Chapter 34
Bert was halfway back to the elevator, Mary’s purse in his hand, when he heard Diane scream. Bert broke into a run, his first thought of Frank there with Diane and Mary.
Other passengers were already converging on the elevator area, drawn by Diane’s cry. Bert pushed through the small crowd to find Diane sitting alone in her wheelchair near the elevator doors, her face pale and her hands shaking.
“What just happened?” one of the passengers was asking. “Are you alright?”
“Where’s Colin?” another voice called out.
George came running down the grand staircase, his face flushed from exertion. “Security! We have a situation—” He pulled out his phone, already dialing.
Bert reached Diane, his heart pounding with a fear that was rapidly crystallizing into certainty. “Diane, where’s Mary?”
“I don’t know!” Diane’s voice was shaking, tears streaming down her face. “Colin pushed my chair out of the elevator, and then he… he jumped back in with Mary and the doors closed. I managed to look up to see the elevator went to Level A. Down instead of up. Why would he take her down?”
Bert’s blood turned to ice. Frank had Mary. Had trapped her in an elevator and taken her to the lower decks, away from witnesses, away from help. Fuck that!
George had his phone out and, as he spoke urgently into it, pulled a badge from his jacket. “George Watson, licensed private investigator, hired by Diane Sutherland’s attorney. We have a hostage situation and possible attempted murder in progress.”
Bert barely registered the revelation that George had been working undercover this whole time. All his focus was on finding Mary. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen to open the tracking app connected to the lighthouse necklace he’d given her.
A small circle of guests was gathering near Diane, shock and worry on their faces.
The little blue dot appeared on his screen, pulsing steadily on Level A, the lowest passenger-accessible deck of the ship, down near the waterline where the storage areas and maintenance corridors were located.
“They got out on Level A, and that’s where she still is,” Bert said, his voice deadly calm despite the terror coursing through his veins.
He looked at the ship’s security officer who’d just arrived.
“The man who took her is Frank Marcone, traveling under the name Colin Morrison. He’s impersonating Diane Sutherland’s nephew. He just kidnapped Mary.”
The security officer’s eyes widened. “We need to wait for backup—”
“No.” Bert was already moving toward the staircase, his body coiled with violent purpose. “We move now. Every second we wait is another second he has to hurt her or get away.”
George fell into step beside him, the older man moving with surprising speed and grace for someone who’d been playing the friendly retiree. “I’m with you. Diane stays here with Eleanor and the other passengers. Security can protect her.”
They hit the stairwell at a run, Bert jumping down the stairs three at a time with George close behind. His phone was in his hand, the blue dot on the screen guiding him like a beacon.
Level C.
Level B.
Level A.
Barging through the door, he raced down the hall, yelling her name.
This level included the medical center at one end, multiple storage closets, the embarkation area, which was closed since they were not at dock, and the hangar, the indoor marina where small watercraft were stored and launched.
At this time of day, the area was empty.
Service corridors branched off in multiple directions, lined with storage closets and maintenance access points.
The ambient noise was louder, with the constant thrum of the ship’s engines more pronounced.
It made it harder for him to hear any sound she might make, so he checked his phone again.
The blue dot was stationary now, about thirty feet ahead and to the right.
He sprinted down the corridor, his boots pounding on the tile flooring, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Please be alive. Please be okay. Please let me get there in time.
He called her name again, then heard her scream.
He skidded to a stop outside a maintenance closet, the blue dot pulsing directly on the other side of the door. Bert didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the handle and threw the door open, his body already bracing for a fight.
His heart nearly stopped. Mary’s wheelchair was tipped against the wall, one wheel still slowly spinning.
And Mary was slumped in her chair, her chest heaving as she sucked in ragged breaths.
Proof of her life slammed into him as he dropped to his knees beside her.
His hands immediately went to her face, then her neck, cataloging injuries.
Bruises were already forming on her throat—dark, finger-shaped marks that made rage flood through Bert’s system like gasoline on fire.
She winced when she breathed, favoring her left side.
Her ribs were involved, possibly cracked.
And God only knew what could be wrong with her legs that she wouldn’t be able to feel.
