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  The man—small and dark and angry as hell—cursed, then struck out hard with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling, half on the bed, half off. She tried to twist in on herself protectively, but the man caught her arm, and seconds later, another grabbed her other side. They hauled her up between them, their grips as tight and mean as the expressions on their faces. The small one—the one she’d hit—was pissed.

  “I’ll fucking gut you, bitch,” he hissed, sending shivers from where his spittle hit her ear to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  She believed him, especially when he twisted her arm painfully behind her and shoved forward. “Come on. We’ll call Sampson at headquarters. Or get him on video. He’s gonna want to see your face when he tells you what happens next.”

  The other guy let out a huffed chuckle. “He’s creepy like that.”

  Stuff had happened to her before—men getting handsy, guys being jerks back in school. She’d gotten out of her fair share of scrapes, but nothing had been this bad.

  Fear was an animal inside her, crawling up her throat, blocking her airway, narrowing her vision. She’d hyperventilate if she couldn’t slow her breathing down.

  Maybe she’d puke on them. Serve them right.

  She tried making herself heavy and dragged her feet as they pulled her down the dimly lit hallway, but the mean little man only slipped an arm around her waist and yanked her in tighter.

  The better to carry her, she supposed, but mostly it smashed her against him in a way she couldn’t stand. She decided to walk. And maybe, just maybe, they’d talk. Talking would help, right? Information, rapport, whatever a victim was supposed to get from their kidnappers in order to avoid certain death.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  They ignored her.

  “I’m Zoe. What’s your name?”

  Nothing.

  “So, what did I do to get in your way?”

  “Trespassing, for starters.”

  This is my rig! she wanted to scream, although that wasn’t strictly true. Her nonprofit had been granted use of the rig, but in some ways, these abandoned platforms were like homesteads. You occupied it; you owned it.

  And she owned this one, dammit! Or, more to the point, Sea Lion Bob owned it. And the birds and the fish and—

  She needed to focus.

  “What are you guys pumping out here? There’s nothing left in that well.”

  “That’s what you think.” The big one smirked.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The new oil”—he stopped to push open a metal door and waited for her to pass through—“ain’t oil.”

  “The new oil? What are you—”

  “Don’t worry.” His fingers dug into her arm as he picked up his pace. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Unlikely,” the smaller guy broke in, following them down another long, dingy white hall. “Not in time, at least.”

  “True.” The big man’s dry, raspy laugh was the creepiest thing she’d ever heard.

  “In time for—” She stumbled to a stop and really focused on them. In the split second it took for their intimidating male shapes to take on detail, the reality of her situation solidified. “You’re planning to kill me.”

  When they didn’t answer, something inside her exploded. It felt like pure fear, and it made her shake herself hard enough to loosen the big man’s hold, like a fish caught on a hook. Her last-ditch struggle ended way too soon when a hard-toed boot cut her off midscream. It knocked the air and the fight from her body, leaving her gasping on the cold metal floor.

  ***

  That half scream was a very bad sign. It pushed Eric from a jog into a full-on sprint, images of Zoe beaten, or worse, making his feet pound faster than he’d run in years.

  He turned down a narrow hall bisecting the rig’s quarters module, turned right, and saw her up ahead, writhing on the floor, with two guys—presumably Tweedledee and Tweedledum from before—standing over her.

  His first instinct was to run at them, to tear them limb from limb. But the corridor was too long for that. Best not warn them of his intentions before he had to. He slowed, forced his pace into something like an amble, loosened his limbs, and pasted a smirk on his face. They turned to him, and Zoe curled in tighter on herself.

  He’d kill them.

  “Hey. Sampson’s wondering why you guys haven’t checked in.” He shook his head and forced an approximation of a chuckle, ignoring the almost comically puzzled expressions on the guys’ faces. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Uh…” One man hesitated, glanced from him to the other, then down at Zoe. She’d gone still. To protect herself, he hoped, like an animal playing dead, rather than for a more sinister reason. “Yeah.”

  “Come on, man,” Eric went on. “Get her up so we can bring her in.”

  “You—” While the first guy tried to make sense of things, the taller one stepped forward, eyes narrowed, and drew a weapon. Nasal Voice wasn’t as dumb as he looked. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Don’t ever hesitate, Eric’s training told him. Be cocky. Be an asshole. “I’m your backup, dickwad.”

  The confidence in those words was enough to make the gun waver, lowering slightly. Nasal Voice went on. “Where’d…” He looked over Eric’s shoulder as if seeking confirmation, then down at his body. “Why are you—”

  Eric had no idea what the guy was about to say. Sopping wet, maybe? Alone? Unarmed, barefoot, and shirtless when these douches were kitted out in full-on tactical gear? Didn’t matter what he’d been thinking, because Eric didn’t give him a chance to get it out. He bent one knee, slid forward, and swept the man’s legs out from under him before he had time to get off a shot. A second later, Eric disarmed him.

  Whoa. Adrenaline flooded his body as he flipped back up to his feet, weapon in hand. Fuck, it felt good. Like crack, he imagined. And like a junkie, he’d given up his drug long ago, but had never gotten enough.

