Unless she was having the out-of-body experience reported by near-drowning or heart attack victims, Storm knew she wasn’t dead. For one thing, she felt awful. Her eyelids were glued together, her head pounded, her mouth felt like and tasted like roofing tar, and nausea roiled somewhere beneath the film that wrapped her consciousness. It was like being under water, so she’d give in and succumb to the sticky darkness, which partially buffered her from queasiness and pain.
The other clue that life persisted was the same attractive Asian woman with the gardenia in her hair whom she’d seen in a dream at some point before—when had that been?—came to visit again. The woman’s pale, powdered face wore an expression of kindness and concern, and her carmine lips moved to communicate a message that Storm couldn’t quite understand. Storm knew that she and the woman didn’t exist in the same realm, and the woman was trying to give Storm an important message.
In the real world, which was still out of reach, Storm felt tossed and pitched, rolled from one side to another. It wasn’t helping the nausea one bit. Her brain hummed and voices murmured, though Storm couldn’t tell if those were the sounds of the geisha-woman attempting to get through to her or if there were other people around her.
As if the static lifted, Storm understood the woman’s words. “Help Damon and Stella,” she said, and gestured behind Storm. “You can trust Yuan Ling.” Then she held up what looked like a long shepherd’s crook, a modern one made of pale blue aluminum. It made no sense whatsoever.
Who would help that rat Damon, and what the hell was a Yuan Ling? Then her sticky eyelids came apart. The first thing she saw was Keiko, who was swabbing her face with a damp rag. The smell of vomit and diesel fuel gagged her, and Storm closed her eyes against the nauseating dizziness that washed over her in waves.
Keiko moved a bucket across the floor with her foot. “If you’re sick, can you lean over?” she asked in a soft voice.
A crack in Storm’s consciousness opened and shed some light on her memory. Yuan Ling was Keiko. Obake or one of his agents named her Keiko after they purchased her from her parents. With as much consideration as they would have for a rubber doll, or a pricey spittoon. Certainly less than a car, which would cost ten times as much.
Vertigo inverted Storm’s stomach and she barely got her head over the bucket in time. She knew how insensate she was when she went to wipe her mouth and found her hands tied behind her back. Whatever held them bit painfully into her skin.
Keiko’s wrists were tied with some kind of heavy duty plastic tie, and Storm surmised her hands must be secured in a similar manner. Keiko, with her hands in front, had enough mobility to blot Storm’s mouth, though her skin was broken and bleeding in places. Storm remembered how Keiko got her hands in front of her at Pauline’s house. She was young.
Storm laid her head down gently so as not to bring on another session of vomiting and moved her eyes slowly around the small, enclosed space. Stella was there, too. She sat opposite Storm on a separate bunk, pale as the walls and stiff as a mannequin. The bed swayed, and Storm knew it wasn’t just her vertigo, because Stella cringed in pain. Her arms, too, were behind her and Storm knew they hurt like hell.
The room rolled again, and the movement brought on another bout of vertigo, but at least she knew why their space tilted and swayed. It wasn’t due to her drug-induced delirium or dizziness. They were in the tiny forward cabin of a boat, and the hum that had added to the confusion in Storm’s dream was an engine. A diesel engine, by the odor. Storm hated that smell. Even without the drugs, the smell of diesel made her queasy. Underlying the diesel was a fishy scent, combined with the stink of urine. Storm gulped back nausea again.
With effort, she began to examine the room, which was V-shaped, the contour of the prow. The bunk on which she lay and the one on which Stella sat met at the point of the V. Between the bunks was a small floor space, where Keiko could just about stand upright. Storm, who at five-eight was a couple of inches taller, would have to stoop a bit.
There were narrow horizontal windows above the bunks, too small to climb through, and they were open a few inches. Thank God, or the women would have baked. Hot wind drifted through the side on which the sun shone, which was Stella’s side of the cabin. Stella’s face was glossy with sweat, and her color was grayer than Storm had ever seen it. She didn’t look good.
Storm struggled to a sitting position, which caused pain to shoot from her deadened hands to her cramping shoulders. It was why Stella was trying not to move, though the bouncing boat made that effort impossible.
The boat wasn’t moving fast, just steadily, and the ocean had to be clean and glassy, or they would have been tossed around like corn in a popper. As it was, they were subjected to a good deal of swaying with an occasional hard thump. The downside of a clean and glassy ocean was that there was virtually no breeze. Hence, the stifling heat.
Storm looked up at the ceiling. Topside, it would be the forward deck of the boat. As she’d expected, there was a good-sized hatch.
“You’ve tried the hatch?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” Stella said.
The only other space big enough to get through was the door to the cabin, and Storm didn’t bother to ask if they’d tried it. There had been some pounding in her drug-induced stupor, and she surmised that this had been Stella and Keiko’s work. She’d have done the same.
Next to the cabin door was a smaller door. “What’s in there?” Storm asked.
“A toilet,” said Keiko, who sat next to Stella on the bunk.
