Midnight Sun (9 page)

“What?” Marcus twisted on the bunk to look at her, then the window. He sat up and leaned across her for a closer look, then scrambled off the bed, groaning at the movement.

“Where are you going?” she demanded when he shoved his feet in his shoes.

He turned with his finger to his lips. Right. Now that the storm had died down, they needed to be quiet. And hidden. Her stomach fluttered with fear and she wished they were safe in their hiding place.

“I’m going to see.” He tightened his laces with a yank.

“Wait.” She stretched toward the drawer and opened it with a pop, the contents sliding around. She winced at the sound. She drew out the walkie and carefully turned up the volume. Her heart squeezed when she heard nothing.

“Maybe the other walkie is dead. Or they’re still asleep.”

Or gone. On the other ship.

“We have to know.” She crawled off the bed and sought her own shoes.

“Uh-uh. I’m putting you back above the freezer. It’s the safest place.”

She stilled and stared. “You’re not going to pull that macho crap now, are you?”

He straightened and returned her gaze. “We have no idea what we’re going to find. They could be asleep, or they could be gone.” He stopped himself, swallowing.

“They could be dead.”

Shaking his head, he turned to his other boot. “I don’t think they are. Why would they be? No benefit to the pirates then. I just—I may need to do things and I don’t want you implicated.” As if to make it clear, he pulled one of the guns from the drawer. He held it in front of him, checked the safety with more assurance than she was comfortable with. He turned back to her. “Please.”

She had to hide her fear that he wouldn’t return, that he would be captured and she wouldn’t be able to help him, that she wouldn’t know what to do to help him. “Leave me the other gun.”

“Hell no.” He stood, tried to tuck the gun in the back of his sweatpants, but they were too loose. He swore, shucked them and grabbed his bloody jeans, the fabric stiff and crusty. He buttoned them and secured the pistol in the waistband.

“I know how to use it. My father was in the Navy, remember, and when I moved to New York, he insisted I be licensed to have one in my apartment.”

“Not the same.”

“Oh, really? Using it to defend myself?”

His jaw tightened and he kept his gaze averted. “You don’t know what it’s like to shoot someone. I don’t want you to know. So I’m keeping the gun.”

“Would you rather I know what it’s like to be dead? Or worse?”

His gaze snapped to hers, the lines on his face tight, as if he hadn’t considered that. Lips thinned, he took one pistol and handed it to her, grip first. Her own shoulders tense, she released the magazine to check, tapped it back into place, then pulled back the slide, keeping the barrel pointed down. When she looked up again, she saw approval in his eyes, and he’d relaxed just a bit.

“You ready?” He held a hand out to her.

She thought, just for a moment, that she’d tuck her hands on the mattress under her and refuse to move. They were safe here for the moment. They were together. Instead, she tucked away the pistol, picked up the walkie in one hand, put her other in his and followed him into the hall and back into the vent.

Marcus would feel better once she was safely back on the freezer, then…Christ, he didn’t know what he’d do. He had to do something, and he had to do it without worrying about Brylie.

Though he would anyway. But if the hostages were dead, he didn’t want her to see that. If he had to act, he didn’t want her to see that, either. Bad enough he had to live with it.

“Right. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Use the satellite phone and call the Southern Ocean Patrol, see what their status is.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, without a kiss that would keep her in his head, he headed back through the vent toward the lounge.

He heard the accented voices before he reached the lounge, and relief poured through him. Not that he wanted to encounter these bastards, but thinking about being on the ship, just him and Brylie in the middle of the ocean, had creeped the hell out of him. So, still in danger, but not alone. He edged nearer and looked through the vent the best he could. All the passengers sat on the floor by the inner wall, from what he could see, and the furniture was gone. Out of the way, maybe, because of the storm. He could see that older couple from the States, the woman with her head on her husband’s shoulder, her eyes shadowed as he curved his hand around her head protectively. One of the three adventurers sat nearby, his jaw set mutinously. Where were his companions? Marcus knew that look. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough. It was the look of a guy about to do something stupid.

Please don’t let him do anything stupid
.

