Page 83 of The SEAL's Duchess
Before Ivy could ask how longsoonmeant, his radio crackled to life. A voice, distorted by static: "Control to Deck Four. We've got a containment alarm. Need eyes on sector three immediately."
Danny's head jerked up, his casual demeanor evaporating. "Copy that. On my way."
He pointed at Ivy with an oil ingrained finger.
“Stay put.” He was already heading for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait—”
But he was gone, his voice echoing down the hall. “Don’t touch anything! And don’t move!”
The door slammed shut behind him, sealing her in.
Great.
Ivy checked her watch. Forty minutes until the supply boat left. Waiting would be smart. Safe. But every instinct screamed that she didn’t have time for safe.
With one finger, she traced the route to Leg C on the map—two levels down, through a maintenance corridor.
Easy.
She grabbed a flashlight from a charging station on the desk and headed for the door.
The corridor stretched ahead of her, empty and somehow more oppressive without Danny to soften the space. She followed the map's directions, taking a stairwell that led down. The metal stairs were slick, condensation dripping from pipes overhead, and she had to grip the railing to keep from slipping in the stupid boots.
The deeper she went, the quieter it became. The roar of the generators faded to a distant rumble, replaced by the groaning of metal under stress and the muted whump of waves against the rig's support legs. The air grew warmer, pungent with the smell of oil and chemicals that made her eyes water.
Lights surged, faded.
A chill that had nothing to do with temperature crawled down the back of her neck.
Come on, Ivy.
At the base of the stairwell, a corridor stretched toward Leg C. The lighting was worse here, every third fixture dark or winking. Her flashlight beam cut through the dimness, catching on pipes and valves and equipment she couldn't name.
"Jack?" Her voice echoed off the metal walls, too loud and too small at the same time.
No answer.
She moved forward, boots noisy on the grated floor. The impact of the waves resonated through the steel beneath her feet.
She rounded a corner.
Oh God.
Jack lay crumpled near a massive pump housing, her helmet several feet away, blood dark and wet against her temple. Her eyes were closed, one arm bent at an angle that made Ivy's stomach clench. She wasn’t moving.
"Jack!" Ivy fell to her knees beside her. "Jack, can you hear me?"
Jack's eyes fluttered. "Duchess? Ha! I'm hallucinating."
“You wish,” Ivy pressed her scarf to the wound. “Hold still.”
Blood soaked through the fabric immediately, warm and slick against her fingers.
Ivy swallowed against a wave of nausea.Head wounds always bleed badly even when they’re small. No need to panic.
“Jack. What happened?"