“Anybody on the boat used it?”
“No,” said Stella. “But Keiko checked it out.”
“No windows?” Storm asked, and the other two women just shook their heads.
“Figures.”
The boat crashed over a swell, and Storm nearly tipped over. Stella did, with a cry of pain.
“Who’s driving? Do you know?”
“We don’t know,” said Keiko, “But it’s the Quest, one of Lara’s boats. They must have Lara tied up somewhere else.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No, but we think she’s topside. The only other cabin is the galley and salon,” said Keiko. “They’re open to stern of the boat.”
“There’s another head. They could have her locked in there.”
Ugh, thought Storm.
“We heard her voice. She yelled,” Keiko said.
“She was scared.” Lines etched sadness onto Stella’s face. “I didn’t protect Angela, and now Lara’s in trouble.”
“It’s not your fault,” Keiko said. “What could you do?”
“How did you get here?” Storm interrupted. “Were you both drugged, too?”
Keiko helped Stella sit up. “I called Stella to tell her Carmen and I were okay, but Pauline answered the phone.”
“She’d come to get me,” Stella said.
“On whose orders?”
“Obake.” Keiko spat the word. “Her son is working with him.”
“Wayne made her do it.” Stella appeared stricken, as if she still couldn’t fathom the betrayal. “She was my friend, the only person who knew the vow I made to Barb to protect her daughters.” Stella’s voice broke. “Pauline knew how I felt about Angela’s death.”
“Pauline is not a friend,” Keiko said.
“Keiko, what did Pauline tell you on the phone?” Storm asked.
“To wait in front of the hospital, or they’d hurt Stella.”
“Who’s they?” asked Storm.
“Two men in a van. The ones who picked me up.”
“Not a black SUV?” Storm asked.
“No,” Keiko said. “I know who you mean, but not them.”
“What happened after they picked you up?” Storm asked Keiko.
“They took me home, to our apartment. But Pauline opened the door, and she told me to get inside or someone would hurt Stella.”
“And then what?”
“Someone big threw a blanket over me. He knocked me down.”
“I was already tied up by the time Keiko got there,” Stella said. “Pauline could have helped, but she let them take us away.”
“How did they surprise you?” Storm asked Stella.
“Pauline called and told me she knew where Keiko was, but she said she had to talk to me in person. She was alone at the door, but someone else came in the bathroom window.”
Storm thought for a minute. “Pauline works for Obake?”
“Yes, her son got her involved,” said Keiko. Stella nodded.
“I heard he bought that nice house for her,” Storm said.
“The BMW, too,” Keiko said.
“But she sold her shop to the Tagamas. Do you think Tagama works with Obake?”
“Yes,” said Keiko.
“No,” said Stella, at the same time.
Storm looked back and forth between them. Stella was the first to speak. “I can’t believe that. Tagama helped me. He got me out of the business.”
“But he could be threatened. He wouldn’t risk his son’s safety, not even for you.” Keiko spoke without spite.
Stella didn’t want to believe it. “He was smart. He’d know how to get around Obake.”
Keiko didn’t respond; she simply gazed at her bound wrists.
“We’ll figure that out later,” Storm said. “Right now, let’s get ourselves out of here.”
She got to her feet and nearly fell over. Not only was the floor heaving with the sea, but she was still weak and shaky. She leaned against the bulkhead next to the bathroom and crouched into a near-sitting position. Then she tried to slide her tethered hands down the back of her thighs.
Shit, that hurt. She was bent at the waist like a paper clip with her hands at the level of the back of her knees while the sharp plastic edges of the ties gouged her wrists, which were sticky and raw. Nor was her flared silk skirt the ideal outfit for contortionism. It hung off one hip and bunched up at the other, creating more bulk for her aching arms to bypass. But the big problem was the curve of her hips. Why had she eaten dessert last night? Or the night before?
Keiko stood up, reached out, and grabbed the drooping side of Storm’s skirt. She gave it a sharp jerk. The wadded skirt pulled smooth on one side. “Hold on,” Keiko said, and pulled some more.
Storm yelped with the tug on her strained upper arms and shoulders and almost fell onto the bunk.
“No, stay on your feet,” Keiko said. “It’s easier to move. Now lean back.” Keiko still had hold of the hem of Storm’s skirt. At least the fullness of the garment let it be pulled free—a straight skirt would have made the job harder.
“One leg at a time,” Keiko said, and held Storm steady. The plastic bands cut deeper, but Storm kept going. She could do this; she was limber enough.
When Storm got her hands to the back of her ankles, she knew she was almost there. She was also appalled to see the deep cuts in the sides and backs of her wrists. Blood ran down the backs of her hands toward her fingers and dripped onto the floor. A wave of dizziness hit her.
“Another inch,” Keiko said. She put a hand firmly on Storm’s back to steady her. “Easy now, put one foot at a time through.”
Storm did it, one bare foot, then the other. Successful but sore, she flopped onto the bunk. “Do we have any water?”