Chapter 1.

Rukawa woke up gasping for breath, acrid air clogging his lungs. He jerked up as his eyes darted around the room. There was no smoke and no fire, just the familiar high ceiling of his loft. The light streaming from the downstairs windows reflected on the full-length mirror of his dresser, causing his to squint. He flopped back on the bed and took deep, calming breaths.

The nightmares were becoming more and more vivid. He was safe, not trapped in a burning house with his parents. And the shrill sound was the telephone, not a fire truck. He leaned sideways and picked up the phone from the cherrywood nightstand.

"Yes." His voice came out muzzy and faint.

"Kaede Rukawa?" an unfamiliar, deep male voice said.

"This is he."

"I left a message in your voicemail last night. My name is Akira Sen--"

Rukawa frowned at the slight censure in his tone and cut it off. "I haven't gotten around to checking my messages yet. What can I do for you, Mr. Akira?"

"May I stop by your studio for a brief talk?"

The clock downstairs chimed. It was seven-thirty--too early for someone who'd gone to bed at two in the morning. Worse, the male model for his next erotic series was due in less than an hour. Rukawa groaned. He'd need a pot of coffee to function.

"I'm sorry, that's not possible," he said. "I'm busy this morning."

"I have a slight problem, Mr. Rukawa. I want to surprise my grandmother with a portrait on her birthday and I'm told you're the person to go to if I want a first-rate work. I promise you, I won't take much of your time. In fact, I'm only a few blocks away from your studio."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Akira. I'm not accepting any more commissioned works, not for a while. But I can recommend a very good friend and colleague."

"I don't want anyone else, Mr. Rukawa."

Akira words were very flattering, but his timing sucked. With the grand opening of the new children's museum next month, the wall murals must be completed before then. Then there was his erotic series show. Kaede didn't have time to take extra work.

"I'm sorry I can't be of any help to you, Mr. Akira. I'm really swamped."

"Listen, I know I'm being particular about this," he said after a brief pause. "You see, my grandmother doesn't have long to live, but she loves your work and owns several of your original pieces. Having you do her portrait would mean so much to her."

A lump formed in his throat and his insides softened. Kaede lost his grandmother when he was in his teens, just before his parents died. Like the caller, he'd adored his grandmother.

Kaede sighed. "Okay, Mr. Akira. But we can't meet now."

"Later today perhaps?"

If Kaede photographed the model in the morning, his afternoon would be spent sketching. His evening was taken, too. It was the friendly match basketball with his friends. He dared not cancel or they'd have his hide. Besides, he preferred to meet potential clients in their homes.

"I'm completely booked today. Monday evening would be much better."

"I'll be out of town the whole of next week." Akira sounded frustrated. "What about tomorrow?"

No way, Sunday was his day off. "I'm sorry I can't. Listen, why don't you call me when you get back from your trip and we can pick a more suitable time?"

This time the silence on the line was longer, uncomfortable.

"Fine. Have a nice day, Mr. Rukawa." The line went dead.

Not a happy camper, was he? Kaede shrugged, scooted to the edge of the four poster king size bed and stepped down. His feet sunk in the egg shell shaggy rug covering the wooden floor. Without bothering with slippers, he hustled down the winding metal staircase to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then headed straight back upstairs to shower.

The hot water didn't ease the tension coursing through him, the effect of the nightmare. Would they ever stop? At this rate, he'd go crazy. He pulled on a working jacket, slipped on sandals and hurried down the stairs. After pouring himself a cup of coffee and added hazelnut creamer, he scribbled a few notes on a Post-it and pressed it on the fridge door.

Sipping the coffee, he walked to the H-shaped, floor easel and smiled at the piece he'd finished the night before. What a beautiful kid. So unfair he had died so young, like his parents.

Here I go again, thinking about Mom and Dad. At this rate, he wouldn't accomplish much today. The problem was, the nightmares tended to remind him of his loss. He frowned at the door as though he could make the model appear through sheer will. Where was he? Ken's models were usually very professional and rarely tardy. Maybe he should have asked to see the portfolio of this new guy, talked to him first. No, that would have been pointless. Ken had never failed him in the four years they'd worked together.

A sigh escaped him. He needed to relax before the man arrived or their session would be a waste of time. There was only one way to deal with the angry energy twirling inside him.

