Beauty & the Beast (26 page)

“Yes,” Heather said as Svetlana pulled her into another alley and they ran the length. “Svetlana helped me escape, okay? She’s a good guy.”
She also throws dead people off roofs, but tonight, she is my guardian angel.

“Okay. I’ll pass that along. How many subjects are after you?” Tess asked. “What’s your situation right now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a dozen guys. It seems like a dozen. We’re running in an alley. There’s a lot of alleys around here. We heard gunshots.” She jerked, then stumbled over her own feet. Svetlana glared at her and she hurried to catch up. “The clerk! What if they hurt him? This is his cell phone. He can’t call for help!”

“I’ll send an ambulance,” Tess assured her. “Stay out of sight. Don’t go back there.”

Angry men yelling in Russian punctured what little composure Heather had built up. She jerked hard and almost dropped the phone again. Svetlana duck-walked, head down low, and hissed at Heather to keep up.

“Tess!” Heather whispered. “They’re almost here!”

“Call JT. Call me back. If I don’t hear from you I’ll call you in five minutes so get your phone on vibrate if you can. If you can’t, tell JT. I don’t want to get you shot.”

“Okay. Don’t forget the ambulance.” Heather disconnected and ran after Svetlana.

Find us. Find us and save us. Please.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Vincent came to, the spinning in his head compounded by the erratic and violent oscillation of the huge ship as it forged ahead. Although its engines were still running, the tremendous explosion had killed the lights, at least in this section of Deck Four, and possibly throughout the rest of the vessel. A beast did not need lights to see in the dark, but the people he had come to rescue most certainly would. He fumbled around on the floor around him and found the lantern.

As he got to his feet, the roar of the blaze was considerably softer. At first he thought his eardrums had been overloaded by the concussion of the explosion, but there was no accompanying ringing in his head. Perhaps the blast’s shock wave had suffocated some of the fires? Because of the drop in noise volume it was easy for him to relocate the two sets of human heartbeats, both of them trip-hammering. There were other heartbeats as well, same location, but not human, beating in a wild jumble. He picked up the breathing mask, as he knew stabilizing Bethany’s father’s condition might require oxygen.

As he hurried down the corridor, random details of the aftermath of the explosion stuck in his consciousness. Though there was some buckling evident in the ceiling panels and signs of ruptured seams in the walls, there was no scorching or jagged edges or explosive pitting anywhere, which would have indicated close proximity to the event. It was clear the explosion had had its epicenter somewhere above him, and the intervening decks had cushioned its full deadly force. If the hull had been breached by it, things were going to go south in a hurry.

The Bethany trail ended at a closed storeroom door. The heartbeats he sensed, human and animal, were coming from the other side of it. A sense of relief swept over him—he had found two of them and they were still alive.

He quickly switched on the lantern. He hit the door once hard with his fist and announced, “Emergency rescue coming in!” Then he turned the latch.

As he opened the door, a yard-tall, four-legged whirlwind galloped out and shot past him. He turned and pinned the creature’s backside with the light for a second before it disappeared down the hallway. A Great Dane. It had to be Bethany’s dog. Where Sprinkles was headed, or thought he was headed, Vincent had no clue.

“We’re in here!” Bethany shouted from the dark. “Please help us!”

Vincent turned the light beam into the small room. Bethany was kneeling over her father, who had collapsed onto the deck on his back. Tears streaked her face, and she looked panicked, desperate. Two smaller dogs—a German shepherd and a Shih Tzu—with their leashes tethered to the legs of a table started barking and growling at him. The German shepherd bared his fangs, snapped, and tried to take a hunk out of Vincent’s leg. In the windowless steel room the noise they made was deafening. Vincent shined the light on his own face.

“It’s me, Bethany. I’m here to get you out.”

“Help my dad! Hurry, help him! He can’t stand up.”

“Have you seen Mr. Milano? Did he accompany you?”

“No! We don’t know where he is!”

The dogs kept barking. Vincent turned to them and said, “Quiet.” The smallest dog shut up, but the shepherd kept barking and trying to get at him. Then he said it again in German. It was like he had flipped a switch. The animal immediately sat and looked up at him with rapt attention. The shepherd was a guard dog, maybe police or military trained. Vincent had worked with similar K9s in Afghanistan.