He wished he could see Brylie’s dad, but the captain was probably on the bridge. Had the man had any sleep? Marcus felt a twinge of guilt for his own restful night, with Brylie’s arms around him.

He didn’t see Trinity, or the asshole from dinner. A thought occurred to him and he reached for the radio Brylie had left here. Shit, where was it? Of course, they hadn’t secured it. It probably slid all over the place during the storm. No telling where it was now. Great. Their one connection to the pirates and it was lost.

At least he knew what the silence meant now.

Ah, well, the battery was bound to run out sooner or later. Now that he knew everyone was safe, for the most part, he needed to get back to Brylie. Hopefully she’d reached the Southern Ocean Patrol and would have good news, like rescue was on the bloody horizon.

Before he went back, though, he wanted to know where the pirates’ ship was. He hadn’t seen it through the porthole. They may have just untethered it for the duration of the storm, but he wanted to be sure. That meant going out on deck and exposing himself to danger.

And since he had no way to contact Brylie, she was going to kick his ass for making her worry.

   Nonetheless, he made his way through the vent to one of the doors that exited the ship opposite the side the pirates had boarded. His muscles strained as he lowered himself through the panel after checking for intruders. If he was lucky, they’d be as messed up as he was after last night. In fact, now might be the right time for a diversion that could have the pirates on the run once and for all. If only he had a way to get in contact with the people inside the lounge. He’d bet those adventure boys would go for it, and maybe even the asshole.

The captain, maybe. He’d check the bridge after this, see how guarded Brylie’s dad was.

Yeah, Brylie was going to kick his ass if he didn’t get back to her soon, but he could sure move a hell of a lot faster without worrying about her keeping up.

He opened the same door he’d exited before, since it hadn’t alerted the pirates last time. He sucked in a sharp breath as the dry air struck him. Christ it was cold, and the thick sweatshirt he wore offered no protection against the wind. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and kept close to the outside of the ship, aware of windows that would give him away.

The ocean still churned, keeping him off balance, all of it gray, so he could hardly tell where the sky began. He couldn’t watch it long or he’d be on his knees puking again. Still, it was gorgeous in its violence, in its wildness. He almost wished Brylie was here to see it.

But no, this was too dangerous. No ship in sight this way. He considered rounding the front of the ship, but feared being detected. He’d go to the rear, though it was a greater distance. He’d be exposed longer. His gut tightening, he drew the gun and edged along the ship, every muscle ready for action, every nerve straining for a sign of the bad guys.

He caught sight of the stern of the other ship before he reached the end of the icebreaker. The pirates’ vessel was a couple dozen meters out. This time he saw movement, men walking about on deck securing the ship. He counted seven.

He considered the pistol in his hand, but decided against using it. He was no crack shot, and even if he was, the distance was too great. He needed to get back to Brylie. Also, he was starving after emptying his stomach last night. He was glad she’d thought to hide food. He just needed to make his way back to it.

First he wanted to check on the bridge, see if he could get a better headcount of the hostage takers there, because no doubt the captain was operating the ship and was surely being guarded. Gun at the ready, he reentered the hallway, deciding not to go back in the vent just yet. His muscles were still a bit watery from his illness and he couldn’t climb as easily. So he’d creep and take his chances.

A couple of wrong turns later—he’d maneuvered through the vents more than the hallways in his short time on board—he reached the hallway leading to the bridge. He swore. He wasn’t going to be able to approach without leaving himself vulnerable. If the door to the bridge opened, he’d have no time to get into the storage room and he’d be screwed. But he needed to act.

Gun balanced in his hand, he approached the door, nerves snapping through him, worse than that time he’d jumped out of the helicopter on his snowboard. Every sound triggered the flight urge in his legs, his entire body poised to take off the opposite direction.

Then he reached the door and lifted himself to look in the narrow horizontal window.  He saw three men in the room from that vantage point, none of them the captain. What did that mean? Of course, he didn’t know just where the captain would be situated. And he could only see the backs of the other men’s heads, no telling if they were friend or foe.

He’d count them as foe, because if the good guys had taken over, wouldn’t Brylie’s dad have come looking for her?