Kaede drained his coffee and placed the cup on top of the chest of drawers that held his paints. Then he propped the finished oil painting on a shelf to dry, replaced it with a blank canvas and put a bucket of water on a stool by the easel. He squirted dime-size globs of paint on a palette picked up a brush and started working. No pencil sketches to begin with, just bold sweeps across the canvas.

His hand trembled, but he didn't stop working. Couldn't stop was more like it. Time stood still as his past and present collided, as the demons threatening him very sanity coalesced on the painting before him. He dropped the brush and the palette in the bucket of water and shuddered. How many times had he painted this house? The exercise didn't stop the nightmares.

He dragged his gaze away from the painting to the myriad of cloth-covered canvases on wooden shelves around along the walls. People commissioned and paid thousands of yen for his one-of-a-kind paintings, yet he was locked in a loop-fifteen years old at night and twenty-five during the day, all because he couldn't let go of the past.

There was only one solution. He wanted the house razed to the ground. Ripped through to its foundation until not a single block, beam or panel was left standing. Call his childish or vengeful, but completely obliterating that place from the surface of the earth would fill him with a great deal of satisfaction, and give him the closure he sought.

Kaede turned and scratched up the telephone from the kitchen counter. His glance touched the surface of the clock. It was nine o'clock and Kogure should be in his office. He speed-dialed the realtor's number.

"Morning, Kogure. Did you meet with Alana Sendoh's agent yet?"

"Ah, yes. He walked me through the house and the compound. It's in great condition and has lots of old trees, but I think you could do better."

"No, I want this one." He leaned against the counter and glowered at the painting on the easel. "Accept whatever they're asking for it and bring me the papers to sign."

"Are you kidding? That's not the way to get the best deal, Rukawa. I intend to check the market value first, then offer them ten percent less than--"

"Don't." He reached forward, flipped the painting so it faced the easel. "I'll pay whatever they want."

"O-okay. But her agent hinted that it's important to Alana who rhe the new owner is and what he or she plans to do with the house."

Kaede grimaced. Only Alana, the grandstanding diva, would add such a stipulation to something she was selling. But there was no telling how the actress would react if she knew Kaede wanted to buy her house.

"I don't think giving them my name is a good idea. But if her people want to know what I intend to do with it, tell them I mean to turn it into a commune for artists, a place where in-house artists can offer dance, voice and art lessons to kids." It was the dream his parents had wanted before they died, and White House had been their chosen building. Now the dream was hims to fulfill except hell would freeze over before he used the house. "Call me when you have everything set, okay? I've got to run. Bye."

Kaede pressed the off button and placed the phone back on its cradle. For a beat, he stared at his shaking hand, his breathing shallow. He fisted his hand and took a deep breath. He was weary of being haunted by his past, longed to be free. No, he deserved to be free, to live a life without doubts and phobias, some of which neither he or his therapist could explain. With the house destroyed, he'd begin his healing process.

Now that's settled, I need to focus on something else. He glances went to the door, again. Where was his model? Ken had some explaining to do.

Kaede rinsed his brushes and palette, took one look at his jacket and groaned. In his haste to exorcise his demons, he'd forgotten to put on a smock to protect it. He hurried upstairs to change.

"You should have dropped in on his unannounced. I know I would have."

"What would that accomplish?" Akira leaned back against the leather passenger seat and glaced over at his long time friend Sakuragi Hanamichi, ex-FBI-agent-turned-private-investigator.

"A lot. In my line of business," Sakuragi continued, "being nice gets you zip. You want to get to the bottom of this, forget your corporate image and your scruples, and start playing dirty. You're already on the right path... Sendoh." Sakuragi smirk.

Akira grimaced. Sendoh's was his family's name. "He didn't know my family's name, man. He was cut off when I want to introduce. I've gotten nothing but ice from my father's fire buddies. They don't mind reminiscing White House. Then they have places to go, things to do. I didn't want him shutting me out, too. But you're right. It's time to stir things up a bit." They entered NoHo Art District in downtown Kanagawa. "Head to Yokohama Boulevard. I want you to drop me off outside his building."

Akira exchanged a grin with Sakuragi, but his inside wound like a spring. He hated to lie, but finding out what happened the night of the fire meant a lot more than a few principles. And the wall of silence from these firefighters only made him more determined to get to the truth. To top that, guilt weighed hard and heavy on him. He shouldn't have allowed his uncle to dissuade him from investigating the fire when his father died. Granted he'd been twenty at the time and his mother had needed him, but he should have gone with his gut instinct and hired an investigator. He'd given up too fast, ran away from the rumors and the innuendo that his father started the fire. This time, he wouldn't be dissuaded. Someone out there knew what went down that night. Though their motive for leaving him the clues remained questionable, he'd not live with himself if he didn't try and find out the truth. Maybe he could even clear his father's name.