“Bethany, can you hold this light for me so I can examine your dad?” he said.

She took the lantern from him. The beam veered wildly around the floor of the little room. The girl was shaking from head to foot.

“Can you please try to hold it steady?”

Vincent bent over Mr. Daugherty, first loosening his tie and collar, then reaching down to take his pulse at the wrist.

“He kind of passed out after we hid in here, before the explosion,” Bethany said. “Is he going to be okay? Say he’s going to be okay.”

His pulse was irregular and weak.

“Of course, he’s going to be fine,” Vincent said, trying to be as calm and convincing as he could. He passed his hand between the light source and the man’s eyes, making a shadow cross his face. The pupils were reactive. Good sign. But even in the harsh light, his skin and lips had an alarming bluish pallor to them. And the man appeared drowsy, like he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Whether it was from shock or trauma, Vincent knew his heart was not functioning normally.

He leaned closer to the man’s ear. “Mr. Daugherty, Mr. Daugherty, can you hear me?”

Bethany’s father opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out of his throat. After a moment he gave up and shut his eyes. The effort was too much for him.

“Is my dad okay?” Bethany asked shrilly. “This is all my fault. He tried to stop me from coming down to get Sprinkles, but I wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me go by myself. I dragged him down here with me. I made him run.” The light moved away from where Vincent was working, leaving him and his patient suddenly in the dark. The beam swept wildly around the windowless room.

“Oh, my God, where is Sprinkles?”

Vincent noted the question, but paid no attention to it. He slipped the oxygen tank from his shoulders and put the mask over the man’s nose and mouth. “Breathe normally, Mr. Daugherty. Nice deep, even breaths. Everything’s under control. Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll get you out of here in a minute or two.”

“Where is Sprinkles?” Bethany practically screamed into his ear.

He didn’t need this. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he worked on her father, “but when I opened the door he brushed right past me. I couldn’t stop him and I couldn’t catch him. Why wasn’t he tied up like the other dogs?”

“How could you do that?” Bethany raged. “How could you be so stupid?”

Vincent let her fury roll over him. “I didn’t know your dog was loose in here.”

“He wasn’t loose. He was tied up. He got scared and broke the leash. We’ve got to find him!”

“I need to stabilize your father and get him up to the main deck where he can get proper treatment.”

“I want my dog. I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“Mr. Daugherty, are you feeling any better? Is the oxygen helping you get back some strength?”

The man nodded weakly.

“Do you know where Terry Milano is?”

He shook his head.

Okay, two humans and two dogs out of three each… for the moment. Time for triage and that gut call. Mr. Daugherty needed help now.

“There’s enough air in the tank to make you comfortable while I carry you up to the lifeboats. Are you ready for me to do that?”

His eyes went wild, looking around the dark room for his daughter. He shook his head violently:
No. No
.

Vincent could see he had a big problem on his hands.

“Bethany, I need help getting the other two dogs up to safety while I carry your dad,” he said evenly. “Can you help me do that? We’ll come right back and find Sprinkles. I promise you.”

“No, I’m not going to leave him down here alone and scared. I’ll keep the two dogs with me until you come back.”

Vincent wanted to explain the grave danger she was putting herself in, but he realized it would only make her position regarding Sprinkles more entrenched and she would be even less inclined to go with him. He decided to take another tack.

“Your father needs medical attention immediately. I can’t give it to him down here. I don’t have the supplies. He needs medication and he needs it now. I can’t leave you here. You have to come with us.”

“Don’t let my father die!” she wailed.

“Look, Mr. Daugherty,” he said, “I can have you topside in a couple of minutes…” He figured he could use a fireman’s carry, and then with the guy draped over his shoulder he could safely beast out. Bethany’s father wouldn’t be able to see his face, teeth, and eyes change, and after he blurred up the stairs, Daugherty wouldn’t remember what had happened or would think he had dreamed it.

The man gripped his arm and squeezed. He shook his head.

