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We continued down through the ship, sticking our noses in every door.
By level four, I was starting to stress out. Sunset was happening already, and we still had a few floors to go.
By level three, as we went through storage and passed by guest rooms, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. We hadn’t run into either Raven or Blake.
“I bet he’s in the spa,” I said to Marc as we climbed down the steps. I was breathless, sweating. I felt we’d walked miles on this ship.
“I hope not,” Marc said, face tight. “But if he is…”
We were almost at the bottom of the steps to deck two when two cracks of gunshots filled the air. Bam. Bam.
Surprised screams. People dashing around just inside the spa. People in the waiting room, heads turned, wearing stunned expressions.
Had it really been gunshots?
Two seconds later, a voice came on the overhead speakers throughout the ship. “Everyone, please go to your rooms. We need to do a security sweep.” The warning continued, severe, important.
“What the hell?” Marc said, taking my arm and drawing me into him, gripping the stairwell rail.
Doyle looked at the speakers. “That was way too soon,” he said.
I agreed. Was the announcement because of the gunshots? Or was something else going on elsewhere?
A stampede of guests and a few crew members flowed out of the spa’s glass doors. Some came up the steps, still in towels, some went for elevators.
“I call bullshit,” Marc said.
“Me, too, sugarplum,” Fancy said and pulled a .38 out of her handbag.
“Put that thing away,” Marc said, tugging me down the stairs as the swarm of people from the spa left the area. “For now, at least. Someone sees you with that, they’ll think this was you.”
“Love the way you look out for me, baby,” she said, and she hid her gun in her bag but kept her hand inside. Ready with it, just in case.
I followed behind Fancy—not to use her as a shield, but at least she had a weapon.
The spa’s glass doors had remained propped open. The waiting room was cluttered with dropped paperwork and towels and a purse that had been left behind, the desk empty.
The music played over the overhead speakers, eerie when everything else was so silent after all the commotion.
Blood rushed through my ears. I swallowed. Nerves were alive. I strained to listen, waiting for more gunshots, or any noise at all.
Marc eased into the view of the two hallways and checked both ways before urging us to come closer. “Maybe we should split up,” he said. He pointed to me and Doyle. “Take the right?”
Doyle rolled his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go with the man lady with the gun.”
“Call me a man lady again, and I’ll make you swallow my gun,” Fancy said. “The one I keep in my panties.”
Doyle winced but followed her to the left hall.
Marc and I went right.
Where was security? Weren’t they going to come down here? Weren’t there any workers left behind? The music played overhead, but otherwise, the space was so quiet, like a ghost town.
We passed several different spa rooms, some hairdressing stations, some nail care rooms, others with massage tables. All empty.
I remained close to Marc, real close.
Never in my life had I ever walked toward gunfire. Instinct strained my muscles, telling me to run. I had no protection.
We approached the end of the hall, just before it took a right and continued around the ship, and that’s when I spotted something strange behind the glass of the cold room. I’d thought it to be just a shadow, but then I studied the shadow long enough to recognize it for what it was.
A body on the floor.
I swallowed thickly, tugging at Marc’s sleeve, not wanting to be the first to see if whoever it was might be dead.
Please don’t be…please don’t be…
Marc pushed me back a step and shot me a look. “Wait here,” he whispered.
I wanted to be brave. I wanted to walk forward with him, but my knees locked, my muscles refusing to move.
My eyes remained on Marc, on his face.
Don’t die. Don’t die. I’d never forgive myself if the gunman was inside and I sent Marc in alone.
Marc got close to the door and peered inside. He did a slight turn, checking the corners of the room, and then reached, gripping the door.
He waited, as if trying to make a decision.
He opened the door, going inside.
Marc going in jarred me enough to jerk forward. I scanned the hallway, then went to the door, looking down at the body on the ground.
Golden hair.
My heart lunged into my throat. Marc’s body went stiff, and I realized it was because I’d shrieked.
