“Ah, you think wrongly. There are plenty of men who will pay dearly for you. Who will like nothing better than to break that spirit you so proudly display. Even if you are older than we usually offer.”
His words rammed into her with the force of a fist and a tremor of terror worked its way over her flesh.
He planned to
Her worst nightmare had just come true.
Ryan’s heart pounded in his ears. He willed Gregson to drive faster. They were headed to Brooklyn. The NYPD’s Information Technology Department was using the GPS system on Meghan’s cell phone to track her movements.
Gregson’s dashboard radio chirped. He grabbed the mic. “Yeah.”
The dispatcher’s voice came across the airwaves. “The signal went dead.”
Ryan’s stomach dropped. No!
“Last location?” Gregson asked.
The dispatcher rattled off the address near the East River.
Ryan’s eyes burned. Fear choked the breath from his lungs. Meghan. She was so special. He couldn’t lose her. Clutching the door handle in a tight grip, he prayed beneath his breath.
He wouldn’t go there. Nor would he acknowledge the expanding emotions in his heart clamoring for his attention. They’d only known each other a short time yet it felt like a lifetime. He’d come to know her, to care about her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
He focused on the surroundings. The sun hung low in the sky. Gulls cried overhead. The road they were on led to a shipping yard. Large metal containers dominated the real estate. Huge cargo ships, freighters and flat- bottomed barges laid anchor, waiting for their load. Smaller tugboats and fishing boats crowded in between the larger vessels.
Meghan was here somewhere. Inside a container? Or already aboard one of the boats?
Another horrible thought wormed its way to the forefront. Could she be at the bottom of the river?
No. He refused to believe it. She hadn’t been gone that long. They weren’t that far behind her. He had to find her. He would find her.
As soon as the car stopped, Ryan bolted. He didn’t know where to start but he had to do something. He surveyed the area, getting a lay of the land.
“Fitzgerald, hold up,” Gregson called. “Wait!”
Protocol dictated he wait. Normally, Ryan took the rules to heart. Rules, protocol, procedures all were in place for a reason. He understood that. And most days appreciated that fact. Was a stickler, actually.
But not today.
Not today when the life of the woman he cared about was on the line. All the rules, protocol and procedures went out the window with the proverbial bathwater.
He’d pay the price. He didn’t care. Meghan was worth whatever happened to him.
Ignoring Gregson and the line of police cars filing in behind the captain’s sedan, Ryan darted forward. His bum ankle protested. Forcing back the pain, he searched for someone, anyone he could question.
He asked a guy pushing a cart. No. Guy hadn’t seen anyone matching Meghan’s description.
Ryan saw a group of three dockworkers taking a smoking break, their cigarettes glowing red amid a cloud of smoke. The men all shook their heads.
Ryan wouldn’t give up.
To his left, a forklift operator climbed into his rig. Ryan climbed up after him and held on to the door, trapping the guy inside the enclosed cab.
“Hey, you can’t be up here,” the guy said.
Ryan flashed his badge then secured it to the front loop of his belt so it would be visible. “I’m looking for a woman.”
“Aren’t we all,” the guy retorted.
Impatience knotted Ryan’s muscles. “She’s blonde, about five-eight. She had on a white blouse.” His voice sounded tight, constricted with the worry pressing in on him. “She may have had a toddler with her.”
At mention of the toddler, the NY attitude left the longshoreman and he nodded. “Yeah, I saw ’em. She and the kid were taken onto one of the cargo ships.”
Anticipation revved Ryan’s blood. “Which one? Take me there.”
“Sure. Hang on.” The guy started the engine then shifted the gears. The big tires rolled slowly over the asphalt. The guy pointed to a midsize rusty cargo ship that barely looked seaworthy. Deflated tires rimmed the vessel to act as bumpers against the dock. “That one. That’s the one she boarded.”
“Thanks.” Ryan jumped down, a zing of pain shot up his leg. He gritted his teeth and ran for the cover of a container. Peering around the corner, he assessed the vessel, noting two guards on deck, one near the stern and one at the bow. Though he didn’t see their weapons, he had no doubt they were carrying. He took out his cell. No bars. He had no way to communicate with NYPD. He couldn’t wait for them. He needed to go now.
The bridge was empty, mostly likely the captain was belowdecks.
Ryan searched for a way on board the cargo ship.
No convenient rope hung over the starboard side; no gangway connected the vessel to the dock. In fact, the boat wasn’t even moored. It looked ready to sail.
A smoke plume from the engine funnel gave testament to his thought. Meghan. He had to get on board.
His gaze snagged on the larger freight vessel to the aft of the barge. A gangplank was being used to load freight on board.
In a low crouch, he ran for the large vessel and raced up the gangway, eliciting curious glances from the longshoremen securing crates of melons on board. He crouched behind the railing. With caution, he peered over the side to the boat below.
A ten-foot drop. Maybe fifteen.
No big deal. He’d jumped out of a sugar maple tree much taller when he was twelve. The landing had been jarring but he’d walked away on his own two feet. He flexed his still-tender ankle and breathed in deep, feeling a slight pinch in his ribs. Okay, maybe jumping wouldn’t be the best idea, but it was the only one he had.
His gaze tripped over the cargo deck below his position.
Wait, a rope ladder hung on the port side away from the dock and dangled in the water.
His way on board.
“Thank You, God. I appreciate it,” he murmured.
From the deck of the freighter he could see NYPD spreading out, doing a grid search. He needed to alert them without alerting the bad guys.
A longshoreman stepped onto the freighter’s deck. Ryan showed his badge and pointed to the officers on the dock. “See those cops?”
The guy nodded.
“I need you to get a message to them. Them tell she’s on the black-and-red cargo ship.”
“She’s on the cargo ship,” the guy repeated.
Ryan nodded. “Go. Hurry.”
The guy quickly made his way off the freighter.
Ryan followed and then slipped into the murky water from the dock. The smell of gasoline and brine filled his head as he cut a path through the lapping waves, every stroke of his arms causing pain in his ribs but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He was careful to keep close to the vessel so he wouldn’t be seen from the cargo ship where they were keeping Meghan. He reached the rope ladder and hauled himself on board.
Water dripped from his clothing. A chill ran down his spine. He smelled like the East River or worse, the NY sewage system.
