by C. L. Stone
We continued down through the ship, sticking our noses in every door.
By level four, I was starting to stress out. Sunset was happening already, and we still had a few floors to go.
By level three, as we went through storage and passed by guest rooms, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. We hadn’t run into either Raven or Blake.
“I bet he’s in the spa,” I said to Marc as we climbed down the steps. I was breathless, sweating. I felt we’d walked miles on this ship.
“I hope not,” Marc said, face tight. “But if he is…”
We were almost at the bottom of the steps to deck two when two cracks of gunshots filled the air. Bam. Bam.
Surprised screams. People dashing around just inside the spa. People in the waiting room, heads turned, wearing stunned expressions.
Had it really been gunshots?
Two seconds later, a voice came on the overhead speakers throughout the ship. “Everyone, please go to your rooms. We need to do a security sweep.” The warning continued, severe, important.
“What the hell?” Marc said, taking my arm and drawing me into him, gripping the stairwell rail.
Doyle looked at the speakers. “That was way too soon,” he said.
I agreed. Was the announcement because of the gunshots? Or was something else going on elsewhere?
A stampede of guests and a few crew members flowed out of the spa’s glass doors. Some came up the steps, still in towels, some went for elevators.
“I call bullshit,” Marc said.
“Me, too, sugarplum,” Fancy said and pulled a .38 out of her handbag.
“Put that thing away,” Marc said, tugging me down the stairs as the swarm of people from the spa left the area. “For now, at least. Someone sees you with that, they’ll think this was you.”
“Love the way you look out for me, baby,” she said, and she hid her gun in her bag but kept her hand inside. Ready with it, just in case.
I followed behind Fancy—not to use her as a shield, but at least she had a weapon.
The spa’s glass doors had remained propped open. The waiting room was cluttered with dropped paperwork and towels and a purse that had been left behind, the desk empty.
The music played over the overhead speakers, eerie when everything else was so silent after all the commotion.
Blood rushed through my ears. I swallowed. Nerves were alive. I strained to listen, waiting for more gunshots, or any noise at all.
Marc eased into the view of the two hallways and checked both ways before urging us to come closer. “Maybe we should split up,” he said. He pointed to me and Doyle. “Take the right?”
Doyle rolled his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go with the man lady with the gun.”
“Call me a man lady again, and I’ll make you swallow my gun,” Fancy said. “The one I keep in my panties.”
Doyle winced but followed her to the left hall.
Marc and I went right.
Where was security? Weren’t they going to come down here? Weren’t there any workers left behind? The music played overhead, but otherwise, the space was so quiet, like a ghost town.
We passed several different spa rooms, some hairdressing stations, some nail care rooms, others with massage tables. All empty.
I remained close to Marc, real close.
Never in my life had I ever walked toward gunfire. Instinct strained my muscles, telling me to run. I had no protection.
We approached the end of the hall, just before it took a right and continued around the ship, and that’s when I spotted something strange behind the glass of the cold room. I’d thought it to be just a shadow, but then I studied the shadow long enough to recognize it for what it was.
A body on the floor.
I swallowed thickly, tugging at Marc’s sleeve, not wanting to be the first to see if whoever it was might be dead.
Please don’t be…please don’t be…
Marc pushed me back a step and shot me a look. “Wait here,” he whispered.
I wanted to be brave. I wanted to walk forward with him, but my knees locked, my muscles refusing to move.
My eyes remained on Marc, on his face.
Don’t die. Don’t die. I’d never forgive myself if the gunman was inside and I sent Marc in alone.
Marc got close to the door and peered inside. He did a slight turn, checking the corners of the room, and then reached, gripping the door.
He waited, as if trying to make a decision.
He opened the door, going inside.
Marc going in jarred me enough to jerk forward. I scanned the hallway, then went to the door, looking down at the body on the ground.
Golden hair.
My heart lunged into my throat. Marc’s body went stiff, and I realized it was because I’d shrieked.
I don’t know how I got past Marc, but the next thing I knew, I had dropped to my knees, next to Blake’s motionless body.
His eyes were closed. His makeup had been washed away. His face was bruised around the left eye and chin.
I touched his cheek. He was cool, but not cold. My hand slid to his neck.
A pulse.
He was alive! Had he gotten hit in the head again?
I gently opened his eyelids with my fingers and checked his pupils, not that I knew anything about pupils. He didn’t wake up.
“Bambi, don’t turn around,” Marc said in a tense voice from behind me, one that made my stomach churn in fear.
Raven? Unable to stop myself, I let go of Blake and turned my head.
Blood pooled next to a motionless body. As my heart raced, I forced my eyes up to the face, dread washing over me.
Colt Baker.
I sagged in relief, but couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was on his back, his mouth gaping, arms splayed out. I wasn’t sure where the blood was pooling from, but it didn’t matter. He was dead.
I turned back to Blake.
His right hand was open, resting against the floor tiles.
The gun was sitting on his palm.
Sitting…oddly.
