As soon as they were seated in the Mini, Ryo realized that maybe taking this particular assignment has been a huge mistake. And the thought kept lingering. The chit didn’t remove her eyes off him during the entire commute to Shinjuku and—behold the utter weirdness—he was getting more and more uncomfortable.

He had no idea why; he has always striven to get as much female attention as possible, when they weren’t yelling for the vice squad, that is, even though lately he was getting fed up with all the women gushing over him. He wanted only one female to gush over him, but she usually did that with a hefty dose of mallets and other assorted paraphernalia designed to inflict as much damage to his body as possible.

This time, however, there was something more than just the infatuated gazes Hitotsugi Amaya was throwing his way. It all seemed almost surreal. The girl was a widow, for Christ’s sake! Granted, Hitotsugi had been almost thirty years her senior, but she could show more respect to his memory than get a sudden crush for the guy who sent him to greener pastures—not that she knew that. Besides, all the people she’d held dear have died lately, yet she seemed to have forgotten about that, too—and about her shyness—the moment she looked at him.

He silently berated himself. She was probably just trying to forget a little, focusing on something—or someone—alive. People coped with loss differently. Kaori, for example, went into hyperactive mode. He had to smile at that one.

And swallow loudly as he noticed Amaya’s smile grow and her eyes sparkle. Oh, boy.



With a sigh of relief, he turned the corner in front of his apartment building. Finally, they were home and he didn’t have to be alone with her in such a confined environment. Her pale eyes were just a tad too unsettling. Not to mention the gleam in them and her flirty smile.

“Here we are, Amaya-chan,” he murmured as he drove into the garage

Amaya stared at the darkened interior of the garage. There were at least a dozen identical cars to the one she was seated in along one side of the garage. Along the other there were as many identical Hondas. Why did he have so many cars? But most importantly, why did he have so many identical cars? As she was scrutinizing her surroundings, she noticed Saeba was already out of the car and, her two bags in hand, already on his way to the iron door at the end of the garage. So much for basic decency of opening the door for her.

He didn’t know why he just up and left her to follow him. He’d had the strangest feeling of creepiness crawling up his spine and a sudden urge to get back to Kaori as soon as possible. He knew it was pure insanity; she was perfectly safe inside their apartment thanks to all the different gadgets he hid around the premises last night after she’d gone back to bed. Besides, she always had some kind of tracking device on her clothing, shoes and purse—not that she knew it, of course. She couldn’t find them even if she looked. He’d changed his tactics of putting the bugs in her buttons. The girl never had the presence of mind to put on something with buttons whenever she got kidnapped. But he’d made sure there were bugs on anything she might wear or carry.

Ryo made himself stop on the first landing, hearing their new guest panting behind him. He could feel her pale eyes on him and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Why was he reacting to her in that manner? She was a real beauty, he had to give her that, and usually—though it was all pretense—he went crazy over girls like her. But this girl, this time...It was different. She—he was sure it wasn’t her fault at all—gave him major creeps. He suspected his reaction and behavior were the immediate result of the knowledge her presence in his house, under his protection, presented a threat to Kaori. He didn’t care about what could happen to him. He barely cared what happened to Hitotsugi Amaya, really. In this case, in these circumstances, Kaori was indeed his first priority. She must come out of this mess unscathed.

When she almost reached him, Amaya extended her hand, touching his arm with her fingers and Ryo flinched at the faint touch. It sent a chill up his spine, making his stomach clench with apprehension. He needed to get a grip on himself or he really risked screwing everything up. He needed to return to his normal, detached, professional self as soon as possible. He’s lost his cool more than a week ago as he saw Kaori sprawled on the concrete, blood seeping from under her head, and he still hasn’t regained his steely resolve. It wasn’t this girl’s fault he was panicking because of his partner. It wouldn’t be her fault if something happened to Kaori, it was Maki-Godzilla’s own wish to stay with him and help him protect their client. So Ryo needed to regain his cool, stop flinching whenever Amaya touched him, stop thinking insanities about her pale eyes being spooky...

And stop behaving like an idiot when it came to Kaori. As she’d said herself, she was a big girl and knew how to take care of herself.

“Saeba-san,” Amaya gently murmured.

He shook his head, turning slightly. “Call me Ryo, Amaya-chan. The honorific thing makes me feel old.”

She flashed him another of her brilliant smiles.

Deciding to ignore another wave of heebie-jeebies that assaulted him, he grinned back, making her precede him. It was better to keep her in front so as not to feel her eyes watching his every move, besides he could better admire her assets from behind.

Walking behind her, he missed her sly smile as she slowly took the stairs, so confident she’d have him eating from her palm in just a few days. As he followed her, Ryo’s features remained impassive—a total opposite from the usual lecherous grimaces he used to wear whenever Kaori was around to bear witness—comparing the behind wiggling slightly in front of his nose with a different behind. A rounder, firmer, more feminine behind that used to wiggle around his house.

He’s come to realize early on in his strange partnership with his best friend’s sister that when it came to curves, few women could compete with Makimura Kaori. And when it came to wiggling, spontaneous wiggling, not the artful one meant to attract the male population, she had no equals.