Vincent winced, not from the pressure of the man’s hand, which was minimal, but from the predicament he found himself in. They were going around and around in ever smaller circles. Unless he found a way to break the impasse they were all going to die.

“Mr. Daugherty,” he said gravely, “as a physician I have no choice but to get you out of here first. I promise you Bethany is going to be okay. I’ll put you in the care of the ship’s doctor and come right back for her. She’ll be alone five minutes, tops. I’ll leave the lantern here. And she has the shepherd…”

He untied the dog’s leash from the table leg and handed the end of it to Bethany. Then he spoke three more words in clipped German. “The dog is police trained,” he told her father. “He follows direct orders. I just told him to protect her. Are you okay with that, Bethany?”

“Yes, Vincent,” she said.

Her father started to wave his hand in protest.

“I’m sorry but there’s no time for that, Mr. Daugherty,” Vincent said, smoothly pulling the man to his feet as he bent his own knees, then taking Daugherty’s full weight across his shoulders as he straightened up. “Do not leave this room,” he told Bethany. “I’ll be right back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When Cat saw the silenced plastic gun in Cecilio’s hand she lowered her head and bull-charged him, digging in her toes and driving as hard as she could with her legs. In that split second she realized she had no choice but a go-for-broke frontal attack. The lanai was far too small for evasive maneuvers, and he was standing between her and the sliding door.

The business end of the gun swung around at her just as she jumped and kicked. When her right foot hit his center chest, the pistol went off with a hiss. She felt the heat of the near miss on her left shoulder. The impact of the running kick sent Cecilio flying backwards into the overturned chaise, and he fell over it hard onto his back. He made an “Ooooof!” noise as the wind was knocked from his lungs. She ended up with both feet flat on the ground, straddling his thighs. Cecilio fired the automatic erratically, straight up in the air. The muzzle belched yellow flame less than two feet from her face.

Before he could lower the point of aim and hit her, she grabbed his wrist with her left hand, pushing the gun away as she twisted and knee-dropped her full weight onto his throat. Cat was not pulling her punches or her kicks. If she had hit him cleanly her kneecap would have crushed his larynx, which would have swollen up in seconds and shut off his airway. He would have asphyxiated. But somehow he got his chin down and that took the brunt of the impact.

She still controlled his gun hand, but his other was free. They were wrestling on the rain-slick deck. He thrashed under her, trying to get a firm grip on the back of her neck. Cat had lost the advantage of surprise. Having learned his lesson, Cecilio kept twisting and turning his gun hand to keep her from nerve-pinching it. He got hold of her neck with his left hand, squeezed down hard, and started pulling her over backwards, trying to roll at the same time and get on top of her.

Hand-fighting a bigger, stronger opponent with longer arms in close quarters was a losing proposition. Fun and games were over. She used the edge of her forearm to knock his hand from her neck, then smashed the point of her elbow into his temple. One blow wasn’t enough to stop the guy. He grabbed hold of the back of her top and pulled her backwards, again trying to flip her over. She hit him five times in the head with her elbow in rapid succession, and after the fifth strike he let go of the fabric.

Cat still couldn’t get the gun out of his hand—he had a death grip on it—and she was done wrestling. She hit him once more for good measure with everything she had. If that didn’t concuss him, nothing would. She watched his eyes roll back in his head, then jumped to her feet. Sidestepping the chaise lounge and rounding the little table and chairs, she bolted for the sliding door. Once through, she pulled it shut and locked it. She was shivering but she didn’t pause. She raced for the bedroom, grabbed the bag of candy off the floor, and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

As she turned the handle to the stateroom door Cecilio rattled the slider from outside, trying to get it open. She was already running down the corridor when she heard the sound of breaking glass behind her. The ship climbed what had to be a giant swell and she had to steady herself at the stairwell entrance. Vaulting the stairs three at a time as the liner sickeningly dropped, she put distance between herself and Cecilio, scrambling out into the deserted main dining salon. She had found an alternate route, and she was grateful for shelter.

There was no shame in this retreat, she told herself. The killer wasn’t going anywhere, she still had the chip, and when Vincent got hold of him…