Page 51 of Cruel Dreams

Another sunrise is shimmering in the sky when suddenly, Tana straightens. “What was that?”

We’ve been on the ship close to thirty hours now, and not one person has checked on us. We don’t have water or any food. My lips are cracking, and my tongue feels like a wad of cotton in my mouth.

The girl who has the flu stopped moving, and I’m scared for her. The pregnant girl will be severely dehydrated by now, and I’m afraid of what will happen to her and the baby. Hazel, the woman who has the broken nose, is sitting next to Quinn and me. She’s in a lot of pain and she breathes through her mouth, but she doesn’t complain.

“What was what?” Quinn asks, listless and disinterested. She hasn’t said anything for a while, and I wonder if she’s given up hope. She’s the reason I haven’t broken down, and I don’t want to ask what she’s thinking. If Quinn starts believing in the worst, then I know there’s no hope left.

“I thought I heard sirens,” Tana says, standing and turning the flashlight on, as if that will help her listen.

Several of the other girls stand as well, but Quinn and I stay on the floor. It would be such a waste of energy to get up for nothing.

“Shh,” Tana orders everyone, and they quiet, heads tilted, waiting for some hint of rescue.

I perk up and, in excitement, squeeze Quinn’s hand. Thereisa siren, and as it grows louder, hope starts to hammer at my heart.

One siren turns into two, then three, and before long we’re surrounded by the deafening noise.

The girls start to beat on the sides of the container, and Quinn helps me to my feet.

I lean against a little sliver of wall space, too weak and tired to pound on the side. We don’t know who’s out there. Sirens usually mean law enforcement, and that would be nice, but my faith has taken a whipping and I can’t let myself believe we’ll berescued. If they don’t search the cargo, if they ignore us and let this ship go, I’m afraid I’ll die of a broken heart.

I try not to think about how much I would miss Zane if I never saw him again.

Footfalls thrum outside the container, and they grow louder, thunderous pounding I can hear over the girls’ screams.

The access opening in the container’s roof flings open, and a man wearing an FBI vest shines a bright beam into the container and peers at us.

We’ve been found.

The women who need medical attention are treated on the deck of the ship. A kind emergency services worker splints my wrist and tightly wraps an elastic bandage around my ankle.

Under bright sunlight that hurts my eyes, the deck is a flurry of activity, and I stand back and watch, uncertain of my place. Lack of water and food has made me woozy, but Quinn, with her take-charge attitude, helps Tana secure care for the girls.

I asked an FBI agent where we are, and he said we made it only a few miles out of King’s Crossing. We’re still within Minnesota’s waters, and the FBI enlisted backup from the county sheriff’s department.

The angry and belligerent crew and captain were arrested, and glowering, they sit against one of the containers, their wrists fastened in cuffs behind their backs. FBI agents are searching the cargo containers. So far, we’re the only human cargo on board.

Another sheriff’s boat, lights attached to the top of the cabin, speeds toward us, and I limp to the edge of the ship’s deck.

The boat drifts alongside us, but the tinted windows shield its passengers and I’m too far away to see. A man wearing dress pants and a white shirt, his tie fluttering in the late morning breeze, climbs a ladder attached to the side of the ship.

It’s Zane, and my heart leaps.

An older man, also wearing a suit, follows Zane up the ladder.

Limping as fast as I can, I weave around the FBI agents, emergency services staff, and the girls receiving medical treatment, and I meet him just as he steps onto the deck. He pulls me into his arms, and he jostles my wrist brace. I cry out, but he doesn’t hear. He’s too busy hugging me and fluttering kisses all over my face.

“You’re okay,” he keeps saying. “You’re okay.”

After what feels like forever, but too short, always too short, he releases me and lets me breathe. He’s sexy and handsome, scruff covering his jaw, his hair in a messy disarray, but he looks like he hasn’t slept a second since Ash took us.

“You found me,” I say, my hands resting on his chest.

“I told you, I will never let you disappear again,” he says, crushing me to him.

The man who followed him onto the deck takes charge of the ship, barking orders and clapping his hands.

“That’s Special Agent Banks,” Zane says. “He found it more advantageous to help us than Clayton Black.”

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