They entered Kawasaki Boulevard, passed a light and turned left on Yokohama. Akira waited until Sakuragi pulled up and parked before he spoke.

"What's the plan?" he asked, glancing at Sakuragi.

"A former colleague at the bureau owes me a few favors. I'm heading to Fujisawa Boulevard and handing him these." Sakuragi indicated the Ziploc bag from the tray between the seats. In it were the two envelopes someone had left Akira in the past two weeks.

The first time Akira saw the small envelope stuck under the windscreen wipers of his car, he'd thought it was a parking ticket. Needless to say, he'd tugged at it, opened and left his fingerprints all over the envelope and the letter. That was two weeks ago.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. He'd been in his office and his car parked in the underground garage of the building housing Neumann Security Offices, the Japan's branch of his family's company. His car was still in the same spot, waiting for Sakuragi. This time, he'd covered his hands before he took the envelope and opened the letter.

The letters had a list of three names and the questions, "What really happened that night?" The weirdest thing was each letter was cut of the newspaper and glued to the paper, very archaic. A simple text message would have sufficed. And the words 'really' and 'happened' were spelled with one I and P.

It had taken Akira days to identify the three men on the first list. All of them had worked at the fire station where his father used to volunteer as a firefighter. But was it a coincidence that they had quit right after the fire at White House? That question was driving him nuts. He had yet to talk to anyone on the second list. Kaede Rukawa name topped it.

As for the cryptic message, he'd reached the conclusion that whoever sent him the letters either wanted him to reopen the case or had come up with a wacky blackmail scheme. The Fire Marshal's office had refused to take the letters seriously. Not enough evidence to suspect foul play and reopen the White House fire case. Neither did they consider the letters threatening. It didn't matter. Nothing would stop him from going ahead with the investigation, including Kaede busy schedule.

"When do I get back my ride?" Akira asked Sakuragi.

"Sometimes today...as soon as my friend dusts it for prints. You said you spoke with the building security?"

"Briefly. The recordings from their surveillance cameras didn't show anyone loitering near my car. But feel free to have another look at them, I might have missed something."

"Or someone. I'll also have another chat with your father's closemouthed fire buddies."

"Good. Thanks for the ride." Akira stepped out. Calling Sakuragi had been a brilliant move. "Let's get together later."

Sakuragi saluted him with a finger. "I'll let you know when the car is ready and what my friend finds out. Are you still going convention in Tokyo?"

As a volunteer wildfire firefighter, he rarely attended the firefighters' conventions. This year was different. His father's former chief's name was on the second list.

"Yes. I heard Hanata Tageshi is receiving a medal. I hope to catch up with him there."

"Watch your back. Whoever is doing this must have something to gain. No one stirs up a ten year old case for shits and giggles." Sakuragi squinted at Kaede building and added, "Let me know what the guy says."

Akira couldn't agree more with Sakuragi. No one did things from the goodness of their hearts, not from the car, waited until Sakuragi pulled away before he started for the entrance of the building.

The building, like many in the area, used the products and services of Neumann Security. His family manufactured and supplied state-of-the-art electronic surveillance equipment and custom-designed software to businesses, homes and even P.I. firms like Sakuragi. The branch Akira ran also managed highly trained security guards. The one on duty recognized him and stood before he reached the desk.

Akira headed for the elevators after speaking with the guard. He fought the tension knitting his gut as he watched the LCD panel flash numbers. What if he recognized him and refused him entrance? Ten years was a long time for someone to remember details of an accident, especially one that changed his life. He'd be screwed if Kaede Rukawa chose not to help him.

When he stood outside Kaede door, Akira took a deep breath before he pressed Kaede doorbell. He waited a few seconds then angled his head to listen for movement from inside. There was not a whisper from inside, yet he knew Kaede was home.

He leaned his thumb on the doorbell, held it longer than necessary. When there was still no response, he sucked in a breath and pivoted on his heels. Two steps away, the door opened and a low, throaty voice hit him from behind, sending a jolt through his system.

"Quit with the ruckus. You're uuh..." His voices tailed off.

