The hold was as I remembered it—its curved wall at one side, the puddles of oily water on its floor, the decaying crates. All of that was there, and with it came the taste, the dread, and the smell of the hours we had been confined here. My stomach cramped.

"Theresa," I yelled as I entered, yet I already knew.

She was not there.

"What a rank place," Lieutenant Grafton said behind me. "Smells like shit. Literally. Someone... or something has been held captive here, it seems. Or the ship's plumbing is leaking something bad. Anyway, we'll need to have this analyzed." She laid a hand on my shoulder. "And now we should get out of here. Forensics will want to have the hold untouched."

I followed her, fighting my nausea and eager to leave the cramped room. I pushed my way past Shortbitten who just stood there, a hand hiding his long nose.

"You're coming, Detective?" Grafton said as we stood at the foot of the ladder.

"Yeah." His face was even paler than usual as he emerged from the hold.

Something was missing. Someone.

Where was Thierry?

"Where's Mr. Thorne?" Grafton echoed my thoughts, right behind me.

"He's probably run off," I muttered as I climbed the ladder. "Realized that your eggheads will find proof that he held Theresa and me in that hole down there."

When I reached the corridor above, I realized how wrong I was. Thierry Thorne hadn't run. Or, in fact, he had run somewhere—and now he was back, armed. He stood three steps away from me, a pistol in his hand. The weapon's muzzle was trained at my head.

"Stop right there." The calm of his voice was a stark contrast to the threat the weapon he held in his fist.

I froze. Grafton was halfway through the ladder's opening in the floor and stared at him. Shortbitten was still below.

"Anne, you come over now. And you..." He pointed the pistol at Grafton, "... come up, slowly, but keep your hands on the rungs."

I looked down the corridor, away from him. The stairs to the main deck were about ten paces away.

"Forget it, Anne" Thierry said. "You wouldn't make it. And now, get over here. Slowly."

Drawn by fear and the power of his voice, I moved closer to the man. He turned me around, away from him, so I was facing Grafton, who had reached the top of the ladder. A heavy hand settled on my shoulder, and the pistol's unforgiving metal made contact with my neck.

"Take that weapon from your holster and put it down, slowly," Thierry said.

Grafton complied, her gaze fixed on the man behind me.

"Now tell Detective Shortbitten to come up, too."

Grafton looked down. "You heard him. He's keeping Anderson hostage. Get up here, slowly."

Grafton moved away from the ladder, and Shortbitten's head appeared. "Thierry, let's talk—"

"Shut up," Thierry said. "Climb out of that hole and drop your weapon, too."

The detective followed the instructions. His mouth was a pale, thin line, as straight as his nose, but horizontal.

"And now..." Thierry took one step towards them, pushing me along before him, like a shield. "You both leave this ship."

They turned and marched towards the exit. We followed. Thierry's hand was still on my shoulder, its fingers capturing me in their firm, unyielding grip. When we ascended the stairs behind the others, he pressed me close to the heat of his hard body.

"Thierry," Shortbitten said. "You can't escape. They'll track you."

The pistol rammed the side of my neck. I cried out in pain.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? Now, you both get down and unmoor the yacht."

The two officers stepped onto the gangway.

"Stand down," Grafton said to the people watching the proceedings from the pier. "Mr. Thorne has a gun and is holding Miss Anderson hostage. He's threatening to kill her. He wants us to untie the ship."

When she reached the concrete, she nodded at her Coast Guard colleague, and the two of them released the white ropes from the moorings that The Indomitable was attached to.

Thierry let go of me and instructed me to haul the ropes in. I moved to the stern and seized one of them. The gangway was a few steps to the left of me.

"Don't try anything stupid," Thierry whispered right behind me.

I pulled in the first rope.

"Now, everyone leaves the pier." Thierry's voice was loud and clear.

Shortbitten lifted a hand. "Thierry, don't—"

"Shut it," Thierry said. "Leave, right now. And... if I see any ship following us, she'll die. If you track me, she'll die. If I see a copter, she'll die."

"Mr. Thorne," Grafton said, "what do you want? I'm sure we'll find—"

"Enough. You'll hear from me by radio. Not now."

"Okay." Grafton nodded. "Let's go, everyone."

The group moved, only Homer didn't, an unhappy expression on his face as he looked up at me. Grafton pulled his sleeve. He gave me a nod and followed her.

"Now pull in the other one," Thierry said.

