Part 8 (1/2)

She dodged but he was fast. He grabbed her and with shocking ease pulled her through the open door of an elevator. She inhaled to shout and he swung her off her feet, spun her around, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

She squirmed and raised her knees and tried to kick him. She saw the doors sliding closed, the bright waxed floor and clinical walls and heartless fluorescent lighting in the hallway disappear into a slit, and then gone.

With his knee, Kanan pressed the stop b.u.t.ton.

”What are you doing with Misty's scarf?” he said.

He was lithe and strong, his balance superb, his words clear. Jo raised her foot and tried to kick the alarm b.u.t.ton. Kanan lifted her off her feet and carried her to the far corner of the elevator. Her claustrophobia screeched at her. Tight s.p.a.ce, violent paranoid.

”Who are you working for?” Kanan said.

Writhing, she tried to kick him in the instep.

”Who?” He pinned her flat against the wall. ”If I take my hand off your mouth, will you scream?”

Abso-frackin-lutely. She shook her head.

”You're right, you won't.” His right hand came up. It held one of the ancient daggers. ”You'll answer me, very quietly.”

The blade shone under the lights. Within its gleaming steel were weird patterns. Kinked lines, dark, not quite twisting-almost like a circuit board. As the angle of the blade altered, they s.h.i.+mmered like oil.

It wasn't a ceremonial seppuku knife. Not j.a.panese. But old-so old that it had almost certainly done the job before, and more than once.

She wasn't going to scream.

Yet.

He took his hand off her mouth. ”What do you want? Do you have it?”

”Misty came to see you in the emergency room not fifteen minutes ago. I spoke to her.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t.”

”You can't remember. Come back to the E.R. and-”

”Stop lying to me.”

Convincing him she was telling the truth was out of the question. Misty hadn't had to sign in when she came to the hospital. Maybe the cops could tell Kanan that his wife had been there, right after they cuffed him, and holy flaming c.r.a.p, that blade looked sharp.

”I'm a psychiatrist. I brought you here in an ambulance from your London flight. You told me you'd been poisoned on your business trip to Africa. You said, 'They'll say it was self-inflicted.'”

Instead of confusion, disbelief and anger rolled across Kanan's face. ”Self-inflicted? You don't get so lucky. And not poisoned. Contaminated.”

That was something different altogether. Despite her fear, she said, ”What with?”

He put his ear close to hers. ”Listen to me.”

He was breathing hard, thrumming with tension. Jo sensed that he was close to breaking down. If she hadn't been terrified, she would have felt sorry for him. But she felt like she'd fallen into a pit with a wounded animal.

”If you're a shrink, you can be quiet and listen for one minute. Isn't that what you're trained to do?”

The elevator felt like a tin can that could easily crush her. Don't hyperventilate, she told herself. Just breathe.

And don't point that knife at me. She didn't have a weapon, or a s.h.i.+eld, or anything to defend herself with. Her belt, maybe. Her hands.

”You saying you don't know what got to me?” he said.

”That's right.”

”And you want to know why?”

”Yes.”

His lips drew back, revealing white teeth. ”Slick. Really. Slick.”

Her heart sank. ”I'm not trying to trick you. You have a serious brain injury. You need help. What were you contaminated with?”

”Be quiet. I'm going to get them. Where are they?”

”Who?”

He knocked her against the wall. ”I'm on the job. I'm doing it. But I will get them.”

On his left arm, just below his elbow, Jo saw black lines on his skin. It was writing. And though she had written memory loss on his right arm, this was something different. These were words she hadn't written.

She hated it when words were written on people's bodies.

”Are you looking at me?” he said.

Jo looked. In his ice-chip eyes she saw fury. Behind the fury, the great engine for it, was entropy: chaos, fear, grief. The knife hung in his hand.

”I know I can't remember everything. But I'm not crazy. I will finish the job.” He watched her, seemingly to see if she believed him. ”You believe that?”

Of course not. ”Of course.”

”Dig this. I don't care about the consequences to myself. You've already poured down grief on me. And when I rain it back on you, n.o.body's going to punish a guy in my shape. What can anybody do to me that's worse?”

He held her gaze, eyes no longer diamond-dead but swimming with light. His chest rose and fell against hers. His lips were inches from her ear. He stared at her, maybe searching for confirmation, and relaxed his grip.

It gave her four inches and a brief second. She threw herself forward against him, brought up her left leg, and kicked at the control panel. She hit the red alarm b.u.t.ton.

A siren scorched the elevator. Angrily, Kanan shoved her away from him. Shaking his head, he punched the open b.u.t.ton. The knife hung loose in his hand, seemingly forgotten.

The door began inching open. Kanan's gaze fell to the laminated hospital I.D. clipped to Jo's sweater. He yanked it off.

Held it up. ”I'll find you.”