Marc took my elbow, pulling me from Blake. “Sweetie, we need to leave.”
“What?” I said. “We can’t—”
“This is a crime scene,” he said, pointing to the gun. “If you’re here when security gets here, they’ll drag you into this, too.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. We don’t have time to ask questions.” He tugged my elbow. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t leave him!” I cried out, motioning to Blake. Panic surged through me, senses going wild. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Blake didn’t like it when the guys came in with guns blazing. That wasn’t how he worked. “They set him up! I bet that’s what happened. He couldn’t have done it; he’s out cold!”
“I know,” Marc said. “You might be right, but we can’t touch this. Even leaving now without contacting the police is a risk.”
“We didn’t do this.”
“They’ve got video of us coming in here,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll use it.”
Footsteps thundered from up the hall. Marc left me and rushed to the door.
Doyle crashed into him. Marc caught him, held him upright before he could fall.
“No one on the other—” Doyle saw Blake on the floor, looked over to Colt’s body, and then landed on his knees next to Blake. He grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him over, and then started shaking him.
“Wake up, stupid,” he bellowed, his usual pale skin somehow getting even whiter. “You aren’t dead. Tell me you aren’t—”
“Who’s dead?” Fancy said, wedging herself through the door even while Marc tried to hold her back. She took in the scene and then shook her head, her mouth dropping open. “Oh shit.”
“He’s not dead,” I told Doyle and pushed his arm so he’d stop shaking him. “Just unconscious.”
“We’v
e got to get him out,” Doyle said as he took one of his arms. The gun dropped to the floor. “Help me drag his body out.”
“We need to leave,” Marc said. “We’re contaminating a murder scene.”
“He didn’t do this,” I said. “We can’t leave him.”
“We have to,” Marc said through his teeth. “You don’t understand. It’s bad enough we’ve got our fingerprints all over this place already.”
“Fuck you,” Doyle said, sliding Blake by the arm an inch toward the door, and then bending over, breathing heavily. “Fuck, I’ve got to quit smoking.”
Marc came after me, grabbing me by the elbow. “You have to leave. We need to clear out. Now. They’re on the way, maybe with cameras. If this was a setup, we’re in the middle, and every second we’re here, the deeper we get.”
“We can’t leave Blake,” Doyle said. He let go of Blake and pointed to Colt. “That’s the governor’s son.” He pointed to Blake’s face. “This is Blake Coaltar. If he goes to jail over this, everything is over.”
“It doesn’t have to go down like that,” Marc said, his face serious, all hard planes. He urged me toward the door. “If he’s really innocent, we’ll be able to prove it with the cops, with the right people…”
“You don’t understand!” Doyle sliced his hand in the air in his direction. “You don’t…you…” He looked right at me, motioning to me with open palms. “It’s more than just him. Kids. There’s kids we’ve helped. The cops looking into him will uncover a lot: me, kids, you don’t even know.”
“What?” I asked, trying to grasp what he was saying.
“I can’t tell you. Exposing Blake means a lot of trouble. More than just his reputation. He was set up and there’s no way the press is going to ignore ‘rich man kills other rich important man.’”
“He’s right,” I said, tugging my arm out of Marc’s grasp. I went to Blake, holding him under his shoulder, and waited for Doyle to help. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Marc groaned loudly. “You…you…ugh. You can’t do this. We can’t touch him now.”
Fancy put a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “Honey, she’s right. He didn’t do this, and leaving him here is only doing more harm. It’ll be a news team’s wet dream to find out about this.”
Before Marc could answer, another storm of footsteps rushed down the hallway.
Marc flew out of the cold room, ready to stop whoever it was.
“What are you doing here?” Raven barked at him. “Get out.”
“Raven!” I cried out. I finally bent down, tugging Blake’s arm. Doyle joined me, but we were only able to slowly drag him across the tile. The gun clattered to the floor.
Marc grabbed at his hair, fists tightening in exasperation. “Tell them they’re insane and to leave him. We have to go.”
Raven came in, swept his eyes around, cursed in Russian, and then pushed me aside, taking my place. He shoved Doyle out of the way so he could lift Blake off the floor.
Marc groaned. “What are you doing?”
“No time,” Raven said. “They’re on the way.”
Raven carried Blake’s front half. Marc grunted, picked up his legs, and took some of the weight on his shoulder, walking close behind Raven. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Doyle and I followed. Fancy started to but then went back, picking up the gun.
“You should leave that,” Marc said.
“It’s probably got his prints all over the place,” she said. “And it might be his. He brought one on board.”
Crap. How did I not know he had a gun?
My heart raced as I followed the others. Blake had been framed. At least now the crime scene had been contaminated with extra DNA and fingerprints.
Including mine.
Escape
My stomach twisted into knots. Sweat beaded across my brow as we raced through hallways, keeping away from common areas.
Raven and Marc led the way and I followed blindly, looking at the unconscious Blake, worried about why he was still unconscious.
