34
Bert was halfway back to the elevator, Mary’s purse in his hand, when he heard Diane scream. Bert broke into a run, his first thought of Frank there with Diane and Mary.
Other passengers were already converging on the elevator area, drawn by Diane’s cry. Bert pushed through the small crowd to find Diane sitting alone in her wheelchair near the elevator doors, her face pale and her hands shaking.
“What just happened?” one of the passengers was asking. “Are you alright?”
“Where’s Colin?” another voice called out.
George came running down the grand staircase, his face flushed from exertion. “Security! We have a situation—” He pulled out his phone, already dialing.
Bert reached Diane, his heart pounding with a fear that was rapidly crystallizing into certainty. “Diane, where’s Mary?”
“I don’t know!” Diane’s voice was shaking, tears streaming down her face. “Colin pushed my chair out of the elevator, and then he… he jumped back in with Mary and the doors closed. I managed to look up to see the elevator went to Level A. Down instead of up. Why would he take her down?”
Bert’s blood turned to ice. Frank had Mary. Had trapped her in an elevator and taken her to the lower decks, away from witnesses, away from help. Fuck that!
George had his phone out and, as he spoke urgently into it, pulled a badge from his jacket. “George Watson, licensed private investigator, hired by Diane Sutherland’s attorney. We have a hostage situation and possible attempted murder in progress.”
Bert barely registered the revelation that George had been working undercover this whole time. All his focus was on finding Mary. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen to open the tracking app connected to the lighthouse necklace he’d given her.
A small circle of guests was gathering near Diane, shock and worry on their faces.
The little blue dot appeared on his screen, pulsing steadily on Level A, the lowest passenger-accessible deck of the ship, down near the waterline where the storage areas and maintenance corridors were located.
“They got out on Level A, and that’s where she still is,” Bert said, his voice deadly calm despite the terror coursing through his veins. He looked at the ship’s security officer who’d just arrived. “The man who took her is Frank Marcone, traveling under the name Colin Morrison. He’s impersonating Diane Sutherland’s nephew. He just kidnapped Mary.”
The security officer’s eyes widened. “We need to wait for backup?—”
“No.” Bert was already moving toward the staircase, his body coiled with violent purpose. “We move now. Every second we wait is another second he has to hurt her or get away.”
George fell into step beside him, the older man moving with surprising speed and grace for someone who’d been playing the friendly retiree. “I’m with you. Diane stays here with Eleanor and the other passengers. Security can protect her.”
They hit the stairwell at a run, Bert jumping down the stairs three at a time with George close behind. His phone was in his hand, the blue dot on the screen guiding him like a beacon.
Level C.
Level B.
Level A.
Barging through the door, he raced down the hall, yelling her name. This level included the medical center at one end, multiple storage closets, the embarkation area, which was closed since they were not at dock, and the hangar, the indoor marina where small watercraft were stored and launched. At this time of day, the area was empty.
Service corridors branched off in multiple directions, lined with storage closets and maintenance access points. The ambient noise was louder, with the constant thrum of the ship’s engines more pronounced. It made it harder for him to hear any sound she might make, so he checked his phone again. The blue dot was stationary now, about thirty feet ahead and to the right. He sprinted down the corridor, his boots pounding on the tile flooring, his heart hammering against his ribs. Please be alive. Please be okay. Please let me get there in time. He called her name again, then heard her scream.
He skidded to a stop outside a maintenance closet, the blue dot pulsing directly on the other side of the door. Bert didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the handle and threw the door open, his body already bracing for a fight.
His heart nearly stopped. Mary’s wheelchair was tipped against the wall, one wheel still slowly spinning. And Mary was slumped in her chair, her chest heaving as she sucked in ragged breaths. Proof of her life slammed into him as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands immediately went to her face, then her neck, cataloging injuries.
Bruises were already forming on her throat—dark, finger-shaped marks that made rage flood through Bert’s system like gasoline on fire. She winced when she breathed, favoring her left side. Her ribs were involved, possibly cracked. And God only knew what could be wrong with her legs that she wouldn’t be able to feel.
“Mary,” Bert breathed, his voice cracking. “Jesus Christ, Mary, are you?—”
“Where is Frank?” George’s voice came from the doorway, sharp and urgent.
Mary managed to croak out words, each one clearly painful. “He ran. Outside. Plans to... jump ship. Swim to... dock.”
The ship was close to port. They’d been scheduled to dock in the morning, but the storm had them hovering just outside the harbor. It was insane, suicidal even, to jump into those waters in the middle of a storm. But a desperate man with nothing to lose might try it anyway.