Chapters (152)
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- I. Sunday
- Sunday
- 1
- 2
- 3
- II. Monday
- Monday
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- III. Tuesday
- Tuesday
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- IV. Wednesday
- Wednesday
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- V. Saturday
- Saturday
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- VI. Sunday
- Sunday
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- VII. Monday
- Monday
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- VIII. Tuesday
- Tuesday
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- Epilogue
- Two Weeks Later
- Afterword
- Get Exclusive John Milton Material
- Also By Mark Dawson
- In the John Milton Series
- In the Beatrix Rose Series
- In the Isabella Rose Series
- About Mark Dawson
“I tell you what,” he said. “Let me put something together. We’ve got some fresh fruit, some yoghurt… give me five minutes and I’ll be right back.”
46
Victoria followed Jean-Michel into the kitchen, saying that she would give him a hand; Milton could see that she wanted to allow him a moment alone with Sakura. He sipped the coffee; it was delicious, bitter yet sweet. He looked across the restaurant as Victoria turned into the kitchen and remembered the years when the only use he’d had for coffee was to chase away the alcohol from the previous night.
“This is lovely,” he said, looking at Sakura over the top of his cup. She nodded in reply, looking lost in thought.
Milton wasn’t surprised; they had a lot to discuss, but for the time being, he was content to let her enjoy her drink. He looked out over the beach for a few moments, taking in the deserted white sands and gently rolling white-topped breakers before glancing again at Sakura. She looked pensive, thoughtful, but much more like she had done when he had first met her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“I slept well,” she said, “so that helps. I’m still worried, though.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’m stuck. I can’t do what Takashi wants me to do—I don’t know where the drugs are. And if I can’t do that…” She paused and bit down on her lip. “And if I can’t do that, what happens to my son? What am I going to do?”
“What are we going to do,” he corrected. “You’re not alone. I’d like to help if I can.”
She looked down at the table, paused, then looked up. Her eyes were wet. “Why? I don’t understand why you’d want to help. This isn’t your problem.”
“We talked about that,” Milton said gently. “I’d like to. And I can. The idea of going against people like that might be frightening to you. It should be frightening. But it isn’t to me. I’ve dealt with men and women like that before. I know how to speak to them in a way that will ensure that they listen.”
“So, what—this is going to involve violence?”
“I hope not.” Milton manufactured a gentle smile to gild that lie. He knew that violence was very likely, and, for the yakuza to take him seriously, he would need to reach back for his dark side.
“Fine,” she conceded. “I think you’re crazy, but fine. What do we do?”
“I thought about that while I was out running. You really have only one option.”
He went through his thinking, explaining why he was discounting the possibility of finding the drugs and then passing them on to the intended recipient.
“But if not that, then what?”
“We go to Tokyo.”
Her face crumpled in confusion. “What?”