Page 56 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
Reaching the stairwell, Serpico looked upward.
Faintly, above, he heard the tap of the girl’s heel upon metal. She was still moving, though slowly.
Haltingly, he raised his foot, then lifted the other to join it.
The dark hummed in his mouth. Around him, shapes were blurred.
But his mind held its focus.
* * *
The back of Lance’s head felt as if an axe had been applied. Tentatively, he sat up, and the room spun. He steadied himself with a hand to the wall.
Gentle probing assured him that the skin remained unbroken, but there was a hell of a bump back there. The healing gash on his forehead hadn’t fared as well, bursting open at the first blow but, already, the blood was clotting and drying, rubbing off in flakes.
Goddamn. He’d taken a beating—and all because he’d come rushing out without bringing the damn gun!
Was there any part that wasn’t hurting? His toes maybe.
For sure, something wasn’t right with his ribs, but he was still breathing. With any luck, they were only bruised.
He remembered the brute throttling Cecile, and launching himself full force, fists pummelling the villain’s kidneys. In the scrum, he’d rammed him against the wall but the swine was strong, forcing him back. Somehow, they’d ended up on the floor and, after that, his recollection was hazy.
One thing was for sure: he needed to get himself upright and find Cecile.
Most likely, she’d have headed back on deck and gone straight to her brother, but it was a long way up those stairs—and who knew what shape that bastard was in.
If he felt anything like Lance, Cecile might have a chance of outrunning him; if he was as tough as he appeared, she’d be in trouble.
It hit him like a punch to the stomach.
If that devil caught up with her, he’d kill her.
His gut twisted again. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t let it happen.
He’d messed up but he wasn’t going to fail now, when it mattered more than ever. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find her, and make sure she was safe.
He just had to stay calm.
Tightening his jaw, he headed back the way he’d come.
* * *
Cecile burst onto the upper deck, straight into stinging rain. A fierce gust almost blew her off her feet, but she closed the door behind her, clinging to the handle.
It wasn’t the sort she could jam shut, and there was no lock on this side.
Anyone following her would be able to open it just as she had, and she’d thought she’d heard someone, far below.
Was it Lance? She hoped so, but wouldn’t he have called to her?
Lance!
Please God, let him be alright.
Serpico had almost killed her. He’d have no compunction about doing the same to Lance, and the way they’d been throwing each other around…
Moving up through the stairwell, she’d been aware of the greater sway of the ship the higher she went. Now she saw why.
