Chapter 33 #2
“Twenty million,” Mary repeated, trying to wrap her mind around someone murdering for money. “You’ve been playing devoted nephew for several years for the money.”
“I’ve earned every penny,” Frank snapped, genuine anger flashing across his face.
“Do you know what it’s like to pretend to care about a woman who talks endlessly about her dead husband?
To sit through bridge games and book clubs and opera performances that I have no interest in?
To smile and nod and play the grateful nephew when all I wanted was to take the money and disappear? ”
He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to Mary's wheelchair.
She tensed, her hands tightening on her wheels, calculating whether she could ram him, using her chair as a weapon.
But in this confined space, there was nowhere to build momentum, nowhere to go even if she did manage to knock him off balance.
“But you and your fiancé ruined everything,” he continued, his voice dropping to something dark and threatening. “I saw the way you watched me all week. The way you asked questions about Diane’s health. You were suspicious, and I knew you were too smart to let it go.”
“You’re a threat to Diane… to anyone who gets in your way.”
“Yes, I am,” Frank agreed. “Which is why I need insurance now. A way to get off this ship before your fiancé can interfere.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, and her blood turned to ice as he pulled out a syringe. The clear liquid inside caught the fluorescent light, and she could see his thumb positioned on the plunger, ready to inject.
“Benzodiazepine,” Frank said conversationally, holding the syringe up like he was discussing the weather.
“High dose. The same medication I’ve been using to keep Diane compliant, but much more concentrated.
You’ll be unconscious in minutes, unresponsive for hours.
Perfect for what will look like a medical emergency. ”
Mary’s mind struggled through defensive options, looking at angles and timing. She could grab his arm when he came close enough and try to knock the syringe away. But he had the advantage of standing height, of leg mobility, of leverage she simply didn’t have from her wheelchair.
If she missed and he managed to inject her anyway, she’d be unconscious and completely vulnerable. And Diane would have no one to protect her from a murderer.
“When security finally figures out where you are,” he continued, moving closer with predatory patience, “they’ll find you collapsed in your wheelchair.
The stress of the evening, the storm, perhaps a pre-existing medical condition exacerbated by the cruise…
oh, so tragic. Your fiancé will be devastated, focused entirely on getting you to the ship’s medical center. ”
He crouched down so they were eye level, and Mary could see the cold calculation in his eyes. This was a predator who managed to take advantage of interruptions in his carefully thought-out plan.
“And in the chaos,” Frank said softly, “while everyone is focused on saving you, I will disappear. We’re close enough to shore for me to jump in and make it to safety before anyone realizes I’m missing.
By the time you wake up—if you wake up—I’ll be long gone.
I’ll have enough money from Diane, then start over.
Different name, different identity again. ”
“You’ll never get away with this,” she said, though her voice shook slightly despite her best efforts. “Bert knows I’m here. He’ll come looking for me.”
“And he’ll find you unconscious and in desperate need of medical attention.” His smile was cold and triumphant. “It’s actually perfect. You tried so hard to save Diane. But in the end, you’re just going to be another complication I’ve managed.”
He stood, the syringe held loosely in his hand, and took a step back as his gaze searched, probably looking for the best injection site he could get, knowing she wouldn’t make it easy. Mary’s defense training kicked in, determined to make it impossible, even in a wheelchair in the confined space.
She had one chance. One moment when he would lean in to inject her, when he’d be close enough and off balance enough for her to strike.
She met his gaze steadily, refusing to show the fear coursing through her veins like ice water. “Just one question. Do you really think you’re the only one who figured this out?”
Frank’s expression flickered with uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
“Bert and I work for a security company,” she said, keeping her voice calm and factual.
“We’ve been building a case against you all week.
The medications you’ve been giving Diane, the financial irregularities, and your background.
We’ve documented everything. We even lifted your fingerprints and sent them to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. ”
Revealing how much they knew was a calculated risk. But she needed him distracted, even for a moment. She needed him to understand that the evidence already existed and the authorities already knew.
His expression registered surprise and anger, then settled into something cold and determined.
“Then I guess when the police come, it’ll be too late for you,” Frank said. “And by the time they board, I will be gone. Say goodbye, Mary.”
He lunged forward, the syringe aimed at her arm, and Mary moved.
She screamed, shoving hard on her right wheel while pulling back on the left, spinning her wheelchair in a tight arc that brought her crashing sideways into Frank’s legs.
The impact wasn’t enough to knock him down since she hadn’t been able to build enough momentum in the confined space.
But it threw him off balance, his weight shifting awkwardly as he tried to maintain his footing.
Mary grabbed his wrist with both hands, her fingers clamping down with all the strength she’d built from years of wheelchair use. Her grip was vise-like, and she twisted his arm away from her body with violent efficiency.
Frank grunted in pain and surprise, trying to pull free, but Mary held on, still screaming.
They grappled in the confined space, a desperate struggle between a murderer who couldn’t afford witnesses and a woman who refused to die.
She heard a satisfying crunch, and if his cry was anything to go by, she had broken one of his fingers.
