"A chilling romance motivated by the consequences of life and death."
Reviewed by Kamela Cody
Posted June 7, 2007
Contemporary | Romance
Summer Hawthorne, a shy museum curator in the sunny hills of
Los Angeles, is the focal point of interest when she proudly
displays an ancient Japanese Hayashi ceramic urn bequeath
from her late nanny. It seems that everyone wants a piece of
Summer including her own mother who has been taken in by the
cult leader, Shirosama, of the True Realization Fellowship. All at once, Summer's banal and scholastic existence changes
when Takashi O'Brien, hot mystery man, interrupts cult
kidnappers intent to get the urn at any cost including
murder. Lucky for Summer, every time the cult comes near,
Taka gets closer. Or is Summer so lucky? The seductive Taka
seems to have a knack for his prompt rescues at her
near-death moments. Taka takes the role of hero lightly and
seems to run the edge of being Summer's enemy more than even
she is willing to admit. Things get even more twisted when
an unexpected attraction begins to break the ice between
Taka and Summer. To add to her confusion, Taka has his own
agenda that might just include killing her. Every one is
expendable when terrorism threatens the world. As things heat up, the mystery of the urn takes center
stage. Despite being a curator, Summer's thoughts on the
ceramic urn range from ordinary to banal compared to other
artifacts at the museum. She is mystified that her life is
at stake over a piece of fired clay. Unaware of the
consequences of letting the urn fall into the wrong hands,
Summer also holds a few more keys to the mystery than she'd
like to admit. Will her mystery man Takashi O'Brien turn out
to her hero, her enemy, or her lover? Will the urn lead
Summer Hawthorne to safety or will it cost her her life? The
lethal game ends in Japan where the truth explodes.
Anne Stuart's novel ICE BLUE runs the gamut of a typical
summer time blockbuster. She whips readers in and out of
high-speed pursuits, dangerous cults, and seductive
romances. There are moments in the book where
characterizations are repetitive and suspense falls flat.
ICE BLUE is the third installment in the Ice series that put
Anne Stuart on the New York Time's bestseller list. ICE
BLUE is the story of a chilling romance motivated by the
consequences of life and death.
Learn more about Ice Blue
SUMMARY
Museum curator Summer Hawthorne considered the exquisite
ice-blue ceramic bowl given to her by her beloved Japanese
nanny a treasure of sentimental value—until somebody tried
to kill her for it. The priceless relic is about to ignite a global power
struggle that must be stopped at all costs. It's a
desperate situation, and international operative Takashi
O'Brien has received his directive: everybody is
expendable. Everybody. Especially the woman who is getting
dangerously under his skin as the lethal game crosses the
Pacific to the remote and beautiful mountains of Japan,
where the truth can be as seductive as it is deadly….
ExcerptSummer Hawthorne wasn't having a particularly good night,
though she smiled and said all the right things to all the
right people. Someone was watching her. She'd been feeling
it all evening long, but she had absolutely no idea who it
was. Or why.
The opening reception at the elegant Sansone Museum was
small and exclusive—only the very rich and very powerful
were invited to the tiny museum in the Santa Monica
Mountains to view the collection of exquisite Japanese
ceramics. And even if she wasn't particularly fond of one
of those guests, he'd have no reason to watch her.
Her assistant, Micah Jones, resplendent in deep purple,
sidled up to her. "I'm leaving you, my darling. This is
winding down, and no one will miss me. I'm assuming
everything's going well, and I've got an offer I can't
refuse." He grinned.
Summer jumped, startled. "Evil man," she said
lightly. "Abandoning me in my time of need. Go ahead. I've
got everything under control. Even his holiness."
Micah glanced at their guest of honor and shuddered
dramatically. "I can stay and shield you."
"Not on your life! The True Realization Fellowship and
their slimy leader are just a bunch of harmless crackpots.
Hollywood's religion du jour. Besides, you've been celibate
for too long, or so you've been complaining."
"If you'd wear anything but black you might get lucky,
too," Micah said, candid as ever. "Even so, you look
marvelous."
"You lie," she said, ignoring her uneasiness. "But I love
you, anyway. Despite the fact that you're ditching the
reception early."
Micah smiled his dazzling smile. "True love waits for no
man." He leaned down and gave her an exuberant kiss. "You
know your room's ready for you if you need it. Just ignore
any whoops of pleasure coming from my bedroom."
"you're a very bad man," she said affectionately.
"I'm fine, I promise you. You can enjoy yourself in
private."
He blew her a kiss, sauntering off through the crowd, and
she watched him go, ignoring her sudden, irrational pang of
unease. Feeling the eyes digging into her back once more.
She was half tempted to call Micah back, ask him to wait.
The reception would be over in another half hour, and then
she could follow him down from the museum, and this odd,
tense feeling would vanish.
But she hadn't gotten this far in her life by giving in to
irrational fears. It simply had to be because of their
esteemed guest of honor, his holiness the Shirosama. He had
a reason to watch her out of his colorless eyes—she was
standing between him and the prize Summer's foolish mother,
Lianne, had promised him. And the Shirosama had not gotten
to where he was, as head of a worldwide spiritual movement,
without knowing how to get what he wanted.
He wanted her Japanese bowl, probably as much as she didn't
want him to have it—the bowl her Japanese nanny had given
to her a short while before she'd been killed in a car
accident. It was one more betrayal from her self-absorbed
mother, something she was used to by now. Summer had loaned
it to the exclusive museum where she worked, just to keep
it away from the religious charlatan for as long as she
could. But sooner or later the creepy, charming Shirosama
was going to get it, and there wasn't a whole lot she could
do about it. At least she'd put it off for the time being.
