Chapter 18
The adrenaline didn’t drain all at once. It left in jagged waves, making Jen’s hands shake even after they were clear of the vent.
But for now, the shooting had stopped.
Sleet stung her face, sharp and needling, driven sideways by a wind that sliced straight through her coveralls and into her bones.
Caro was slumped against the railing, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Her face had gone an ashen gray, her whole body trembling as the fear finally caught up to her now that she wasn’t moving.
Wyatt rolled onto his side with a low groan and pushed upright, one hand braced on the steel. Pain flickered across his face, then vanished behind that infuriating calm. “We need to take cover.”
She was already looking, scanning the skeletal lines of Seven’s deck through the sleet. Storage tanks loomed. Then, to their right, davits—heavy arms extending past the platform’s edge. Lifeboats hung from them like a bright orange promise.
“The lifeboats. We could hide there.”
Wyatt followed her line of sight and gave a quick nod. “Good call.”
Angry voices echoed up from the vent shaft, distorted but closing in. Metal rang as something slammed against the grate. Fingers appeared through the opening, groping blindly.
Wyatt brought his boot down hard. The crunch was unmistakable.
A raw scream cut through the storm as the fingers vanished and the voices below surged with new urgency.
“We don’t have much time.” Wyatt’s jaw was set.
“Can you walk?”
Wyatt used the railing to pull himself upright. “Yeah.”
She read the lie in the tension snapping across his shoulders. She didn’t call him on it. There would be time for that later—if they got the chance.
“Caro.” She crouched and touched her junior’s shoulder. “We’re moving. You with me?”
Caro lifted her head. Her eyes were unfocused as if she was still back in the vent.
Jen tightened her grip, grounding her. “Almost done. Then you can fall apart all you want.”
That got a ghost of a smile. “Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
They crossed the open deck as fast as they could manage, hunched low against the weather.
Jen kept one hand locked on Caro’s arm, steering her around obstacles. When the wind buffeted hard enough to steal her breath, she hauled the younger woman upright.
Wyatt limped ahead, handgun up, gaze roving over railings, ladders, shadows—reading the space like it was a language he’d been born speaking.
She felt exposed out here, the storm offering no real cover. But on the horizon, through the sleet, she spotted a gray smudge.
The cargo ship?
Her chest tightened.
Stop it. Focus.
Three lifeboats hung at forty-five-degree angles from their davits, noses pointed down toward the black water far below. A short access ladder led up to the nearest capsule’s hatch.
Wyatt reached it first.
“Caro, you’re next,” Jen said.
The hatch was stiff but Wyatt had it unsealed by the time Caro reached the top. He dropped inside first and turned, reaching back to guide her through.
Jen hauled herself up last, muscles burning as she dragged her weight over the lip of the hatch. The moment she was inside, she swung it shut and twisted the manual lock.
The storm vanished—wind and sleet cut off so abruptly it made her ears ring. The lifeboat creaked softly where it hung suspended, cables groaning under strain, the muffled roar of the ocean a distant presence beneath everything.
Jen sucked in a breath of plastic and metal.
For the first time in hours, it felt like there was space to breathe. Not safety—just a pause before the hunt caught up with them.
But through the hull, noise resonated. Distant shouts. Flashlight beams stabbing into the night sky. They were searching. Methodically. It was only a matter of time before someone checked the lifeboats.
Caro slid down into one seat and folded forward, head in her hands. Wyatt was already at the emergency lockers mounted along what passed for the ceiling in the tilted capsule. He glanced toward the porthole as he worked, eyes tracking for threats outside.
Flashlight beams were spreading across the deck below, methodical sweeps between equipment stacks and stairwells.
“They’re fanning out.” He levered a locker open and emptied it out. Water bottles. Ration bars. Thermal blankets in vacuum-sealed pouches. “Akilov’s locking the platform down. They’ll check the lifeboats, eventually.”
He passed the water around.
Jen twisted the cap off hers and drank deeply. It wasn’t coffee, and it was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plastic, but it soothed the raw scrape in her throat. She drained half the bottle before lowering it.
Wyatt did the same. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, some of the tension had eased from his shoulders. He capped his bottle and glanced back toward the porthole. “We don’t stay long.”