I don’t know how I got past Marc, but the next thing I knew, I had dropped to my knees, next to Blake’s motionless body.
His eyes were closed. His makeup had been washed away. His face was bruised around the left eye and chin.
I touched his cheek. He was cool, but not cold. My hand slid to his neck.
A pulse.
He was alive! Had he gotten hit in the head again?
I gently opened his eyelids with my fingers and checked his pupils, not that I knew anything about pupils. He didn’t wake up.
“Bambi, don’t turn around,” Marc said in a tense voice from behind me, one that made my stomach churn in fear.
Raven? Unable to stop myself, I let go of Blake and turned my head.
Blood pooled next to a motionless body. As my heart raced, I forced my eyes up to the face, dread washing over me.
Colt Baker.
I sagged in relief, but couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was on his back, his mouth gaping, arms splayed out. I wasn’t sure where the blood was pooling from, but it didn’t matter. He was dead.
I turned back to Blake.
His right hand was open, resting against the floor tiles.
The gun was sitting on his palm.
Sitting…oddly.
Marc took my elbow, pulling me from Blake. “Sweetie, we need to leave.”
“What?” I said. “We can’t—”
“This is a crime scene,” he said, pointing to the gun. “If you’re here when security gets here, they’ll drag you into this, too.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. We don’t have time to ask questions.” He tugged my elbow. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t leave him!” I cried out, motioning to Blake. Panic surged through me, senses going wild. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Blake didn’t like it when the guys came in with guns blazing. That wasn’t how he worked. “They set him up! I bet that’s what happened. He couldn’t have done it; he’s out cold!”
“I know,” Marc said. “You might be right, but we can’t touch this. Even leaving now without contacting the police is a risk.”
“We didn’t do this.”
“They’ve got video of us coming in here,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll use it.”
Footsteps thundered from up the hall. Marc left me and rushed to the door.
Doyle crashed into him. Marc caught him, held him upright before he could fall.
“No one on the other—” Doyle saw Blake on the floor, looked over to Colt’s body, and then landed on his knees next to Blake. He grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him over, and then started shaking him.
“Wake up, stupid,” he bellowed, his usual pale skin somehow getting even whiter. “You aren’t dead. Tell me you aren’t—”
“Who’s dead?” Fancy said, wedging herself through the door even while Marc tried to hold her back. She took in the scene and then shook her head, her mouth dropping open. “Oh shit.”
“He’s not dead,” I told Doyle and pushed his arm so he’d stop shaking him. “Just unconscious.”
“We’v
e got to get him out,” Doyle said as he took one of his arms. The gun dropped to the floor. “Help me drag his body out.”
“We need to leave,” Marc said. “We’re contaminating a murder scene.”
“He didn’t do this,” I said. “We can’t leave him.”
“We have to,” Marc said through his teeth. “You don’t understand. It’s bad enough we’ve got our fingerprints all over this place already.”
“Fuck you,” Doyle said, sliding Blake by the arm an inch toward the door, and then bending over, breathing heavily. “Fuck, I’ve got to quit smoking.”
Marc came after me, grabbing me by the elbow. “You have to leave. We need to clear out. Now. They’re on the way, maybe with cameras. If this was a setup, we’re in the middle, and every second we’re here, the deeper we get.”
“We can’t leave Blake,” Doyle said. He let go of Blake and pointed to Colt. “That’s the governor’s son.” He pointed to Blake’s face. “This is Blake Coaltar. If he goes to jail over this, everything is over.”
“It doesn’t have to go down like that,” Marc said, his face serious, all hard planes. He urged me toward the door. “If he’s really innocent, we’ll be able to prove it with the cops, with the right people…”
“You don’t understand!” Doyle sliced his hand in the air in his direction. “You don’t…you…” He looked right at me, motioning to me with open palms. “It’s more than just him. Kids. There’s kids we’ve helped. The cops looking into him will uncover a lot: me, kids, you don’t even know.”
