My mouthgoesdry.
I’m in a huge, high-ceilinged room, standing at the beginning of a metal catwalk that extends out over a series of massive holding tanks. The catwalk is maybe eighty or ninety feet long, and about five feet wide, suspended with steel support beams from theceiling.
My heart pounds as I catch sight of the sign onthewall.
QUARANTINECENTER
This is probably where they keep new arrivals, until they’re healthy enough to join the main exhibits, or cordon off sick creatures until theyrecover.
I can see things swimming in those tanks. Bigthings.
Gulp.
The last thing I feel like doing is walking out there in high heels and a dress, with only a narrow metal guardrail to prevent me from falling in. I’d almost rather take my chances with Cueball. But, on the opposite side, I see another metal door. The hope that it might lead to an exit spurs me intomotion.
Ninety feet. Just ninety feet. I candothis.
I picture Luca’s face, smirking at me. Conjure up the feeling of his armsaroundme.
Babe. You’ve got this. Pieceofcake.
Without another moment of hesitation, I step onto the metal catwalk and start to pick my way across the grated steel bars. I keep my eyes up, not wanting to know whether the things swimming beneath me are akin to the friendly sea creatures fromFinding Nemoor something out of themovieJaws.
Just keepmoving.
Almostthere.
Eightymorefeet.
Seventy.
Sixty.
I’m halfway across when the unthinkable happens. My strappy slingback stiletto heel slides down into the space between two of the metal grates, pinning me in place. My forward momentum sends me tumbling forward, head over feet. I wrench my trapped ankle as I fall onto my hands with a clatter. A scream of agony pops out as I land, pain searing through my twistedjoint.
Worse, though — my eyes, now poised directly over the metal mesh walkway, spot three fins in the water directly below me, confirming my worstfears.
Friendly fish don’t have that many teeth, as ageneralrule.
I twist around into a sitting position and attempt to yank my heel free, but it’s jammed in tight. My eyes water as I reach for the clasp on my shoe strap. My ankle throbs excruciatingly. I can see the joint is already swelling and pray to god it isn’t broken, thinking things can’t get much worse than being pinned down five feet above a tank full of man-eating seamonsters.
The door squeals open, as if to prove mewrong.
Shit.
Cueball steps out onto the catwalk, grinning when he spots me in themiddle.
“Aw, is someonestuck?”
I tear at the clasp with panicked fingers and extract my foot with a sharp tug. The ache that results is enough to make tears spill down my cheeks. There’s no way I’ll be able to put weight on it, let alone outrun himagain.
“Having a rough day,aren’tyou?”
He advances on me, laughing as he sees me scooting backward along the catwalk as fast as I can, using my good foot to propel me. My fingers claw at the metal grating, dragging my bodyalong.
“What do you want from me?” I glare upathim.
His steps are leisurely. He’s in no rush — he knows I can’tescape.