Right. Nothing he could do here now. Time to go back and pass the information he had on to the authorities.

He hurried back down the hall and turned the corner just as he heard the snick of a door opening.

Chapter Five

Shit. Shit
. The sound of footsteps followed the closing of the door—not someone who was trying to be quiet. So, a pirate. No way was Marcus going to be able to get in the vents with someone coming down the hall. He tugged the master key card Brylie had given him out of his pocket and scanned the hallway for what he thought might be the safest door. Pivoting, knowing he was running out of time before the footsteps rounded the corner, he slid the keycard in the slot of the first door he came across.

A red light flashed.

Fuck
.

He hurried down to the next door, tried it again with hands shaking. Red light again. Had the pirates figured they were hiding in the rooms and deactivated the card? He wasn’t going to chance it. He’d just haul ass, leading them away from the kitchen and Brylie.

Come on, asshole
.

“Hey!”

The shouted warning galvanized him. He sprinted forward, around the corner, then the next, wondering how the hell he was going to buy time with a malfunctioning key card.

He heard the footsteps speed up behind him, but didn’t hear others join it. Right. He could deal with one guy. He pulled to a halt around the corner and waited, listening to the footsteps approach. Taking a deep breath, he pivoted into the path of his pursuer. He had only a split second to adjust his stance, correct his aim before he slammed his fist into the man’s face.

He felt the crunch of cartilage—he knew the feeling well enough—and the snap of something else, followed by a sharp pain in the back of his hand.
Fuck
. Had he broken his goddamned hand?

But he’d laid out the bad guy on the ground. He knew the guy wouldn’t stay there, so he raised the gun and slammed the butt against the guy’s temple. Tucking the gun in the back of his pants, he straddled the limp body. With quick movements he patted the guy down, netting a radio, sat phone and two more guns.

He didn’t have enough pockets and damn, his hand hurt. So he’d keep the phone and radio and ditch the guns, first chance he got. But now he had to beat it before this guy’s friends came to look for him.

Brylie sat forward when she heard the noise in the vent. She let out her breath on a rush when Marcus’s face appeared. He was pale, but when he reached her, he curved one hand around the back of her head and covered her mouth with his. His kiss was hard and hot and deep, his tongue pushing into her mouth as if he was starving for her. Not knowing why, she nonetheless angled her head and leaned back, wanting the reassurance of his weight over her. He was back, he was safe, and something had him ramped up. Her hands skimmed over him, searching for injury, dreading finding one. 

But he didn’t flinch when she touched him, instead followed her down. He made a strangled sound before he flipped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” She leaned over him, studying his drawn face in the dim light. She must have missed an injury somewhere.

He drew his hand up to rest on his chest. “Messed up my hand.”

“What?” She straightened. “How?”

“Punched a guy.” He sat up, putting some distance between them, and pulled the radio and sat phone from his jeans and placed them beside him.

“What? Who?”

He told her what had happened.

“Your key card isn’t working anymore.”

Her stomach dropped. “My—it’s not? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, when I was trying to hide earlier, I was going to slip into one of the rooms, but the lock stayed red. I tried it on more than one room, too,” he said when she opened her mouth to suggest just that. “My thought was that they deactivated all the key cards when they realized we were missing.”

“So we’re stuck here.”

“Only until help arrives.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “I took a couple of their automatic weapons and ditched them in a linen closet, too. I couldn’t carry them, but didn’t want them to have them. Was worried you’d be pissed at me for taking so long.”

She caught his hand in both of hers, pulled it into her lap and looked into his eyes. “You had me in knots worrying. And apparently with good reason. Did you see my dad?”

“No. I didn’t see any of our crew, not in the lounge or on the bridge.”

“Do you think they’re still on the ship?”

“The hostages are. I don’t know why they’d separate the crew. They’re bound to still be here.”

The warmth she’d felt from his kiss evaporated as her fear rose again. “They’d keep him. They need him.”

“Right.” His finger twirled around a lock of her hair. “Don’t worry.”

Easier said than done. Even easier when she had something else to worry about. “What about your hand?”

