"Keep moving," Matt yelled, pointing up to direct her. "Get yourself on a lifeboat asap."
"Are you coming?" Jane screamed.
"No," Matt said, and he continued downward, into the thick smoke.
RYAN'S ONLY INTENT was to get his wife off the Silver Mist.
It was bizarre, to see all these people in evening dress running for the boats. This was nothing like the lifeboat drill, where women had giggled and men had been bored and irritated that they'd been pulled away from their putting practice or card game. Tonight order was forgotten - and then, the blast shook the boat and changed everything.
Passengers were already in a couple of unlaunched lifeboats - good-size vessels that could easily hold forty to fifty passengers - orange PFDs in place over tuxedoes and evening gowns. After the blasts women screamed; men showed their stripes, either assisting or shoving others out of the way. After the explosions below, the usual bright lights of the ship went out, and a moment later were replaced with emergency, battery-powered lights. What had been crisis became chaos.
He steered Faith toward one of the crew members and a lifeboat. "I'm going to find Cael."
"I'll go with you."
He kissed her briefly, wondering if it would be the last time. "You're not a fighter, Faith."
"But ..."
"And you'll distract me when I can't afford distraction."
Her lips tightened. She looked at him with her heart in her eyes. She didn't like it, but she knew he was right. "I love you," she said. "Be careful." And then, tears streaming down her face, she allowed the crewman to take her hand and assist her into the lifeboat. He watched as the boat was swung away from the larger ship and lowered. The first group was away.
CAEL HELD JENNER'S HAND as they burst out of the stairwell and onto the Lido deck. Behind them people pushed and shoved, screamed and cried. He separated from the group, protecting Jenner as much as he could with his body, steering her away from the crush.
The blasts had done serious damage, but the ship was extremely well built. The Silver Mist wasn't going to sink, at least, not for some time. Though damned if she wasn't listing a bit.
"You're getting on a lifeboat," he directed.
"Not without you," Jenner responded, her voice steady.
He looked into her eyes. She was stubborn, determined, immovable. Damn it, he didn't have time for this. "For me," he said, playing the only card he figured he had where she was concerned. Apparently it wasn't enough.
She gave him a scornful look. "Not on your life."
Poor choice of words. "I can't leave until I know my people are accounted for, and I'd like to make sure Frank Larkin doesn't blow anyone else up. And damn it Jenner, I'd really like to know you're safely away from here when I do what has to be done."
On all sides, there was mayhem, and he didn't know what had happened to his team. Behind him, someone screamed "He's been shot!" and a chill walked up his spine. Jenner still kept it together, though. She realized the seriousness of the situation, but she wasn't falling apart.
"I know you better than you realize," she said in an even voice. "You're a damn hero. If I'm right behind you, if you know without a doubt that I'm not getting on a lifeboat until you do, then you'll take better care of yourself."
The hell of it was, she wasn't wrong.
Chapter Thirty-three
AFTER TAKING A FEW MINUTES TO WALK AMONG THE panicked passengers and enjoy the upheaval he'd created, Larkin slipped into the side entrance of a restaurant, The Club, which was barely lit by the auxiliary lights mounted on the walls. He walked past the empty tables, which still showed the evidence of the passengers who'd been sitting there until a short time ago, toward the kitchen. Hidden deep in a storage closet in the kitchen, one of the incendiary bombs sat armed to go off in, he glanced at his watch, twenty-three minutes.
The sounds of passengers screaming pierced the walls. Unfortunately they were primarily screams of fright, not pain.
Not yet.
He walked into the deserted kitchen, past the food prep area. Passengers had been eating, or waiting for their food, when the alarm had sounded. The kitchen had been abandoned as the crew made their escape. The grill had been turned off, but no one had bothered to put away the food, and there had been no one remaining in the dining room to consume the finished meals.
There was some indignity in dying in a closet, but in the end it wouldn't matter. Besides, it was quiet here. There was no traffic in and out. He could die in peace.
The headache that had faded for a while was back with a vengeance, like nails shooting through his skull. Thank goodness the sirens had been silenced.
He knew the procedures for such emergencies. And since events had not gone as planned, the captain had no doubt contacted the Coast Guard via the Amver system. How soon would rescue arrive? Likely not within twenty-three minutes. He glanced at his watch again. Twenty-two, now. The Pacific was a big ocean, with miles and miles and miles to be covered before anyone would reach the distressed Silver Mist.
So, a few more people would escape than he'd planned. At this rate not everyone would make it off by lifeboat, though. The idiots were panicking, costing themselves precious time. He wondered how things had gone below. Had Isaac been near the blast? Was he dead? Injured? Ignorant that his employer was responsible? He could only imagine the surprise of the security guards who'd been counting all this time on a robbery that had never been a part of the master plan.
For years, Larkin had been a success in every venture he began. He'd made deals happen, he'd influenced politics and finance, he'd secretly brokered arms deals that had affected the entire world. What was wrong with the fucking world that he couldn't pull off his suicide in the way he'd planned?