Footsteps echoed in the hallways behind us as we left the area. Someone was coming to uncover what was going on. Or maybe it was the real killer.
I suspected Sam had done it all. He had to have. I pictured it: he had found Blake, drugged him, stashed him somewhere, and brought him out for this murder.
I hadn’t suspected Sam would go so far. I’d never anticipated…
Suddenly it made sense why Sam wanted us to stay. He was going to deal with both problems at once, making us look like killers while getting rid of a big problem on his ship.
Marc gave Raven the directions to the rendezvous point where we were supposed to meet.
“Our best chance is to get off this ship before security catches up with us. They said they took a few emergency rafts. We’ll have to hope they are already there.”
Luckily, we weren’t far. We entered an area similar to the one where Blake and I had entered when we’d returned. A side panel of the hull was open, a plank jutting out from the ship.
Axel and Avery stood on the plank, waiting.
Axel took one look at Raven with Blake and moved to assist him, taking Blake’s weight. “What happened to him?”
Raven hunched over, out of breath. Marc continued to help Axel, setting Blake on the ground.
“He was set up,” Doyle said. “Made to look like he killed Colt Baker.”
Axel went white. “And you moved him?”
“Long story,” Marc grumbled. “No turning back now.”
“He needs to go,” Raven said. “Sam did this.”
“We all need to go,” I said. “Security could be on the way. We messed up their fake crime scene.”
We walked out onto the plank, looking over the safety rails. Below, in the water, were yellow inflatable rafts. We were close to the water line, but it was still a jump.
Brandon, Corey, and Kevin were already inside, trying to row the raft closer and keep it under the plank. They were struggling, though, as the rafts were being pushed and pulled by small waves.
“I need to go find Ethan,” Avery said. “He’s at dinner, but I should be seen at this point if I’m staying.”
“I’ll go with you,” Fancy said.
“I don’t like this,” Axel said, turning to Avery. “If we take Blake, they might try to pin this on you.”
“We can’t run out on Ethan,” Avery said. “He’ll be involved no matter what. We might actually be able to circumvent Sam if we act as witnesses. Besides, someone has to close this hatch door.”
“He’s right,” Raven said and waved a hand at us. “Go. No time.”
Axel grumbled, but Raven and Avery were right.
Avery and Fancy backed away, waiting to see us off before Avery would push the buttons to close things up.
I only hoped I wasn’t bailing on them when they needed help. Sam was a killer, or at least someone on his team was.
“Give me a hand,” Axel said. “I’ll have to go over with Blake to make sure he gets into the raft. No time to wait for them to keep the raft underneath. Better to jump into the water and swim to it.”
Axel lifted Blake. Marc assisted by going over the edge of the yellow safety rail.
Once they got Blake between them on the other side of the rail, Axel held on to Blake and tilted forward, going down.
A splash followed.
Marc dove in after. I watched as they surfaced, and then Marc stayed with Axel and helped him get Blake close to the raft.
“Go,” Raven said to me. “Try to hit feetfirst.”
“Maybe we should stay,” I said.
“You can’t stay,” Raven said. “You’re all over the place. And you broke your head. You can’t help anymore.”
I was way more worried about Avery, Ethan, and Fancy choosing to stay. And where were Liam and Henry? I’d just assumed they would be here to see us off.
Axel had reached th
e raft. Corey helped pull Blake in as Brandon and Kevin tried to keep the raft from floating too far.
I had to go with Blake. It felt like I was abandoning them, but my face, like Blake’s, had been all over the ship. Mr. Smith, Tara…so many people could point a finger at me, saying how suspiciously I’d acted, and how I was in on it with Blake.
Raven nudged me. “I’ll send you over. I’ll come after you.”
I nodded and climbed the rail carefully. I didn’t want to slip, hitting my head on the way down.
Raven held on to my shoulders. Before I could let go, he looked at me, then tugged me close.
He kissed me. Hard.
I sensed something was wrong, right then.
I leaned back to look up at him. “What are you doing?”
He frowned, eyes on mine. The darkness behind them building. The bear was wild, and he wasn’t finished.
“You’re not coming, are you?”
“One of us has to stay behind.”
“Why?”
“A confession can defeat evidence.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
“Trust me,” he said and then pushed me.
I fell back, forgetting whatever the others had said about splashing down, instead looking up to Raven. How could he? How could he stay behind? And what had he meant about a confession?
I hit the water, my thoughts scattering as I went down. It was cold, but anger was making me boil, all fired up.
I swam up, surfaced, and coughed up water. I gazed up, shouting curses at him.
Raven peered down at me, and then turned his back, walking away.
The ship door closed up behind him.
Aftermath
I was forced to lie down in the raft the entire way, with Axel holding my body, covering me with an emergency blanket that had been in the raft’s supplies.
I bit him in his forearm, so frustrated Raven had stayed behind, pushing us away while putting himself in danger. I was crying without sobbing. It was just angry tears leaving my eyes.
I was going to kill him.
