After Tom draped a blanket over the stain, he slid into the driver’s seat and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are we still on the same itinerary you e-mailed us this morning?”

“Yes. With one addition. There’s an art-supply store I want to stop at.” She rattled off the address and he poked the info into the GPS.

“That’s a ways out. We can either make it our first stop or our last.”

“Last works for me.”

Shiori stared out the window as they zipped down the freeway. Since she’d started teaching nights at Black Arts, she hadn’t attended any events at the Japanese Social Club where she had been a frequent patron upon her arrival in the United States. But she’d always had mixed feelings about the place where she’d introduced Ronin to his now-ex, Naomi, a few years back, which had ended in disaster. After she’d first come to Denver, she’d hung out a fair amount at the club since she hadn’t known anyone in the city besides her brother. She’d met some nice people, but no one indicated they’d like to see her socially outside of the club. Hearing her native language had eased her homesickness. But being there also reminded her Americans were friendlier than her countrymen.

A couple of months ago she’d promised to donate to their fund-raiser for a children’s art center, and since she’d pledged such a large amount, she had to sign the contract in person.

After they pulled up to the clubhouse and Tom opened the door, she said, “This meeting will take fifteen minutes at the most.”

The club director decided to hard sell her on becoming more active in the club—meaning giving more money. She forced a smile and wondered what the guy would say if she admitted she’d traded their culture club for a sex club. By the time she’d extricated herself from his clutches, thirty minutes had passed.

The next two stops were recon for businesses that had applied to be sponsors for Black and Blue Promotions’s next event. After each visit, she jotted down her observations so Katie could follow up.

With the traffic and the distance between her stops, two hours had passed since she’d left the penthouse. But this art store had a different kind of paint she wanted to try. And since her new project would be on much larger canvases, with a vivid red backdrop, she needed several large cans of the base paint.

She managed to keep her art store visit to thirty minutes.

Tom helped her carry the bags out. When he tried to store them in the trunk, she asked him to put them in the backseat so she could look through the books she’d bought.

“Back to your apartment?” Tom asked.

“No. Take me to Black Arts.”

“Not a problem. I apologize about the seat. I’ll make sure you’re not charged for today’s service.”

“Thank you.”

The drive proceeded without incident. Until on the freeway a semi lost control and T-boned the car.

The last thing Shiori remembered was a jarring impact like nothing she’d ever experienced, the sickening crunch of metal, and flashes of red as glass rained down on her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WHERE the hell was Shiori?

Knox knew she ran on her own time frame, but she was more than two hours late. Ronin and Amery were supposed to be back in the next couple of days, and they needed to make sure they had every detail of what’d happened in the past few months nailed down.

Deacon popped into the office and frowned. “I thought Shi-Shi was coming in today.”

“I expected her a while ago. She’s not answering her cell. I’d say that’s not like her, but it’s exactly like her.” She’d mentioned working on a new painting. And after seeing the level of concentrated joy whenever she held a paintbrush in her hand, he suspected she’d lost track of time.

His cell phone rang. Shiori’s name flashed on the screen. “About fucking time.” He answered with, “I hope you’re bringing me something good to eat since you missed our lunch date.”

“Ah, is this Knox?”

He pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled at it. “Who the fuck is this, and why are you on Shiori’s phone?”

“This is Tom. Her driver.”

Why would her driver be calling?

“There’s been an accident.”

His heart stopped. “When?”

“A couple of hours ago. We were on the freeway and a semi hit us.”

Bile churning in his stomach crawled up his throat and threatened to choke him. He couldn’t speak.

Deacon stood across from him. “What’s happened?”