  As Eric delivered Nasal Voice a quick, debilitating kick to the solar plexus, the second guy—perhaps the smarter of the two, after all—turned tail and ran.

  Ignore him for now, that tactical voice whispered. Deal with the current threat, then reevaluate.

  “You okay?” he asked Zoe, keeping the gun—and his eyes—trained on the asshole.

  “I…” Slowly, she turned onto all fours, then made her way to sitting. For a long beat, she watched him, a puzzled crease between her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s it hurt?”

  She put a hand to the side of her head. “All over.”

  “Can you get up?”

  She crawled a few feet farther from where her attacker lay and, using the wall, made it to her feet.

  Eric saw red. He turned his ire on the asshole just now getting his breath back. “I will fucking kill you.”

  No. No. No more killing. No killing.

  “Just doin’”—the guy gasped—“my job.”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “What are—”

  “Take it off.” Eric straightened, every muscle lining up, ready for more. As the guy drew his shirt over his head, Eric glanced back to Zoe. She watched him closely and, in a moment of clarity, he saw how little she trusted even him right now. What the hell must she think of this situation, with him showing up out of the blue?

  A fresh wave of anger hardened his voice into steel—as rusted out and dangerous as the hull of this rig. “Flat on your belly. Now.”

  The dude knew the drill. In seconds, he was laid out like a fish, hands behind his back.

  Eric yanked the man’s shoes off and handed them to Zoe. “Pull the laces out of those.” Not a question, an order. It was how to get stuff done when shit hit the fan.

  She did it and handed the laces over.
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br />   Eric put his weight on the other man’s back and tied him up, probably tighter than he had to, before taking another look around.

  “They lock you up someplace?”

  “Way down there.” She pointed at a hall door a few yards away.

  Shit. They needed to get off the damn rig. Now. But he couldn’t see where else to put the fucker. He was tempted to just throw him overboard.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed the bastard by his feet and dragged him over the rough floors, through the door, down another hall, and to the only open bedroom, relishing every bump along the way. Fucker deserved it.

  The second Eric shoved the man into the room, déjà vu hit him like a tsunami. He’d slept in quarters like these fourteen days out of every month for years. It was a terrible place to live, and just standing here sent him back to a time rife with claustrophobia, boredom, and constant repetition. A part of him would never stop missing it.

  He shoved the man down on the floor, crouched above him, and said over his shoulder, “Wait for me in the hall.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Zoe. Nasal Voice and I need to talk.”

  “Won’t they come back? I don’t—”

  “We’ve got a few more minutes till reinforcements arrive.” Hopefully. “Go. Keep watch.”

  He didn’t wait for her to comply before turning to the asshole. “What the hell operation are you guys running here?”

  “Drilling for oil.”

  “Bullshit.” He grabbed the man’s bound hands and shoved them up, hard. Nasal Voice squealed. “No time to play around. How many people are on this thing?”

  “Fuck. Jesus, man, my shoulder. My shoulder!”

  “Yeah? That hurt?” Eric put on the pressure and leaned into the man’s face, picturing how Zoe had looked curled up in a ball at their feet. Rage flooded through him like it hadn’t in ages. For one hot second, he imagined how it would feel to punish this man for hours. He’d toy with him like a lion with its prey. Of course, he’d never last that long with this rage running through his veins. Besides, he felt more like a rabid wolf than anything feline.

  Something popped in the man’s arm, ramping up his screams, and Eric let up. “I will tear your limbs out at the socket,” he said straight into his ear. “Don’t doubt for one second that I’ll do it unless you open your mouth right now and tell me what the hell is going on here.”

  The man’s eye met Eric’s, frantic. He was trapped like a small animal. “Research, man,” he wheezed.

  That sounded at once more and less likely than drilling for oil in a tapped-out well. “What kind of research?”

  “The kind that pays a security company millions to keep things rolling.”

  Millions? What on earth was this operation? “You got researchers on board? Right now?”

  “Couple.”

  “How many others?”

  Something changed in the man’s expression, turning it calculating. His next words would be a lie. “Just me and that one other guy.”

  “Bullshit.” Another shove up, hard, pushed a feral cry from the man. “How many?”

  The man’s words tumbled over one another in his rush to reply. “Two researchers, three security. We call in twelve times in twenty-four hours.”

  “What happens if you don’t call?”

  “They send in the big guns.”

  “Big guns?” The light flickered, and Eric straightened.

  “Told you it’s a well-funded operation.”

  Right. Millions in security alone. What research would warrant that kind of investment? Something dangerous, clearly. Maybe something the general public wouldn’t be happy with. “Who’s funding it?” Eric didn’t have to hurt the man to get an answer this time.

  “Not high enough up the food chain to know for sure, but I’ve heard there’s backing from Chronos.”

  Eric threw a glance at the door. They needed to get out of here. Now. “Chronos. Aren’t they a pharmaceutical company?”

  “Look, man, I’m not—” A hard twist, and he yelled, “Yes!”

  What the hell was a pharmaceutical company doing plumbing the depths of the seabed? None of this was right—from the way they’d taken over the rig and run this operation to the fact that they’d held a woman prisoner. Rage welled up hard, and it was all Eric could do not to break the man’s arm. “Why so hush-hush?”

