Beauty & the Beast (30 page)

The crewmen all stared at her, stunned, no one more so than the captain.

The captain roused himself with obvious effort. “But
why
?”

“It was a heist gone wrong, sir,” Cat replied. “He wanted to divert everyone to the lifeboat muster stations so he could steal something of great value out of a passenger cabin.” Then she fudged the truth, big time. “I don’t know why he was in our cabin. I don’t know what he was looking for. He didn’t tell me.”

“Prob’ly after something of mine,” Daugherty said, slurring his words. “I packed a few things for safekeeping an’ brought ’em with me. No idea if they’re still in my stateroom.”

“We can’t check,” Cat cut in.

“Course not. I have my mos’ val’able possession here any…” Daugherty trailed off.

“Daddy?” Bethany said shrilly. “Daddy? Vincent? Dr. Jones?”

Vincent handed Archer to Cat and together with the ship’s doctor bent over Bethany’s father.

“So he blew up my ship to steal something?” The captain was incredulous.

“He only meant to start a fire big enough to send us to our muster stations,” Cat elaborated. “It got out of control.” She stayed on subject. “So that means that everyone still aboard is accounted for, and we can all leave.” She added an emphatic, “
Now.
”

“No,” the captain rasped. “I
won’t
.”

O’Brien leaned over Captain Kilman. “Sir, please give the order for us to abandon ship. At this point there is no saving her.”

The captain remained defiant. “Do as you wish, O’Brien, but I’m staying aboard my ship.”

O’Brien shook his head. He looked at Dr. Jones. “I never thought I’d be asking you this question, ma’am,” he said. He cleared his throat. “In your medical opinion, is the captain able to fulfill his duty as commanding officer in this crisis?”

“I’m
staying
,” the captain repeated.

Dr. Jones rose and said, “Mr. O’Brien, as ship’s physician, I certify that the captain is unfit to remain in command because of the extent of injuries suffered in the line of duty. As you are the executive officer and next in line in the chain of command, the
Sea Majesty
is yours.”

“All hands abandon ship,” Mr. O’Brien said.

* * *

The ship was listing even more to starboard as the ten humans and three dogs descended the same tight stairway they had come up. Two of the crew carried the stretcher bearing Mr. Daugherty between them. Acting Captain O’Brien and another crewman slung the captain’s arms over their shoulders and helped him navigate the steps. He had fallen silent.

Vincent and Cat carried powerful lanterns that revealed a gaping hole in the sloping top deck. Inside the ship the room lights visible through the stacked rows of windows erratically flickered on and off. The driving cold rain that plastered Cat’s hair to her head and her clothes to her skin did nothing to extinguish the flames leaping high into the black sky. The wind flattened the billowing dark smoke into a caustic, smothering blanket as she held onto Bethany, who was trying to maintain control of the dogs’ leashes. Vincent, who had gone slightly ahead with O’Brien to scout out the best way to get to the stern, carried Archer under his arm like a bag of potato chips.

They hurried along the high side of the slanted deck, using the superstructure for one-handed support as heavy seas lifted and battered the wounded ship. It was a desperate and miserable trek. A blaze of floodlights above the stern deck illuminated the entrance hatch to the escape pod, which hung suspended, bow downward in a cradle of heavy pipe. The steel boat was painted bright orange. With angled slits for forward windows it looked like a Stealth Bomber without wings. As the ship rose and fell in the waves, the pod remained stationary, held fast to the railed ramp by a massive stern bracket.

O’Brien climbed onto the frame, un-dogged the hatch, and opened it. Getting Daugherty and the stretcher through the hatch was easier than convincing the two big dogs that they should follow, but the crewmen handled it with aplomb and precise application of muscle.

As Cat climbed onto the skeletal frame, she made the mistake of looking down. An angry sea summited and valleyed a hundred feet beneath her, and the ship’s motion made her feel like a yo-yo. She had to close her eyes for an instant.

Then she felt Vincent’s firm touch on her arm.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, guiding her through the opening.

Inside, in the red glow of the boat’s emergency lights, everything was perpendicular—the high-backed rows of seat all faced straight down. Forrest’s stretcher had been strapped flat on the ribbed deck with his feet pointed towards the bow. The dogs had their own seats and seat harnesses—all except for Archer, who was still tucked under Vincent’s arm.

