Washington, D.C.

Her father was dead.

Adele Granger had known it even before the phone rang and her mother had sobbed out the terrible news. The police had deemed the car crash an accident because of the drugs found in his system, but Adele knew better. Her father had been a stunt driver for over twenty years. He knew better than anyone how to maneuver a car, especially one that was out of control. And never would he get behind the wheel of a car under the influence of narcotics. Crashing into a tree head-on seemed too ironic and completely out of character for Hollywood stuntman Joseph Granger. The failed attempt on her own life a week earlier (an attempt she'd kept to herself), also told her that her father's death was definitely no accident. It was deliberate, calculated and she knew it. That had been almost two weeks ago.

Now, she was watching her mother and younger sister make funeral arrangements. Throughout the entire process she'd been numb to the pain, not having shed a single tear. She’d learned how to tap into a level of detachment through her years as a police officer and later a special agent for the FBI. She had to be the strong one. She’d seen things that would have made even the toughest of men drop to their knees and blubber like a baby.

But not Adele.

As the oldest and less sensitive out of the immediate females in her life, she'd assumed the responsibility as head of the house. Joe Granger had taught her all the things a boy her age would have learned — fixing and destroying cars, shooting a gun, and assembling pretty much anything that could be disassembled and reassembled again. She was the son the Granger’s never had, or probably ever wanted.

With her connections in the bureau and a few individuals she'd become acquaintances with in the narcotics sector, she’d discovered that the drugs found in her father's blood stream had been traced back to Tokyo. A hair follicle found at the wreck had also given her a name: Jun Hayashi.

Because she was related to the deceased, she’d been restricted from becoming involved with the case but that never stopped Adele.

Fuck the rules, she thought.

She was used to being the one who took care of things, but now, having to take a backseat to her younger sibling and mother was killing her. Adele wasn't one to sit aside and let others take the lead. She knew what she needed to do.

She needed to find her father's killer and she needed to do it before anyone else saw the same fate.

****

Tokyo, Japan

The unfortunate bastard was dead.

Inspector Taku Mori blew out a long stream of smoke as he looked on at the mutilated body before him. He kneeled down to get a better look and took another drag quickly, because the sight of openly burned flesh left him feeling a bit queasy. The mangled vehicle in which they’d pulled the man’s chard body from was unmarked and looked official. Mori was sure once they got his dental records back, they would discover an important dignitary’s remains. The crime scene looked much like all the others he’d been on in the past month. Malfunctioning breaks, accidental drownings, suspicious gas leaks...they’d all indirectly led back to one person, Leiko Kimura.

That bitch had been a thorn in his side since the moment he'd been promoted to chief inspector. He'd been following her drug ring for more than a decade, when she'd assumed the ranks after the mysterious disappearance of her father. He’d never had enough evidence to prove it, but he was sure she’d offed her own flesh and blood. If it meant the respect she thought she deserved, Leiko would do anything necessary. The girl had only been seventeen when he’d first encountered her — a child of no real use to him, but something in her dark vacant eyes told him that he would be seeing her many more times to come. A decade later, he was still no closer to nailing the Kimura's for smuggling, drug rings, or hell, even j-walking.

Crushing the butt of his cigarette he sighed, and stood. He’d had enough of the smell of death.

“Mori Keibu,” he heard a low baritone voice call to him.

He looked around to see if any of the other officers on the scene had heard it, but when he saw that no one else had flinched he ignored it.

“Mori Keibu,” the voice called again. This time, when he looked up he spotted a dark figure in a dimly lit alleyway across from where the accident had occurred.

“I'll be right back, I need to check something out,” he said in Japanese to no one in particular. He jogged toward the small alley and stopped before he entered. It was always the same routine. Inspector Mori knew what to do next. He looked around for any sign that someone was watching. When he deemed the coast clear, he cautiously made his way in.

“When will you reveal yourself to me?” He spoke to the darkness.

He’d never asked that question to the figure before. Then again, he'd never asked it a question, period. The person or stalker always seemed to be around when a murder involved a suspected Kimura associate. The anonymous figure had first shown up six months prior, when a nationalist had attempted to commit suicide outside of the parliament building. The press had written it off as a terrorist attack but Mori knew better after discovering the man had $1.8 million American money in a briefcase stored in the trunk of his car. A Kimura had obviously paid the man to do something he didn’t want to do. So, the only solution had been to kill himself?

None of it added up.

“Konbanwa, Mori Keibu San.”

“Konbanwa.” Inspector Mori said flatly, knowing his question had fallen on deaf ear. As long as this guy told him what he needed to know he'd continue to go along with these anonymous leads, especially if it meant bringing down the Kimura family for good.

“A murder has occurred.”

“Hai.” Mori nodded. “I was just there.”

“No. I am speaking of another murder, across the ocean.”

Mori’s eyes widened. “The United States?”

The figure made a noise, indicating he'd been correct. “And we will have a visitor very soon to seek retribution for crimes committed against them.”

The inspector groaned and closed his eyes. The last thing he needed was an American sticking his nose in foreign business, especially dangerous foreign business. He didn’t need an international scandal on his hands, on top of a growing crime ring bearing down on his shoulders.

“When can we expect—” Mori opened his eyes but when he looked up, he was alone. He searched around for any sign of his anonymous connection but found nothing.

Turning, Inspector Mori made his way back to the crime scene. He would have to keep a look out for any new American visitors to Narita International Airport and if the avenger was looking to start any trouble in his city, they would be very sorry.