The syringe tumbled from Frank’s hand, clattering to the tiled floor and rolling into the corner.
He lunged for it, but Mary rolled forward in her chair, then heard the crunch of plastic shattering.
Clear liquid spread across the floor, the benzodiazepine that would have rendered her unconscious now useless and destroyed.
“Bitch,” Frank snarled, and there was real rage in his voice now. The cold calculation was gone, replaced by fury at being thwarted, at having his carefully laid plans disrupted by a woman he’d underestimated.
He grabbed Mary’s wheelchair, his hands closing on the armrests, trying to tip it. She knew if he dumped her over onto the floor, she’d be even more vulnerable, and he could finish what he’d started with his bare hands if necessary.
But she had trained for this during those hours at LSIMT, learning defensive techniques specifically adapted for wheelchair users. She threw her weight backward to counterbalance his pull and used Frank’s own momentum against him.
Frank stumbled forward, and Mary struck. Her fist connected with his jaw… not as hard as she would have liked from the angle, but hard enough to snap his head back and make him release her chair.
“Help!” Mary screamed, her voice echoing in the enclosed closet as her hand felt as though she had punched a brick wall. “Help! Someone help me!”
Frank recovered quickly, his hand going to his jaw, but his eyes never leaving Mary’s face. The rage there was a terrifying look of a predator who’d been wounded and was now even more dangerous.
“No one can hear you,” Frank said, his voice low and venomous. “The storm, the ship’s engines, the distance between floors… you could scream all night, and no one would come.”
He might be right… walls muffling sound, the storm outside providing additional noise cover. But Mary had a secret… a necklace tied to Bert’s phone. A lifeline signal. She kept screaming anyway, knowing the sound would help anyone around find her.
“Fine,” Frank said, advancing on her again with deadly purpose. “We’ll do this the hard way.”
His hands closed around Mary’s throat.
The sudden attack was brutal and terrifyingly effective.
Mary’s hands came up automatically, trying to pry his fingers away, but Frank had leverage and position and rage-fueled strength.
His thumbs pressed into her windpipe, cutting off her air, and stars began to dance at the edges of Mary’s vision.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. Could only claw at his hands with growing desperation as her consciousness started to slip away like water through her fingers.
No. Not like this. She hadn’t survived a car accident that should have killed her. Hadn’t endured months of painful recovery and learned to build a completely new life. Hadn’t finally found love with Bert just to die in a fucking closet at the hands of a murderer.
She stopped trying to pry his hands away… it wasn’t working, and she wasn’t strong enough to break his grip that way. Instead, her fingers went for his eyes, nails raking across his face, aiming for the vulnerable spots that could make him let go.
He jerked his head back instinctively, releasing one hand from her throat to protect his face. Mary gasped in air, her lungs burning, and used the precious seconds to shove her arms up, breaking his remaining grip while punching him in the balls.
Crying out, he bent over, his hand now clutching his crotch.
Tears streamed down his face, and he backed away from her while remaining standing.
He moved to the side, then tried to regain his stranglehold while Mary fought with everything she had.
Her wheelchair rocked dangerously. Her vision was still spotted from lack of oxygen, and her throat felt like fire, but she kept fighting.
Her fingers found his face again, digging in with desperate strength. Frank shouted in pain and released her throat completely, stumbling backward. Mary sucked in great gasping breaths, each one painful but precious.
Frank touched his face, his fingers coming away bloody from where Mary’s nails had gouged deep scratches down his cheek. He looked at the blood on his hand, then at Mary, and his expression transformed into something that made her blood run cold.
This was the face of a man who’d killed before and would kill again. No remorse. A man with nothing left to lose.
“I was going to make it look like a medical emergency,” Frank said quietly, his voice deadly calm.
“I was going to let you live, unconscious but alive. But now?” He smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who’d decided to stop playing with his prey.
“Now I’m going to kill you, dump your body overboard during the storm, and disappear before anyone realizes you’re gone. ”
He advanced on her again, and Mary knew with terrible certainty that this time, he wouldn’t stop. This time, he was going to kill her.
She grabbed her wheels, preparing to ram him again, to fight with everything she had left even though she knew it might not be enough. Her arms were tired, her throat was damaged, her body was exhausted from the adrenaline and fear and violence.
But she wouldn’t stop fighting. Wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t let Frank win. Suddenly, the shouts of others calling her name grew louder, getting closer.
“Fuck!” Frank cursed, kicking her chair to the side before jerking the door open. With a final look over his shoulder at her, he turned and raced down the hall.
She would have fallen to her side, but the closet wall stopped her descent.
Her ribs hit the wheelchair arm as her head hit the wall.
She heard footsteps running and voices calling for her.
And she sat, slumped in her wheelchair in the closet, her hands shaking uncontrollably, her throat on fire, her body aching from the fight.
She’d survived. Barely, desperately, but she’d survived.
But Frank was loose on the ship. Frank, who now knew they’d figured out his identity and gathered evidence against him. Frank, who had nothing left to lose and every reason to run. Frank, who might decide that killing Diane was necessary before jumping ship.