watched Jo-jo through the cracks of the bookshelves. His jaw worked beneath his scraggly goatee as he slid his finger along the books. He paused, adjusted his spectacles, and closed in on his quarry. I gauged his movements, trying to determine what his plan was. Did he know my daughter was in that room? Did he care whether she was harmed?
His first task, no matter what else he planned, would be to take out the scout. That was always a tricky job. Straight hand-to-hand was too unpredictable, gun too loud. An inhalant anesthesia would work well, but I doubted he had access to those kinds of chemicals. Which left short, sharp, cutting implements as his most likely option.
I motioned for Chen-chi to hold still and crept around the edge of the bookcase to the aisle opening directly behind Sean. Sean was watching Jo-jo and didn't see me.
Jo-jo's footsteps approached. Stopped. “Excuse me, son. Can you tell me where to find the medical section?"
Sean looked wary, but he dutifully pointed down the aisle. “It's in the next room over,” he said. He didn't take his eyes off of Jo-jo.
"The one with the Japanese banner?"
"No, the other one. Through the double glass doors.” This time his gaze flicked toward the other end of the hall.
Jo-jo stepped into my field of vision. I saw the flick of the wrist, the faint ripple of a shirtsleeve as a knife slipped into his palm. My mind raced forward through the next few moments: A sudden step, a flash of steel against the jugular. Blood spurting across the chest where my Clarise had found comfort. Soundless gasps from the mouth that she had just kissed. The only man who'd ever made my daughter happy: crumpling toward the floor supported by Jo-jo's free hand, shoved under a desk in a bloody heap.
I caught the knife halfway to Sean's throat.
Jo-jo had grasped Sean with his free arm, pinning the gawky thug against his chest. I used the momentum from my lunge to twist the knife arm behind his back. I stepped forward, pressing myself into Jo-jo and Jo-jo into Sean. “Not that way,” I murmured.
Jo-jo froze. Sean struggled. Chen-chi had moved from behind the stacks and stood like a statue between two towering bookshelves. Through the closed conference room door, I heard Clarise's muffled voice.
I expected Jo-jo to fight me. Instead, he cocked his head as though analyzing the sound of my voice.
"Eugene?” he asked. I stepped back and released my hold, but not before I'd pried the knife from Jo-jo's hand. Sean twisted loose and stared at us.
"What are you doing?” Jo-jo asked. He rubbed his arm where I'd torqued it.
"Stopping a mistake."
Sean's eyes darted between me and Jo-jo, then toward the conference room. His gaze lingered on the knife in my hand. He stepped backward and drew a breath.
I punched him in the solar plexus.
Whatever warning cry Sean had hoped to bellow came out as a surprised grunt. He doubled over, gasping, and stumbled backward. His awkward stagger sent a chair tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Inside the conference room, Clarise's voice paused mid-sentence.
Jo-jo swore under his breath. We froze, silent except for Sean's wheezing, alert for the sound of footsteps headed toward the door. After a moment Clarise's voice resumed speaking.
Chen-chi moved from between the bookshelves and laid a hand on my shoulder.
"He didn't activate, Jo-jo. The flashbacks interfered with the trigger.” Her voice was pitched low, so as not to carry into the nearby room.
Jo-jo's eyes flicked. He studied my face as though looking for something he'd lost. “I'm sorry, Chen-chi,” he said finally. It took me a moment to realize he was condoling her on the loss of her husband, not apologizing for something he'd done.
Chen-chi's face remained impassive. I don't think she realized that her grip on my shoulder had stiffened.
"So are you in on this gig?” Jo-jo asked.
I nodded.
"Good. Guard him.” He flicked his head toward Sean. “Chen-chi, a hand?"
Jo-jo was moving
His first task, no matter what else he planned, would be to take out the scout. That was always a tricky job. Straight hand-to-hand was too unpredictable, gun too loud. An inhalant anesthesia would work well, but I doubted he had access to those kinds of chemicals. Which left short, sharp, cutting implements as his most likely option.
I motioned for Chen-chi to hold still and crept around the edge of the bookcase to the aisle opening directly behind Sean. Sean was watching Jo-jo and didn't see me.
Jo-jo's footsteps approached. Stopped. “Excuse me, son. Can you tell me where to find the medical section?"
Sean looked wary, but he dutifully pointed down the aisle. “It's in the next room over,” he said. He didn't take his eyes off of Jo-jo.
"The one with the Japanese banner?"
"No, the other one. Through the double glass doors.” This time his gaze flicked toward the other end of the hall.
Jo-jo stepped into my field of vision. I saw the flick of the wrist, the faint ripple of a shirtsleeve as a knife slipped into his palm. My mind raced forward through the next few moments: A sudden step, a flash of steel against the jugular. Blood spurting across the chest where my Clarise had found comfort. Soundless gasps from the mouth that she had just kissed. The only man who'd ever made my daughter happy: crumpling toward the floor supported by Jo-jo's free hand, shoved under a desk in a bloody heap.
I caught the knife halfway to Sean's throat.
Jo-jo had grasped Sean with his free arm, pinning the gawky thug against his chest. I used the momentum from my lunge to twist the knife arm behind his back. I stepped forward, pressing myself into Jo-jo and Jo-jo into Sean. “Not that way,” I murmured.
Jo-jo froze. Sean struggled. Chen-chi had moved from behind the stacks and stood like a statue between two towering bookshelves. Through the closed conference room door, I heard Clarise's muffled voice.
I expected Jo-jo to fight me. Instead, he cocked his head as though analyzing the sound of my voice.
"Eugene?” he asked. I stepped back and released my hold, but not before I'd pried the knife from Jo-jo's hand. Sean twisted loose and stared at us.
"What are you doing?” Jo-jo asked. He rubbed his arm where I'd torqued it.
"Stopping a mistake."
Sean's eyes darted between me and Jo-jo, then toward the conference room. His gaze lingered on the knife in my hand. He stepped backward and drew a breath.
I punched him in the solar plexus.
Whatever warning cry Sean had hoped to bellow came out as a surprised grunt. He doubled over, gasping, and stumbled backward. His awkward stagger sent a chair tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Inside the conference room, Clarise's voice paused mid-sentence.
Jo-jo swore under his breath. We froze, silent except for Sean's wheezing, alert for the sound of footsteps headed toward the door. After a moment Clarise's voice resumed speaking.
Chen-chi moved from between the bookshelves and laid a hand on my shoulder.
"He didn't activate, Jo-jo. The flashbacks interfered with the trigger.” Her voice was pitched low, so as not to carry into the nearby room.
Jo-jo's eyes flicked. He studied my face as though looking for something he'd lost. “I'm sorry, Chen-chi,” he said finally. It took me a moment to realize he was condoling her on the loss of her husband, not apologizing for something he'd done.
Chen-chi's face remained impassive. I don't think she realized that her grip on my shoulder had stiffened.
"So are you in on this gig?” Jo-jo asked.
I nodded.
"Good. Guard him.” He flicked his head toward Sean. “Chen-chi, a hand?"
Jo-jo was moving
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