I twist the knife and pry the phone from her limp hand. I’m not sure what I plan to do next—stab her again maybe for good measure—but that’s when one of the masked men appears down at the end of the hallway. Only he’s not wearing his mask anymore. So I see the surprise on his face, then the sudden fury.
Time to leave.
Keeping the switchblade where it is in Veronika’s stomach, I take the phone and run.
Thirty minutes to go.
Seventeen
I don’t bother looking over my shoulder. I know the man’s chasing me because I can hear him, the pounding of his shoes and then his voice.
“Stop or I will shoot!”
I don’t hesitate—I keep going toward the closed door at the end of the hallway ahead of me—but flinch when a bullet smacks into the top of the door.
I turn around.
The man stands maybe thirty yards away, aiming his gun at me.
“Do not move!”
The door is right behind me. So close. All I need to do is turn and open it and step through. But then what? I don’t know where that door will take me. Hell, I don’t even know where I am.
A crazy idea comes to me.
I say, “If you hurt me, I’ll make sure my father saves you for last.”
Even from this distance, the flash of fear is evident in his eyes. I don’t know how long it will last but I use it to my advantage, spinning away and grabbing the door handle and throwing it open and stepping through just as another bullet smacks into the other side.
Another massive room with more machinery.
I keep running.
The man who shot at me will be here any second. He’ll probably call the others if he hasn’t done so already.
I flip open the phone as I run, dial the last dialed number.
My father picks up after one ring.
“I told you, this will take time.”
“Dad!”
“Holly?”
“I managed to get away, but I don’t know for how long.”
A gunshot echoes out somewhere in the room. A metal beam ten feet above my head dings as a bullet smacks into it. I don’t bother looking back to see where the shooter is, I just keep running.
My father says, “What was that?”
“They’re shooting at me.”
“Jesus Christ.”
I have the insane realization that I’ve never heard my father swear before.
He says, “Do you know where you are?”
“No, but it’s a ship.”
“You’re calling on a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“That means you’re still on the island, probably in the harbor. I can’t trace this number from my cell.”
Another gunshot sounds.
I flinch but don’t look back, keeping the phone to my ear as I keep running.
“Dial 911,” my father says. “I’ll have my people monitor the calls. They’ll trace you from there.”
My people.
“Holly”—my father’s voice is unnervingly calm—“can you do that?”
I’ve reached the end of the room. There are no other places to go but up metal stairs.
I hurry up the steps, for the first time glancing back over my shoulder.
The man is halfway across the room. He’s running, the gun at his side, but when he sees me look back he pauses long enough to aim and fire again.
Another bullet smacks into one of the steps just above me.
The son of a bitch is trying to keep me from moving forward. He’s not going to kill me—at least not yet—but just scare me into slowing down enough to catch me.
In my ear, my father shouts, “Holly?”
“I’m here,” I say, climbing the stairs again.
“Can you call 911?”
“Yes.”
I reach the top of the stairs and keep running, through another doorway, then down another hallway.
My father says, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. And Holly? I love you.”
Before I can return the sentiment, he clicks off.
I snap the phone shut and keep running, both arms pumping now, my bare feet slapping the floor.
I turn the corner into another hallway, then push through into another doorway—and stop.
My breath catches in my throat.
Bodies are stacked in the corner of the room. What looks to be six bodies lay in a heap, bullet holes in their heads.
It’s the crew—of course it’s the crew—and my body is shaking now for the first time, fear starting to seize me.
I shake it off, flip open the phone again, dial 911.
Someone answers after two rings.
“Emergency, where can I direct your call?”
“I’ve been kidnapped and people are trying to kill me.”
A slight pause. “Miss, can you say that again?”
Before I get the chance, the wall beside me dings as another bullet slams into it.
I scream, drop the phone, spin to see the gunman not too far away.
I bend to pick up the phone but the gunman shoots again. Another bullet dings the floor right beside the phone.
Screw this.
I turn and run.
Twenty minutes to go.
Eighteen
It’s another minute or two before Veronika’s voice comes over the ship’s speaker system.
“We found the phone, Holly. We know you called the police. If you think this changes anything, you are wrong. The only thing that changes is that now we have a reason to hurt you. So do yourself a favor. Turn yourself in and we will make it as painless as possible.”
I hold up both middle fingers, high in the air. I doubt she can see me—I don’t see any surveillance cameras anywhere—but it’s the principle of the thing.
I’ve gone up another flight of stairs and wonder how many more I need to go up to find a way out of this place. But then I push through another door, and the cool night air and the smell of the ocean hit me at once. Bright lights shine all about the harbor, illuminating the dozens and dozens of containers stacked on the deck and the cranes hanging above.
Okay, so this is a start. We’re still docked, which means
