Page 68

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.