He grimaced as he held it up. “I don’t think it’s broken. Bruised pretty bad, though.”

“I thought you’d know how to punch someone without hurting yourself.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well, I kinda was moving on the fly. What did you find out from the S.O.P.?”

Her mouth tightened. “The storm blew them off course, and us. They’re trying to find us but it’s going to be awhile, maybe even tomorrow.”

“We can hang on until tomorrow.” He sat against the wall, wincing as he cradled his hand.

“Marcus. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

“I’ve had a broken hand before. Feels different.”

“Snowboarding or fighting?” She didn’t know why it mattered, but she wanted to know.

He met her gaze. “What do you think?”

His admission of violence should bother her, but after the past few days, she couldn’t let it. He was the person she was trusting to get her through this. She wasn’t going to judge his past. “It could be a different bone.”

“I don’t think—”

His words were cut off by a screeching sound that Brylie finally realized was the intercom. Hope bloomed. Her father? Did they have control of the ship? An echoing silence filled the room before a booming voice spoke, the words bouncing off the close walls of the hiding space.

“Marcus Devlin, your presence is required in the lounge. Trust me when I say, you will be much happier if you come to us than if we have to come to you.”

The intercom cut off.

Marcus focused on Brylie, watched her face grow pale and her eyes widen. He covered her hand with his. “He won’t find us.” His grip gentled on hers as he felt her pulse race. “Or it will take him some time. Don’t worry.”

God, he was such a liar. How could he tell her not to worry when he had no idea what this man wanted, other than him? When he knew the man threw his own man overboard. Yeah, he was worth more alive than dead, but he
had
taken out a few of the pirates, and alive was a relative term.

He folded his arms on his knees and dropped his forehead to them. Waiting wasn’t his strong point, either.

“Without the other walkie, we won’t know what’s going on.” She held up the lone radio.

“No.” He rubbed the knuckle of his good thumb between his eyes. “Wait.” He straightened and grabbed the radio he’d taken from the man in the hall. He inspected the controls and turned up the volume. “We can hear them communicating with each other.”

Her expression still wary as she eyed the device, she relaxed her shoulders a little. “As long as they’re talking to each other.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Patience.”

She rolled her head and tried to return his smile. “I’m ready for this to be over.”

He could end it now. He could turn himself in. but he’d have to leave her alone, and he wasn’t prepared to do that. Besides, he got the feeling she wouldn’t stay put, stay safe, and he couldn’t protect her if he was a hostage.

They’d wait. But Christ, it felt like his nerves were on the outside of his skin.

He didn’t realize he was cradling his hand until she said, “I have a first aid kit in the kitchen. There’s some ibuprofen.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I’ll be fine. I snowboarded with a broken collarbone, a broken arm, a broken rib.”

She folded her legs and rested her head against the wall, settling in. “Is there anything you haven’t broken?”

He chuckled. “Very little. My neck, though it’s been a near thing. My left hip. My jaw.”

Her eyes widened at the short list. “How many concussions have you had?”

“Three.”

“With a helmet?”

He winked. “Sure.” He pointed to his right eye socket. “Crushed this. Broke my nose a few times. Both shins, different times. Ah. I haven’t broken my right femur. My right foot. My right knee dislocated.”

“No wonder you retired.”

“That’s not why.”

“So? Why?”

He shrugged and looked at her sideways. “Stopped being fun. Started being a job.”

“God forbid.”

He grinned. “I like to be entertained.”

She swept her hand at their surroundings. “Entertaining enough for you?”

“You bet. Think I’m too old to be a—what’s the ship equivalent of air marshal?”

A series of popping sounds jarred them. Marcus jerked into a sitting position, his entire body tight.

“What was it?”

He didn’t want to say, didn’t want to make it real. His blood was icy in his veins.

“Was it gunshots?”

“That’s what it sounded like.” He couldn’t stay still any longer, and lunged for the vent, though navigating it would be a challenge with his hand. “Stay here.”

“Oh, no. My father—”

“Damn it, Brylie.” But she was right. He couldn’t leave her alone, not and be able to think about the bad guys. “Jesus. Stay close. I’m serious.” His heart thundered. He couldn’t protect her, not against bullets. He wanted to lock her in the damn freezer, keep her there until he figured out what was going on, until he could—hell, he couldn’t do anything. Frustration tensed his muscles. Why wasn’t he trained for this? Maybe he should have just let the terrorists take them with the others. At least they knew rescue was on the way.

He headed through the now-familiar vent, careful not to put too much weight on his hand. The sound of shouts carried as they got closer to the lounge, most of it in Spanish. The pirates were yelling at each other. He wished to hell he spoke Spanish. He heard sobs, too, a woman—no, more than one woman. And a keening.

He almost didn’t want to look through the vent. But he sucked in a deep breath and looked down into chaos.

Blood spattered the wall across from the vent—a lot of blood. No one was in sight, though he could hear the shouting below him, and the crying. He tried to remember how many shots he’d heard. Not enough to take out all the passengers, but how many?

He glanced back at Brylie, whose anxious face was lit in stripes through the vent. If only there was another way to see into the room. Jesus, that was a lot of blood. He forced himself to listen past the buzz in his ears to the chaos below.

“Jesus! He’s dying! God! We have to stop the bleeding!” An American voice, a man, high in panic.

Some Spanish, or whatever. He caught the word
pistola
. Babbling of, “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” over and over. Nothing that gave him any clue over who’d been shot, who had done the shooting, what had provoked it. He sensed Brylie moving away and glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to see that my father is okay,” she whispered.

He followed her down the vent, far enough that he felt safe talking, though he hated leaving without knowing what had happened. He grasped her wrist in the narrow passageway, jerking her to a stop.

“And how are you going to see without putting yourself at risk? Without putting us both at risk?”

“At risk?” She spoke through her teeth, her eyes flashing anger and contempt.

“He’s my father.”

“And he’d want you safe. Let me think. Let me think. There has to be a way to find out what’s going on in there. Someone’s hurt pretty bad.”

“I know. I heard. Marcus, those are my friends down there.”

“So what do you want to do, just run in there? You know this ship better than I do. Think.” He tightened his grip on her wrist.

She looked ready to cry, and he regretted his harsh tone. He released her and sat against the side of the vent. “I’ve got to go back and hear what’s going on. I need to know you’re going to be safe. Don’t go trying to find your dad, all right?”

She set her jaw, and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him to fuck himself. Instead she said, “I’m coming with you.”

He nodded, not acknowledging the relief that poured through him. Good. He headed toward the lounge.

He eased to one side so that Brylie could squeeze up beside him and listen to what was going on below.

“You have to call a medevac helicopter,” a man’s voice below them pleaded. “We have to get him out of here or we’re going to lose him. You can’t afford to let him die.”

Huh. That was a weird thing to say. Marcus knew the voice, too. He couldn’t place it, but he’d heard it. He mentally revisited the people he’d spoken with on the ship in the short time he’d been on board, but couldn’t match the face with the voice.

“We will not risk calling anyone. Already we’ve been compromised with the incident on the bridge. Our time is running out.”

Marcus frowned. Not an accented voice. Was someone on board working with the pirates?

“The medevac chopper can bring the ransom and you can go.”

“You think they’ll just send the money along?” This time, an accented voice chimed in. “No. we stick with the original plan. Though I want Marcus Devlin here to ensure I get what I want. He’s making too much trouble out there.”

“He’s an idiot, Hilario. Just some rich kid playing hide and seek.”

Marcus tensed at the voice of the man who addressed the pirate. The douche from the captain’s table the first night. He was working with the pirates? He knew the leader’s first name. His questions made sense now, the questions about security and the threat, gauging their preparedness, but Marcus wouldn’t have thought he’d have the balls to act.

“I say we get what we can from the passengers and go,” another accented voice said. “We already lost Enrique and if this man dies, we’re murderers.”

What man? Marcus willed someone to give the man’s identity, but instead he heard the sound of flesh to flesh, and a grunt. Someone had made their opinion of the reasonable man’s opinion known.