Primitive Secrets (27 page)

Storm regarded Wo's flat, cold eyes, the smirk that marred the smooth mask of her face. Wo looked back as if she were connected by an electric current, the same filament of knowledge. And slid her hand into one of her cargo pockets.

The syringe must have been carefully placed there where she could slip it out without even turning it around. Not a particularly big syringe, maybe ten or fifteen cc's. She held it up and let Storm eye the pale liquid within. “You've got the Unimed files, don't you? You know the whole story.”

Chapter 38

Storm hunched down in the chair. She couldn't believe what she saw. Was this how Hamasaki had died? She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again.

“All his files are over there.” She gestured toward the mahogany cabinets and gulped. “Don't be stupid, Meredith.”

Wo flicked off the needle guard and tapped the barrel as if she had done this a hundred times. The stainless steel gleamed. Her eyes fell to Storm's bare legs.

Storm looked down. No one would ever notice a puncture wound among the scratches she'd picked up from her dash into the taro fields that afternoon.

“Bullshit. You're a lousy liar, Kayama.”

Storm swallowed hard. “What's in that?” She forced the words through numb lips.

“Succinylcholine. You'll be paralyzed.” Wo curled her lips into a scornful smile and glanced toward the desk drawer. “You can watch me search.”

Storm's throat closed convulsively. She'd heard about succinylcholine. It was like curare. Her classmates in law school loved to drink beer and theorize about the “perfect” murder. Curare caused such complete paralysis that the victim couldn't breathe. Unconsciousness occurred in several minutes due to lack of oxygen, and death followed soon after. Those few minutes of consciousness, though, would seem an eternity of terror. The victim was cognizant and completely helpless.

Succinylcholine was metabolized in the body and therefore virtually untraceable. It was frequently used in hospital operating rooms for administering anesthesia. With oxygen, of course.

“I don't know why you think there would be a separate file for Unimed—”

“You're pathetic, Storm. After all, you're the big man's protegee. He told you everything.” Her voice was cold and not much louder than a whisper, like the susurration of a snake in sand. “Martin will be the one who goes through your things, won't he? You're so close.” Wo chuckled. “There must be a record of his and DeLario's secrets. I'll leave it behind. We'll see if he or the police find that file first.”

Storm sank back in the chair, her fingers curved into stiff hooks on the arms. Martin would find the file, all right. And he would find out that it was hidden in his father's favorite bookcase, which he would perceive as another betrayal. He would also believe that Storm knew all about it.

Wo took a step toward her. This time her eyes were on the pale liquid in the syringe. She adjusted her thumb on the plunger. A drop of liquid ran down the side of the syringe and oozed down the length of her thumb. She smiled.

Storm forced herself to breathe and waited for Wo to take one more step toward her. She forced herself to think of the woman as a rabid animal, one that had to be outwitted. She could not think of her as the colleague who'd offered a badly needed crumb of support by subtly acknowledging Cunningham's lechery. She couldn't even think of her as human. So Storm scrutinized her as one would a slavering wolverine, and willed her to approach from straight ahead, without moving to either side of the chair.

Wo's eyes were busy moving along Storm's exposed flesh, the bare arms and nicked legs. When Wo lunged, she struck like the wild animal Storm imagined. She grabbed Storm's upper arm with a grip that made Storm gasp.

It also pushed Storm's building fury over the edge. “No!” she shouted. She kicked out with both feet at Wo's kneecaps.

She connected with one of them and felt a gratifying pop before her shoe slid from the fabric of her slick pants. Wo yelped with pain and surprise and fell back. It was enough to break her grip on Storm's arm. Storm leaped to her feet and spun the chair so that the high back was between them.

Caught between the chair and the wall, Storm used the heavy chair to parry Wo's advance. Wo's expressionless mask folded into a vindictive mug of fury. With a will that deepened Storm's fear, the woman ignored the obvious pain in her knee. The black eyes, instead of glittering, were dulled to a focus so intent that Storm had to look away. Instead, Storm watched the gleam of the needle wave mere inches from the back of the chair.

Meredith was going to pounce any second. If Storm were to make a break around the desk, Wo would have her. And all Wo had to do was snag her long enough to inject a small amount of the drug. She could do it even through Storm's clothing.

How much stuff did it take to paralyze a person? How much time would Wo need to inject it? How much time did Storm have after the injection? Her mind spun through questions, skittering around the terror, the unknown.