Cat used her hands to pull herself into the nearest available seat, then braced with her legs so she could fasten the shoulder harness. By the time Vincent climbed in beside her, the blood had begun to rush to her head. That coupled with the yawing and pitching motion of the ship made her stomach rebel.

She focused her attention on O’Brien in the pilot’s seat. He was unlocking something on the control panel. He swung back a hinged cover, exposing a fat button.

“Is everyone securely belted in?” he said over his shoulder.

The response was affirmative on all sides.

Though her head was spinning, Cat was elated. They were actually going to survive this nightmare.

“I’m going to blow the explosive bolts,” O’Brien said. “There will be a long drop, then a hard impact. Our momentum should carry us away from the
Sea Majesty
’s stern. When we are clear I’ll start the engines and move well off. Brace yourselves. Firing in three, two, one…”

Cat waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

“Firing in three, two, one…”

Again she clenched every muscle, anticipating a roller coaster ride to end all.

Again, nothing happened.

“Is something wrong?” Vincent asked.

“We seem to have a problem,” O’Brien said. “The explosive bolts did not fire. We’ve got plenty of battery power in the pod, certainly enough to detonate the charges, so it’s probably a wiring or circuitry issue. Maybe the pod’s umbilical has partially disconnected or been damaged. Or it could be something mechanical. No way to tell without checking the bracket and the winch. I’ll go do that now…”

“No,” Vincent said. “I’m closer to the hatch and you need to stay at the helm in case the pod accidently releases. You have to run the boat.”

“Dr. Keller,” O’Brien said, “it really should be a member of the crew…”

“Not debating this,” Vincent said as he handed a squirming Archer to Cat. “If I can’t fix it, you can send someone else.”

“Be careful,” Cat said. “Please…”

“Piece of cake, Catherine.” He smiled.

* * *

Torrential rain pounded Vincent’s face as he opened the rear hatch. It was coming down with such force it was hard to breathe. Groaning softly he pulled himself out of the pod and, gripping a steel handhold, swung the hatch shut and dogged it. He had to admit it was way more comfortable standing in the wind and rain on a heaving ship than hanging upside down inside one like a bat.

He climbed the cradle and stepped onto the stern deck.

At least there was plenty of light to work by. He located the pod’s umbilical—a cluster of wires and cables sheathed in thick plastic and held together at intervals with zip-ties. The end of it was hidden by the winch’s housing. It took him a minute or two to figure out how to remove the housing. He couldn’t go beast and just rip it off. Not without jeopardizing his ultimate mission.

With the housing off, the winch hook, stern bracket, female end of the umbilical, and explosive bolts were all in plain view. The winch hook was not attached—the pod was being held in place solely by the massive bolts. There didn’t seem to be any mechanical reason for the failure to detonate—nothing looked bent or broken. The wire connections to the tops of the explosive bolts appeared to be intact. But appearances could be deceiving.

Vincent glared at them, wiping the rain from his face. If there was an electrical short, a minute break in the wiring between the umbilical and the bolts, and he re-established the connection, he wasn’t sure what the result would be.

Had the explosion already been triggered from inside the pod? Had the circuit already been opened? Would reconnection instantly make everything go boom? If that were the case, he’d have no time to reach the boat before it dropped from the cradle. No time as a human, anyway.

But if he could beast out just as the bolts blew he could blur-jump onto the rear of the pod and ride it down the ramp. He couldn’t warn Catherine and O’Brien and the others what might happen next.

Vincent took hold of the plastic sheathed cable, standing as far back from the bolts as he could and bracing his feet for the leap. As he lowered his control and let himself start to transform he sensed something behind him. His right arm was already in motion. He couldn’t stop it from giving the umbilical a sharp snap downward.

Three things happened almost simultaneously.

The bolts exploded with puffs of gray smoke.

Someone slammed into his back, driving him to a knee.

And the pod dropped from the cradle.