I went to the other rope and reeled it in while Thierry was doing something at the ship end of the gangway. He gave it a push, and it slid off the yacht and toppled into the water below.

Shortbitten, Grafton, and their people had reached the pier's gate. Grafton pulled out her phone, dialed, and started talking.

"Now come." Thierry pulled me away, along the deck.

I was alone on the ship with the man now.

"You first." He pushed me into the corridor. "Move."

I was at his mercy—a killer's hostage.

"Up here."

He was cornered now, which was what was keeping me alive.

And he was bound to be angry at me—mad at me for having maneuvered him into that corner, hungry for revenge.

We had reached a narrow stairway leading up. It took us to a bright room with windows on all sides. A polished, wooden wheel and a couple of levers and dials told me that it was the bridge.

My knees trembled.

"Now, you lie down there, onto your back." He pointed at the floor at one side.

I did as instructed—like a robot, remote-controlled and devoid of options

The deck was hard, but its firmness and a deep breath steadied me. Scorn and anger tugged at the edge of my fear, pulling it away, replacing it. The trembling in my knees stopped.

He operated the controls, and the ship's engine shuddered to life.

Theresa. What did he do to her?

"You killed her." I hoped the venom in my words would poison him.

"Be quiet." He smiled and turned the wheel, probably navigating out of the berth, out of the harbor.

The engine got louder.

"Asshole," I said, my voice almost a whisper.

He ignored me. His features relaxed as he steered the ship into a turn, making the lights and shadows move over the bridge.

"Murderer."

His hand reached for a lever, and he pushed it forward. In response, the purring of the engines gained strength and turned into a steady drone.

"You'll regret this." I wanted my words to tear the serene expression from his face.

He did something to the wheel, came over and looked down at me.

"I told you to shut up. Do you want me to use force on you?"

The calm reason of his voice made the menace of the words slow to sink in—yet then it did, like fangs entering soft flesh. I had been there, in this situation, with Ed, and I knew what was coming. I closed my eyes, waiting for his boot to connect with my side.

It didn't come.

I waited. When nothing happened, I squinted through my lids. He was back at the wheel. I turned my head to search the bridge for something to fight back with, anything.

"Don't move."

I closed my eyes again, feeling the engines' thrum and the ocean's dance through the deck. They took me out to the sea.

And I was Thierry Thorne's hostage. I was the pledge the pirate held to ward off law and justice.

A hostage counting the seconds, guessing the minutes, speculating the hours.

~~~

"Come!"

The command tore me from drowsy images of a wild-eyed buccaneer scanning the horizon for enemies.

Groaning, I got up, steadying myself against a console. The sky beyond the windows held the deep blue and orange of sunset on one side and a billowing, cottony wall of clouds glowing in angry, reddish gold on the other. We were out on the sea, the land a series of hills far away.

"I've got a surprise for you." He motioned me towards the stairs.

Downstairs, we walked forward to a door I had seen before, the one with the wood inlay showing a pirate's flag—it was the captain's cabin; his cabin.

I knew what was awaiting me inside. It was the game that Thierry had been about to enjoy when I had jumped from his balcony.

"Get in."

I opened the door. The cabin was as I remembered. Only the blood on the window had been wiped off, except for a faint smudge of brown along one edge of the pane.

The staff was back in its umbrella stand.

Thierry moved to the tall painting depicting the life-sized, blue-eyed pirate and fiddled with its frame. A click, and it opened—a hidden door.

"Please." He indicated me to enter.

It was a bathroom.

"Open the shower."

A cabinet with curved, opaque doors stood in a corner. I opened it.

The shower wasn't empty.

Huddled down at its bottom was Theresa. Her hands, feet, and mouth were bound with duct tape. She lifted her head.

When she saw me, her eyes grew wide.

"Get up." He pulled her up.

She obliged, glowering at her brother.

With a quick motion, he reached out and tore the tape from her mouth.

"Ouch," she cried. "You asshole."

"Sorry," Thierry said.

Theresa ignored him and looked at me. "Anne, I thought... when you didn't come back..."

"Still alive," I said, "kind of a long story."

Thierry kept the gun trained on me as he opened a cabinet above the sink. He took an old-fashioned shaving knife from it, a razor. Its handle was curved, its blade long and straight.

His eyes found mine, and one corner of his mouth twitched. Then he took the weapon to Theresa's feet and cut the tape binding her ankles and tying her to a pipe running up the wall. Her hands remained bound behind her.

"Out, both of you." He waved his gun towards the exit. "To the pool."