Storm watched the needle. An intramuscular dose might only take minutes to act. Maybe five. If she stayed perfectly still. Already her heart galloped with fear. It would speed the drug to her vulnerable nervous system.

Part of her wanted to succumb to tears, but the survival part of her mind shrieked at her. Think, stay fluid. Fight her. Do the unexpected.

Storm forced her limbs to relax, then leaped to the desktop. The move surprised even her. She was amazed that her tired legs had launched her without faltering. Wo gaped at her, astonished. It was the first break in her icy composure.

Then Wo's hand shot out and hooked the laces of one of Storm's sneakers. Thrown off balance by the grip on the shoelace, Storm toppled to the floor on the other side of the desk. Her shoe came off and Wo lost her grip, but the fall knocked the wind out of Storm.

The desk was between them. In the few precious seconds while Storm's chest heaved reflexively, Wo scurried around the desk. By the time Storm began to wobble to her feet, Wo loomed above.

This was the harridan who had killed Uncle Miles and Lorraine. Letting this witch triumph would be an anathema. So Storm concentrated every aspect of her fury on the woman above her. She loathed the dank sheen of her hair, the stony pallor of her face. She abhorred the arrogance, the manipulative deception of the woman. This was a killer who hid behind false intellectual authority and aloof superiority.

Storm couldn't allow Wo to win. She couldn't let Wo's demented insolence steal any more from the people around her. Storm's world narrowed to a super-focused tunnel of anger. Her blood raced hot and fast. She pulled together anything she'd ever known about fighting. A cop had once told her that women were better off fighting from the floor because a woman's legs were much stronger than her upper body.

Jesus, God, please let it be true. If she stood up, she'd be a bigger target for that lethal needle. She rolled to one side and raised the foot with the shoe as if to hold Wo off. And the woman ignored the thick-soled sneaker. She bent over Storm, features frozen in concentration, her breathing labored with her recent exertion. The needle quivered in her grip.

Storm suspended breathing and waited. She stayed still, poised until the needle was inches from her bare calf, though the skin of her leg crawled with dread.

Wo aimed her shot. Storm's eyes nearly crossed with her focus on the glinting stainless steel. Another half inch, nearly grazing her flesh.

Storm forced herself to exhale and fired the coiled piston of her leg. The bottom of her shoe smashed into the hand holding the syringe. Wo's face contorted with pain. She grabbed her injured fingers and the syringe tumbled to the floor.

Storm scooted along the floor so that the syringe was inches from her other foot. For the first time, Wo showed an expression other than condescension. Fear flashed in the rictus of her lips, which hardened into a homicidal grimace. She swung one arm at Storm and reached toward the syringe with the other.

Storm used a swollen vein on Wo's forehead as a target. Like a battering ram, her leg slashed out and the shoe connected with the woman's head. The muddy sole hit with a dull thud and Wo crashed to her rump.

Storm tried to wobble to her feet, but her right ankle buckled. She stifled a moan of pain and rolled away. The syringe had been knocked farther from Wo's reach when she fell, but it remained only a few feet from either of them. Storm's only chance was to get to it first.

A slurred voice came from the doorway. “You fucked up, Meredith. I wasn't much in the mood for coffee.”

Wo swung her head like a viper whose attention was momentarily distracted from its prey.

“Hamlin, help,” Storm gasped. “Call the police.”

Hamlin, pale, stared as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“Hamlin, she attacked me,” Wo said. “She wants to keep her beloved uncle's office, push me out.”

“Bullshit, Meredith.” Hamlin shook his head as if to clear it. “Get over there and sit down.” He pointed at Hamasaki's desk chair. “Now.”

Wo sat where she was. “Hamlin, you never could separate reason from your emotions.”

Hamlin ignored her. “Storm, are you okay?” He reached down to help her stand up. At the same time, Wo got to her feet and backed slowly toward the chair.

Hamlin blocked Storm's view of Wo, but her view of the carpet was unimpeded. The syringe was no longer on the floor.

“Hamlin,” Storm shouted. “She's got a drug.”

Storm watched Hamlin try to focus his eyes. “I know, she put it in my coffee.” His words blurred together.

From the corner of her eye, Storm saw Wo strike. The rest of the scene seemed to proceed in slow motion. Storm cried out a warning, too late. Hamlin, still confused, reached for the sting in his hip.

