No Safe Exit

“Run, S!”

A gunshot hit the wall beside my head before Vic finished the order. Plaster scraped my cheek as I ran, lifting my torn skirt with one hand. My pursuers were close, their footsteps pounding through the service corridor.

“S, take the next left!” Vic said through my earpiece. His voice stayed controlled, but I heard the strain beneath it. “I’m on my way.”

“No! Find Eli.”

Seconds before the shooting started, I had seen Eli’s arms pinned by two men as they dragged him through a restricted storage door. I followed when I should have stayed on surveillance. Inside, an open sculpture crate revealed pale-blue packets beneath a false stone base.

I took three photographs before a guard spotted me. Now, my phone pressed against my ribs with the evidence still on it, and Eli was somewhere behind me. 

The next left ended at a metal service exit. I shoved through it and stopped. A man in an event-security jacket stood ten feet away, a pistol low against his thigh.

He lunged toward me. I slammed the door into him and ran the other way. My left shoe caught under the hem of my dress and came off but I left it behind.

“S?” Vic demanded.

“The service exit is blocked.”

“Then take the marina promenade. I’m cutting across the loading bay.” 

I burst from the staff stairwell onto the covered waterfront path. Armed men were spread across the marina. Two guarded the public gate while another watched the emergency stairs.

A yacht rocked at the nearest private slip, its rear access already open. The name stood out in black letters against the white hull.

APOLLO.

Eli’s last message flashed through my head. Follow the Apollo manifest.

A shout came from the promenade behind me. I ran onto the yacht and slipped through the open rear access. Once inside, I reached for my weapon.

Footsteps struck the deck behind me. I shoved my pistol and phone into a drawer beneath the built-in seat. I tore the surveillance wire from my skin, wrapped it inside my wig, and pushed both into a covered waste compartment.

The rear hatch stood open across the lounge. I could jump into the water, but my evening dress would drag me down.

I unfastened my dress, stepped out of it, and kicked off my remaining shoe. Before I could reach the rear hatch, the outer door opened.

A man stepped into the lounge and stopped when he saw me standing beside the built-in seat in only my bra and underwear. His dark suit was open at the collar. I caught the smell of alcohol on him, but he stood steady, and his eyes were clear as his gaze moved from my bare feet to the dress on the floor.

“Who sent you?”

Good. He thought I belonged there. I stepped between him and the hatch.

“Does it matter?”

“It usually does when I find a half-naked stranger on my yacht.”

I grabbed the front of his shirt, rose onto my toes, and kissed him. For one second, he did nothing. Then his hand settled at my waist.

His mouth moved over mine with controlled pressure, but he did not pull me closer right away. He gave me enough time to pull back if I wanted to. Instead, I tightened my grip on his shirt, and he drew me against him. I only needed to convince him that I had been sent, then find a way past him.

His hand slid along my bare back as he guided me toward the built-in seat. The yacht shifted beneath our feet, and I lost a little ground, pressing closer against him. Somewhere between reaching the seat and feeling his body against mine, my plan started to blur. Then a fist slammed against the outer door.

“Marina security,” a man called. “Open up! We’re searching for an intruder.”

The stranger turned toward the entrance as another hard knock shook the door. They had found me.

The stranger turned back to me, suspicion replacing the heat in his expression. Before he could talk, I pulled him down and kissed him again.

The latch rattled. His hands tightened around my waist as I pressed closer. Whether he thought I was a gift, an escort, or a terrible surprise no longer mattered. The men outside only had to believe I belonged there.

The door opened and the stranger broke the kiss but kept me against him. I turned my face into his chest as two men in event-security jackets entered. I recognized one by his voice. He had chased me through the storage corridor.

“You have five seconds to explain why you’re on my yacht,” the stranger said.

“We’re searching for a woman who attacked a guard.”

“And that gives you permission to enter Apollo?”

“She came this way.”

I let my hair fall across the side of my face. My dress and shoe lay beside the seat, making it look as though I had been there before the chase reached the marina. The second man stepped closer. The stranger shifted in front of me, blocking his view.

“Names.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yours and your supervisor’s.”

“We’re handling a security matter.”

“You’re trespassing.” His voice dropped. “The cameras record every entrance. Take another step, and the marina director gets the footage before you reach the dock.”

Neither man answered. His palm stayed against my bare back as he kept me behind him. The first man muttered an apology, and both men backed toward the door. The stranger waited until the door closed before turning back to me. He lifted my chin and I stayed where I was, and he kissed me harder.

I backed against the built-in seat and gripped his shoulders as he lifted me onto the cushion and stepped between my knees.

I should have been listening for the men outside. Instead, I felt his hand slide from my waist to my thigh. His mouth moved down my neck, and I pulled him closer before I could stop myself. The lie no longer explained the attraction, which made it more dangerous.

His fingers traced the edge of my bra, then paused and I answered by kissing him again. His hand slipped beneath the fabric, and my legs tightened around him. With his body pressed against mine, I knew how quickly this could go too far. For several reckless seconds, I forgot Eli.

Then I remembered everything I had hidden. My phone and pistol were in the drawer beneath the seat, while my wire and wig were inside the covered compartment nearby. With him standing between my knees, I could not reach any of them without showing him exactly where I had hidden them. I could not leave them aboard, either.

The yacht rolled as another boat passed outside so I used the movement. I shifted my weight and hooked my leg behind his. As the deck tilted beneath us, I swept his leg out from under him. He reached for me, but his balance was already gone. His shoulder struck the seat, and the side of his head hit the low cabinet beside it.

He went still. I dropped beside him and pressed two fingers to his neck. His pulse was strong, and his breathing was steady. He was unconscious, but alive.

“Sorry.”

I pulled on my dress and grabbed my phone and pistol from the drawer. Then I retrieved the wire, wig, and shoe. With no time to put the wig back on properly, I tucked it under my arm and ran for the rear hatch.

Outside, the two men had moved toward the next row of yachts. I slipped through the rear hatch and onto a narrow maintenance walkway behind the neighboring yachts, hidden from the promenade. Keeping low, I followed it between the mooring posts until I reached the shed near the secondary exit.

Vic stepped from the shadows and hurried toward me. He caught me by the shoulders, quickly checking my face and arms for injuries.

“Are you hit?”

“No.”

“Where have you been?”

“Trying not to get shot.”

His gaze moved over my torn dress, bare feet, and the wig tucked beneath my arm.

“What happened?”

“I lost them. We need to move.”

Vic glanced toward the marina, then guided me toward the exit.

“Ward is going to want a full report.”

She would get one but just not all of it. I reached beneath my dress and felt for the concealed credential holder. My fingers found only the empty strap.

My emergency police identification was gone.