Free Midnight Sun by M. J. Fredrick Page B

supposed to do?”
    “Let me check the GPS you gave me.”
    He glanced toward the door. “Lady, I don’t have all day. Someone’s bound to come in.” No point mentioning the gunfire. “I don’t want to get caught here.”
    “Okay, you might be shallow enough that you can lower the anchor. Do you see the control for that?”
    He scanned the controls—shit, there were a lot of them. “Yeah, I see it.”
    “It’s just the press of a button.”
    The terrorists would notice when the ship stopped, but, hell, they would notice when their guys showed up with bullet holes, too. Marcus took a deep breath and pressed the button, heard the grinding beneath that was the chain being lowered. He had to get out of here now.
    Scanning the room, he found two satellite phones. He tucked one in his pocket and balanced the other in his hand.
    Shit, the gunshot victim was coming around and moaning. Marcus stared. He’d never shot a living thing before. He knelt beside the man and felt blood pooling, wet and sticky on his knees. Quickly, he assessed—where had the bullet struck? Chest? Gut? Leg?
    Leg. How had that happened? His brother better never hear about that, since they’d gone to the shooting range for years. But yeah, he could help that wound. He pulled his belt free and looped it beneath the man’s leg, close to his groin. He glanced at the other man, who was still out. He couldn’t afford to spend any longer here. Someone no doubt heard the shots, or the chain, and would be on him in a matter of minutes. Once he tightened the belt, the blood flow slowed. He tied the leather, unwilling to waste more time, and wiped his hands on his jeans. That was the best he could do. He picked up the sat phone he’d set down beside him, then shoved the pirate’s handgun along with the captain’s in the back of his jeans. After a quick scan of the room, he collected the automatic weapon that had fallen under the console during the scuffle. One less weapon for the bad guys.
    He needed to get back to Brylie in their new hiding place. He opened the door from the bridge, peered out, then bolted down the hall toward dry goods storage.

Chapter Four

    Brylie had just entered dry goods storage where they’d decided to meet when she heard footsteps in the hall. Not taking time to see who it was, she vaulted toward one of the metal shelves, one weighted heavily on the bottom with bottled water. She grasped the post and hauled herself up. Her foot slipped on the shelf and her finger snagged on a piece of metal sticking out of the support. She stifled a cry of pain, holding her finger out as she hauled herself up. She hid behind tall boxes of toilet paper, wrapped her injured finger in the hem of her sweatshirt, and peered between the boxes.
    Marcus staggered in, eyes wild, covered with blood.
    This time she didn’t muffle her cry, and she half jumped, half slid down the shelving, needing to touch him, to find out where he was hurt. Would she know enough to help him?
    She hit the floor, the jolt running up her legs. Heart pounding, she stumbled forward and grasped his sweatshirt, her hands sliding beneath, looking for the wound. Her fingers encountered one of the pistols at the small of his back, and she snatched her hand away, then leaned back to inspect him. He looked so weary, the corners of his eyes drawn down, his brow lined, lips thin.
    “Not my blood. I’m not hurt.” He closed his hands around her arms, then released her immediately, but not before marking her sweatshirt with bloody handprints. “We need to get out of the line of sight.” He urged her toward the shelves she’d just climbed down, but when she straightened, his gaze snapped to her own bloody shirt. “What happened?” He grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling it out to inspect it. He lifted his eyebrow in silent question.
    “My finger. It’s—it’ll be fine.” It burned like fire and a flap of skin hung loose. She had found a hiding place by the toilet