Soon, footsteps could be heard on the deck above our stateroom, and I scrambled into action. Grant told me to call Elijah or Sebastian as soon as he left, and I wouldn’t let him down. I would do everything in my power to save him. Maybe Elijah could track Grant’s phone as long as the thugs didn’t take it from him. Hopefully he’d had a chance to stash it in an inconspicuous place.
Deep, throaty engines roared to life in the distance, and I scrambled to look out the bulkhead portholes in our cabin to see if I could catch a glimpse of their craft. Unfortunately, the crazy events that had just taken place had completely disoriented me on the time of day. No surprise, then, when I looked outside and saw nothing but pitch-black water and the star-filled sky. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table informed me it was only 4:27 a.m. Now, the sliver of moon deep on the horizon made perfect sense.
At least something did.
I forced myself to stumble into the hallway, needing the mental clarity to form words.
“H-Help.” Right now it was only one word, pathetic and raw and hoarse.
“Help!” Better, but not good enough.
I waited until reaching the deck to try for another, but it wouldn’t be necessary. I stopped in my tracks, confronting five stares that likely matched mine for shell-shocked intent. I almost screamed, thinking our invaders had left behind a sweep team to take care of the crew and me permanently, but I stopped short once I recognized all five of the faces.
And suddenly, horrifyingly, realized there should have been six.
I wasn’t the only one. Leila, a member of the galley crew, shuffled forward like a refugee after a mortar attack. Like everyone else, she was dressed in a T-shirt and light pajama pants. There were still pillow lines across her cinnamon-colored cheeks.
“Harry?” she blurted from quivering lips. “Is he…with you, Ms. Gibson?”
Rio. My name is Rio, goddammit!
It was a scream in my mind, but she didn’t deserve matching treatment from me, especially as her chin wobbled and tears welled in her huge amber gaze. My face must’ve become a billboard for the truth, and it was too late to pull it back.
“Those bastards must’ve taken him too. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m just so—”
I gritted back the rest of it. I couldn’t keep following this tangent of despair. It wouldn’t lead to good places. Or maybe that was up for interpretation. Because just a hallway away, nestled in an interior pocket of my handbag, was an emergency book of matches. And shit, would I qualify this as an emergency. I envisioned the perfect little square now. It was smooth and laminated, branded with a bright red-and-yellow logo of a Seal Beach auto repair place. While having service done on Kendall last month, I saw those little life preservers near the checkout register. I’d felt more relief about those fucking matches than I had about getting my car fixed.
No. No.
Grant needed me more than I needed that fix.
“Pardon?”
Shit. Leila’s dulcet accent was laced with enough confusion to justify that I’d spilled my crazy tea aloud. But not so crazy, if I chose to focus on the part of it that mattered. And right now, I had to fucking focus.
“He needs me.” I swung my newly determined stare around at all of them. “He needs all of us. They both do.” Noticing how my rushed words seemed to jolt all of them out of a collective daze, I scraped together slivers of courage and molded them into a bolder tone. “Has anyone gotten on the radio yet? Isn’t there some kind of an emergency hail we can start sending out? What?” The self-interruption was my choice, blurted as soon as I locked stares with Leila again. “What is it?” I charged, certain she’d start wringing her hands any moment.
“The radio,” she muttered. “It’s…”
“It’s what?”
“Broken,” one of the deckhands supplied. “That’s probably where they found Harry and—”
Leila’s pained sob sent him into grimacing silence. In one form or another, we all joined him.
“Okay, everyone take a minute and breathe,” I said brusquely, scrounging deep for a part of my psyche that hadn’t seen exercise in a while. It was my get-shit-done bravado, usually yanked out for occasions like making potato salad when the potatoes were delivered late, or a last-minute anniversary party for fifty, or an awards night after party with a thousand of Hollywood’s elite in the next room. But there was no next room here. And unless I pulled my shit together and turned everyone’s tears into fuel, there’d be no help on the way for the man I loved.
“I’m going to the upper deck to see if I can get a cell signal. Mr. Twombley has a few friends in high places.”
When the captain arrived on deck, nobody wasted any more time, so neither did I. After sprinting my way up to the flybridge, I rasped a fervent prayer before unlocking my phone again. I ended that prayer with tearful gratitude. Three bars. I’d take it. I had to.
Fortunately, Shark Enterprises’ main switchboard number was saved in my phone. On the rare occasion Abstract was running late with deliveries to the offices, it was handy for fast dialing. I ignored the tremble of my finger as I selected the number now.
“Hello. Thank you for calling Shark Enterprises International. Our normal business hours are eight a.m. to six p.m. Pacific Time, but your call is very important to us. To access our company voice mail directory, please select—”
Suppressing a curse, I jabbed at the zero. No way in hell was there nobody in that building, even at this hour of the day.
“You have reached the Shark Enterprises main line. Our offices are currently closed but will reopen at eight o’clock a.m. Pacific Time. If you need to reach someone right away—”
Another stab at the zero. I’d talk to someone in person at that damn building, even if I had to call LAFD and have them break the doors in.
After five rings, my anxiety mounted. I was preparing to punch at the zero again, when there was crackling on the line. Not electronic, though. It sounded more like a starving person digging into a bag of chips.
“Hello?” I croaked. “Hello, is someone—”
“Shark Enterprises, security desk,” a bored voice drawled.
“Hi,” I blurted. “Hi. Sorry. Thank you for picking up.” I meant it so completely, I nearly choked on it. “Is this Shark Enterprises?”
“Ma’am, I just said that.”
“Right. You did. Please, I need your help. I really, really need your help. I need to talk to somebody. I need to talk to them now.”
I nearly strung it together as one sentence, though my punctuation could’ve been the hand I pounded at my temple. The throbbing was back in my brain, beckoning me back to the blessed darkness behind my eyelids. I fought it with every strength I had—which wasn’t much.
“The offices are closed right now, ma’am, but I can patch you through to the voice mail—”
“No! No voice mail, please! I’m on a boat in the middle of the Pacific, and this is an emergency.”
“Ah. I’ll patch you through to maritime operations.”
“I don’t need them.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but if you’re on a vessel and this matter is urgent, then you need—”