Panicky, Storm shoved Hamlin with all her strength. She had to break his contact with the lethal syringe. Hamlin staggered backward, still holding Storm's arm, and stumbled against one of Meredith's boxes. He fell to his knees. Storm, dragged off balance, sat down hard beside him.

Hamlin looked up, dazed, at Wo, who still held the hypodermic. “Meredith, stop this now. You're with your colleagues. We can work out whatever—”

“Shut up,” Wo said. She circled around the two and readjusted the plunger.

Staggering to her feet, Storm got between Hamlin and Wo and moved with Wo, mirroring her feints. She wanted to scream, to spew the frustration and terror that she felt.

But that was just what Wo wanted. She loved this. Ever the combatant, she relished seeing Storm's fear and the impotent rage with which she smoldered. She cherished the sight of Hamlin, vulnerable and failing on the floor, bewildered by her attack. Wo laughed.

She held up the syringe so that Storm could see that it still had fluid in it. Hamlin was leaning on an arm, one leg out straight, the other tucked beneath him. He opened and closed his mouth from time to time, but made no noise.

Storm wanted to run to him, prop him up. But she had the feeling that Wo was waiting for her to do just that. So she kept her eyes on Wo, who watched Storm, then Hamlin, then Storm again. The satisfied smirk on Wo's lips grew. She knew time was on her side. Hamlin was weakening.

Wo circled and Storm moved with her, still keeping her body between Wo and Hamlin. Wo held the syringe safely out of Storm's reach, poised for another shot.

“You don't have a chance,” Storm whispered to her.

That made Wo laugh out loud. “Wrong. It's you who has no chance.”

“You think the cops won't figure this out?”

“It won't matter.”

Of course, she would go to Hong Kong. Or China, for that matter. They'd never find her, even if they could get an extradition treaty.

Wo took a step closer to her and instinctively, Storm backed up. The moment she did, she knew she'd made a mistake. She'd had to go to the side to avoid stepping on Hamlin's outstretched leg. Now, Wo not only had an opening to Hamlin, Storm was grazing one of Wo's overfilled boxes with her leg. One more step and she'd be backed against the wall.

Wo chuckled. “I admire your zest, Storm, but the game's up.”

Hamlin rustled beside her, but Storm didn't dare glance away from her opponent. And she was afraid to look for another reason. Her hopes dropped with each passing second as the drug took effect. Perhaps three minutes had passed since he'd been injected, but it seemed to Storm like three hours. Once he stopped breathing, what could she do to save him?

Wo watched her face and slightly relaxed. Storm feared that she transmitted every emotion to the woman, and each one fed her sense of impending victory.

Hamlin moved again. This time, he dropped on his back to the floor and Storm's heart fell with him. She didn't dare take her eyes off Wo, but desperate and furious tears sprang to her eyes, nearly obscuring the projectile that flew by her head. Hamlin used the last of his strength. The ceramic cat that had perched on top of one of the boxes caught Wo squarely on the cheekbone.

Wo shrieked and froze in her circular path. Storm backed one step toward the wall, where Hamasaki's family portrait hung, and prayed. Wo moved in on Hamlin just as Storm lifted the picture, gratified to feel the weight of glass instead of Plexiglas in the frame. It was damned awkward, but Wo was enjoying her moment of power over the man sprawled on the floor too much to notice Storm's move.

Wo was watching Hamlin flop desperately like a grounded trout, each movement becoming weaker. With all her strength, Storm slammed the frame over Wo's head. The glass cracked loudly and Wo looked at her, amazed. She paused, then stumbled to her knees.

But Storm's attention was drawn to Hamlin's twitching foot. With horror, she saw a paperweight roll from his limp fingers. His eyes met hers, then jerked twice and were immobile. His foot stopped moving.

“No!” Storm screamed with rage. She took a quick step toward Wo. Like a big square discus, she swung the picture frame in a two-handed backhand, up from her waist to the woman's jaw.

The glass, already cracked, shot out in long shards at impact. With a grinding noise that Storm realized with a rising gorge was flesh and cartilage in addition to wood, the frame crumpled. Wo's hands flew to her throat and she bent over, retching and choking. Storm stood rooted in shock at what she'd done, frozen with horror and in anticipation of Wo's next move.