Ricco was investigated and she was sent. Whoever sent her must believe he's guilty of killing the Tanaka family just as Yamamoto threatened. Maybe the findings were turned over to the new council when Yamamoto died?"

  "This has to go before the international governing family," Stefano decided. "Or we're going to find ourselves in a war."

  "If you go to them, we may find ourselves in a war anyway. The moment the new council in Japan comes under the governing family's investigations, they'll feel dishonored. They'll believe Saito and Ito. Both will lie. They'll have to. The culture is very different from ours," Ricco objected. "I know I'm asking a lot, because every one of you is at risk, but I know this woman is mine. I know I was born for her. I need a chance. I'm asking all of you to give me that chance."

  Stefano sighed and looked around the room at his siblings and wife. "Ricco, more than risking us, because I doubt anyone is that stupid to come after our family, you're asking all of us to allow this woman, a trained assassin, to remain in your home with you."

  Ricco nodded. "I know what I'm asking. I need this chance."

  "I'm willing to take the risk," Taviano said. "Ricco's been through enough and I'll stand with him."

  Stefano looked at Vittorio. "You?"

  "I'll stand with Ricco, but I want added protection for him."

  "The last thing I need is my brothers or sister standing in the shadows while I'm trying to seduce a woman," Ricco said, faint humor coming to the surface. That was his family, in the worst of circumstances, siding with him and making him want to laugh.

  "I'm in," Giovanni said. "I could use some pointers, Ricco. You've always been good with the women."

  "As if you need any help," Emmanuelle said and threw a wadded-up napkin at her brother, striking with deadly accuracy. "I don't like it, but I'll help. I'm befriending her, Ricco, and if she so much as blinks wrong toward you, I'll break her neck."

  He was a bit startled by the intensity of his sister's attitude. She meant it. Even smiling at him, she meant it. He inclined his head.

  "If I get a vote, I'll help, too," Francesca said. "I can be her friend and tell her why I adore you."

  "Of course you get a vote," Ricco said. "You're family." He looked to Stefano. They all did, waiting for the verdict.

  "I'll contact our cousins in New York and Los Angeles. If a war is starting they need to be aware as well. I'll contact the international governing family and ask them to keep the investigation quiet, but not for long, Ricco. If someone is after you, we'll need to know who it is. And we're starting our own investigation as well. I don't much care whose toes in Japan I step on."

  "Thank you." He should have known his family would back him.

  "You were fourteen years old, a kid, Ricco. They were adults. Their children fucked up and they would have had honor if they'd faced that with courage. Instead, they tormented you and threatened you. God knows what they did to this girl and what they've told her. We're going to find out what happened to Tanaka's other two children. There has to be a trail, elders who knew about them. God help them if they turned over those innocent children to the Saitos and left them in their care. Those three families would have kept the details of their sons' deaths secret. They told everyone they'd died in a car accident with the Tanakas. There's a trail, and we'll uncover it."

  Ricco nodded his head. "I'd like to know what happened. I'm fairly certain Mariko is a Tanaka. She has to be that same three-year-old."

  "One more thing. You will be guarded at all times. I don't want you trying to give us the slip. Obviously, we can't be with you twenty-four-seven, so you watch your back at all times."

  "Consider it done."

  "You weren't guilty of anything, Ricco," Stefano added. "Not one fucking thing. They twisted what happened in your mind. You did the honorable thing, fighting for that family. Finding your way through Tokyo when you'd just arrived a few weeks earlier would have been difficult for any of us, let alone a teen. I'm proud of you. You honored our family with what you did to save those children and then coming home and watching out for all of us. You carried that burden alone for too many years. You should have trusted me, but the decision was made by a boy who feared three powerful families threatening to kill his own. I understand, and I can look you in the eye and say I'm proud of you."

  That meant more to him than anything else could have. He looked around the room at his family, the men and women who stood with him. He wanted Mariko there with them. His woman. He just had to find a way to seduce her without being killed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mariko slept fitfully, expecting Ricco to make his move any moment. Every creak, every shift of the outside branches had her jumping up, her dagger in her hand. She would lie back down, sliding the reassuring weapon under her pillow, the hilt in her palm, eyes wide open, waiting for him to take advantage of a woman silly enough to put herself in such a position for money.

  It was a great deal of money. She contemplated that as the first rays of the sun streamed into her room. It was a beautiful room, very spacious and appointed with every luxury. The fireplace was old stone, the floors gleaming hardwood. A bank of windows faced the east, allowing the sun to stream in if the drapes were open. Sheer lace panels covered the windows and the darker, thick drapes were open or closed via a remote by her bed.

  She could get lost in that bed. It was big enough for several of her. The mattress was comfortable, but she couldn't relax. She'd bought herself time and a place to hide, but now she had to figure out what to do. It came back to the money. She'd read the contract carefully, looking for hidden clauses that might put an unsuspecting woman in jeopardy, but she didn't find any. He hadn't asked her to remove her clothes--and she'd been expecting that request. Most of the photographs in the book she'd brought along were of her mother as a nude model in the various poses.