Akira turned and took in Kaede flawless pale skin, the pert nose, and lush lips. His eyes was sharp with cerulean blue color, and his soft black hair was stylists by raven-haired style. He's such a beautiful man.

Could this beautiful man be the frightened boy of ten years ago? The image of Kaede from that night had stayed with Akira over the years. He couldn't even explain why.

"Kaede Rukawa?"

"You're late," he said in a cool impatient voice.

Akira raised an eyebrow. "I am?"

Kaede thrust a delicate wrist under Akira nose. His silver watch caught the overhead light and sparkled. "It's after nine-thirty. You were due at an hour ago."

His male scent drifted to Akira nose. Something sexy. Musky? Akira frowned, annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander.

Akira cleared his throat, readying himself to explain his present. "I believe you've mis--"

"Never mind," Kaede said, took a step back, and with his other hand clutching a cell phone, gestured Akira into the loft. "You're here now. Come in."

Kaede was obviously mistaking him for someone else. But after the obstacles he'd encountered in the past two weeks he'd be a fool not to take advantage of the situation. Being invited inside Kaede home was one step closer to achieving his goal.

"Thank you." Akira flushed a grin as he strode into the loft.

"What's your name?" Kaede asked, closing the door.

"Aki."

"Make yourself comfortable, Aki." Kaede waved in the direction of a leather lounge. "I'm on the phone. I'll be with you in a sec."

Akira watched Kaede sashay towards the kitchen, the phone at his ear, and Akira found himself enjoying the way the silk one-piece outfit shifted and flowed around Kaede curves.

Akira tore his gaze away, shook his head to rattle his brain back in place and grimaced. He needed to get a grip, quick. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Kaede knew a lot, but from the stubborn gleam Akira glimpsed in those eyes, Kaede wasn't going to roll over and spill Kaede gut just because Akira asked.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him farther into the room. Akira took a deep breath and looked around with interest. The sheer numbers of cloth-draped canvases along the walls combined with the effect of the light pouring inside the loft from large windows were startling. Akira wished he could see some of the pieces. The ones he'd seen around town, including the two his grandmother owned, were truly magnificent.

A piece on the easel drew Akira attention. It was facing backward, but something about it pulled him closer. Akira tilted it for a better look and sucked in his breath.

White House was unmistakable. Its massive front door was missing, flames leapt from every window and a face...no, a pair of large eyes watched from the smoke billowing over the turrets.

"Excuse me. What do you think you're doing?"

Akira let the canvas go, backed away from the painting and shifted his gaze to meet Kaede. Kaede hand was on his hip, drawing Akira attention to its enticing curve, and his cerulean eyes smoldered. Akira be damned if he didn't admit Kaede looked glorious.

"I apologize. I shouldn't have looked at your work without asking you first." Akira waited, his gut tightening with each second that passed. Way to go, Sendoh. Now he'll kick you out, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself. He gave Kaede an apologetic smile.

Kaede looked ready to read him the riot act. Then the anger seemed to drain out of him. Kaede leaned against the counter and let out a long breath.

"There's two thing I will not tolerate from a model--tardiness and peeking at my work." Kaede voice was firm, but neither rude nor angry. "Ken told me you've done this before, so undress there." Kaede pointed at a partitioned area in the corner. "Since you were late, I'll just do a few shots. We'll start with upper torso, so the shirt goes and the pants stay for the moment. If you want to listen to music, I have classical, jazz, rock...whatever you wish. We'll work there." With a nod, Kaede indicated the black leather chaise lounge near a window and the easel. "If we have time, I'd like shots of you in briefs. What?"

"Briefs?"

Kaede ignored Akira incredulous expression. Why had Kaede request for a mature model been filled with this six-foot mass of male arrogance? Beautiful to look at but trouble to work with. Ken already apologized for the man's tardiness during their brief telephone conversation, but swore he was a joy to work with. Yeah, right.

"Yes, briefs. We are both men, that's not a big deal." Kaede pushed off the counter and approached Akira, taking in his sun-kissed skin, which screamed outdoorsman. But the combination of cobalt blue eyes and spiky hair the color of black midnight was more suited for a corporate office with a view. He was a contradiction, and Kaede fingers longed to pick up a paint brush and immortalized Akira on canvas.

