Chapter 36

Mac didn't feel like she was dying.

She stared at the water surrounding her. It had turned an alarming shade of red, dark enough to make her body into a shadow in the murky bath. She was running out of time, and quickly.

She narrowed her gaze. Move, arm… Arm, move. She tried to will her recalcitrant body into motion. Getting her arm out of the water would allow the blood to start clotting, for whatever good that might do her at this late date. It might also slow the rate at which said blood was draining out of her.

A moment later and much to her surprise, her arm appeared, breaking the darkened surface of the water.

Aha! Her triumph was short-lived. Gritting her teeth, she poured all her effort into raising her injured arm out of the water and moving it over the edge of the tub. Water and blood dripped from her in equal parts, and she had a passing, irreverent thought about the amount of cleaning work she was creating for someone.

Her elbow thunked on the edge of bath, sending a jolt of pain up her arm. Mac stared at her exposed forearm in dismay. She hadn't realized the damage. Ariel's gash ran from wrist to elbow, deep at first but tapering off as it went. The edges of flesh were curled back, ragged and white from the water. Blood pooled where the wound gaped open, spilling over to splatter on the floor with a tinkling sound.

Now for the other one. Tearing her eyes away, Mac concentrated on getting her right arm to move. It, too, surfaced eventually. With great effort she managed to get her right hand clamped over the deepest part of the gash, bringing a fresh wave of pain. She welcomed it. Right now, pain was her friend. The searing burn was the only way she could tell her hand was putting pressure on the wound.

Unfortunately, putting both arms over the lip of the tub meant she had to turn onto her side. Now she was balanced precariously on her hip with nothing but her unfelt toes braced against the tub's far wall to keep her from slipping and going under.

Experimentally, she pushed with her feet and felt her body move against the cool plastic of the tub. O.k. So my body works…sort of… even if I can't feel it. She looked around. If I could just get to the doorway, the cameras would see me. But that would mean leveraging her entire body out of the tub, something she doubted she could manage.

Think! There's got to be a way. How would Harm get out of this mess? Had she been in less dire straits she might have laughed at herself for that one. Harm always managed to think, charm or just plain stubborn his way out of situations that would overwhelm anyone else.

Mac didn't think charm would do her any good at the moment, which left her with the other two. She stared toward the open bathroom door. The room camera was her only hope. It was only four feet or so away, but could have been four miles for all the difference it made. How could she cross that distance?

Her gaze fell on the bloody towel Ariel had left on the toilet. She smiled. Bingo! Mustering her resolve, she let go of the wound in her arm and reached for the towel with both hands. The terrycloth felt harsh beneath her fingertips.

Trembling, she gripped the towel in her right hand, holding it against her arm until a large, bright red stain covered it. Then she wadded the towel into a ball and with the last of her energy flung it toward the doorway. She watched it fly a short arc, plopping down just beyond the threshold.

Exhausted, Mac sank back into the water. Her left arm remained draped over the edge of the tub, blood running down her fingers to drip into the growing puddle on the floor. All she could do now was wait.

#

Harm stared at the image of Nikki Upton with a growing sense of desperation. She'd bee dead a while—long enough for the blood to have pooled in the lowest areas, leaving her visible skin with that snowy, translucent look. And as much as he regretted her death, he was more concerned by what it said about Ariel. There might not be a limit to what the man was capable of.

He's got Mac! It was a silent wail. One he would never voice.

Harm raised the satphone once more. He was pleased to discover that his hands remained steady. When Webb picked up on the other end, Harm could distinctly hear the whine of a helicopter's engine spooling up in the background.

"Webb."

"He's graduated to murder, Clay."

The utter silence on the other end told Harm just how much Webb cared for Mac, even if he would never admit it. Brumby had had it right—they'd all fallen a little bit in love with her. Harm had just had the unimaginable good fortune to be the one she loved in return.

"…Mac?" It was little more than a whisper.