  So why so much money? He hadn't mentioned sex and there was no mention of it in the contract. There were locks on her door. She'd gone exploring--he'd told her to familiarize herself with the layout of his home, just to stay out of his master bedroom. She hadn't planned on obeying that directive, especially when he'd left her alone while he went out.

  She was a shadow rider--and a good one. She had little pride, but she knew she excelled at her work and few were faster than she was moving through shadows. She could deliver justice quickly and painlessly and did so often. She couldn't penetrate the shadows to slip under Ricco Ferraro's bedroom door. She used light in order to throw shadows, but each time she stepped into them, feeling her body wrench apart, she hit some kind of barrier and couldn't continue into his room.

  She'd picked the lock and broke
in the old-fashioned way. She needed to know what it was he was hiding. Nothing, it appeared. She expected to find a dungeon with all kinds of bondage toys. He liked Japanese art and had amazing pictures of various forms of rope art on all the walls. The bondage was beautifully portrayed and tastefully photographed. She didn't find a single cane, whip or flogger.

  There was a room where the lighting was perfect with an entire wall of ropes, all of various colors, made from hemp, silk or cotton. She found herself touching them almost reverently, running her finger along the rope as if it were his arm. A part of him. It had felt like an extension of him when he'd looped the silk around her wrist. She found her heart accelerating and turned abruptly and left his side of the house to go to her room.

  All down the wide halls were numerous pictures of Japanese art. Gorgeous prints. She looked closer and gasped. Not prints. The real thing. One extremely large room held a collection of ancient Japanese weapons. Each era had its own space on the wall, and the weapons, as old as they were, were cared for and displayed behind glass. There were hundreds of them. Old books, all in Japanese, were displayed as well, carefully preserved, and she knew they were first editions.

  The house itself was two stories, beautiful and quite large. Outside he had amazing gardens, all protected from the outside world by high, thick walls. There was a waterfall that fell into a cool, shaded pool where trees wept lacy leaves and ferns grew along a narrow stream. Koi swam lazily, protected by water lilies in the large pond. Everything in and out of Ricco Ferraro's home spoke of peace and serenity when he was anything but. He was a puzzle and one she had to figure out fast.

  He was extremely wealthy and very good-looking. He exuded sex appeal. He was the most sensual person she'd ever met in her life. He didn't need to offer that kind of money to find a partner who would indulge in kink with him. Most women would be more than willing. So why advertise for a rope model and pay such an exorbitant amount if he wasn't planning to use the woman for sex?

  She dressed carefully, needing to feel as if she had some armor. Ricco had stripped her bare with just the sound of his voice, and she needed to feel on equal footing. She'd wanted a simple solution, for Ricco Ferraro to be a monster--a man preying on women, perhaps--but that didn't make sense. She sighed and picked up her brush, stroking through the shoulder-length blond waves. If she were honest, his being guilty wouldn't have been a solution, either. She hoped it would, but she knew better.

  A knock on her door made her jump. She wasn't a woman to be startled, nor did anyone sneak up on her, but she hadn't heard a single footfall.

  "We're leaving in ten minutes."

  She took a breath. His voice was very compelling. "I'll be ready." That was part of the contract. They were to spend most of their time together in order to get to know each other. That suited her fine, although . . . She twisted her hair up into a loose bun that wrapped around the back of her head and gave her more height as well. She secured the mass with long hairpins that could be used to defend herself if necessary.

  She dressed Western, in slim, dark jeans and a cream-colored thin sweater. She wore elegant boots. They were made of soft leather and gave her several advantages. She slid a knife down into the specially made sheath. They also had a bit of a heel, which gave her a little more height.

  He was waiting just outside her room, leaning against the wall, looking amazing in his suit. His gaze jumped immediately to her face and she felt the impact as if it were physical. He didn't need to touch her in order for her to feel his fingers on her. He straightened, his eyes moving over her.

  "You didn't sleep well. What do you need to make you more comfortable?"

  His voice poured over her like heat. Instantly she was aware of him, the wide set of his shoulders, his height, the muscles moving beneath the soft gray shirt. Everything. Just like that her body came to life.

  "I was quite comfortable, thank you." She took a breath and forced her body to relax. "It's a new place, and I'm a little nervous committing to this project when I don't really know what to expect."

  Being honest was always the best policy. She found that she wanted to give him honesty. Something. Anything. She'd come to him in full-blown panic, a state so unusual for her that she hardly recognized herself. Now she had a place to stop and think about things. To force panic from her mind and begin to hunt for solutions.

  He held out his hand to her. Her heart quickened. God, he was gorgeous and intimidating when nothing and no one intimidated her. He didn't snap his fingers or insist, he simply held out his hand and waited, leaving the decision to her. She wasn't used to human contact. She hadn't exactly had a lot of it. It wasn't as if she'd had a mother who put her arms around her and held her. She couldn't remember a time when someone had held her.