But it wasn't the Shirosama who was watching her, or any of
his white-robed minions—not as far as she could tell. She
could feel the eyes boring into her back, and she turned,
trying to catch whoever it was. Certainly not the elderly
Asian couple by the fourteenth century incense burners. Not
the tall, slender man with the sunglasses, who seemed much
more interested in the impressive cleavage of the blonde he
was talking to than in the exhibit. Maybe she was imagining
it.
She recognized only half of the elegantly dressed guests
who filled the gallery for this private opening, and none
would have any reason to be interested in the lowly junior
curator at the Sansone Museum. Her connection to Lianne and
Ralph Lovitz and their Hollywood lifestyle was generally
unknown, and by southern California standards she was
totally ordinary looking, something she did her best to
cultivate.
"His holiness wishes to speak with you."
She was very good at hiding her emotions, and she turned to
face the monk, if that's what he was. For a group of
ascetics, the followers of the True Realization Fellowship
tended to be particularly well fed, and the plump young man
in front of her was no different. He had the same round
face, shaved head and faintly sanctimonious look they all
did, and it made her want to stomp on his sandaled feet.
She was being childish and she knew it. She could come up
with an excuse, but the reception was drawing to a close,
the trustees were seeing to the departing guests and she
had no real reason to avoid their guest of honor.
"Of course," she said, trying to add a note of warmth to
her voice. Someone had trashed her house three nights ago,
taking nothing, but she'd known instinctively what they'd
been looking for. The Japanese bowl they coveted was right
in front of them now, guarded by an excellent security
system.
She crossed the room, feeling like a prisoner on her way to
execution. She could still feel those eyes boring into her
back, but all the Shirosama's posse, including the man
himself, were in front of her. She glanced behind, but
there was no one except the blonde and her date. Summer
decided she must be paranoid, looking behind her for
trouble when it was right in front of her.
"Dr. Hawthorne," his holiness greeted her in his soft
voice. "You do me honor."
It was the softest of barbs—he knew very well that he was
the one conferring honor on the place, at least by
conventional wisdom. The Shirosama was highly sought after;
obtaining his presence at a social event was a great coup.
Unlike his followers, he hadn't shaved his head— his pure
white hair was long and flowing to his shoulders, a perfect
match to his paper-white skin and pale, pink eyes. His
white robes draped his rounded body, and his hands were
soft and plump. Charismatic to those easily swayed, like
her ditzy mother. Harmless. Unless he was thwarted, and
Summer was thwarting him.
But she knew how to play the game. "You honor us, your
holiness." She didn't even trip over the words.
"And this is the bowl your mother spoke of?, he said
softly. "I wonder that it has no provenance, and yet you
still put it in the exhibit."
He knew as well as she did that she'd put it on display to
keep it out of his hands. "We're researching its
background, your holiness," she said, the absolute
truth. "In the meantime a piece of such singular beauty
deserves to be seen, and we were ready to open an exhibit
of Japanese ceramics. It seemed only logical to show it."
"Only logical," he echoed. "I would be very interested in
anything you might discover about the piece. I am somewhat
an expert in ceramics, and I've never seen anything that
particular shade of blue. Perhaps you might let me borrow
it, examine it more closely, and I could help you with your
research."
"you're very kind," she murmured. "But I'm certain the
piece has little monetary worth—it was simply a gift from
my nanny, and for that reason I cherish it. If in fact it
does have considerable intrinsic value, then I would return
it to the Japanese government."
There was no shadow in the Shirosama's benevolent
smile. "You are as generous and honorable as your mother."
Summer resisted a snort. It wasn't enough that Lianne was
funneling huge sums of money into the True Realization
Fellowship, which seemed to have an insatiable need for
cash. They weren't getting Summer's Japanese bowl, no
matter how much they seemed to want it. She knew why Lianne
wanted to get rid of it. Ralph had told her it was
valuable, and Lianne had always been jealous of Summer's
nanny. Hana-san had been the mother Lianne had never had
time to be, loving Summer, protecting her, teaching her
what she needed to know and listening to her. The bowl had
been one of the keepsakes she'd given Summer when Lianne
had finally managed to fire her and send Summer off to
boarding school, and Summer had promised that she'd keep it
safe until Hana came for it. But Hana had died,
unexpectedly.
And shallow, beautiful Lianne wanted to hand it over to her
current guru. Over Summer's dead body.
"Your mother has expressed great sorrow that you haven't
been to see her recently," he added in his soft, rolling
voice. "She wishes to make peace with you."
"How very kind," Summer murmured. Lianne Lovitz preferred
her daughter to be as far away as possible—it was damn hard
to convince the world you were in your early forties if you
had a daughter in her late twenties hanging around. If the
Shirosama wanted her to say anything more, she wasn't going
to; her relationship with her mother was none of his
business.
He turned to glance back at the ceramic bowl. "You know
that she promised this to me?"
Nothing like coming straight to the point. "And you know it
was not hers to promise, your holiness," Summer said with
exquisite politeness.
"I see," the Shirosama murmured, though Summer had no doubt
her mother had filled him in on all this.
"But do you not think it should be returned to its rightful
place in Japan? To the shrine where it belongs?, "Almost
everything in this room should be back in Japan," she said.
Including you, she added silently.
"Perhaps I should be in touch with the Ministry of Fine
Arts and see if they're interested."
It was rare to see someone with no pigmentation in their
skin turn paler still. "I doubt that's necessary. I will be
returning to Japan in a short while—I can make inquiries
for you if you wish."
She bowed as Hana had taught her. "That would be very kind
of you," she replied with exquisite courtesy. She'd heard
rumors that the Shirosama and his Fellowship...
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy