by Debby Mayne
That question quickly grew old. Molly squared her shoulders. “I don’t have it.”
Two steps put Cohn face-to-face with her. His backhanded slap sent her reeling into the wall. Her head banged against the drywall, bringing spots before her eyes.
“Stick her in there until she’s ready to talk.”
Morrison grabbed her by the arm, shoved her into a bent position, then crammed her into an empty cabinet. Her knees rested against her nose.
“Someone’s coming. We’ll question her again later. Maybe she’ll be ready to tell us where our money is.” The sound of stampeding feet rushed past her prison.
A sob ripped from Molly’s throat as the lock engaged from the other side. She hated small, dark spaces.
A Bible verse from her childhood came to mind. Something about God’s light. Why couldn’t she remember?
The nurse at the hospital said God would never leave her nor forsake her. Did that include tiny, cramped spaces?
*
Lance knocked on Molly’s door. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again, then tried the knob. The door swung open easily at his touch. His heart plummeted. Withdrawing his weapon from the waistband of his pants, he stepped inside.
“Molly?”
The bed had been slept in. Her cell phone sat on the nightstand. Her camera bag rested under the bed. The open bathroom door showed him the room was empty.
Fear rushed through him with the speed of light. They’d taken her. Without anyone telling him, he knew. How’d they get in? He whirled and dashed to the security office.
Not bothering to knock, he barged in and planted both hands on Jack Morley’s desk. His gun clattered against the top.
Morley’s eyes widened and he straightened in his seat. “You can’t have that here.”
“I’ve a license to carry. Did you take Natasha’s pass card when she switched cabins?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Molly Nicholson is gone.”
“Gone where?”
Lance closed his eyes. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. I think she’s been abducted. We need to search the ship.” He speared Morley with a glance. “And if you dare say she jumped overboard like Hilga, I’ll leap across this desk and throttle you.”
Hilga! She would’ve had a pass card before going over. The question of how access was gained to Molly’s room was answered. The question now, is who?
Morley shoved to his feet and waved to the two others in the office. “Get a move on. Scour the ship for Molly Nicholson. Keep walkie-talkies to channel two and let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
He tossed a radio to Lance, who caught it in one hand. “Thanks!” If he kidnapped someone, where would he take them? As far from passengers as possible. “I’m searching the lower deck.”
Morley nodded. “Spread out everyone! Time is of the essence.”
Lance dashed from the office and toward the stairs. Taking the elevator would bring him into contact with passengers. Something he wasn’t in the mood for.
He stopped short on the first landing and dropped to his knees. “Lord, help me. Help me find her before it’s too late. Keep her safe beneath your wings. Let her lie down like the wings of a dove covered with silver.”
He needed to get control of himself. He’d be no good to Molly if he was a nervous wreck. Using the stair rail, he pulled himself to his feet and headed into the bowels of the ship.
Several crew members pushing carts piled with towels and bedding squeezed past him. Lance stopped in front of one of the women. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Molly Nicholson. Have you seen her?”
“No English.” They shoved past him, eyeing his weapon.
Frustration weighed his heart as he watched them leave, and tucked the gun back into his waistband. Somebody had to have seen something. He’d question everyone onboard if he had to. He shoved open the double doors leading to the galley.
The kitchen resembled an ant hill with chefs and workers scurrying in every direction. Lance grabbed a metal ladle and a pan, then started banging. A woman shrieked, and what seemed like a multitude of faces turned to glare.
“I’m looking for a woman named Molly Nicholson.” He lowered the utensil and pan. “She may have gone through here with a man or a woman. Has anyone seen her?”
They shook their heads. One man stepped forward. “But we aren’t the night crew. Depending on who saw her would depend on the time.”
Lance rubbed both hands over his face. God, a sign, please. A blinking neon light. An idea. Anything.
He lowered his arms. “Where’s the most remote area of the ship?”
One of the galley workers jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Engine room.”
A metal door was tucked away in the corner. “Is there anyone there?”
“Off and on. When they need to check on things.”
Lance headed that way. As he raised his hand to shove through, he spotted a piece of royal blue fabric hung on a nail. He plucked the scrap and held it up. “Any idea who this belongs to?”
More head shaking. Bingo! His sign. Bless you, Molly.
Lance barged through the door and dashed down the hall. As he rounded a corner, his legs slipped from beneath him. He flailed his arms like a windmill and fell flat on his back. The strong smell of bleach stung his nostrils.
32
M olly wrapped her arms around her legs, laid her cheek on her knees, and let the tears flow. Locked in a cabinet like a bucket of fish, the engine roaring and banging, no one would hear her yell unless they were standing on top of her.
The dark closed in, suffocating her, robbing her prison of oxygen. Her breath came fast, at hyperventilating speed. Molly grew dizzy. She couldn’t pass out. Not now. What if someone came and she could cry for help? She took deep, slow breaths and willed her heart rate to return to normal.
How long until Cohn or Morrison came back to check on her? They said she’d only be in here until she came to her senses, right? Well, they could wait a long time. Frightened or not, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of caving and telling them where the money was. Besides, then they’d most likely shoot the purser, and she couldn’t live with that.
Weren’t there guys who looked after the engines? Would they hear her cry for help, or had Cohn and Morrison shot them too? Her face burned from the trail her tears left.
God, are you here? Your Word says you’ll never leave us alone. Do you stay, even if the plan is for us to die?
Not that she wanted to die. She wanted to experience a relationship with Lance. Succeed or not, she wanted the opportunity to try. Stuck in the inky blackness disrupted only by a sliver of amber light glowing around the cabinet hinges, she admitted she loved the bossy, sometimes overbearing, Officer Lance Spencer.
Instead of bringing her joy, the realization brought on the tears in a deluge of emotion. She should’ve told him. She knew long before this day. The moment she realized how special he was—how different from Vince—she should’ve declared her feelings. Now, it might be too late.
Not only did she want a life with Lance, but one with God too. Heaven might be a wonderful place, but she wasn’t ready to find out. Was a desire to live wrong, knowing what waited after death?
Was that a footstep? A scrape of someone passing? She screamed until she thought her throat would burst from the strain. No one came to free her. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to whatever God’s plan for her might entail.
*
“Uh.” Lance rolled to his side, off the weapon digging into his spine. That would leave a bruise. He pushed to his feet, biting off the groan rising in his throat. How long had he laid on the floor?
He searched the floor. Traces of the liquid he’d slipped on left a trail from where he’d fallen to a nearby closet. He yanked the door open.
Natasha’s lifeless body fell into him, pushing him back. He stopped her forward progression, instead lowering her gently to the floor. He knew she was dead, yet h
e checked for a pulse anyway. No heartbeat.
Molly! He scanned the hall in both directions. Please, God, don’t let him be too late. How long did he lay on the floor? Had he passed out?
He raised a hand to the back of his head. A lump rose beneath his fingers. No time to worry about his own injuries. Time ticked away with each breath he took. Think, Lance. You’re a cop. Don’t let personal feelings get in the way of professionalism.
Where are you Molly? Why hadn’t someone located Natasha’s body? Seen the wet floor?
Pressing the button on his radio, he informed Morley of his location.
“You’re right beside the engine room. If she’s down there, that’s where she’ll be. The ship docks in half an hour. We have to find her and whoever took her before then. If they get off the ship and disappear into the city, we’ll have a hard time finding them. We’re on our way. Wait for us.”
“Right.” Thirty minutes? Lance clicked off, and sprinted down the hall. He wouldn’t wait for anyone. Not when he might be close.
The noise from the engine room ricocheted against his eardrums as he burst into the cavernous space. Two men in crew uniforms turned and held up their hands at the sight of him brandishing his gun.
“Molly Nicholson. Where is she?” He had to yell to be heard above the noise.
They shook their heads.
“Start looking.” Lance ripped open cabinets. “If you find one that’s locked, open it.”
One of the men tapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a locked one over there, but it’s a padlock. Not one of ours.”
Lance whipped out the radio. “Morley. Engine room. Bring a bolt cutter.” He clicked off, squatted in front of the cabinet, and banged.
“Molly!” God, help him. “Molly!”
A faint knock ensued from the other side. Lance closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool metal. “I’m here. We’re going to get you out.” Thank you, God. Thank you.
It seemed like an eternity before Morley and another security officer joined him. Lance held out his hand for the bolt cutter, then snapped the lock. When he opened the door, Molly fell into his arms.
She flung her arms around his neck. “You found me.”
Lance plastered her to him and claimed her lips. “I wouldn’t have stopped until I did.” He lifted her into his arms. “Let’s have the doctor check you out.” He carried her past the two crew members who watched with open mouths.
“No, Lance.” She pushed against him and peered into his face. “It was Morrison and Cohn. They’re working together. Morrison shot Natasha.”
“I found her.” They stepped into the elevator, along with Morley. “Cohn faked falling overboard.”
“Morrison came into my room and ordered me out. They locked me in the cabinet until I’d tell them where the money is.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t. They would’ve killed me anyway.”
His arms tightened around her. The realization of how close he’d come to losing her, tore through him.
“All I could think about,” She raised her head. “Was that I never had the chance to tell you that I love you. I prayed for that opportunity. God gave it to me. I love you, Lance Spencer.”
He blinked back tears and spoke through the lump in his throat. “I love you, Molly Nicholson.”
“I hate to break up this love fest,” Morley interrupted. “But we only have a few minutes to find Morrison and Cohn.”
*
Lance loved her! God hadn’t left her to die in the cabinet! With that knowledge, Molly knew they’d find Morrison and Cohn. They couldn’t fail. Not now. She slipped from Lance’s arms to stand on her feet.
The elevator pinged at the lobby floor. Molly stepped out into a throng of people and a mountain-sized pile of luggage. How long had she been locked up? “No, no, no! We’ve docked.” She dashed through the doors and onto the deck with Lance and Morley on her heels.
Leaning over the railing, she scanned the throng of passengers disembarking. Taxis lined the curb. She ran her gaze over the cars and spotted Cohn and Morrison getting into a taxi. “There!” She pointed and rushed down the gangplank. “Call the FBI!”
“Molly, wait!” Lance grabbed her arm.
She yanked free. “We have to stop them.” She continued her sprint and flung herself on the hood of the cab. No way had she gone through all that she had in the last week to let the men responsible for the murders go free.
The driver bolted from inside and yelled something at her in words she didn’t understand. Morrison and Cohn slid from the back seat.
Cohn lifted his gun toward her.
Molly’s gaze locked with his. She smiled and narrowed her eyes.
Two men in black suits tackled him to the ground. The gun skittered beneath the vehicle.
“That was the dumbest, but bravest, thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.” Lance pulled Molly from the car. “Don’t ever do something like that again. I almost had a heart attack.”
“But they were getting away. And those two men ruined what could’ve been a dream vacation.” She grinned. With the adrenaline wearing off, her legs trembled, and she leaned into Lance. She’d acted without thinking, and it felt wonderful. For the first time in her life, she’d done something without dotting all the i’s and crossing the t’s.
Lance wrapped his arms around her and leaned his chin on her head. “I’ve been thinking about that. It would be a good idea to come back here on our honeymoon, don’t you think?”
“I can’t agree more. She raised her face for his kiss.
The End
Continue Reading to read chapter 1 of book 5, A Secret to Die for
Check out Cynthia’s other books at www.cynthiahickey.com
Other Books in the Overcoming Evil Series
Mistaken Assassin
Captured Innocence
Mountain of Fear
A Secret to Die For
To answer that I have to describe what I think is my
responsibility as a thriller writer:
To give my readers the most exciting roller coaster
ride of a suspense story I can possibly think of.
- Jeffery Deaver
Chapter 1
Darcie Thayer’s legs wobbled as fear choked her.
She didn’t want to run anymore. Life didn’t matter. What they’d do to her before they killed her scared Darcie the most. Once they had what Tony had hid, they’d have no further need of her.
She stared at the quaint town spread in a kaleidoscope-pattern a thousand feet below. She couldn’t find a safe place. Not even a small town in the middle of Nowhere, Arkansas would provide the refuge she sought, not this place. But, she had run out of options.
Grasping the want ads with her right hand, she clutched the fence rail constructed to keep the Ozark Mountain tourists from plunging to their deaths. Despite her queasiness of heights, Darcie wished she were a bird that could soar at will.
The wind grabbed the paper and sent it twisting and twirling off to the valley below. Her cotton skirt whipped around her knees, and she swayed forward. She stumbled back, her heart in her throat.
Lightning shot across the sky like the tentacles of an octopus. The air crackled with electricity. Thunder crashed. Darcie lifted the long peasant-style skirt above her knees and sprinted for her ‘69 Chevy Impala. She hated the car. Detested it really, but she’d lost everything when Tony died. Money, home, security, car…and her unborn child. This monstrous boat was all she owned.
Her hand rubbed across her stomach as she envisioned the baby she’d carried. She stopped beside the car and lifted her face to heaven to let the rain wash away her guilt. The sky grumbled louder. She ducked and yanked the vehicle door open and scrambled inside.
Tony had promised her a new life. One filled with hope. With promise. Empty promises. One selfish act and her world lay shattered at her feet like a bashed mirror. The future didn’t seem worth pursuing.
Her grandmother’s voice emerge
d from the recesses of her mind. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Today has enough problems of its own.” If so, then reliving the past was just as much a waste of time.
“Now what?” Darcie asked her reflection in the rearview mirror. “I’ve lost the address to my new job. All I know is the guy’s name. York Wardell. An author who wants a live-in nanny to care for his kids. Probably while he writes the next great American novel.” She scoffed and brushed wet bangs from her face. “Well, ready or not, here I come. Somebody around here is bound to know where the guy lives.”
The drive down the mountain, with thunder booming around her, left Darcie’s hands white-knuckled and shaking. She glanced at her watch and groaned. An hour late. She’d told the man she’d arrive for dinner. They’d agreed it would be a perfect time for her to get acquainted with the children. Would her new boss buy her excuse that she got lost?
She maneuvered her four-wheeled monstrosity into the first fast food drive-through she came to. Along with placing an order for a hamburger and fries, she asked the kid behind the window whether he knew of a York Wardell.
“Sure. He coaches the high school football team. At least until they get someone else hired.” The pimply-faced youth pointed west and spouted off a list of directions as twisting as a country road.
“Thanks. I think I’ll find it.” Darcie peeled rubber out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of yet another mountain. “Great,” she mumbled around a mouthful of ground beef. “It’s getting dark, it’s raining, and I’ve got to find this guy’s house during a storm. Can life get any better?”
She’d almost made it to the top when her tire blew. Darcie stomped the brakes and sent the car into a skid. She dropped her hamburger.
Which way were you supposed to steer? Into the skid or away? Left? Right? She decided on left and jerked the wheel.
The Impala fishtailed on the wet blacktop. The steel divider between the road and emptiness loomed. Her stomach plunged like Niagra Falls. A scream ripped free of her throat.
The car skidded along the rail. Metal against metal screeched as piercing as a siren. She closed her eyes and prayed, even though she’d convinced herself God no longer cared.
