Page 57 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
They were back in the storm, and the night was raging.
There was no one on deck: no passengers, no crew.
No one to help her.
She’d just have to help herself.
Lurching from one rail to the next, she found her way to where the cabins were located and hammered on the first door. She tried the handle, but it was locked. Was there even anyone in there? The room looked dark.
It was the dinner hour, she supposed. They’d all be in the dining salon, located at the other end of the deck—but not Lucrezia, Maud and Henry. They’d take a tray in their rooms, wouldn’t they?
She need only reach them.
In the hours she’d been below, her clothes had dried out. Now, she was wet through again, but she couldn’t let that slow her down, not when she didn’t know if Serpico was in pursuit.
Pushing onward, she reached her brother’s suite.
‘Henry!’ Her voice was a puny thing, barely carrying over the wind, but surely he’d hear her banging on the window. She pressed her face to the glass, but the curtains were closed. Another few steps and she was at the door, but the handle didn’t move. It was locked on the inside.
‘Henry! Open up! It’s me, Cecile!’ She rattled the handle again and thumped with her fist.
With a sob, she ran to the next cabin, her own.
Lucrezia would be there. She must be!
To her relief, she saw a light through the curtains, then Lucrezia’s face, her eyes wide, staring back at her.
It was going to be alright. She was safe.
But Lucrezia’s hands flew to her mouth. Cecile heard a scream, moments before a crushing arm closed about her waist.
* * *
The door was open, swinging on its hinges as Lance made it to the top.
Damn these ribs.
He took a deep breath of night air, then sucked his teeth.
Bad idea.
Shallow breathing was better.
The way the deck was lilting, slick with rain, it was treacherous, but he made his way slowly, hand over hand, to the main portion of the deck.
Where was she?
A door towards the end of the row opened and the Italian rushed out. Without stopping to look, she flung herself down the staircase closest to her.
Bending over the railing, he watched her reach the lower deck—and then saw what had caused her alarm.
The brute had Cecile in his arms and was heading to the outer rail, but she was struggling hard. A kick landed where it counted most and he lost hold of her. She slipped and went sprawling, her feet tangled in her skirts, then shrieked as a hand closed about her ankle, dragging her back.
Lance took the nearest stairs two at a time, cursing with every jarring landing. Only as he swung onto the lower deck did he hear the shot.
* * *
Clutching his shoulder, Serpico reeled back.