In full beast mode, Vincent gazed down the ramp. A lightning flash revealed a human figure clinging to the rear of the falling pod, legs flailing. Vincent threw back his head and snarled into the wind and rain. Around him, the
Sea Majesty
seemed to bellow in reply—wounded, abandoned, enraged at her fate.

* * *

If a great wave shall fall…

She saw him fall.

And then she didn’t see him at all. For a second she couldn’t breathe. The pod started to move away from the cruise ship.

“Wait, where are you going? What are you doing?” she cried. “He’s in the water!”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Keller, but your husband could not have survived that drop,” O’Brien said.

“You don’t know my husband. Open the hatch!” Cat yelled. “We’re not leaving without my husband!”

O’Brien hesitated, then nodded at the crewman closest to the hatch. The man unbuckled his restraints and pushed it open. Wind, rain, and water blasted into the pod.

Cat shouldered the crewman out of the way and scrambled out onto the short aft deck. A wave crashed over her and swept into the cabin. She was knocked off her feet but she grabbed onto the handhold and held fast.

“We can’t keep it open much longer,” O’Brien shouted. “We’ll be swamped.”

“Vincent!” she screamed into the storm. The crewman joined her, scanning the heaving black ocean with the pod searchlight.

“There,” the crewman said, pointing.

Beneath the glare of the searchlight, a face-down body rode the cresting swell. The ocean began to carry the body away and she almost dived in after it. As her heartbeat chorused Bethany’s shouts and the dogs’ barks, the crewman reached out with a grappling hook and snagged it. Cat lent an assist and together they drew the body toward the pod.

Cat didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until the crewman dragged a limp arm onto the platform and lifted the man from the water. She and the crewman flopped him onto his back, and she exhaled, hands flattening on the man’s chest.

It was Cecilio. He was most certainly dead. And there was something in his jacket pocket. She pulled it out: the candy bag. And in it, the plastic box.

“Catherine,” Vincent said, as his head broke the surface beside the pod and he extended his arm.

“Vincent!” she cried.

When she gave her husband her hand, the box dropped into the water. The pod searchlight glinted off it as it sank, and then it was lost to the ocean.

And Vincent was found.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Miguel Escalante lay in bed beside his wife Barbara, who was fondling the diamond bracelet he had given her earlier that evening, along with a dozen roses, an abject apology, and his vow never, ever to cheat on her again. She had forgiven him everything. Who wouldn’t, for half a mil in stones?

The TV was blaring and the ladies on
The View
were jabbering away. Some two-bit singer named Fidela was describing her harrowing escape from death aboard the
Sea Majesty.
Miguel wanted to throw his glass of champagne at the plasma screen. Two good operatives dead. The mission a failure. No one in the whole wide world would have placed blame at Miguel’s door—except for Anatoly Vodanyov. Anatoly had threatened reprisals. Miguel had told him to go to hell.

“That sounds just horrible,” Barbara said, as Fidela talked about her descent into the lifeboat, followed by many terrifying hours on the stormy sea. “What if that had been us?”

The show cut to some footage labeled HEROES OF THE HOUR! Miguel had seen the clip before and it made him crazy. He narrowed his eyes as the recording showed the cop and her husband climbing out of a rescue chopper that had just landed in Hilo. The cop was carrying a little dog in her arms. No black jacket. A reporter had rushed forward with a mic in her hand. Miguel had memorized Detective Catherine Chandler’s responses to the reporter’s questions. The last one drove him the craziest:

“No, all our belongings were burned in the fire.” Then Chandler turned and faced the screen and said directly to it, “We took nothing with us when we left the ship.”

It was obvious she was sending a message:
We don’t have it. Leave us alone.
He wondered exactly how much she knew.

She was kind of hot.

“Do you want to go to Mexico City for a while?” he asked Barbara. “Go shopping?”

* * *

At JT’s place, Tess and JT held each other tightly. Both were nearly on the verge of tears.

“You can buy mouse ears for dogs. Who knew?” JT ground out as Tess’s brother Jamie displayed the tiny monogrammed hat for them. Between the two iconic black circles sat a miniature silver plastic crown atop a trailing rectangle of white lace. On the back was embroidered
Princess Mochi
in delicate gold thread. There was a strap to hold it under the most delicate of chihuahua chins.