  She put her hand in his, and he smiled. It was as if, for her, the sun had come out. His smile took her breath and made her inexplicably happy because, she sensed, he rarely smiled and it was like a gift. His fingers closed around hers and he pulled her close to him, almost beneath his shoulder. She had the strange illusion of feeling safe.

  "We'll take the car to a small cafe I know for breakfast, and you can ask me any questions. It's important to build trust between us and the only way to do that is to get to know each other."

  She nodded. "I've read quite a bit on the subject of Shibari, but no two poses seem alike, and I wasn't certain what to expect."

  "It isn't about posing, Mariko," he said.

  He reached to open the door for her. As she stepped through, his hand went to the small of her back. It felt intimate, his palm burning a brand right through the thin weave of her sweater. He smelled masculine. That same, strange outdoorsy, after-a-rain scent that she loved.

  "When I come to you to ask you to be my model, whatever mood I'm in, the way you look, how your hair sweeps across your neck, those kinds of things determine how I'm going to tie you, which color of rope, the material of the rope. What you need."

  She glanced up at him from under her lashes. His expression was very serious. "I don't understand. What I need? Why would it be about what I need?"

  A dark town car waited for them. A man, looking very similar to Emilio from the day before, opened the door for them. Ricco smiled at him. "Enzo, this is Mariko. Mariko, my cousin Enzo. Emilio and Enzo are my keepers for the moment. I was in a car accident and my family is afraid I might faint and crack my head on the sidewalk, isn't that right, Enzo?"

  She liked the easy camaraderie in his voice when he spoke to his cousin. She wasn't used to that easy. There was no laughter in her home growing up. Only duty. She also had read about the "car accident." He'd gone into a concrete wall at well over two hundred miles an hour. The video had been on the Internet and she'd replayed it over and over, watching the car fly apart and flames leap into the air as metal flew in all directions. She had no idea how he'd managed to live through such a thing. Even the surgeon, when he'd been interviewed, had called Ricco's survival a miracle.

  "That's right, Ricco. We're supposed to chase after you with a pillow and get it under your head before you hit the ground." The man laughed and closed the door.

  It was only then that she saw Emilio emerge from the drive, up close to the gates, to hurry and slip into the front passenger seat. Emilio turned and smiled at her. It wasn't quite as sincere as she would have expected, and that sent up a tiny red flag.

  "Mariko," he greeted.

  "Emilio," she answered, using a shy, demure voice. She allowed her long lashes to sweep along her high cheekbones, a gesture that usually put men at ease automatically. It didn't seem to work on Emilio. She saw his gaze flick toward the rearview mirror, clearly watching them.

  Maybe she was wrong and his concern wasn't about her at all. "What should I call you?" she asked Ricco. In Japan she would have addressed him only formally. She didn't want to have to call him master or sir, but she would if it was necessary.

  "I prefer not to stand on formality, but if it helps you to feel more at ease wit
h me by keeping everything strictly businesslike, Mr. Ferraro is fine. Otherwise, Ricco."

  She thought about that. Would a man determined to establish dominance over her want her to be informal with him? Probably not. "Ricco, then." Her accent made his name sound much more intimate than she'd intended. "I know you were in a terrible accident. Are you okay now?" Her eyes met Emilio's in the mirror. "Should I be looking for signs of physical distress?"

  She hated the anxiety running through her system, making her breath catch in her lungs. For him. She recognized that she was worried about his health, and that was just plain laughable considering what she was there to do. She looked up at him, contemplating.

  She'd come there trying to keep perspective, trying to be fair, when the cost to her would be so high. So dear. Already she knew her answer. She was looking for dirt. Very few people didn't have something they wanted to hide. Ricco Ferraro was hiding most of what and who he was from those around him, but that didn't make him a criminal. She needed him to be a criminal.

  "It's been weeks, and I've gone through physical therapy. I still have to go a couple of days a week, but I'm much better. The headaches come and go. I haven't had blurred vision in a few days, and I haven't been dizzy in a couple of weeks." There was honesty in his matter-of-fact voice, but something warned her he didn't like talking about his recovery in front of his cousins.

  She waited until the car had pulled smoothly up to a curb and Emilio had opened the door for them. She slid out and waited on the sidewalk, looking around her. This was the famed Ferraro territory. It started right on the edge of little Italy and went on for several blocks. She had studied it before she'd ever come, and she'd spent time riding the shadows from one end to another, familiarizing herself with the layout.

  Ricco's hand on the small of her back startled her. He didn't make a sound when he moved and that was definitely a problem for her. How she didn't sense that he was close, she didn't know, not when every cell in her body seemed specifically tuned to him. He gestured toward the small glass door with gold hand-painted letters that simply read Biagi's. Many of the shops had only one name on the door, as if that were enough.