Harm stared at the monitor screens, which continued their rapid sweep of every camera on the ship. "No. Nikki Upton. Looks like a drug overdose, or maybe asphyxiation. I didn't see any obvious signs of violence."

There was another short pause as Webb recovered. "Any idea why Ariel would want to kill her?"

"None. She's connected to me a lot more than to Mac." Harm hated the idea that Nikki might have died because of him, but it wasn't something he could afford to deal with at the moment.

Webb pulled away from the phone to talk to someone on his end. Then he returned. "Harm, I've got to go. We're taking off. ETA is about eight minutes."

Harm cut the connection and spent a moment figuring out how to clip the phone to his belt. The FBI team would search the ship from bow to stern for Ariel and Mac. They had to be aboard somewhere.

On the tails of that thought, he turned to Baggy. "There have to be some areas of this ship that aren't covered by cameras. Maintenance spaces, engine areas, the bilges… things like that."

Baggy nodded. "Sure, but most of them have restricted access. Ariel doesn't have a passcard as far as I know." He pulled out a badge that hung on a retractable cord at his belt and showed it to Harm. The badge had a shiny gold smartchip embedded in its surface, along with Baggy's name and photo. "We have access to the maintenance spaces and wiring closets, but not the engine rooms or the bridge, for example."

"So where could he take Mac that they wouldn't be visible to the cameras?"

The tech at the second console paused to look up at him. "Isn't that what those two cabins are for? He was supposed to be able to fritz the cameras so nobody could see what he was doing?"

Baggy gave his companion a disgruntled look. "But we checked 'em. They're empty."

"Put them up again." Harm ran a hand distractedly through his hair. He felt like he was going in circles.

The two main screens came up with angled views of the two cabins. Both empty. Harm stared at the neatly made beds and sterile, hotel-like furniture.

"Which one is which?" he asked.

Baggy pointed to his own screen. "This is A-31." He pointed to the other. "That's C-5."

Harm's gaze didn't follow him to the second screen. There was something lying on the floor in A-31, way down near the corner of the image.

"What's that?" he asked, leaning forward to study the object more closely. Distortion at the edge of the picture made it hard to make out. The others crowded around.

"Don't know," Baggy ventured. "Looks like a… towel, maybe?"

"Or a piece of clothing," someone else added.

"What's the dark spot?"

Harm leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the screen, his heart pounding. He needed a moment to confirm what his eyes brought him—a small white mound of cloth marred by a dark stain.

Harm straightened abruptly. "It's blood." Chances were good it was Mac's blood.

Harm turned and sprinted for the door. He ran with his heart in his throat, and his mind filled with terrible images. Diane's lifeless body kept flashing before his eyes, mocking him. It couldn't happen again. It just couldn't. He didn't bother with the stairs, sliding down the rails like the experienced sailor he was, and shouting for those ahead to make way. Those that didn't move fast enough got shouldered aside with ruthless efficiency, leaving a trail of angry voices in his wake. Harm neither noticed nor cared.

He paused at the door to A-31 to listen. Hearing nothing, he drew his weapon then cautiously tried the door. It opened onto the same pristine room he'd seen on the monitor. He stepped inside, eyes sweeping the area for any sign of Ariel or Mac.

It only took three steps to bring him in line with the open bathroom door. The cloth he'd seen on the camera lay in front of the doorway, a crumpled, bloody mess. Harm's gaze went past it after a moment, into the bathroom, and his entire world shattered.

The bathroom was coated in blood. It filled the tub, and ran in streaks down the plastic sides, and covered the floor. Mac lay in the midst of the carnage, one arm draped carelessly over the edge of the bath. The thick red liquid dripped from her fingertips.

For a split second, Harm couldn't force himself to move. Couldn't force himself to go over there. He couldn't bear to see her cold and lifeless-- everything he loved ripped away, destroyed by a violent, senseless whim.

Again.

