Page 59 of Wait for Me

Before anyone could say another word, there came a knock on the door. “Room service!”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gruffy ordered one of his men to usher Marie to the door. As they walked slowly, Marie spotted a small dagger in a sheath strapped to the man’s left thigh.

With a pistol pressed against her spine, she answered the steward on the other side of the door.

“Your hot panini sandwich is ready, ma’am,” came the reply. “Plus snacks for Mr. Urquhart.”

Marie waited for Gruffy to tell her how to respond. When he didn’t, she said, “Logan likes midnight munchies.”

“You had dinner,” Gruffy said.

“We’re on vacation. I’ll diet later,” Marie said.

“Diet later? Or die now?” Gruffy grunted.

Behind him, the third gunman stood watch by the closed balcony. The ceiling light reflected off the sliding glass door, such that one could not see outside. However, as the ship glided across the waters, Marie thought she saw movement outside, on her balcony.

She couldn’t be sure.

She prayed that help had arrived.

“He’ll be suspicious if we don’t open the door.” Marie stepped toward the closed door behind her, trying to keep Gruffy distracted and turned away from the balcony.

“He dies if he comes in—”

The noise of shattered glass interrupted Gruffy, as two figures in dark outfits burst through the broken balcony door, knocking down Gruffy’s man at the door.

“Get down, Logan!” Marie yelled, as she tried to kick away the gun from her guard—but hesitated when she remembered she was barefoot.

It gave the gunman enough time to coil an arm around her neck and point the handgun at her temple.

Everyone froze.

Gruffy grunted. Both of his arms extended, a handgun in each hand, he addressed the new batch of intruders. “Well, who dies first?”

Marie’s eyes darted toward Logan, who was on the floor, sandwiched between the sofa and the coffee table. He didn’t move.

Behind him, the two men who had entered the room were also wearing what looked like ski masks, exposing only their eyes—

Familiar eyes.

Zaid.

Marie couldn’t believe it, but she tried to make eye contact with him. She wanted him to know that she could help—even if she didn’t have shoes on.

Quietly she scolded herself for hesitating only moments earlier.

Help me get over it, Lord.

Having broken her big toe twice in her lifetime, Marie almost always wore closed-toe shoes—that was, when she was out and about. It hadn’t crossed her mind to keep her shoes on inside the stateroom.

It also hadn’t crossed her mind that Buchanan would track her down for three years and find her here in Alaska. How did he know about her personal alias?

That was one more thing she had to explain to Logan, who only ever called her Marie.

Somehow, Buchanan had also found out about her private life as Marie Bouchard.

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