Free Midnight Sun by M. J. Fredrick Page A

kitchen. If Monica came back in, Brylie could contact her, if she was careful, and get word to her father that she was safe.
    She went through the ship’s layout in her mind, deck by deck and shook her head. “I can’t think of any place more secure.”
    He pressed his lips together. “I want to be able to hear them coming, and we can’t with this noise. If they find us up here, we’re trapped. I want a place with another way out. Can you think of someplace like that? Maybe even an outside exit?”
    “Dry goods storage, maybe. It’s cold in there, though, and we can’t be sure they won’t be going in there for supplies.”
    “Two exits?”
    She nodded.
    “We’ll go there, then, but first we’ll get our coats. Storage means shelves, I assume. We’ll go up high. Should be plenty of stuff to hide behind this early on in the trip.”
    She nodded.
    “Right.” He sat on his haunches, hands folded between his knees. “So all we need now is the gun.”

    Marcus waited in the room outside the bridge, where he and Brylie had tried to eavesdrop earlier. He changed his grip on the Glock in his hand, trying to find the right balance. He hadn’t been to the range in a few years, and even then, he was only after targets. He didn’t know if he could shoot a man. Time to find out.
    It had taken them an hour to creep into the captain’s room, then back to their own cabins for their coats, every minute excruciating. They had to make the call, but also needed to be prepared if everything went to hell.
    He peered into the bridge through the vent, but couldn’t see anything, didn’t hear any conversation, though the occasional shuffle and roll of a chair let him know someone was in there. He took a deep breath, slipped into the hall, slid the key card into the bridge lock, and entered the code Brylie had shared. He winced when it beeped, then pushed open the door and pressed forward, gun at the ready.
    Two men were in the room, one at the controls and one already moving toward him. Marcus brought up the gun but couldn’t fire. Instead, he used his arm to block his attacker, swinging his other hand in an upper-cut that connected with the soft belly. He pushed the man back to deliver a more direct hit to the jaw, sending him stumbling.
    The man at the controls swung his pistol toward Marcus. Marcus fired wildly, then ducked, driving his shoulder into the man’s gut. The pirate fell back into the chair, which skidded across the smooth deck. This time Marcus was off balance. He dropped to his knees a moment before pushing to his feet and shoving the other man’s gun straight up. It fired right beside his ear, and he waited for the penetrating pain. Shaking his head to clear the ringing, he gripped the man’s wrist and twisted until he heard a snap. The gun clattered to the wooden floor. Marcus snatched it up, pivoting and raising it against the second man. This time, he fired before he could think about it. The first man doubled over and staggered back before falling, limp. Marcus turned back and drove the pistol hard against the pirate’s temple. His victim slumped unconscious.
    Marcus sagged against the console for a moment, working on catching his breath. He inspected his victims. Both were alive but unconscious, and the gunshot wound was bleeding like a son of a bitch. Guilt ripped at him. He’d just wanted to get to the radio. Killing someone was more than he wanted to accept responsibility for.
    The radio. He crossed the room, flipped the controls as Brylie had instructed, then made the distress call.
    “We received a distress call a few hours ago,” the dispatcher told him. “The Southern Ocean Patrol is in route.”
    Relief shuddered through him. This would be over soon. But relief soon gave way to panic. He’d disabled the men who were piloting the Ice Queen. He may not have liked where they were going, but now— “There’s no one available to steer this ship,” he told the woman. “What the hell am I