She inhales.
The door opens. There’s a silhouette against the hallway light. The woman with the hand cart steps inside, already reaching for the light switch.
Sasha exhales as she rotates from her hips, thrusts her hand upward, connects with the woman jawline, and continues the motion. The overhead light blazes on, momentarily blinding both of them, but she’s already made contact.
Just way she’s visualized, the way she’s practiced with Daniel, with Connelly, with sparring parts.
The woman’s head whips back as she stumbles. The hand truck falls from her grip. Two sets of keys clatter to the floor.
Sasha kicks the cart away, grabs the woman by the shoulders and pulls her to the floor while she pushes the door closed with her hip.
The woman stares, stunned by the blow. But that won’t last forever. Sasha pats her dress, checks her pockets. No syringe. No weapons of any kind.
She pushes the woman back against the wall, holds her there with one hand while she calls Connelly through her speakerphone.
“I’m on my way,” he answers.
“Hurry. Wait. Do you have flexi-cuffs?”
“There should be a set in the glove compartment, under the bee sting kit and bandages.”
“Bring a pair.”
“Nitrile gloves, too?”
Fear flares in the woman’s blue eyes.
“No,” Sasha says.
“See you in three minutes.”
Sasha sits back on her heels and studies the woman. “How did you get close enough to kill her?”
She answers in a tired voice. “Linda was always too trusting. It was her greatest weakness.”
Sasha watches her struggle to control her breathing, to overcome the pain.
“She thought preserving the records would protect the truth. She never understood that the information in the files is a weapon. In the wrong hands?—”
“In your hands,” Sasha interrupts.
The woman holds her gaze. “In almost anyone’s hands.”
“Not Linda’s.”
“Do you think Caleb Rye would agree?”
Sasha says nothing.
Loud footsteps, running. Then Connelly yanks the door open and bursts into the room.
Ruth looks at him. Then at Sasha.
“I loved her, you know.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leo secures the woman’s hands with the disposable restraints, helps her to her feet, and deposits her on the couch. She sits there still, silent, her expression blank.