Then Mac's head turned, her eyes fluttering open. The corners of her pale lips curled in a shadowy smile.

"You found me." It was less than a whisper.

For Harm, the world snapped back into place with a giant shudder.

"Mac!" He rushed to her, dropping to his knees in the puddle of blood. The warm liquid soaked into his jeans as he leaned over, sliding an arm under her shoulders and knees to pick her up out of the water. The emotional part of him wanted to drag her into his lap and hold her, sobbing in relief. The clinical portion knew better. She was alive, but still in a great deal of danger. He stood.

"Ariel--" Mac plucked weakly at his shirt, her expression desperate.

Harm held her close against his chest as he maneuvered his way out of the narrow bathroom. "Shhh. Don't try to talk. Webb's on his way with the FBI emergency response team. They'll get Ariel."

Mac fell silent and Harm concentrated on getting to the infirmary as quickly as he could. He burst into the small facility, startling the doctor who recovered quickly and waved him over to the single examination table.

Harm lay her down, instinctively brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead while the doctor looked her over. The doctor raised his head after a moment, his expression pained.

"I can start an IV to get some fluids into her, but I'm not equipped for this." He shook his head helplessly. "I don't even have a supply of blood. I'm going to have to call for a helicopter to take her to the mainland."

Harm could read the flat, empty certainty in the other man's gaze. "She doesn't have that long." He felt like he could barely breathe.

The doctor shook his head. "No, she doesn't."

Harm stared into his wife's still face. He wasn't a man to give up-- not ever. He unhooked the satphone.

Webb picked up on the first ring. "We're overhead now, Harm," he said without preamble, shouting over the roar of the helicopter blades. "They're getting ready to drop the ropes."

Harm looked upward unconsciously, as if he could somehow see the hovering aircraft through the many floors over his head. "Stop them, Webb! Tell the pilot to land on the deck."

"What?"

"Tell the pilot to land on the deck!" Harm rarely broke out his command voice, the one that demanded instant obedience and heaven help the poor slob who didn't jump fast enough.

Webb wasn't exactly cowed, but he got the message. There was a short pause. "The pilot says he can try a soft landing on the upper deck." His tone said Harm had better have a really good reason for his demand.

Harm figured he did. "Good. I'll meet you there." He cut the connection and tossed the phone down on a nearby counter. He didn't need it any more. Scooping Mac back up in his arms and praying she was still alive, he headed for the elevators.

#

The upper deck of the Radiant Heart looked like something out of a movie. The helicopter, a Huey not too different from its Vietnam-era brother, sat with its skids barely touching the deck. The rotor remained at full spin, carrying most of the heavy bird's weight. Men-- and a woman, Harm noted absently-- dressed in black kevlar body armor and helmets jumped down from the transport, rifles held ready. The FBI's response team fanned out as another figure came forward. Harm headed for him, and the helicopter beyond.

Webb looked out of place in his suit and tie. He trotted toward Harm, his sidearm clasped in both hands with the muzzle pointed down and away. He stopped short when he spied Harm, his expression one of stunned horror.

"Holy--!" Webb stepped back automatically as Harm rushed past him. He turned, yelling for the FBI team's EMT, and fell in beside the aviator. "What happened?"

Harm spared him a short glance as the EMT ran up. "Ariel tried to kill her--" Harm's throat closed as he lost control of the fears clambering inside him. "I don't know, maybe he has." He forced himself to move faster. Mac just couldn't be dead. The first tears forced their way out, blurring his vision. "Set it up to look like suicide."

They reached the helicopter. The EMT jumped up ahead of Harm, then helped him load Mac aboard, laying her out on a stretcher on the metal floor.

Clay grabbed Harm's arm as he started to climb in after her. "I'll take care of Ariel," he promised, his eyes fierce.

Harm just nodded. Right now, he didn't care about Ariel. All that mattered was keeping Mac alive. Once she was safe, he would have time for fury, for justice… or for revenge.