  “Why do you think?” Even facedown on the floor, Nasal Voice managed a sneer. “The company’s found something. And they don’t want anyone to know about it.”

  Chapter 3

  Noise, at the end of the hall. Voices. Crap crap crap!

  “Someone’s coming!” Zoe stage-whispered.

  Frantic, she stuck her head in the room, only to pull it back out when Eric clocked the guy, hard, on the temple. Something about his expressionless efficiency gave her the heebie-jeebies. This man was nothing like the lazy fisherman she’d flirted with for the past couple years.

  Which is probably a good thing. Not comfortable, but right now, certainly convenient.

  He emerged from the room with a gun, a phone, and a deadly looking knife in hand, locked the door behind him, and grabbed her elbow.

  “Let’s go.”

  Without a word, she followed him to the door at the end of the hall, her back itchy as the voices drew closer. They’d just stepped through when yelling broke out behind them.

  His “Run!” was totally unnecessary.

  She ran faster than she had since, well, ever, and crashed into him at the top of a ladder.

  “Go!”

  He urged her in front of him, and she half slid down the rungs, arriving with a wet smack on the next deck, him at her heels.

  While her chest hurt from pushing herself so hard—and probably from panic—Eric showed absolutely no signs of fatigue or stress or, frankly, anything at all as he charged ahead, pulling her with him. It wasn’t until she heard his voice that she realized he’d dialed the phone in his hand. While running. And keeping an eye out for their pursuers.

  “Ford. It’s Eric. I’m in a bind. There’s a decommissioned oil rig just off San Elias. You know where Dad used to fish on the Daphne?” When he didn’t pause to listen, Zoe figured he was leaving a message. “Somebody’s made it into a research facility—off-grid, heavy security. Didn’t you say you had funding from Chronos Corp? Need your input, fast. Call me back at this number.”

  He hung up, pulled her under an overhang, and made another call. “Von. It’s Coop. Could use some backup.” Above them, footsteps rang out across the metal. He lowered his voice so Zoe could just barely make out his words. “Hope you locate this phone if I leave it on. We’re on a platform near San Elias Island—the Polaris. But we’re heading out. Need you to extract a woman named Zoe if shit goes bad. Thanks, man.” He set the phone between the wall and a pipe, snagged Zoe by the wrist, and took off running, this time straight for one of the sides.

  “Wait,” she huffed, trying to pull back when he didn’t slow down. “Wait…oh…no!”

  A loud pop rang out behind them. Spotted! Oh no oh no oh no.

  Another loud crack, this one ending with the high ping of metal to metal. A ricochet, Zoe thought, though that was only a guess. She’d never before been in the line of fire. Eric picked up the pace, dragging her along so fast she barely touched the floor.

  Up ahead was a big, unsheltered stretch—they’d be sitting ducks there—and beyond it, the edge. She wanted to stop, to pull back at least, but Eric wouldn’t let her. He plowed on to the end of the unprotected area and then put a hand out to stop her.

  “Listen. When I tell you to go, you run.”

  “Where?”

  “See that section without a handrail?”

  More shots, zinging around them, made Zoe hunch as she peered out at the platform’s edge.

  “We’
re jumping, Zoe.”

  She took an automatic step back, head already shaking from side to side. “No.” She’d take her chances here.

  Another loud bark sounded above, and a bullet sparked against the metal beside her.

  “Yes, okay!” she squealed.

  “On one. Three…two… Run, Zoe!”

  Eric swung out, shooting up at whoever was attacking them, and Zoe ran, faster than she’d run in her life. Adrenaline rushed her like a drug, and she used it to push hard. Harder. Everything was numb but the burn of her lungs and the fiery rasp of air through her throat. They were out in the open now, only she wasn’t really, because Eric had somehow managed to put himself right behind her—making himself into a human bulletproof vest. Which wasn’t okay. He shouldn’t sacrifice himself for—

  Crap. There was the edge. Right up ahead. Every dizzying foot she’d climbed came back to smack her in the face.

  She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t jump hundreds of feet into the black ocean.

  But if she didn’t, they’d both die.

  Her legs ate up the distance to twenty feet. Eric’s hand landed on her back—not pushing her, just warm. Something sparked off the handrail to the right of the gap. Her bare soles pounded down the last few feet, the edge rushed up at her, and though she wanted to hesitate with every cell in her body, she sucked in a last breath, shut her eyes—

  “JUMP!”

  She flew.

  Oh no, I can’t! I can’t!

  But already she was airborne, barreling into the yawning void with nothing to anchor her but the presence of a man who yelled orders as if he’d been born to it. Who’d appeared from nowhere, pulled her out of hell in the nick of time, and saved her life.

  On instinct, she gasped in a hurried breath as her feet smacked water, and they were under, engulfed by the abyss, in a roaring undertow of their own making.

  A hard kick brought her to the surface, where she gasped for a few seconds, wiped the salt water from her eyes, and searched the shimmering ripples for signs of Eric.

  It was too calm, after the scramble above. Panic surged through her.