“Mary,” Bert breathed, his voice cracking. “Jesus Christ, Mary, are you—”
“Where is Frank?” George’s voice came from the doorway, sharp and urgent.
Mary managed to croak out words, each one clearly painful. “He ran. Outside. Plans to... jump ship. Swim to... dock.”
The ship was close to port. They’d been scheduled to dock in the morning, but the storm had them hovering just outside the harbor. It was insane, suicidal even, to jump into those waters in the middle of a storm. But a desperate man with nothing to lose might try it anyway.
George took off without another word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. “I’ll take care of him. You take care of Mary!”
Bert wanted to go after Frank, wanted to make the man pay for every bruise on Mary’s body, for every mark on her throat, for the fear he’d put in her eyes. But he couldn’t leave her. Wouldn’t leave her.
Mary’s hand found his, her grip surprisingly strong. She looked at him, and despite the pain clearly etched on her face, her eyes were fierce. She shook her head and mouthed, “Go.”
“No,” Bert said immediately. “I’m not leaving you.”
The ship’s doctor and nurse stopped at the closet’s doorway. “Let us take her to the clinic,” the doctor said.
Mary squeezed Bert’s hand harder, wincing with the effort. Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and damaged. “Others can take care of me. You go. Get him. Make him pay... for Diane. For Colin.”
“Mary—”
“Please.” The word came out broken, desperate. “He can’t... get away. You go.”
Bert wanted to refuse. Every instinct screamed at him to stay with Mary, to make sure she got proper medical attention, to be there while the doctor examined her and cataloged every injury Frank had inflicted.
But he saw the fierce determination in her eyes and the absolute certainty that this was what she needed him to do.
And Bert understood. This wasn’t about revenge. This was about making sure Frank faced consequences for everything he’d done. A man like that couldn’t be allowed to escape and hurt someone else.
Bert leaned down and kissed her forehead, feather-light, reverent. “I’ll go. But only to make him pay for what he did to you.”
Mary managed a lopsided grin that must have cost her, pain flickering across her face. “By the way... I broke his finger and punched him in the balls.”
Despite everything, despite the fear and rage and horror, Bert felt a fierce surge of pride. “That’s my girl.”
The doctor immediately began issuing orders while the nurse pulled out medical equipment from the bag she carried.
Mary nodded to Bert, her eyes saying what he needed to do. Go. I’m safe now. Finish this.
Bert kissed her once more, quick and desperate, then forced himself to stand and move away. Each step felt like tearing away a piece of his heart, but he kept moving. Out of the closet, down the corridor, following the instinct that told him exactly where Frank would go.
The hangar area. It was the only place on Level A where Frank could safely exit the ship, even if he couldn’t launch one of the tender boats.
The large bay doors that opened to allow passengers to board tenders when they were anchored offshore were designed to open even in rough seas, and a desperate man might be able to squeeze through the gap and drop into the water below.
Bert sprinted through the service corridors, his mind mapping the ship’s layout from the diagrams he’d studied when they first boarded. The hangar was at the stern, a large open area that would be relatively empty this time of night with the storm raging outside.
He burst through the door into the hangar and immediately spotted Frank.
The man was at the far end of the space, working frantically at the controls for the bay doors.
His face was a mess with deep scratches and streaming blood, one eye swollen nearly shut.
He held his left hand against his stomach, and even from this distance, Bert could see his pinkie hung at an unnatural angle.
Mary had done that. Had fought like hell and left her mark on her attacker.
“Frank Marcone!” Bert’s voice echoed through the hangar, hard and commanding. “Step away from the controls. Now.”
Frank spun around, and even from across the hangar, Bert could see the desperation and rage warring on his damaged face. “You can’t stop me. I’m getting off this ship, and no one—”
“You’re not going anywhere except a Canadian prison,” Bert said, advancing slowly, his body coiled and ready, wishing he had his firearm with him. “The Royal Canadian Mounted Police are already on their way to board this ship.”
Frank’s cackle was bitter and slightly unhinged. “You think I’m just going to surrender? After everything I’ve done and everything I’ve worked for? I’d rather take my chances in the water.”