Chapter 42

M18 in hand,Mason eased through the maze of shipping containers stacked on the deck of the massive cargo ship. The metal boxes towered over him, creating a labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends perfect for an ambush. Not that he expected to stumble on the shooter. If it were him, he’d be hiding in some obscure corner of the ship, biding his time until he could escape unnoticed.

Graham’s voice came over the comlink. “No sign of the target on the upper decks,” he said, his breath coming in short bursts as he ran. “Moving to the lower levels now.”

Kate’s voice followed, her tone clipped and professional. “Sweeping the engine room,” she said, the sound of her footsteps echoing over the comlink. “No sign of the shooter here either.”

Fenn chimed in, “Checking the crew quarters. Nothing so far.”

“Drone footage shows the captain heading off the ship about ten minutes before Stenberg drove up.” Tai informed them. “It wasn’t him.”

Mason nodded, his jaw clenched. With multiple cranes plucking containers off the deck, the exterior of the ship would be cleared of personnel. The fact that the crew seemed to have disappeared made sense. Shore leave was probably a rare commodity.

“Copy that,” he acknowledged.

He rounded a corner, his eyes scanning the narrow passageway between the shipping containers. The sound of his own breathing was loud in his ears, drowning out the distant clanging of metal on metal.

Mason had cleared the front half of the ship. He was working his way toward the stern. Once he finished, he’d head back to help Avery.

Paul’s eager voice came over the comlink. “I’ll head up to you guys,” he said, his voice rising with excitement. “One more set of eyes won’t hurt.”

Mason shook his head, his jaw clenched. “Negative,” he barked. “Stay put, Paul. That’s an order.”

The last thing he needed was Paul confronting a killer.

Paul grumbled something under his breath, but Mason ignored him. He had more important things to worry about than his brother’s wounded pride.

Like checking in with Avery.

He tapped his comlink. “Avery, come in. Do you copy?”

Silence.

He tapped his comlink again, cupping a hand over his ear to block out the shudder of the cranes’ throbbing engines. “Avery, come in. Do you copy?”

More silence.

He tried a third time, his voice rising. “Avery, it’s Mason. Do you read me?”

Still nothing.

Paige’s voice crackled over the comlink,. “Mason, the comlink is working. It’s possible the walls of the panic room are blocking the signal.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched. “Copy that,” he said, his voice tight. “Keep trying to raise her. Stern portion of the deck is clear. I’m heading back to the panic room.”

Suddenly, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. A scream, high and piercing, echoing through the narrow passageways of the ship.

Avery’s scream.

He took off running, his boots pounding against the metal deck as he raced back through the maze of shipping containers, moving so fast he clipped the corner of a container with his shoulder. The force of the collision spun him around. Shoulder on fire, he shook off the pain and aimed for the base of the accommodations tower.

Inside the stairwell, he paused, closing the watertight door behind him as quietly as possible. Then he listened.

The thick door muffled the sounds of the cranes. Except for the pops and squeaks of ropes and metal, and the low thrum of the air system, there was nothing. No footfalls. No conversation.

He stole silently up the five stories to the level of the panic room, eyes and ears straining for any indication of the shooter. Or Avery.

Finally on the proper level, he inched out of the stairwell and slipped down the windowless hallway toward the first tight turn.

The clank of footfalls hit his ears first. Two sets, with no discernable rhythm. Then harsh breaths. Again, two sets.

He slipped his M18 out of its holster and flattened himself against the near wall. He’d see whoever was coming before they spotted him.

A moment later, the sight that greeted him froze every cell in his body.

A man in a dark tech shirt and pants cleared the corner, one hand clamped around Avery’s upper arm, the other holding a pistol to her head.

The man looked up, his eyes locking with Mason’s.

Ryan Goshiro.

Mason raised his weapon, his hand shaking with rage. “Let her go, Ryan,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It’s over.”

Goshiro froze. Then yanked Avery closer. “How do you figure that?”

Fury lit him up, but he fought it, struggling for clarity. One breath. Two. And the scene crystalized, every detail sharp and glittering. Adrenaline and experience took over. Time slowed. Gaze locked onto Avery, willing her to trust him, he ticked off his tactical advantages.

Superior speed. Superior experience. Superior firearms and close combat skills.

None of which mattered with a gun at Avery’s temple.

M18 aimed at Goshiro, center mass, he locked eyes with his opponent. “What now?”

Though his skin looked pale and clammy, Goshiro’s eyes burned with a dangerous adrenaline high. “Bro, it’s not complicated. Avery and I walk out of here.”

No way. Every hostage situation he’d ever gamed said don’t let the abductor walk. But what was the alternative?

Mason’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t let Ryan take Avery.

But he also couldn’t risk her life.

He couldn’t even alert the team. Goshiro would see him activating his comlink.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Ryan’s. “Okay,” he said, his voice tight with tension. “You win. I’ll call off my team. Just don’t hurt her.”

Ryan smiled, his eyes glittering with triumph. “I knew you’d see reason,” he said, his voice mocking. “Now, put down your gun and kick it over to me.”

“Mason, don’t!”

Avery’s plea decided it. Relinquishing his weapon would buy her time. Goshiro would probably shoot him, but unless he took a head shot, or got ridiculously lucky, Mason wouldn’t bleed out before he alerted his team. Most civies, even monsters like Goshiro, had a hard time shooting someone in the face. Or so he’d have to hope.

And if the man was too stupid to take him out, well, Goshiro would regret it.

With a silent prayer to his Savior for Avery’s safety, he lowered his gun to the ground and kicked it, sending it skittering past Goshiro.

“Hands up. You first,” Goshiro ordered him back down the hallway.

Excellent. Having his hands up would only make him quicker when he got a chance to strike. So far. So good.

Mason started toward the stairwell, his steps measured, his senses straining to hear Avery’s footfalls behind him. Goshiro would be tight on her six, ready to blast his way out, if the situation deteriorated.

But Mason lived for chaos. The instant Goshiro blinked, Mason would be on him.