Slowly, Kaede circled him, eyeing Akira tall, well-built body from every angle, wondering if he was tanned all over. The black T-shirt and blue jeans didn't do much to hide the lean muscles beneath. Shadowing on his jaw contrasted with Akira golden skin and gave him a sexy, rakish look. A tattoo of something was partially visible on his upper left arm. Did he have more on his torso? Not that it mattered. Kaede easily imagined Akira with nothing on but a red, silk sheet draped across his hips. With Kaede paintbrush, he could turn Akira into every man's fantasy. Kaede smiled at his thoughts. But that was for later, now Kaede wanted Akira in briefs. No boxers or cutoffs. Just briefs. The smaller and tighter the better.

"I hope that's not going to be a problem because later, I'll need nude shots." Kaede smile deepened. "Lots of them."

"I have no problem with being nude." Akira turned until they were facing each other. A quirky grin played on Akira sensuous lips. "I just don't strip for money."

"But--"

"I'll do it for free, if I know the pretty boy." Blue eyes twinkled above arched eyebrows. "I don't know you...yet."

Kaede smothered a groan. "Look. Ken told me you were a pro and pros know the rules. No personal remarks or cheap come-ons. And FYI, doaho, I'm not interested in you knowing me, I just want your body." The corner of Akira lips lifted and Kaede cheeks blushing. "Uh, I mean I want to use it."

When Akira crossed his arms and continued to grin, Kaede sighed. "You know what I mean. Be nice. Take off your shirt." Kaede needed coffee, now. Maybe he would offer Akira some later, if he behaved. Right now, Kaede was too bothered even to look at Akira. Ken was so dead for doing this to him. A professional indeed. Akira was a menace.

Kaede turned and marched toward the kitchen.

"Who's Ken?" Akira asked from behind Kaede.

"What?" Kaede stopped and spun around. "Kenji Fujima, the owner of Ken's Artistic Expression. Aren't you the model he sent?"

Akira smiled. "No. I'm not a male model, but thanks for the compliment." Akira moved to stand in front of him, the smile disappearing from Akira lips and his eyes growing serious. "I'm here to see you about an entirely different matter. We spoke earlier... Akira."

Ah, the sweet man with a dying grandmother. Although 'sweet' wasn't exactly what Kaede dub Akira this up close and personal. Arrogant came to mind, thinking Akira could waltz in here and lie to Kaede. Too handsome for Akira own good was another. It irritated Kaede to admit he'd been looking forward to capturing Akira square, raw-boned face and those electrifying blue eyes.

"I apologize. It's not often a pretty boy asks me to strip immediately after meeting him." A disarming smile flitted across Akira sensuous lips.

Now Akira was a comedian. Kaede pinned him with narrowed eyes. "Do you even have a dying grandmother or need her portrait done?"

A guilty look crossed Akira face. "She's as healthy as a horse, and that's the truth. But I'd like to present her with her portrait on her next birthday. Listen, I hoped you'd spare me a few minutes." A lost puppy look settled on Akira face.

Definitely too sure Akira charms and used to getting his way, Akira concluded. Either case, Akira was a total stranger. Although there was nothing threatening about him, Akira was a big man. How fast could he move? The panic button on Kaede cutting edge security system was by the door and Akira stood smack between Kaede and it. Kaede took in the Rolex and the designer jeans, spike hair and those eyes. Something sizzled between them, but Kaede disregarded it. Good looks and expensive tastes didn't mean jack. Kaede had two choices here, tell Akira to get out or hear him out.

Kaede moved until the kitchen island was between them. Only then did Kaede indicate the stool across the counter form hims. "Okay, Akira, you have my attention."

Akira approached Kaede slowly. "I appreciate that."

"Would you like some coffee?" Kaede asked.

"That would be nice, thank you." Akira smiled.

"How do you take it?"

"Black." Akira watched Kaede as he pulled out mugs from a cupboard. "What I told you earlier was true. My grandmother really likes your work, and I do need a portrait of her done. Do all your subjects have to sit for you?"

"No. I often use photographs. You see that one," Kaede pointed at the uncovered painting he'd finished the night before. "I used several pictures of both the young man and the horse."

"May I?" Akira asked.

"Go ahead." Kaede filled two mugs of coffee and added hazelnut creamer to hims. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Akira study the painting, his smile quick and appreciative.