He pulled out ration bars—military-style, brown packaging—and handed one to Caro first. Jen tore the wrapper with her teeth and bit into it.
Cardboard was generous. It tasted like compressed nothing with a chemical aftertaste.
She ate it anyway, her stomach cramping with sudden hunger now that her body realized it might actually survive.
Caro nibbled at hers in tiny bites, still shaking. Wyatt draped a thermal blanket around her shoulders, tucking it close with a care that made something twist in Jen’s chest.
“Thanks.” Caro gave him a wan smile. “I’m never complaining about boring shifts or paperwork again.”
A first-aid kit was clipped to the wall beside a red, waterproof case stamped PYROTECHNIC DISTRESS SIGNALS, the lettering stark against scuffed plastic. Jen grabbed the first aid kit and slid down beside Wyatt, bracing herself against the angled interior so she didn't slide.
The capsule was deeply uncomfortable, every surface tilted just enough to make rest impossible.
If they find us here, we’re trapped. Nowhere to run.
She shut the thought down before it could take root. “Let me see your leg, Wyatt.”
“It’s fine.”
She didn’t look up. “No, it’s not. That climb was brutal. Leg. Now.”
After a beat, he shifted and extended it.
The industrial adhesive had held, but the wound was red and inflamed, skin puckered where the glue had sealed it shut.
At least it wasn’t bleeding freely. She cleaned around it carefully, re-dressed it with fresh gauze, her hands steadier than she believed possible.
His thigh muscle was hard under her fingers, tension locked in. The lifeboat shuddered, metal ticking as the wind shifted outside.
Jen froze, her gaze locked on Wyatt. He lifted his handgun and aimed at the door. Somewhere outside, metal clanged. Then the wind sighed again.
Caro swore softly as Jen exhaled and Wyatt lowered his gun.
Akilov was closing in.
“Five minutes, maybe,” Wyatt said. “Then they start opening boats.”
She hissed air between her teeth.
Minutes, not hours.
“You were great in the vent.” She finished securing his bandage. “Where’ve you been hiding that soft side?”
He was silent long enough she thought he might ignore it.
“Not much call for it.”
“Coast Guard rescue operations?” She re-secured the last strip of tape and leaned back. “I’d think talking people through panic would be pretty central to that.”
That stubborn mouth of his twitched. “Fair.”
She studied him. This man who’d taken down terrorists in a mess hall without breaking a sweat, who’d free-climbed down an exterior ladder in a winter storm, who’d fired one-handed while hanging from a vent shaft.
And who had talked a terrified young woman through a panic attack by discussing cliffs and heather.
A warrior through and through, but gentle when it mattered.
“Thank you,” she said.
Something settled between them.
Not attraction—though that was definitely there, had been since that moment in Engineering Control. This was different. Deeper.
Trust.
She trusted him. And he trusted her instincts as much as she trusted his. Maybe she didn’t have to hold everything together on her own anymore.
Caro shifted, the thermal blanket crinkling softly. The shaking had stopped. Color was creeping back into her face.
Jen moved to one porthole and looked out.
The cargo ship was unmistakable now. Gray hull against a gray sky, moving slowly and deliberately toward the platform. And below on the main deck, flashlight beams tracked back and forth. Working their way toward the davits.
“The ship. It’s coming.”
Wyatt came beside her, close enough that his arm pressed warm against hers. Despite the damp coveralls, he radiated heat like a furnace. After hours in the storm, it felt almost dangerous. She resisted the urge to lean into him.
He angled his watch. “Three hours left.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing the distance. “And they won’t waste it.”
“Once they dock, even with our sabotage, they’ll try to load manually.” Multiple scenarios flashed through her mind. “Slower—but possible.”
“So we don’t give them time.” His voice was a deep rumble.
Caro’s voice came from behind them, more collected than she’d been all night. “And how do we do that?”
Wyatt glanced back at the cargo ship. Something in his expression shifted. “I have a plan.”
The hair on the back of Jen’s neck rose as she met his gaze. Whatever he was thinking, it was dangerous. It was there in the dark stillness behind his eyes—the same calm that settled over him before violence.
“What kind of plan?”
“One that stops them from loading a single missile.” His voice was quiet. “Permanently.”