A quirky smile. Kaede was a sucker for anything unusual. Kaede gaze followed Akira jaw-line to his ear, the hollow beneath Akira jutting cheekbone and the arched eyebrows above an arrogant nose. Kaede painted his share of handsome men, but there was something about Akira that made Kaede want to pick up a sketchpad, a paintbrush and palette.

"This is amazing...so real," Akira said, making Kaede realize he was staring. "The pony looks as though it might step out of the painting and prance around." Akira laughed, and Kaede smiled. "I can almost hear the boy yell, 'giddy up'. He must love horses."

"Yes, he did." Sadness crept through Kaede voice and his throat closed so he had to swallow hard to clear it. "He died two months ago in a road accident." Kaede heard Akira swear softly under his breath as Kaede carried the mugs to the island counter and sat down on a stool.

"It must be hard to work on a piece like that." Akira gaze locked on Kaede face when he joined him.

Akira didn't know the half of it. "Yes it is. But I understood the love that prompted his mother to want to do something special in her son's memory. Here you go." Kaede placed the second coffee in front of Akira.

"Thanks." Akira sat down opposite Kaede, took a sip of his drink and cradled the cup in his large palms. "Kaede, I want your help with something very important to me."

"I know...your grandmother's portrait. I need to know how soon you want it. I can work from a few recent pictures, unless you'd prefer when she was younger and..." Kaede voice trailed off when he saw the bleak look on Akira face. "What is it?"

Akira hesitated before saying, "I want to talk to you about White House."

Kaede bit his bottom lip, his insides tightening. Had Kogure given out his name despite their earlier conversation? "Are you Alana Sendoh's agent?"

"No, I'm her son."

"What? What's your full name?" Kaede voice was accusatory, but he didn't care.

"Akira Sendoh. You didn't give me a chance to introduce my full name before. Besides, I think if I give out my full name, doors get slammed in my face."

"Excuse me?"

Akira gaze shifted to the painting on the easel, then back to Kaede face. "I'm investigating the fire at the house ten years ago."

A chill snaked up Kaede spine. Kaede opened his mouth to ask Akira why, thought better of it and decided he didn't want to know. Instead he pushed his stool back and stood. "Sorry, I can't help you. You need to leave."

Akira scrubbed his face and let out a deep breath. His gaze, when he looked up, was directed, almost pleading, but Kaede wasn't completely sure about that. Still, Kaede could not take any more craziness, not on top of the nightmares and everything else.

"I really need your help," Akira added softly.

Kaede stepped back from the counter and away from Akira, his insides churning. "No."

Akira scowled. "I've been receiving anonymous letters with a list of names. One has firefighters, all friends of my father, all retired after the fire. I was curious enough to get in touch with them. Yet as soon as I mention the fire, they don't want to talk. It's almost as if they know something, as if they're afraid. What if the fire was deliberately set and someone wants me to find out the truth? The people responsible could still be out there. That would mean your parents--"

"No." Kaede flung his arms as though to stop Akira words from reaching his ears. Not that it mattered. Kaede already knew what Akira was going to say. "I don't want to hear it. My parents' death was accidental, I've accepted that. The Fire Marshal said it was faulty wiring." Kaede swallowed, refusing to entertain the possibility that someone had started the fire, that his parents had been murdered. Kaede mourned and accepted his loss. All he needed to move on was to get rid of White House, not relieve that horrific night.

"I want you to leave now, Akira."

"Kaede--"

"Please, just go." Kaede refused to meet Akira gaze, but he could still feel it on him. After a moment, Akira got up.

Kaede head pounded with tension and his teeth hurt from too much clenching, but Kaede held it in. He followed Akira lean, muscular frame to the door. A few days ago, Kaede been ecstatic to see the house on a listing, and his decision to buy and demolish it had seemed so feasible. Now this.

Akira opened the front door, stepped out into the hallway and turned to face him. Before Kaede could speak, he reached out and touched Kaede arm.

"Think about it," Akira said.

"There's nothing to think about."

"I'll be in touch about my grandmother's painting." Akira turned and sauntered away.

Kaede stared after Akira, unwanted images from the past flashing in his head. When Akira entered the elevator and the door closed on his unsmiling face, Kaede sagged against his doorframe. Kaede body was shaking. He no longer wanted to do Akira grandmother's portrait. Akira only used it as a ruse to get inside his home, Kaede was sure. And for what? To fill his heart with dread, to dare ask him to relive his worst night. The man was out of his mind.

To be continued...

Disclaimer : I did not own Slam Dunk characters.